Her Dark Curiosity by Megan Shepherd Read Free Book Online Page A

was among them, his beard much shorter, standing next to a stout man I recognized as Isambard Lessing himself, and with a shudder I recognized a young Dr. Hastings. I also found the professor’s face among them, decades younger but with the same wire-rim glasses and a hint of a smile on an otherwise stern face. On his left was a young man whose face I knew all too well—my father.
    I shifted in my stiff clothing and drew in a deep breath. The professor had mentioned they’d met in the King’s Club, so perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. In the photograph Father had dark hair cut in the fashion of the time, and his eyes were alert and focused, so unlike his wild-eyed, gray-haired visage I had known more recently. The face in the photograph was the face I knew from my earliest memories, long ago when I’d idolized him, before madness and ambition had claimed him.
    I tore myself away from the old photograph and hurried for the stairs to the basement, where I felt instantly more at ease. The morning cleaning crew was already hard at work scouring the stairs leading to the basement hallways. I recognized the shape of my old boss, Mrs. Bell, as her rounded body stooped to scrub the treading. A woman who used to watch out for me when no one else did. When she stood to refill her bucket, I grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner.
    “Mercy!” she cried, putting a hand over her heart. “Juliet Moreau, is that you? My, but you gave me a fright.”
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bell. I wondered if I might ask you a favor.”
    “You aren’t wanting your old job back, I hope,” she said, then cocked her head at the fine dress beneath my apron. “No, I suppose not. . . .”
    “It isn’t about that. As a matter of fact, I’ve had a change in fortune, and it’s only right for me to share.” I fished in my pocket for the silver buttons and pressed them into her hand before she could object. “I just need to know if you’ve already cleaned the hallways on the east side.”
    The buttons jangled in her calloused hand. “Heading there next, right after we finish these stairs.”
    I bit my lip, glancing at the two other cleaning girls. “Might you start on the west side instead? It’s a long story . . . a student friend of mine thought he might have dropped some cufflinks there and I’d like to look for them.”
    She gave me a stern look, and I half expected her to ask what the real story was, but luckily for me she just threw her hand toward the hallways.
    “Have at it, girl.”
    I started past the steps, where a rail-thin cleaning girl was polishing the brass handrail. Her basket sat beside her, filled with a handful of cleaning tools that were all quite familiar to me. How many hours had I spent on hands and knees on this very floor, sleeves hitched above my elbows, scrubbing so hard my knuckles bled? What a lonely life that had been, with only my memories to keep me company. Only a year ago, and yet it felt like ages. How easily I could be back there if not for the professor.
    The skinny girl turned around when she saw me staring at her basket. Her eyes went to the dirty apron that didn’t quite match my fine dress—an incongruity only the poor would notice.
    “Can I help you . . . miss?” she asked.
    “Oh no,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. My mind was wandering.”
    She nodded, still looking at me strangely, then returned to work. Once her back was turned, I bent down to pretend to lace my boots and secretly grabbed one of the brushes out of her basket, a soft-bristled one meant for cleaning fabric. If I ran into anyone down here, I might need it as disguise. I hid it in my apron and hurried down the stairs into the basement.
    The electric lights were on, buzzing and clicking, spilling artificial light over the tiles. Fresh sawdust had been sprinkled on them to soak up any blood fallen from patients or bodies. I wound my way down another corridor and paused at the door to the storage rooms where