As night drew in, rain began to fall – soft and whispery at first, then a steady, relentless drumming on the rooftops. A different maid brought us supper, laying a table near the fire and filling it with many dishes; Peg took great delight in explaining each one. There were pastries and meat in rich, creamy sauces, fresh-baked bread, slices of pear, shortbread, lemon posset still warm with a thick froth on top.
‘It’s a supper fit for two princesses!’ she cried.
‘Well we are important guests, remember?’ I told her, as if anyone could forget it in a bedchamber so richly carpeted and warm.
Though Peg tucked into supper like it was the last meal she’d ever have, I was too excited to eat much of it. Afterwards, with nothing else to do but sleep, we crawled into bed. Peg started snoring almost straight away. But I lay listening to all the unfamiliar sounds. Outside, rain rattled against the windows. The wind had picked up too, moaning and whistling round the chimneys. Somewhere deep inside the house, a door opened then closed. Pulling the blankets round my shoulders, I attempted to go to sleep. But my eyes kept springing open. The more I tried, the harder it became.
Then.
Something was outside our window.
I sat up sharply. Straining my ears, I heard footsteps – someone was on the driveway. My head filled with visions of Da come to take us home. Or Mercy. Or perhaps even Isaac. Part of me felt very glad. Another part wasn’t sure I wanted to leave just yet, not when we were being treated so well, and there were exciting guests from London to meet.
I leapt out of bed. But the window wasn’t where I remembered it, and I walked straight into a chair. The pain of it cleared any last traces of sleep from my head. Of course it couldn’t be Da outside. He was miles away in Bristol, searching for his daughter who all the time was here with me. And I couldn’t tell him or reach him because I was too busy enjoying myself as Miss Stine’s guest, and I felt a horrible pang of guilt.
But gradually, I sensed a line of grey in the dark. This must be the window with the curtains almost closed; it wouldn’t hurt to check who was out there. The window was still open, the sill wet with rainwater. From directly underneath, the sounds of conversation wafted upwards. The speakers were men. Though they were trying to keep quiet their rage was obvious in their tight, spitting voices. My shoulders tensed as I listened.
‘Who was the last to feed it?’ This was Mr Walton.
‘Me, s’morning when that lad from the village brought the pig carcass. Jeffers said he had too much else to do,’ said a gruff voice. Perhaps this was the man who’d spotted Isaac and me down that path where we shouldn’t have been. He didn’t sound very kindly. If it was him then I hoped Isaac had given him the slip.
‘You’ll recall how it got out two nights ago. And how we only just managed to recapture it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The locals are talking, Mr Cox. We cannot allow this to keep happening. I trust you double-checked the pen?’
‘We did.’
‘And you filled in those holes by the fence?’
‘Yes, sir. With rocks.’
‘Then how the devil has it escaped this time?’
‘It got out through the gate,’ said the gruff man who was clearly Mr Cox.
Next came the thud of a fist hitting flesh. I winced.
‘What do we pay you for, eh?’ By now, Mr Walton was almost screaming. ‘Slack, that’s what you are! Utterly slack!’
His shouting made me nervous. Today he’d been the one making mistakes, and now the tables had turned. This was about more than an escaped animal. It was about his own humiliation. And like all bullies, he had to inflict it on someone else.
As quick as it started, the arguing stopped. Something was being passed between the two men.
‘You’ve used a rifle before, have you, Mr Cox?’ Mr Walton asked.
A rifle?
I gripped the windowsill. A rifle meant danger. So far the animal had killed only livestock. But what if it was capable of attacking something bigger? A person?
‘We used muskets in the army,’ Mr Cox replied, gruffer than ever after being walloped.
‘Right. Take these.’
A metallic click. A clunk. The shuffling of limbs.
‘These rifles are more accurate than a musket. Only fire if you can see the beast clearly. We don’t want to waste shot.’
Or injure the creature, I thought grimly. For though it had killed my geese, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. Shut in its pen it’d sounded so sad, like it was already dying a slow, painful death. At least, I supposed, if it did get shot, it would be spared more of that misery.
The men moved on. Their footsteps grew faint. All I could hear now was the rain.
Then came another noise from behind me. It was the click of a door opening. I turned round. Held my breath. In the darkness, a candle flickered.
‘Come! Quickly now!’ The speaker was Miss Stine. ‘My London guests are waiting downstairs to meet you. We’ve not got much time!’
I’d no idea who I expected it to be. But at the sound of her voice I almost laughed with relief. And then I grew confused.
‘It’s the middle of the night, miss. You said I’d meet them tomorrow.’
‘Yes, and you’ll have heard the rain – there’s a storm just beginning. If we’re very lucky I might be able to try something out.’
I felt suddenly flustered. I wasn’t ready to meet anyone. Not at night. Not if it meant leaving Peg behind. And I certainly didn’t want to sit through a storm, not with strangers.
Miss Stine must’ve seen this in my face, for she took my hand. ‘My dear, you’re trembling.’
‘I’m a bit cold, that’s all,’ I said, trying to sound brave.
‘Then you must wear this over your nightgown.’ She draped something light and warm over my shoulders. ‘There. Is that better?’
It felt like a shawl or a blanket of the softest wool. Once again, I had that sense of being cared for. All I had to do was enjoy these lavish attentions. It really wasn’t that hard.
‘Yes, miss. Thank you.’
‘Right,’ Miss Stine said, linking her arm through mine like Mercy would, only more firmly. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’
She didn’t mean it as a question, but it seemed polite to nod.
‘Good. The guests cannot wait to meet you, Lizzie. Isn’t this so very thrilling?’
She certainly made it sound so. I’d never imagined people from London ever wanting to meet me.
Yet a little niggle at the back of my brain told me to be wary. For all its luxury, Eden Court was still a peculiar place. There were men outside with guns, for starters. Not to mention that room downstairs with its shelves full of jars. This was a conversation for later, I decided. Right now the London guests were expecting us.
And we were, it seemed, in a hurry.
Miss Stine whisked me down the staircase in a flash. We hit the hallway at speed, our feet sliding over the marble floor as if it were ice. Then along a corridor that smelled of beeswax. Down steps. Round a corner. And, breathless, we went through a door.
It opened onto a room full of candlelight and voices. The conversation fizzled as we entered. Someone came towards us.
‘Ah, Francesca.’ It wasn’t Mr Walton. This man spoke in the same expensive way but sounded softer somehow. ‘We’ve been discussing our plans. We’re in rather a rush to get to the coast, as you know. We’ve a boat to catch and would rather not loiter, especially with a storm on the way.’
‘Loiter?’ Miss Stine said sharply. ‘Percy, you’re too late. The storm is already upon us. So please, resume your seat.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, if you say so.’ The man backed away.
A chair was pulled up for me; Miss Stine’s hands on my shoulders guided me into it. I sat, heart thumping, to face strangers I couldn’t see. Yet I knew they were looking: their gazes made me flush. And bizarre though it was, I felt almost glad, like I was being noticed not as a freak but because of who I was.
‘Dear friends,’ Miss Stine said, all charm again. ‘May I introduce our guest of honour tonight, Lizzie Appleby.’
Sensing her hands leave my shoulders, I sat taller in my seat. A smattering of applause made me flush even more. My mouth twitched into a smile.
‘I had promised you’d meet her tomorrow,’ Miss Stine continued. ‘You were to see her scars and hear her remarkable story – this would be astonishing enough. But …’ She paused dramatically. ‘You’ll notice how the weather has deteriorated this evening. There is a storm building, so I’ve called you to the drawing room to meet Lizzie tonight because I want to try something out.’
The guests clapped politely. Part of me was dying to know what Miss Stine had planned; the other part soaked up the applause like it was some rich, sweet treat I didn’t want to end.
‘Lizzie,’ Miss Stine said, speaking over my head. ‘May I introduce you to Mr Percy Shelley, a poet, his … companion, Miss Mary Godwin, and her sister …’
‘Stepsister,’ a woman interrupted. ‘We share a father through marriage, that’s all.’
‘… Apologies, stepsister, Miss Claire Clairmont.’
Their names meant nothing, not then. It was just something more to add to the giddiness in my brain.
‘Now, if we could darken the room ready for my demonstration,’ Miss Stine said.
There were sounds of movement as candle flames were pinched. The bright places became shadows. I tried to ask what was going on but no one answered me. Within moments, the preparations were done. As the guests resumed their seats, the air in the room grew thick and still. Outside, though, the wind was gusting again.
‘You are well aware of my interest in electricity,’ Miss Stine began. ‘Imagine my total joy, then, to discover Lizzie Appleby here in the village of Sweepfield. You see, Lizzie has been struck by a lightning bolt and survived. Tonight we will—’
‘Miss, I’m not sure I’m ready,’ I blurted out, suddenly uncertain. The mere mention of lightning made me tremble.
‘Don’t fret,’ she said under her breath. ‘I promise you’ll come to no harm.’
Three times now she’d mentioned my safety. And though it should’ve comforted me, like the shawl and the fancy supper, it didn’t.
‘I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for your kindness, miss, but …’
‘Just sit still!’ Irritation crept into her voice. ‘Now, as I was saying, tonight we will consider the effects of lightning on the human body.’
‘On Lizzie,’ Mr Shelley cut in.
Miss Stine gave a short-tempered sigh. She really didn’t like being interrupted. ‘As a scientist, I prefer to think of the anatomy, the human body rather than the person,’ she said.
‘But …’
‘Percy, please,’ Miss Stine said. ‘This is science. What I’m on the verge of discovering is astonishing. Life-changing. So let’s not be sentimental. In the pursuit of progress we often have to make difficult decisions, and to consider the more far-reaching consequences of our actions. This time, I believe, I’ve got it right.’
Which made it sound like she’d once got something wrong.