Calista, Laura Rahme [best ereader for comics txt] 📗

And when she saw it, Calista knew she would never be the same again.

Chapter 12

Sunday

HORRIFIED by the ghastly details he had read, Maurice heaved a sigh and ground the last of his cigar into the ashtray. It had taken four painful hours, and on numerous occasions, he had fought against his desire to hurl Aaron’s journal across the room. Only a tenacious will to discover the Nightingales’ secret had kept him reading. As the clock struck midnight, he read the name, Ovee, for the first time. It was the name he had seen scrawled on his notes on Friday morning.

From 1845, Aaron only mentioned Ovee subjects.

The name leapt at Maurice from every page. What creature had Aaron brought to his home? Maurice had never heard of any animal called Ovee.

And why would Calista’s ghost write that name in his journal?

Maurice could scarcely remain awake. His heart ached with exhaustion. Aaron’s journal slipped to the floor.

It was shortly after Maurice had fallen asleep, when the latch on his bedroom door shifted.

When the door had fully opened, a perceptible chill settled in the room, rushing in from an open window in the corridor. Along with this draft, came this otherness, a discernible odour of sea and salt, as though the ocean itself had come to pay Maurice a visit.

When the first rays of daylight shone upon Maurice’s face, calling him awake hours later, his first desire was to run water from the pitcher onto his burning arms and wrists. Seeing them, those circular welts, not knowing what they were and where they had come from, he was horrified.

Staggering to the small table by the bed, he grabbed at the water pitcher and filled the porcelain basin. He plunged his arms deep, emitting a sigh of relief.

Images flashed in his mind as he pieced together last night’s nightmare. Therese had caught him, just as she always had, time and time again. He’d felt her seize his arms. Her favorite game was to threaten him with the guillotine, instilling in him such a terror he thought he would die.

Therese liked nothing better than to scream obscenities at condemned Parisians on their way to the guillotine. But it was not enough. Her need to avenge herself on every male even if he was but a boy, had twisted her into the home tyrant she was.

In Maurice’s dream, it was her hands that had cruelly gripped and wrung his skin. He had wrestled in vain but found no escape.

Maurice drew out his arms from the basin, feeling the cold water rush down his reddened skin. He returned to the bed and saw that the sheets were streaked with a familiar glistening liquid.

Was it her? Calista? Had she found him as he slept? If that were true, why was she doing this?

It could only be despair for the cruel work she had been forced to conduct in the cellar. That was it. Her soul could never rest. But what if he was wrong? What if her wish was to torment him?

Frantic knocking drew him out of his thoughts.

He dressed in haste and opened the door, still barefoot.

“Madeleine. You were right.” His voice vibrated with excitement. “Ms Jeannette Power must have been an expert in ocean creatures. I sat up last night reading Aaron’s medical notes. He referred to her several times.” Maurice could not bring himself to reveal the rest. It was too distressing.

Madeleine slinked inside the room. She wore no apron today, and the emerald of her Sunday dress brought out her eyes. “Do I have news for you,” she burst out. She seemed eager to speak at last. “Jeanette Power is not only an expert, Mr. Leroux.” She brandished a volume whose title Maurice made out as The Magazine of Natural History. She flicked through its pages. “The woman you asked me to search for yesterday is a bona fide inventor. She was living in Sicily at the time this magazine was published. But here’s what I’ve learnt. She was here, in England, in April 1837.”

“The year when Aaron and Calista married.”

“Jeannette Power,” continued Madeleine, “is known among reputed scientists for her study of ocean creatures in Sicily. Isn’t it astonishing? I spent forever last night reading her articles. And look, read this passage. It’s extraordinary! See, here. She invented a form of cage to study ocean creatures. It’s called the Power cage. I’ve never heard of anything so incredible.”

Maurice leaned over the bed where Madeleine had laid out the volume. He ran an eye over the article.

“Excellent find, Madeleine! This means much more than you think. You see, I’m convinced I saw one of those cages.”

Madeleine looked doubtful. “Where did you see it?”

“In the cellar. But it was made entirely of glass.”

“Well, this doesn’t make any sense. Mrs. Power invented these cages to be immersed into the sea. Why would Aaron Nightingale wish to place his cage in the cellar?”

“To hide it, I suppose. The Power cage I saw may not be immersed in water, but it is filled with water, Madeleine. You see, that’s the brilliance. I did not realise it at first, but I’m certain of it now.”

“I do not understand.”

“Aaron had long known of Mrs. Power’s expertise. He invited her to confirm the proper workings of his underground Power cage. But long before that, he had already built the fountain… My guess is the fountain water flows into the Power cage. Now, it’s only a hunch. I remember what Shannon O’Sullivan said when I interrogated her. She said Aaron wished the fountain to be continually turned on. It must have been for that reason. The Power cage likely depends on water with certain conditions. I’m not an expert on the subject matter, but I see no other reason why this