Among the Darkness Stirs Read online

  Contents

  Also By Nicola Italia

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Copyright © 2020 by Nicola Italia

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the author.

  www.nicolaitalia.com

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  Also By Nicola Italia

  The Sheik and the Slave

  The Tea Plantation

  The Sheik’s Son

  The Reign of Love and Chaos

  Love in the Valley of the Kings

  The Three Graces

  The Boston Girl

  Seasons of Love

  The Vaudeville Star

  The Beauty of St. Kilda

  The Savannah Stargazer

  The Alchemy of Night

  Sea of Revenge

  Of Night and Dark Obscurity

  Stay connected with Nicola Italia

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  www.nicolaitalia.com/newsletter

  Author’s Note

  My fifteenth novel, Among the Darkness Stirs, takes place in 1880 London and Norwich in the late Victorian era.

  In the novel, heroine Audrey Wakefield takes a position in the Bowthorpe Road Workhouse which did exist during these times. The workhouse was a very difficult place. Citizens sent to the workhouse had often fallen on hard times and though the workhouse was set up to help them get on their feet, the work was very difficult.

  As always, I try to keep the historical accuracy intact while providing a story for readers to enjoy.

  Acknowledgments

  Sincerest thanks to my copyeditor Sara Burgess with Telltail Editing for her assistance in reviewing my novel. I would like to give a special thanks to Eddi Keller for always being supportive and casting a final eye over my manuscript.

  Chapter One

  1880

  Kingsdown, Kent

  England

  Audrey Wakefield pulled her light brown hair back and pinned it to the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell comb. She leaned her head against the cool windowpane and closed her eyes at the sound of the raindrops hitting the glass. She wished the skies would let loose and that the rain would become a heavy torrent to help drown out the other sounds of the house that she didn’t wish to hear.

  As if she commanded it, a sudden burst of rain pelted the window, and she sat up in disbelief. She arched and touched her lower back, feeling the steel stays in her corset underneath her dark blue dress. The rain immediately subsided to a quiet drizzle, and her ears caught the sounds around her.

  She could hear Cook preparing supper in the kitchen with the help of the one kitchen maid who came in every afternoon, as well as Polly the housemaid humming to herself in the back parlor.

  Polly was doubtlessly dusting the mantel clock that Father adored and ignoring everything else in the room. Audrey heard Polly singing the popular music hall song “The Boy I Love” by Sol Smith Russell.

  “’They locked me in an upper room, and took away the key. Because I would not wed a man, who never suited me. They did not know the female heart, or they had plainly seen, how locks and bars could never keep, a girl of seventeen.’”

  Audrey stood up and closed the curtains over the window as Polly continued to sing the music hall song. Audrey was not allowed to attend the music hall performances. Her mother, Augusta, deemed them unseemly and vulgar. Her mother had said they were dangerous and was proven right when, in 1868, a faulty gas chandelier had caused panic and killed twenty-three people in Manchester. Two years prior, a portion of the ceiling had fallen into the pit and killed thirty-seven people.

  Though the music halls appeared to be dangerous and bawdy, Audrey thought they sounded quite magical. Though Polly was only three years older than her, she seemed worldly and sophisticated when she talked of her time spent in the hall, the boys she walked out with, and the music.

  Audrey opened the door to the small hallway that bordered her parents’ room and sister’s room and heard the sound she hated. It was the sound of heavy coughing coming from her father’s room. He had taken to his bed four weeks ago, and during that time, his coughing and illness seemed to have intensified. He had a fever and had little appetite so he had lost weight, and Audrey was frightened for him.

  She moved down the small hallway and opened the door, steeling herself to face her father. When she entered the room, it was semi-dark. A lone glass oil lamp illuminated the room. Her father lay still in his bed. Her mother was seated beside him.

  She looked up tiredly at Audrey as she entered. “Audrey, come sit beside me.”

  Audrey did as her mother bid. She glanced at her mother and then looked away. She had dark circles under her eyes, her dark brown hair was threaded with grey, and the lines on her face appeared to have deepened.

  When she looked down at her father, her heart thudded inside her chest. He looked pale and gaunt. The skin stretched over his facial bones, and on the table next to his bed, she saw several wadded-up handkerchiefs dotted red with blood.

  “Mother, what did the doctor say?” Audrey asked.

  That morning, Dr. Thomson had been to the small cottage to look in on her father. Audrey was anxious to know what had been said. She had been in her room much of the morning, writing letters to their mutual family friends who had asked after her father. Her mother spent much of her time with her father, so Audrey had taken up the task of correspondence on behalf of the family. Before his illness, her father, Ezra, had been the local parish priest.

  “He said all is well,” her mother said. “Your father has been ill, but he will recover. We must all pray. ‘So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand,’” she quoted the scripture from Isiah.

  “I am glad there is such good news. And of course, I will pray.” She looked down at her father. “How long will it be before he recovers?”

  Her mother shrugged. “Who can say? The Lord will guide us.”

  “I’m going into town to market. Do you need anything?” Audrey asked. Augusta was looking down at her husband and did not respond. “I won’t be long,” she told her. “The rain has subsided so—“

  “Yes, yes,” Augusta said dismissively. “Wear your coat and take an umbrella in case it starts again.”

  Audrey stood up and went to the door. She turned back and saw her mother bending over her father. “You see? I told you, Ezra. All will be made right. You will be well soon enough.”

  Audrey closed the door behind her and almost ran headfirst into her little sister, Franc
es. She was only eight years old and worshipped Audrey. Frances had curly auburn hair with round brown eyes.

  “Where are you going, Audrey?” Frances asked as she followed her down the hallway.

  “I’m going to market. And no, you can’t go,” Audrey said quickly.

  “Why can’t I?”

  “You know why, Lambkin. You’ve just gotten over a cold and it’s raining.”

  “It stopped raining! Just now!” Frances said, pointing to the window in the front parlor where they both stood.

  “Next time,” Audrey promised. Frances pushed out her little chin and screwed up her mouth in a pout. “No, Francie,” she said, using her nickname to soften the blow.

  Frances seemed to ponder the situation and then told her sister, “You’ll be safe? Dress warmly and don’t be gone too long?”

  Audrey tapped her little sister on the nose. “Of course. I only need to get a few things at the market and then I’ll be home. You won’t have time to miss me.”

  Audrey leaned down and hugged the little girl tightly around the neck.

  Audrey checked with their Cook to make sure she had an accurate list of what she needed before she pulled on her heavy coat, grabbed her umbrella, and was out the door. Normally, their kitchen maid or Cook did the shopping, but she had offered today. She had several letters to post, and more than anything, she wanted to be out of the house. She felt stifled in it and the pungent smell of vinegar. It had been prescribed for her father and massages to help fight the illness.

  Audrey sighed with relief as she walked from their small house to the village shops. As her village was small, there were only a few buildings, including a blacksmith, a shoemaker, and a village shop. For anything grander, they had to travel a small distance to Swanley Village. She greeted several people in passing. She had lived in the same village her entire life and felt a sense of belonging. Her list tucked into her small bag she entered the village shop.

  “Miss Wakefield,” the proprietor, Mr. Knapp, greeted her, and she smiled in return.

  Mr. Knapp took pleasure in his little store and stocked calicos from India, tobacco from America, and a small assortment of spices, most of which she had never heard of.

  “How fares your father, miss? Does the vicar still ail?” he asked her.

  Audrey looked over the silk ribbons and combs. “He’s doing better. Dr. Thomson said so today.”

  “Excellent news. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Audrey moved around the store and placed the items she required into a basket. When she took them to the front, Mr. Knapp placed the items on her father’s account. A basket sat next to the register filled with a large mix of different carved animals. She saw a small little lamb and picked it up.

  “A gentleman nearby carves those occasionally,” Mr. Knapp explained. “I didn’t see the point of selling them, but my wife talked me into it.”

  “I’d like the lamb.”

  He nodded and added it to their account, which was paid at the end of the month by her father. He wrapped the groceries into a plain brown paper and twine while she placed the lamb into her purse.

  “Give my regards to your mother and father,” he said in parting.

  “I will, Mr. Knapp,” Audrey said.

  Audrey was heading back to the cottage when the rain suddenly picked up. She dashed into the blacksmith’s shop to avoid getting drenched. She didn’t want to walk in the rain even with her umbrella. There was no one about at first glance, and the fire was dead. She leaned against the wall, glanced to the side, and saw Dr. Thomson standing nearby.

  “Dr. Thomson!” she greeted him. “I didn’t see you there.”

  Enoch Thomson was standing inside the blacksmith shop, taking a short rest before he started the trip home. He didn’t fancy riding his horse in the rain and had hoped it would stop eventually. As he waited, another figured joined him suddenly, and he recognized her immediately as Audrey Wakefield. She was the eldest daughter of the vicar, the man he had been treating recently.

  He had delivered Audrey into the world, and it had been his pleasure to watch her grow into womanhood. She was a lovely woman with dark blue eyes and light brown hair. She had an oval-shaped face, a slim figure, and always a kind word. She was also more intelligent than most of the people who lived in the village, which was why he had agreed with her father that she should attend Queen’s College when she had asked for his permission.

  Her mother had thought it a waste of time and had been against it. Her reason, as Enoch recalled, was that Audrey needed to learn her embroidery better, which was atrocious, and that a husband had no need for an educated wife.

  Augusta was a woman who valued the way things were and saw no need to teach her daughter Latin, but Ezra had delighted in doing so. One afternoon while Enoch was visiting at teatime, a ten-year-old Audrey had spouted the Latin phrase, “Condemnant quo non intellegunt,” and Enoch had almost spat out the brew. Augusta seemed incensed and demanded to know what the girl had said.

  “They condemn that which they do not understand,” her husband had told her dryly while Enoch had the good sense to hide his smile.

  Augusta had glared at the little girl, and Enoch had felt a pang of sympathy for her. Audrey should have been born to a squire or earl in a larger town, not doomed to spend her life in the small little village where nothing much ever happened.

  “Hello, Audrey,” he greeted her. “What brings you out here on this rainy afternoon?”

  She clutched her parcel. “Nothing much, Dr. Thomson. Some items for supper. I could have sent the kitchen maid, but I wanted to get out of the house.”

  “I understand,” he said, taking a step towards her.

  “Do you?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Of course. A house where someone is ill throws a damper on everyone and everything. I’ve seen it happen too numerous times to count.”

  “At least now I have something to look forward to. I understand my father will soon be well.”

  His brow furrowed. “What did you say, my dear?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just what my mother told me before I left the cottage. She said father will recover.”

  Enoch looked at the young woman before him and sighed. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them. She was young but not a child. She was a woman of intelligence, and she must be told the truth, no matter how painful.

  “Audrey, I’m sorry your mother told you that. It is not the truth,” he said quietly.

  Audrey clutched the coat about her and frowned. “My mother lied? What did she lie about?”

  “Your father,” he said. “He won’t recover.”

  Audrey looked up into the face she knew so well. He was older than her father by several years, complete with a full salt-and-pepper beard.

  “What do you mean, he won’t recover?”

  “Audrey, my dear, your father has consumption. It’s getting worse, not better.” He said the words slowly and with care.

  “Consumption?” A wave of dread filled her. “Impossible,” she whispered.

  “No. Not impossible. Your father has been inflicted with it for some time. It is only recently that his symptoms have increased. The blood in his cough. The weight loss. Fatigue.”

  Audrey shook her head. “Mother said he would recover. She told me so.”

  Kindness gleamed in his eyes. “I suspect she thinks to save you from the truth.”

  Audrey frowned. “I would rather know the truth than be told a lie.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Audrey. She’s a different kind of woman. She isn’t strong like you. Perhaps in her mind she hopes he will get well,” he told her.

  “But he won’t.”

  He shook his head. “No. In fact, it’s best that you prepare yourself. It might not be long.”

  Audrey clutched her parcel. She shivered in the blacksmith’s shed, but it had nothing to do with the rain. “Prepare myself?”

  “Yes. The end is not far off.�
��

  Audrey met his eyes and then looked away. “I can’t imagine a world without him.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Thomson agreed. “Though I have been a doctor longer than you have been alive, loss is something I have never grown used to. But we must.” He touched her gloved hands. “You must also be strong for your mother and Frances. They will need you.”

  “And me?” She looked up and met his eyes. “Whom am I to lean on?”

  “I will support you and your family any way I can. You won’t be alone,” he told her gently and then glanced outside. “The rain has stopped. We should both head home. Send word if he worsens. And take care, my dear.”

  Audrey stumbled along the dirt path as she walked home. Dr. Thomson was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie to her about her father’s condition. Her mother had probably lied thinking to protect her, but as she told Dr. Thomson, she preferred the truth.

  She thought about the words he had said. She must be strong for her mother and sister. That much was true. Her mother had always been a flighty woman given to silly fancies, and her sister was such a young girl.

  The wind had picked up, and it stung her exposed cheeks. Perhaps Dr. Thomson was incorrect about the diagnosis. Maybe he had the best of intentions in telling her the truth but was misguided. That single thought gave her hope for a few seconds.

  But then she thought of her father, and coldness seeped into her bones. The late nights of incessant coughing. The severe weight loss and fatigue. Her father had been sick for some time, and it was getting worse. She knew the doctor was right. Consumption had wrapped its cold talons around her father, and they would squeeze the life out of him until he was dead.