The Draugr (Midnight Gunn Book 3) Read online

  “Indeed, we would!” Midnight said. Gredge rolled his eyes as Midnight turned to him, a delighted expression on his face. “Infinitely more interesting than a pint at the Rose and Crown, wouldn’t you say, Arthur?

  “That depends on your perspective,” Gredge grumbled.

  Elldy handed Midnight the cube, and he wrapped it back in its packaging before placing it in the bag. “Bring it with you. We may find something useful downstairs,” Elldy suggested.

  The two men followed the curator through the museum and down two flights of stairs to the basement area. The space was filled to capacity with shelf upon shelf of artefacts from all corners of the globe.

  “The archive room is just through here,” Elldy said. She held open the door to what appeared to be a very dingy room filled with books and boxes stacked tightly together in narrow rows. It smelled terribly fusty, and Gredge had a sudden wave of claustrophobia. Feeling panic rising, he backed away from the door.

  “I’ll stay out here, if you don’t mind. I have a slight headache, and I rather think those archives will be of more interest to you than me, Midnight.”

  “Are you sure, Arthur?” Midnight eyed him with concern.

  “Absolutely. I’ve no desire to look at a bunch of books. I’ll just have a look around here,” he said, waving a hand vaguely.

  “Well, don’t touch anything,” Elldy stated with a slight air of annoyance. The look on her face suggesting she couldn’t understand why anyone with an ounce of sense would not be overjoyed at the prospect of a private tour around her beloved archives.

  Gredge nodded in acquiescence, and the curator disappeared with Midnight in tow. Gredge let out a sigh of relief. The thought of being holed up in that stuffy, dark room made him extremely uncomfortable—not that he felt entirely at ease in the almost-windowless basement either.

  There were a couple of lit oil lamps dotted around. He took one and began to explore the vast array of exotic artefacts. Most were boxed and labelled, but some of the larger items, such as the gigantic and very fearsome-looking stuffed polar bear, were free standing, and he was able to appreciate them in all their glory at his leisure. He perused the aisles, noting the richly gilded Egyptian sarcophagi, mummified cats, and broken pots until his feet led him to an area darker and dustier than the rest. No shafts of natural light reached this corner of the basement, and the stored objects were covered in a thin layer of grime. Obviously, these had not been part of the main exhibition in some time. Even more obvious was the fact that the museum needed to hire more staff to keep things shipshape.

  Ignoring Elldy’s specific instruction, Gredge began to poke around in a pile of indeterminable items on a shelf level with his chest. He presumed the bric-a-brac must be props used in themed displays and not the real deal as no great care had been taken to properly store most of them. His fingers brushed against stiff cloth, and he grabbed it, pulling it towards him. He wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity or boredom that caused him to untie the leather thong and unwrap the bundle, but he was pleasantly surprised by its contents. The light from the oil lamp caught a glint of silver. As the cloth fell away, the object Gredge held in his hand was revealed.

  He placed the oil lamp on the shelf and turned the item over in his hands. It was a mask, carved from wood in the rough shape of a face. He recognised the markings, which were inlaid with silver, as being similar to those on Midnight’s cube. He should probably show it to him. It might prove helpful. He traced the silver runes with his index finger. The mask was incredibly light, considering what it was made of, and he wondered what sort of wood it could be. The craftsmanship was spectacular. He might not be particularly interested in history, but he could certainly appreciate the work that had gone into the making of such a piece. The soft light of the lamp continued to flicker and reflect on the silver decoration. It was strangely alluring. He had a sudden and childish urge to put it to his face, thinking to jump out and startle Midnight with it. The moment the mask covered his face, crippling claustrophobia returned.

  Gredge dropped the offending object onto the pile of cloth that had bound it, but he could not bring himself to rewrap it. He did not want to handle it again. His head still swimming, he fought off the panic as his brow began to sweat. He could feel his heart rate quicken and his breathing become rapid and shallow. He felt dizzy and disorientated. Grabbing the lamp, the inspector stumbled his way along the aisles, trying desperately to find his way back to the door where Midnight and Elldy were, no doubt, nose-deep in archived papers, oblivious to his struggle. The walls of the basement seemed to close in around him, crushing him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He had to get out. He needed air. Where were the damned stairs? Gredge lurched sideways into some shelving, causing something to clatter to the floor. The sound hurt his ears. Seconds later, he thought he heard someone call his name, but he couldn’t be sure. His hearing was muffled, and his vision was blackening. The last thing he remembered was a touch on his elbow… and then nothing.

  “Easy now, Arthur. Don’t try to move.”

  Gredge recognised Midnight’s voice as his world came slowly back into focus. His head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton rags. Then he became aware of a throbbing pain in his skull. When he touched a tentative hand to his right temple, his fingers came away slippery with blood. The coppery scent made him heave.

  “He needs a doctor. Can you manage to get him upstairs? And I’ll summon you a cab.”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Bird. I can manage him.” Midnight shoved a handkerchief in Gredge’s hand. “Here. Press this against your head.”

  Gredge winced but kept the cloth pressed against his wound.

  “What happened?” he mumbled.

  “You passed out and hit your head,” Elldy said. “You need to get this man home,” she instructed Midnight.

  “Can you stand, Arthur?”

  “Think so.” Gredge pushed himself to his feet, surprised to find himself on a chair, yet having no memory of getting there.

  “You are unsteady. Put your arm around my shoulders and I’ll help you upstairs. Miss Bird, would you mind getting the door?”

  Between them, they managed to guide Gredge back to the front lobby of the museum, where Elldy left them seated while she went to the entrance to summon a cab.

  “You’ll feel better soon, Arthur. You’ll come back to Meriton where I can take care of you.”

  “By ‘take care of,’ you mean jiggery-pokery, right?”

  “You can wait for a doctor if you prefer,” Midnight stated, a little affronted.

  “No offence, but I’m not sure I want—you know…”

  “Fine. You’ll come to Meriton, and I’ll call a doctor.”

  “It is my bonce, Midnight.”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “I can go home. I’ll be fine.”

  “You may not want me and my jiggery-pokery messing around with your bonce, as you so eloquently put it, but you are not fine, and you will come to Meriton. You probably have a concussion. Ahh, Miss Bird is back. Up you get.”

  Arthur had no time to protest before he was hiked up and bundled into the waiting cab outside.

  “I wish your friend well, Lord Gunn,” Elldy said as she shook Midnight’s hand.

  “Thank you. I apologise for the disruption.”

  “No apology needed. I’ll be in touch regarding your mysterious cube as soon as I have anything to report.”

  “I look forward to hearing from you. I appreciate your help. Good day to you, Miss Bird.”

  “Good day.”

  Midnight climbed into the cab beside a very green-tinged Gredge. “Meriton House, Berkeley Square,” he called to the driver, and the cab lurched forward eliciting a groan from the inspector. “Will you please let me help?” Midnight appealed.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are stubborn.”

  “You’re pushy,” Gredge retaliated and promptly heaved again. Suddenly, the prospect of a comfy bed with fresh sheets and a bit of fuss didn’t seem so bad.

  MERITON HOUSE

  DECEMBER 2ND 1862

  Midnight was waiting in the corridor outside the bedroom in which Arthur was now being examined. He resisted the urge to eavesdrop, granting his friend some privacy, but he had not liked the look of that head wound at all. If only Arthur had let him heal him.

  The door opened and the doctor exited.

  “What’s the damage?” Midnight enquired.

  “No fracture, you’ll be pleased to know. But he does have a nasty cut and a concussion. I’ve stitched him up. He should stay in bed for at least the next twenty-four hours. Any further vomiting or if he complains of dizziness, send for me.”

  “I will. Thank you, Doctor. May I see the patient?”

  “You can, but I gave him a draught to help him rest, so you may find him a little sleepy.”

  “Fine. Then I will leave him a while. I shall see you out.”

  “No, no. I can manage. Thank you.” Doctor Blanchard shook Midnight’s hand and departed, leaving Midnight to his thoughts.

  It was fortunate that Arthur was asleep, for he had much on his agenda today. Nurse Carstairs, the woman Midnight had previously employed to care for his housemaid, Laura Carter, and his groom, Charlie Fenwick, during the ‘Hemlock incident’—as it was now referred to by the rest of the household—were due at Meriton House to discuss a position at his new charitable hospital, Saint Francis’. There was much to sort out before her imminent arrival. But first, he decided a quick check-in on Polly was overdue before he settled down to his own business. He should really see how her instruction was progressing.

  Midnight made his way downstairs to the library, where he found his daughter and her governess, Miss Agnes Carmichael, reciting the eight times tabl
e.

  “Good afternoon. How is everything today?” he enquired.

  “Good afternoon, sir. Miss Polly is doing well, thank you. Although, she does seem a little distracted today,” Agnes replied with a slight frown.

  “Distracted?” He turned to his daughter, who shrugged.

  “I ain’t too fond of numbers is all,” she explained. “I’m tryin’ me ’ardest.”

  “Darling, do try to remember your elocution,” Agnes chided.

  “Trying your best is all I expect of—” Midnight stopped midsentence. “Good lord, what is that awful smell?” He sniffed the air.

  “Sir?” Agnes looked confused. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “It smells like… wet dog.” He eyed his daughter. “Polly, it’s coming from you. What on earth have you been up to?”

  Polly flashed him an unashamedly innocent look. “Nothin’.”

  “Hmm.” Midnight narrowed his eyes.

  “Maybe Laura didn’t dry me clothes properly.” Polly shrugged.

  “I’ll see Miss Polly’s clothes are sent down to the laundry when she changes for dinner, sir.”

  “Thank you, Agnes.” Then to Polly, Midnight said, “As for you, young lady, see you pay attention to your governess. No more distractions.” He emphasized the last word.

  “Yes, Papa,” Polly replied, struggling now to maintain her look of absolute innocence. Midnight gave her a look of disingenuous reproach then turned to address her governess. “Have you had word from home yet?”

  “No, sir. I haven’t. It’s been months since Father’s last letter and still no information about my brother. I fear the worst has happened.” Agnes swallowed hard and allowed her gaze to drop to the floor.

  “Never fear, Agnes. As I’ve said previously, it is difficult to get mail out of the country at the moment. Once the shipping blockade eases, then I’m sure you’ll hear from your brother. Have faith.” He fixed her with his best reassuring smile, and she did her best to return it. The American civil war raged on still, and with no immediate end in sight, Midnight secretly suspected that Agnes’ concerns were justified. Of course, he would never admit that to her. Why worry the poor woman until worry was her only option?

  After leaving the library, Midnight headed back upstairs to Polly’s room. Once there, he listened intently, his hand resting on the door handle. Using his extraordinary skills, he probed the atmosphere for any sense of a foreign presence concealed beyond the thick oak door. It didn’t take long for him to find one. Pursing his lips, he barged into the room.

  “When I agreed to let you stay, I expressly told you that bedrooms were out of bounds.” His keen eyes scanned the seemingly empty room and came to rest by the window where the air shimmered ever so slightly. “You are aware that I can see you?”

  The shimmer morphed into a ripple that gradually faded away to reveal a giant shaggy canine creature, whose bright eyes twinkled in the light and tongue lolled to out one side of a huge mouth, giving Midnight the impression he was smiling.

  “Hello, Widdershins.”

  The creature chuffed in response.

  “You could at least pretend to be remorseful.”

  Shins, as Polly had affectionately nicknamed him, cocked his head to one side, ears flattened.

  “Too late now. I thought we had agreed the stables were to be your guard station during your stay.”

  Shins growled.

  Midnight heard the distant chime of the brass bell at the front door. “We’ll discuss this underhanded flouting of the rules later. I have to go. In the meantime, be off with you, and don’t scare anyone on your way down. I have visitors this afternoon, so stay out of the way.” He stood to the side, holding open the door for the creature to exit.

  Shins slinked past him, heckles up, and shot Midnight a look of annoyance before the air around him shimmed again, and the gigantic furry creature disappeared behind his shield of glamour.

  On his way downstairs, Midnight found himself wondering, not for the first time, how on earth his life had become so complicated in the time since he had adopted Polly. He craved the days of relative solitude and anonymity that were now long gone.

  His household had grown significantly, as had his responsibilities along with his public reputation, the latter not entirely a good thing. It was increasingly difficult to keep what he was under wraps with the ever-more-vigilant and scrutinising eyes of the wider populous into which he was now forced, by his own actions, to expose himself. As Giles continually reminded him, the building and organising of a hospital could not effectively be achieved by taking a back seat, no matter how hard he tried or desired it so. He did not regret the decision to open the facility, but he looked forward to a time in the not-so-distant future when it would be fully up and running, and he could then step back and allow the board of governors to take over. He hankered for those halcyon days when it was him, alone, with just Giles and Mrs P. for company. Then, he immediately regretted such selfish thoughts.

  Circumstances had changed dramatically for him, but they had also brought him a daughter in Polly, a friend in Arthur, and an extended household of which he was most fond. Laura’s bright smile flashed in his memory, filling him with a warmth tainted by shame. Circumstance was a fickle friend, indeed.

  Giles caught Midnight midway down the stairs and informed him that his guest had arrived and was waiting in the front parlour. It was one of those days, of which there were far too many recently, Midnight decided, during which he seemed to jump from one appointment straight to another. He was busy from dawn until dusk, and although it filled his time with meaningful purpose, he did occasionally miss the quiet hours in his study. His night-time wanderings through the rookeries of London had been replaced by bedtime readings of the latest Charles Dickens novel or, Polly’s favourite, Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

  He chuckled to himself, remembering how much his daughter seemed to love the scary parts the most and was always fascinated by the monsters in the stories. Given with whom she lived, it wasn’t surprising.

  Thinking about his days past made Midnight nostalgic to be amongst the real people of the city, and he made up his mind to fit in an evening stroll through the darkened streets very soon. For now, he must put on his business head and play at being the perfect gentleman of polite society. It was not a game of which he was overly fond.

  MERITON

  LATER THAT DAY

  “A pleasure to have you on board, Nurse Carstairs. I will write to you as soon as I have a date for you to commence employment.” Midnight took the hand of the broadly smiling woman, and shook it firmly.

  “Thank you, Lord Gunn. I am most appreciative of the opportunity. I look forward to working for you,” she replied with sincerity.

  “Not for me but with me—for the people of London.”

  “Yes, of course. For the people.” Her broad smile was now accompanied by a slight flush of her cheeks. “Pardon me, but I have to say… it is a wonderful thing you are doing, Lord Gunn. Setting up a charity hospital is no mean feat. It is a real honour to be a part of your project.” She beamed at him.

  Now it was Midnight’s turn to feel uncomfortable. Public praise didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t at all used to it. Giving an awkward nod in her direction, he rang for his butler. “Giles will see you out. Thank you for coming.” He left her in the room, passing Giles on the way out.

  Now his business with the nurse was done, he wanted to check in on his reluctant house guest. “Giles, when you have attended to Nurse Carstairs, would you have Mrs P bring up a tea tray to the inspector’s room?”

  “Of course, sir.” The old butler inclined his head before approaching their visitor to help her into her coat.

  Knocking gently on the door to Gredge’s room, Midnight waited for a response before entering.

  “You’re awake, I see.”

  “Just about,” Arthur grumbled.

  “I have sent for some tea if you are agreeable to receive company?”