single inch going untouched. “Crosses,” I whispered. “Thousands of tiny crosses.”
My eyes snapped open, Matilda still beside me.
The coach came to a stop just then as we arrived at Thornley’s home.
* * *
? ? ?
14 AUGUST 1868, 2:18 a.m.—Thornley had the door open and had rushed us inside before our feet touched the cobblestones of Harcourt Street.
“Hurry,” he said. He held a revolver and carefully scanned the trees and bushes surrounding his property. “It’s still out here; I’m not sure where it went.”
“What is still out here?”
“Just get in the house, all of you,” he ordered, locking the door behind us.
Thornley went to the window next to the door, peered out for a moment, then crossed the hall to a window in the library and pulled back the curtain. His eyes were fixed on the blackness outside.
“What are you looking for?” I prodded, stepping to the window.
“I thought it was a dog, but I think it might be a wolf. All black. I saw it the other night when I returned from the hospital, and it was out there again less than an hour ago—standing on my walkway, staring at the front door. My God, Bram, it was big. The biggest wolf I have ever seen. And do not tell me there are no wolves in Ireland. I know exactly what I saw and it was a wolf.”
“Your first instinct, that it was a dog, is probably correct; most likely, it was only a dog.”
“Nonsense. It was a wolf, I tell you.”
I could smell brandy on my brother’s breath, but I do not think he was drunk.
“Thornley, where is Emily?” Matilda asked. She was standing at the foot of the staircase, examining the fingers of her right hand. Holding them up to the light, she saw they were red. “There is blood on the banister.”
I turned back to my brother. “Thornley, may I have the gun, please?”
Thornley glanced down at the weapon in his hand. Then his eyes jumped from me to our sister. “What is it you think I’ve done?”
Through all of this exchange, Vambéry remained mute, but I spied him moving slowly around to Thornley’s side, his hand tightening on the knob of his cane.
“Give me the gun, Thornley.” I said this as a command, holding out my hand to him.
Thornley placed the revolver in my hand. I quickly removed the bullets and dropped them in my left pocket, then secured the revolver in my right.
Matilda raced up the stairs.
“Wait!” Thornley shouted, before running after her.
I heard Matilda scream as I bounded up the steps behind my brother, Vambéry following.
Matilda was standing at the foot of my brother’s bed. Emily was lying atop its sheets, her arms and legs securely tied to the four bedposts, a gag in her mouth. Her chin and neck were covered with dried blood, as were her hands, her arms, and her clothing as well. She stared up at us just then and screamed, her voice muffled by the gag.
“What have you done?” Matilda shouted at Thornley, reaching for the rope securing Emily’s left wrist.
Thornley pushed past me and shoved Matilda aside. “You mustn’t untie her!”
“Is she hurt?” I asked, taking in all the bloody evidence. I didn’t detect any sign of a wound, however.
“It’s not her blood you’re seeing,” Thornley said, standing between Emily and the rest of us.
“Whose blood is it, then?” Vambéry demanded.
“She’s not well. She hasn’t been well for some time now. She doesn’t understand what she’s done. I doubt she even remembers what she’s done.”
Vambéry took a step closer and leaned in towards Emily’s face. “What, exactly, did she do?”
Emily twisted and strained in the bed, testing the strength of her bindings. The bed frame creaked as she tried to sit up. The bindings held, though, for now at least. Her face flushed with anger at this, and she tried again.
Thornley pulled a syringe from his medical bag on the nightstand and