Read Online Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale by Christine Bell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Bell
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of the children to some degree, learned their names and their favorite foods so I could smuggle the most wanted items from Cook if I had the chance.
This went on for a few months until my father got wind of it from his solicitor who had seen me with the children. I was forbidden to go any longer. I had turned seventeen that April and was practically a man by any standard, but as I had no income of my own, I was bound to my parents tightly. His edict didn’t stop me, but I had to be tricky and limit my visits to a couple times a month.
On a warm June evening, not knowing the visit would be my last, I’d gone to bring the young rabble on Fenchurch Street some berry tarts I had secured from the kitchens. As I approached the corner of Fenchurch by way of Upper Thames Street, I heard a voice I recognized down the alleyway. Little Molly. Thinking to alert her of my visit, I headed toward the alley to call to her when another voice, a deep male voice rang out.
“You will have things you never dreamed of, sweets. And I would never hurt you or the boy.”
I peered around the corner, shielding my body behind a large shrubbery, and saw Molly and the little ginger-haired boy, Peter, standing with a well-dressed older man.
Molly’s face was scrunched up in thought, and the man spoke again.
“If we are to go, the time is now,” he said urgently.
She looked up at him, grabbed Peter’s tiny hand in hers and gave one brisk nod. “All right, sir.”
I wanted to run out and yell. What possible reason could this man want to lure these young ones into a deserted alley? Why would he want to take them somewhere else with him? My brain supplied possible answers, none of them good. I couldn’t believe Molly would go with him. Surely she knew better. But maybe his offer was more than she could refuse. Terrified for the children but unsure what to do, I backed away a bit to conceal my face from view. Wherever they were going, they would be coming back my way leaving the alley, and I could remain undetected, then jump out and intercede when they got closer. It could be that the man would just let them alone when he realized there was someone watching.
I was sure I could convince Molly that this was not prudent if I just had a moment to speak with her. And worst-case scenario, if it came down to a fight, the man was large and fit but getting on in years. With the element of surprise maybe I had a chance.
I ducked low behind the bush, waiting. But a minute later, they still had not passed. I took another furtive peek around the corner and stared in disbelief. They stood in the same spot, but the man had donned a pair of strange goggles, with multiple lenses in varying sizes. In his hand he held a timepiece. It was big, with elaborate gears, and he turned a dial on it with care. Linking his arms with the children, he stood remaining very still.
“Close your eyes,” he counseled.
They did. I had no idea what to expect at that moment. Would he dash them in the head with his strange, giant pocket watch? Would he push them to the ground and beat them? Would he laugh at their naïveté and walk away? Whatever my brain had conceived could not compare to what actually happened next.
The air behind them crackled, then wavered, almost like water rippling. A small pinpoint of bright light appeared and flickered. And as I stood frozen, stood doing nothing to stop them, I watched Molly and little Peter, hand in hand with the devil, vanish in a blinding flash.
Gone.
The words blurred and my eyes burned. Fat tears plopped onto the yellowing pages as, for the third time in the last thirteen years—and the second time that day—I cried for real. My heart was breaking into a million pieces.
Devlin, the Loony Duke of Leister, had gone to Bethlehem Hospital because of me. Bedlam , they call it. The most infamous sanitarium in history. And I had put him there. I had quite literally ruined his life. How lonely he must have felt, how scary it must have been, how
This went on for a few months until my father got wind of it from his solicitor who had seen me with the children. I was forbidden to go any longer. I had turned seventeen that April and was practically a man by any standard, but as I had no income of my own, I was bound to my parents tightly. His edict didn’t stop me, but I had to be tricky and limit my visits to a couple times a month.
On a warm June evening, not knowing the visit would be my last, I’d gone to bring the young rabble on Fenchurch Street some berry tarts I had secured from the kitchens. As I approached the corner of Fenchurch by way of Upper Thames Street, I heard a voice I recognized down the alleyway. Little Molly. Thinking to alert her of my visit, I headed toward the alley to call to her when another voice, a deep male voice rang out.
“You will have things you never dreamed of, sweets. And I would never hurt you or the boy.”
I peered around the corner, shielding my body behind a large shrubbery, and saw Molly and the little ginger-haired boy, Peter, standing with a well-dressed older man.
Molly’s face was scrunched up in thought, and the man spoke again.
“If we are to go, the time is now,” he said urgently.
She looked up at him, grabbed Peter’s tiny hand in hers and gave one brisk nod. “All right, sir.”
I wanted to run out and yell. What possible reason could this man want to lure these young ones into a deserted alley? Why would he want to take them somewhere else with him? My brain supplied possible answers, none of them good. I couldn’t believe Molly would go with him. Surely she knew better. But maybe his offer was more than she could refuse. Terrified for the children but unsure what to do, I backed away a bit to conceal my face from view. Wherever they were going, they would be coming back my way leaving the alley, and I could remain undetected, then jump out and intercede when they got closer. It could be that the man would just let them alone when he realized there was someone watching.
I was sure I could convince Molly that this was not prudent if I just had a moment to speak with her. And worst-case scenario, if it came down to a fight, the man was large and fit but getting on in years. With the element of surprise maybe I had a chance.
I ducked low behind the bush, waiting. But a minute later, they still had not passed. I took another furtive peek around the corner and stared in disbelief. They stood in the same spot, but the man had donned a pair of strange goggles, with multiple lenses in varying sizes. In his hand he held a timepiece. It was big, with elaborate gears, and he turned a dial on it with care. Linking his arms with the children, he stood remaining very still.
“Close your eyes,” he counseled.
They did. I had no idea what to expect at that moment. Would he dash them in the head with his strange, giant pocket watch? Would he push them to the ground and beat them? Would he laugh at their naïveté and walk away? Whatever my brain had conceived could not compare to what actually happened next.
The air behind them crackled, then wavered, almost like water rippling. A small pinpoint of bright light appeared and flickered. And as I stood frozen, stood doing nothing to stop them, I watched Molly and little Peter, hand in hand with the devil, vanish in a blinding flash.
Gone.
The words blurred and my eyes burned. Fat tears plopped onto the yellowing pages as, for the third time in the last thirteen years—and the second time that day—I cried for real. My heart was breaking into a million pieces.
Devlin, the Loony Duke of Leister, had gone to Bethlehem Hospital because of me. Bedlam , they call it. The most infamous sanitarium in history. And I had put him there. I had quite literally ruined his life. How lonely he must have felt, how scary it must have been, how