The Dollmaker by Morgan Shamy

5

CRYPTIC

Dawn turned corner after corner, her lungs burning. She felt as if an invisible monster were chasing after her. Her thighs ached, and little rocks bit into the thin soles of her slippers. The city began to stir, a few passersby glancing in her direction. She edged as far into the shadows as she could, tucked up against the buildings. She had two choices: run into the town square to take a direct approach home or use a back alley to cut the running time in half. She didn’t want to be out in public. Not like this. But she also didn’t want to duck into the shadows of the city, where there could be unruly people around.

She decided to take the shortcut. Sliding in between two tall buildings, Dawn sprinted along the back road that would quickly take her home. The dark buildings towered above, seeming to loom over her as she continued to run. The word witch wouldn’t leave her mind. People in this day and age should’ve moved past such superstitions. This was the twentieth century. Surely people didn’t still believe in witches.

Laughter echoed up ahead and she slowed her pace, catching her breath. A few women lounged on the street, wearing dresses cut low over their bosoms with hemlines that showed their thighs. They sat on the front steps of an apartment building, some with cigarettes at their lips, smoke swirling into the cool air. Dawn paused across the street, cursing herself. She should’ve gone through the square.

“Oy,” one woman called out. A headband was wrapped around her head over her loose curls. “I haven’t seen you before. Rough night?” She let out a laugh, and the others chuckled along with her. Red lipstick was smeared on her cheek, her wide-necked dress fallen over her bare shoulder.

Dawn glanced down at her own attire and pulled her coat closer around her. They could clearly see she was in her nightclothes.

“What’s your name, dearie?”

Dawn kept her lips in tight, rolling her neck uncomfortably.

“Come on, dearie. Don’t be shy. You’re clearly new, a young thing like you. Why don’t you come on in and we can get you some breakfast? Almost all of our clients are gone for the night.”

Dawn peeked past them at the brothel, its gray stone pillars carved in angular detail. Clients. She couldn’t believe these women and what they did with men.

She clenched her eyes shut. She would never marry. She didn’t need to think of such things.

“I have somewhere I need to be,” Dawn said. She kept her arms wrapped around her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The woman lifted her brow but didn’t object. Dawn took a step forward and tripped on a piece of trash. She fumbled upright and edged along the opposite building, making her way past them. But before she did, Chester staggered out, a woman wrapped around him like a bow, her hands running down his chest.

Dawn paused, mouth falling open. “Chester!”

Chester blinked, his gaze roaming until it paused on Dawn. He paled.

“Dawn? What are you—” He looked down at her attire. “What are you doing here?”

She wrapped her arms around herself tighter. “Your engagement party is tonight. You told me you were done with”—her gaze skated to the woman next to him—“these engagements. I thought you loved her.”

Rose would be heartbroken if she found out. She was already being forced into a marriage of convenience when all she wanted to do was dance. But to be locked in a marriage to a man who wouldn’t be faithful to her? Rose had cried for days when Dawn had accidentally broken her music box when they were children, imagine how she would react to this.

Chester shoved the woman off of him, and she staggered off to the side. “I do love her. I love Rose.”

Dawn narrowed her eyes.

“I do,” he reiterated. “Please don’t tell her. This was the last time, I promise. I love Rose with all my heart.”

Dawn crossed her arms, mouth pinched. “I’m going to tell her, Chester. I gave you a chance, and you failed. Good day.” She spun on her heel and headed down the alley, where the sunrise shone up ahead. This time she walked slowly, with her head held high.

The events of the morning slowly faded away as Dawn bathed and got herself dressed. The fresh water on her bare skin had rejuvenated her, almost making her forget Gertrude’s words.

Witch.

She pulled on a drop-waisted dress that hung just below her knees and slipped on her boots—she couldn’t handle wearing the T-strap heels the rest of the women wore in her town.

She was to go into the office today and help Dr. Miller refill his medicine jars. She’d probably need to visit Nora, who supplied her with the herbs. Nora always seemed to have exactly what she needed right when she needed it.

Sun streamed in through the open window as she pinned up her hair, its rays illuminating her dusty-looking glass. Dark curls sprang outward from her effort, and she tried to pin them back in. The strands matched the heavy shadows under her eyes. She needed to sleep more.

She wasn’t invited to the engagement party tonight—she wasn’t invited to anything since her father had made a disgrace of their family—but she needed to see Rose and tell her about Chester. Maybe she could use the information about his betrayal to get her out of the engagement. There had to be another suitor for her. There had to be another way for her to secure her financial future. Hopefully, she’d be at the studio.

Her thoughts drifted as images of their years-long friendship swirled inside her head. Sitting on Rose’s bedroom floor, dressing dolls. Sitting in her parlor listening to the radio. Spending a weekend at her grandfather’s estate in the country, running outside until dark. They would laugh for hours—things were always easy with Rose. No one else made her feel as if she could do anything. Even when things changed, Rose had been the only one who had stuck by her side.

Taking one last glance in the mirror and pinching her cheeks to get more color, Dawn headed down the stairs, her hand gliding on the rough wooden banister.

She paused.

Her mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. Lines creased the corners of her mouth, her lids lowered to slits. Her reddish gray hair was pinned tightly against her head, her usual burgundy scarf tight across her forehead.

“We need to have a talk, child,” she said. Mrs. Cook bustled in, a broom in hand, but her mother waved her off. “Leave. Now!”

Mrs. Cook bowed her head and turned to depart, but not before throwing Dawn a sympathetic look.

“You’re to visit Arthur Hemsworth today and apologize,” she said. “He’s agreed to see you.”

Dawn’s hand tightened on the banister. “I’m what?”

“You heard me. He’s agreed to send a car and bring you to his home. You will apologize for your rude behavior this week.”

Dawn set her chin, staring her mother down. “No. I’m not seeing that man. You can’t make me. I refuse.”

“I can and I will. I heard about what happened this morning at poor Frederick’s home. Gertrude, that poor woman, called on me this morning. Word is spreading that you killed that man, and I won’t have it. I hear she’s going to the authorities. We will get you married before it’s too late, and no one will take you.”

“I don’t care what people say about me. I’m not doing it.”

Dawn continued down the stairs, brushing past her, but her mother gripped her arm. She yanked her toward her and slapped her in the face. Dawn flinched, the sting spreading across her cheek. Tears blurred her eyes as her mother kept a firm grip.

“The car is waiting outside now. Grab your coat. Mr. Hemsworth’s valet will escort you.”

Dawn continued to stare her mother down, unmoving, until her mother snatched her coat for her and shoved it into her chest. She yanked her toward the door and pulled her down the front steps to the vehicle waiting in front of them.

Before Dawn knew it, she was in the car. It started moving, giving her no chance to escape. She clutched her coat to her chest, her fate looming before her.

The driver pulled the vehicle to a stop and shut off the engine. He was a wiry man with a balding head and a kind face. He opened her door, but Dawn couldn’t move to get out. She stared up at the manor before her, her heart thick in her throat.

Mr. Hemsworth’s house was set on a hill just outside of town, its green lawn stretching outward for at least an acre. Pillars ran along the front of the house, its large double doors carved in swirls. It was lined with white trim carved in intricate detail. The chauffeur motioned her out of the car again and she forced herself to exit, swallowing.

Large willow trees shifted in the wind as she moved up the front steps, still holding her coat in hand. Brass handles adorned the outside. Dawn picked up the cool door knocker, thumping it twice.

Silence stretched as she waited outside and peered around, searching for an escape. Maybe the driver would just take her home. He was still waiting by the car. Or she could walk home, though it would be several miles and would take her more than an hour.

Finally, the door peeled open, and a man dressed in a three-piece suit with wide lapels and high-rise cuffed trousers stood before her. He peered at her with an eyebrow raised, his back ramrod straight.

“Come on in, Miss Hildegard.” He opened the door wider, sweeping his arm inside.

Dawn slowly moved forward, stepping into the main foyer. Every part of her itched to run, but she needed to face her fate head on—to end this once and for all.

A chandelier hung above, its golden legs stretching out like a spider. Two marble staircases cascaded in front of her, their shiny floors freshly polished. Several doors lined the entryway. Dawn shivered, wondering which door Arthur Hemsworth lurked behind. The thought of seeing that lecherous man again made her stomach lurch. She pressed a hand over her abdomen, trying to breathe.

“I’m Percival,” the man in the suit said. “And I will escort you to our lord. This way.”

Percival’s long, skinny legs stepped forward, leading her to a far door at the end of the entryway. Dawn’s shoes clicked softly, her footsteps echoing off the high ceiling. She peeked back at the exit and sighed.

Percival pulled open a polished wooden door and motioned her in. Inside, bookshelves lined the walls, with stacks of books thrown in disarray. A large mahogany desk was planted in the middle of the room, papers scattered over the top. A chandelier made of antlers adorned the ceiling.

Gideon hovered over the desk, head bowed, his dark hair sleek. His palms were flat on the top as he looked over a document. His mouth was pressed firmly together, eyes intent on the page.

“Miss Hildegard is here, sir,” Percival said.

Gideon raised his head, his eyes connecting with Dawn’s. A small smile played on the corners of his lips as he stepped out in front of the desk. He gave her a formal bow.

Dawn peeked back at Percival, confused. “I thought you were taking me to—”

“To my uncle?” Gideon finished for her. “No. He’s upstairs, probably asleep in a drunken slumber. Your mother believes you’re here to visit him, though.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Then what am I doing here?”

“I’m sorry for the pretense. But it wouldn’t be proper for me to invite you over. I knew I had to go through other channels.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” She crossed her arms, her feet planted on the floor.

Gideon nodded to his servant. “Percival? If you will leave us alone.”

Percival dipped his head and clicked the door softly shut behind him.

“Come, sit,” Gideon said, moving over to a chair and pulling it out in front of him.

Dawn eyed the chair warily. “I already told you I wouldn’t help you.”

He held still, the morning light filtering in through the window. His jaw was tight, the light carving shadows on his face. “Humor me?”

“It’s hardly proper for me to be alone with you.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “From what I know of you, Dawn, you hardly care about propriety.”

He did have a point. They stared each other down for a few moments before she sighed.

“Fine,” she said. As she passed by him, a sweet smell wafted through her nose. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. She lowered herself onto the chair.

Gideon’s mouth flicked up as he sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. He appraised her before saying, “I decided I need to be honest with you.”

Dawn held her hands firmly in her lap, her back straight. “Oh?”

He nodded. “It took me a moment, but I realized that you were being honest with me, so I needed to do the same. I believe you that you aren’t after my uncle’s money.”

“Well, I’m glad you have some sense,” she said, her heart thumping.

Another smile lifted his lips. She didn’t realize he had a sense of humor. From the moment she’d met him, he’d been nothing but grim.

“You have to understand that there have been many women over the years who were after his money . . . and mine.” He lifted a brow. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I know you don’t want to help me, but at least hear me out. Will you do that?”

Dawn sat in silence, a clock ticking on the far wall. The smell of dust and books mingled in the air around her, and she pushed out a breath. “Fine.”

Gideon stood up and paced away from her. He ran a hand through his sleek hair, his mouth set tight again.

“I was . . . engaged once,” he said tentatively. “Her name was Sophia—Sophie, for short. Sophie was . . . well, let’s just say we were madly in love. She was my life. My heart. My everything.” He swallowed, and a lump bobbed in his throat. “I met her two years ago at a theater in New York. She was a ballerina, and the most exquisite one I’d ever seen. I knew immediately I had to meet her. Since that moment, there was no one else for me.” He swallowed again, vocal cords tight in his neck.

Dawn held still, listening. It felt strange to see such emotion from him.

“It was the week before our wedding when Sophie disappeared. She went out into town one day to buy ribbons for her bouquet and she never returned home. Her nanny was with her, but she lost Sophie somewhere in the crowd. It’s quite busy in New York, and her nanny didn’t know what to do but run home and tell her family what had happened.”

A chill rippled through Dawn, ending in her toes. She was rapt yet afraid to learn what happened next.

“There were many who thought she ran off with another man, but I knew she would never. Sophie loved me as much as I loved her. Then, one day, I saw it.”

“Saw what?” She held her breath.

Gideon paused and visibly swallowed. His whole body froze, as if the room had taken on an arctic chill. “I saw the Dollmaker’s work.”

Dawn couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.

He continued. “I was taking a stroll in Central Park when I happened upon a crowd. Women were crying, men were sick. I still remember the screams. I should’ve turned away, I should’ve walked in the other direction, but my morbid curiosity overcame me. I walked up to the crowd and saw what they were looking at. On a bench, right in the middle of the park, a . . . I don’t know what to call her . . . to call it.” He ran a hand over his face. “She was a girl, stitched together, with . . . different body parts from different young women. She was dressed in white lace, her skirt short, like a baby doll. Her face looked like it had been sewn to another person’s head. Thick stitches lined the neck and where the arms and legs and joints connected. Different arms . . . different legs . . . different hands . . .” He shut his eyes, shuddering. “It was horrible.”

“And what does this have to do with Sophie?” Dawn asked, paralyzed, though she already knew.

“It was the left hand that gave it away. It was . . . the thing was . . . it was wearing Sophie’s engagement ring.”

Dawn abruptly stood up from her chair, toppling it over. Her stomach wrenched, and she curled over slightly. She quickly gathered herself, not wanting to upset Gideon further. She knew it must’ve been hard for him to relive this.

“So what did you do?” she asked, trying to push out even breaths.

“Everything. I went to the authorities. I asked around. I gathered every document and newspaper I could on the man. I even stalked the streets at night hoping to find him. But everything has led to a dead end. No one knows who this man is.”

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut.

The pain he must’ve experienced.And now he was after this madman?

“Gideon, I’m sorry for what happened to you, but you shouldn’t get involved in this. If he finds out you are searching for him—”

“I don’t care!” he burst out. “You think I care if that psychopath comes after me? I would welcome it. I have to take him down.”

Dawn stilled, and she felt the blood leave her face.

“Will you help me?” he asked. “You’re my last hope.”

They stood, staring at each other in silence, her heart heavy in her chest. A myriad of thoughts ran through her head. She pictured herself poring over documents with Gideon. She saw herself walking the streets at night trying to find this madman. She imagined him coming after her.

No.

She shook her head.

Her job. If she spent time with Gideon or was seen with him around town, rumors would spread. No one would take her seriously. She’d be no better than the ladies of the night.

“No,” she said quickly. “Gideon, I feel awful for what happened to you, but I just can’t . . . no, I can’t get involved in this. I have a life. I have . . .” She shook her head again. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Gideon’s chest heaved up and down, his fists clenched tightly. He stood silent for a long while before he arranged his face into a blank mask.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “You can see yourself to the door.”

Dawn waited, expecting him to say something else, but he had turned his back on her and returned to the documents on the desk. Maybe she had acted too quickly. Maybe there was a world where she helped him. Maybe she should’ve told him she’d think about it. But she didn’t owe him any favors. He was a man focused on only his own pursuits. She couldn’t give him any of her time.

She waited for a few more seconds before seeing herself out.