That night, even as I settled under the blankets safe in my room, Millicent deMage's black gaze was etched into my mind. Whenever I closed my eyes she was there, staring, often with Elizabeth at her side. Two evil women whispered of secrets only they knew and taunted me with their superior knowledge. The idea of Millicent being a witch layered over my troubled thoughts as I tried to discern meaning in the war we fought.
At least I had plenty to occupy my daylight hours. The grandfather clock marked off the hours that turned into days as I worked at Seth's side at Serenity House, while Henry and Alice kept the farm running. Father improved daily and now joined us for meals. I worked my way through the mountain of information being sent in from around Southeast England. Every small town, village, and parish had bundled up their sad history and sent it to us.
But eating at me every day was the constant waiting, and inactivity seemed to have consumed my life.
We waited for Elizabeth to turn.
We waited for the new queen to establish her hive.
We waited for the vermin to strike.
I shut the journal I was reading and tossed it at the wall.
"Steady on. What has the book done to you?" Seth looked up from his desk at the far end of the room, one eyebrow arched.
"Sorry," I muttered. The book fell to the floor and lay there. Closed. It wasn't as if the binding had broken and I scattered loose pages everywhere. From Seth's reaction, you would think I lobbed a live grenade into the conservatory and splattered cactus around the walls.
Reaching out one hand, I picked up the book and patted its cover, asking for its forgiveness for my grievous crime. "I'm not good at sitting around doing nothing while we simply wait for Elizabeth to pounce on us. How many lives will my stupidity cost?"
There was what really gnawed at my insides. Although Seth painted it as a way to learn more about the vermin, every day she was out there meant the people of Somerset were at risk.
"Oh, Ella." Seth rose from his desk and walked across to where I sat on the floor. He held out a hand to me, and I placed mine in his. "You need to stop blaming yourself."
Seth dragged me up his body and a delicious shudder ran down my spine. Lieutenant Bain was out on patrol, so for once, I could steal a kiss in the duke's war room. His lips slid over mine and I sighed. My arms wrapped around his neck so I could press up into the kiss. The man made my knees go weak, and each time he touched me, the heat inside me built faster and burned hotter. The thought of giving myself to him wasn't causing the moral dilemma society said it should. Already condemned as the village slayer, I may as well add fallen woman to my sins and enjoy what time we had.
But I held back. Was I ready to take that final step? What if I did it wrong? I wished Alice wouldn't play so coy on what she and Frank got up to. A girl needed intelligence to plan her actions.
Seth broke the kiss and rested his forehead on mine. The simple fact of his arms around me dispelled some of the tension and worry running rampant through my body.
"You're somewhat distracted," he said.
"I'm hoping Elizabeth does something before the waiting drives me mad." My fingers played with short strands of hair at his nape. What would he look like with it longer? He'd be like one of those desperately romantic poets with sultry eyes, who were followed around by swooning women.
He mimicked my actions and brushed a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. "We had to master waiting on the front. The enemy would rain shells on us while we were trapped in the trenches. Nobody was allowed to move until some officer, safe in his office in London, gave the order by telephone."
Our poor lads. They battled an enemy for years and then when they came home for peace, a new enemy rose up from the ground. The Great War waged in Europe became the Grim War fought the world over. "I guess having you to kiss makes it slightly more bearable. How goes the research into ley lines?"
He smiled and I could have sworn his eyes went misty. "I am having a fascinating correspondence with Norman Lockyer. I thought he might be too elderly to respond to my letters, but the investigation seems to have invigorated him."
Seth walked to the table and flicked through the array of papers on the surface. He extracted a sheet with a map of Somerset on it. "He is drawing me a map of ley lines crossing England, based on his astrological observations. When it is complete, I will add it to our topographical map. Every little bit helps in trying to find where Elizabeth will form her hive."
"What do you think of the newspaper articles linking Aleister Crowley and his Satanists as possible instigators of the Grim War?" I was curious what Seth made of the stories. He viewed the war from a different angle than I did and saw things I did not. Even before the war, Aleister Crowley had cast a sinister shadow across England with his dark rites.
Seth scowled and then erased his disapproval by rubbing a hand over his face. "I’ve read of his claims that the followers of his sect are protected from the pandemic. In the minds of some, their supposed immunity gives credence to the idea that the Turned are minions of Satan."
"But do you give it any weight?" Could that man's Satanic beliefs have had a role to play in the war raging around the globe? What if the vermin plague had a supernatural origin, rather than a scientific one? I scoffed at the notion, but I still devoured newspaper articles on the subject. More and more people called for an explanation, wanting to know about the enemy we faced. A vocal and fervent sect believed the war was a test of our faith, that the Turned were demons sent to corrupt our souls. It was an academic question for me, since my soul was already sacrificed by the slaying I undertook.
Seth huffed. "I think there will be a rational, scientific explanation to what animates the Turned, not superstition and nonsense. Doctors and scientists have worked to refute the evangelical claims and have shown how viruses and infection spread."
"But no one has yet answered the fundamental questions—where did this plague spring from and how did it animate the dead? And here we are, researching fairy roads and ley lines. How do you reconcile the two view points?" Could you pick and choose what superstitious ideas you believed and which were mere fairytales?
"They have a basis in history and astronomy. Things we can study and prove." Seth stroked the side of my face and worry lined his brow. "I think you have been staring at Millicent's portrait and exercising that enormous imagination of yours too much."
I leaned into his palm. His touch soothed my manic thoughts. "I don't like co-incidences, and there are too many things that scratch at me to be connected."
Perhaps overthinking was my problem; I itched to do something more physical than shuffle paper. To feel my muscles burn as I fought a horde of vermin, or to ride hard as we chased one across open fields. It wasn't just the waiting that made me fidget, but all the sitting around on my backside.
"I wish Elizabeth would show herself, so we can finally mobilise against her." Oh the irony—yet again I was waiting on the woman, except this time I wouldn't be holding a tea tray.
A grin lit Seth's face. "What you need is a different distraction. Come see what I have some of the lads doing."
He took my hand and led me from the room. Out the back of Serenity House, one of the enormous stable blocks had been converted to motor house for all types of vehicles. From skeletal motorbikes to Seth's sleek Silver Ghost sports car to the lumbering trucks used to transport soldiers.
"Where are we going?" I asked. The grand old house kept reinventing itself. From aristocratic home to hospital for the war wounded or influenza victims—and now she transformed again into a command centre. Soldiers in khaki uniforms swarmed around and made sinuous patterns as they passed the deep green and silver-liveried staff. Every day, more soldiers arrived as Seth took control of a greater swath of Southern England.
"We're not going far." Seth wheeled out a motorbike. "Do you feel safe enough to ride behind?"
I snorted. I wanted a man who opened the throttle and tore across the countryside at breakneck speeds. This particular man knew how to power around a corner while balancing speed and precision. I didn't give a fig for safety. I would follow him anywhere as long as he did it with his foot down hard. When I finally gave myself to him, would he sweep me away with wild abandon?
Heat rose under my collar and I stared at the ground in case he read my thoughts. I understood why Victorian women had been institutionalised for wantonness; being around Seth increased my preoccupation with the physical act, and I feared it would drive me crazy. I needed to either do something about it or join a convent and purge the idea from my mind.
I swung a leg over the bike as he kicked the starter, and then wrapped my arms around his waist. I grabbed any excuse to snuggle close and press myself to him. In my mind, Elizabeth pointed a finger and accused me of being a strumpet. Turned out she was right about that.
Seth pointed the bike out the yard and we roared down the driveway, but before we hit the main road he turned into an open gateway and took off across the paddock. I tightened my grip in case the bumpy ground catapulted me off the back. Up ahead stood an old stone cottage, the surrounding area devoid of any grass or trees.
Seth stopped by the building and cut the motor. As the engine died down, hammering and voices came from inside the cottage. I frowned at Seth, but he just smiled and took my hand. I was learning that fully-grown men harboured little boys deep inside. Seth shared the same mischievous smile that meant he was up to something, and that it probably involved explosives.
Inside, the old crofter's cottage had turned into some industrious production line. Benches dominated the space, with various bits of pipe, tools, and screws littered over them. Large metal cylinders were stacked against one wall. A man worked over fabric snakes with long pipe mouths. Another was doing something with leatherwork and a large rectangular frame. Seth was grinning as though Christmas had come early.
"What are they?"
"Flamethrowers," he said.
"A flamethrower?" I had vague memories of seeing a grainy image of one on a newsreel. By putting the two words together, I could conjure a pretty good mental image of what the object did, and it also explained his boyish grin.
"They were created for the Great War. It was bloody terrifying to see one coming at you. I'd rather take a clean bullet over flames any day." Seth laid a hand on one of the silver tanks, lost in his own thoughts for a moment.
"Sod of a job having to carry one, too," one of the soldiers muttered.
"Why?" I asked. I thought men would vie to take turns at dousing objects in flame. They probably used them to bake potatoes.
"The men with the flamethrowers were the snipers’ favourite targets," another soldier replied.
"Ah," I said. I still didn't quite understand, but their war had been slightly different to ours. At least vermin didn't take up weapons against us; they had to rely on their teeth and nails to inflict damage.
Seth gestured to the framework that held two tanks strapped together. "Carrying the flamethrower makes you slow. It's heavy, and cumbersome. That alone would make you an easy mark for enemy snipers."
The thing looked like it was nearly half my size. I wouldn't want to lug it across a battlefield. "So they would shoot the operator?"
He held my gaze, his eyes coldly serious as he relived some memory only he could see. "No. They delighted in shooting the tanks and blowing up the operator."
"Oh." I sent up a silent prayer that Elizabeth didn't have snipers at her disposal.
"Do you want to see how they work?" Seth shook off the grim memories, and the boyish grin returned to his face.
"Yes, please." It wasn’t just the boys who liked to see stuff blow up, and it sounded far better than marking latitudes and longitudes on our maps.
One of the soldiers grabbed a set of tanks, and another helped him get his arms through the straps. The framework nestled against his back and buckled around his waist. Next, he donned goggles and thick leather gloves. Lastly, his offsider handed him the metal pipe that was the nozzle of the apparatus.
We headed outside to a wide, clear area, the operator walking slowly behind us with deliberate steps as though he feared tipping over. Behind the cottage, a metal pole stood in a circle of scorched earth. It looked like someone had been burning witches, which made me wonder about the story of Millicent using witchcraft to rid herself of her first husband. I needed to find the full account of that to satisfy my curiosity, I told myself.
A soldier dragged over a scarecrow made from stuffed sacks and attached it to the pole. Seth gave the thumbs up to the operator and we all took a few steps back until we stood well behind the scorched ring.
The man primed the tanks and gripped the long pipe. He took a step toward the target and pressed a lever. Fire shot from the nozzle and leapt the several feet to the straw man. With an audible whoosh, it was engulfed in flame and burning brightly.
"Gosh," I whispered. The wave of heat made me take another step back and hold a hand up to shield my face. It was a handy weapon. In my mind, I strapped Elizabeth to the pole and doused her limbs in liquid fire. Then I remembered that these were used against real men during the war. No wonder Seth would prefer a bullet. I imagined the fuel coating their limbs, men unable to brush the flames off as fire ate their bodies. How long did those men scream? I set forth a silent prayer that whoever had suffered—English, German, Turk or Russian—had died quickly.
Seth pointed to the scarecrow, which was now a smouldering black lump. "This is the advantage we have in waiting, Ella. It means we have time to prepare. There are only two ways to stop a Turned, taking off their head or fire."
That was precisely why I alone laboured to free our village of vermin. Quite apart from no one else wanting to risk their mortal souls, it took some practice with a sword to take the head off one.
"While you are skilled with a blade and others of us are catching up, it's not the best way to deal with large numbers of the enemy. The flamethrowers mean we have a way to stop Elizabeth if she rallies an army of Turned against us." Seth pointed to crates piled up behind the cottage. The open ones showed more tanks and nozzles. They had been constructing these for a while.
The soldiers helped the operator remove the tanks and set them back on the ground. I stared as he stripped off the gloves and goggles and the other men slapped him on the back.
Seth took my hand and kissed my knuckles. "You don't fight alone, Ella. This is no longer a personal war; you will have squadrons of men to lead into battle when the time comes."
My heart swelled. What had I ever done in life to deserve this man? He had just offered me a legion of soldiers wielding flamethrowers. The words I love you danced to the tip of my tongue. But at the last second I swallowed them back down. Was it too soon? What if he didn't feel the same way?
"Thank you," I whispered instead.
I would lead an army against Elizabeth. Would she rally troops that were already undead, or would she use the people of Somerset to grow her numbers? A painful lump dropped through my gullet.
"How many do you have?" I needed to pull my mind away from maudlin thoughts. I couldn't turn back the hands of time and change my decision. I could only proceed and hope to reconcile my actions later. Act in haste, repent in leisure was the old saying, and once this was all over, I’d have a lot of repenting to do.
"Ten so far, but we know what we are doing now, so the lads can make them faster. I'm hoping to have fifty within the next few weeks. And we are training the men in how to use them. Do you want to have a go?" The boyish grin was plastered all over his face.
Did I want a go? What a silly question after that demonstration. "Yes. Have you got another scarecrow?"
As the soldiers helped me don protective gear and the heavy backpack, I couldn't help the wash of relief through my body. At last, I held a weapon in my hand and I was doing something active to advance the Grim War.
Let Elizabeth bring her army. I was no longer the cowering kitchen maid—I was a warrior.