“Yes.”
“Promise.” He yanked me closer until he was inches from my face. “Promise!”
“Yes, yes, I promise!” My wrists burned where his fingers dug into the skin, but I was too stunned to do anything but stare.
His eyes roved sideways and then back to my face. They were red rimmed, like angry wounds.
He wrenched me even closer. “Something follows me! I sense it around me at night... hovering, waiting, hiding in the shadows. It means to kill me, like it did the others. But I won’t let it. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive—to keep my family safe! Whatever it takes!”
My hands throbbed in time to my banging heart, and numbness crept into my fingers. All the blood was being squeezed out. What was happening to Clarence? Who was this man, and what was he capable of?
“Hello?” Allison trilled. “Clarence? Eleanor? Are you going to play?” She would circle the wide tree at any moment.
“We’re coming,” Clarence barked over his shoulder.
“All right,” she called, “but hurry.” Her skirts rustled, and I knew she’d trotted back to the game.
Clarence released me. I staggered several steps backward, and my pulse echoed loudly in my ears. I rubbed at my wrists, but I couldn’t massage away the growing red welts. My hands pricked as blood soaked back into them.
“Miss Fitt,” Clarence said, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.” He stepped toward me, but I scrambled away.
“Stay away. Don’t touch me.”
“Please, Miss Fitt—I’m so sorry.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes. All of the fire had burned out. He seemed even wearier than before.
He lifted his hands like one might do to a frightened puppy. “Please, I won’t hurt you again. I’m sorry. You’re a good sister, a good woman. I didn’t mean to lose my mind like that—I’m tired and scared. All my plans for the future are falling apart as my friends are killed. I fear for my family.” His words were tight, as if tears lurked in his chest, and his eyes were filled with pleading hope. “Please,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded hesitantly but kept my distance. Now he seemed harmless. As if he was nothing more than a man who’d suffered more than anyone should ever have to. Someone who wanted his family kept safe just as I did.
“All right.” I swallowed. “But Willis isn’t enough protection if the Dead want you. You should speak to someone.”
“Like who? The Spirit-Hunters?” He shook his head. “I don’t think... well, I have it on good authority that they’re not the sort of people I want protecting me.”
“Then the police,” I said.
“Yes... I’ve considered it.” He licked his lips. “I don’t want Mother or Allison to find out though. They don’t need to worry. And with the coming elections, I can’t attract much attention.”
“Why do you still care about the elections? Your friends are dying!”
“You don’t understand.” He tipped his chin up and stared down his nose at me. “I must carry on my father’s dream. It is the duty—and the burden—of sons.” He looked away. In a low voice he added, “I refuse to be killed.”
The intensity behind his vow was sincere. I had no doubt that his means for survival would be as desperate as his words.
“Clarence, come on!” Allison shouted. “You’re ruining the game!”
He gazed into the distance for a moment, and then he turned and shambled away. I waited, unwilling to follow.
I had never imagined Clarence as dangerous—he’d almost always worn his mask of well-bred charm. Had this insanity always been there? Hidden deep within? Or was it sparked by his exhaustion and fear?
I didn’t know, and for that matter, I didn’t want to know.
Dark clouds flew in from the east and cut off our game. I was more than grateful to shorten my time with Clarence, but he foiled my relief on the carriage ride home when he took a sudden detour to the Centennial Exhibition.
“I’ve quick business,” Clarence said to Allison and me. “So please wait in the carriage, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He brandished a finger at us and then hurried into the Exhibition crowds. Willis trotted at his master’s heels.
I watched Clarence’s boat hat bob away. Once it was out of view, I turned to Allison on the seat beside me. “What sort of business does he do?”
“He’s a Gas Trustee.” She gazed out the window, boredom evident in the droop of her eyes and sag of her lips.
“A what?”
“Philadelphia Gas Works.” She slid her eyes toward me. “What our father worked with. He and some other men ran the company. They’re called the Gas Trustees.”
At those words my chest tightened. It felt as if my ribs pressed against my lungs, and I couldn’t take in a full breath.
“Like the Gas Ring?”
“I’ve never heard it called that.” She shifted her body to face me.