Corpse & Crown Read online

  Agatha DeLacey’s family isn’t rich or titled, so studying nursing at Ingold’s East End hospital in London is a rare opportunity for her. Despite the school’s focus on the innovative Bio-Mechanical program, Aggie cares more about the desperately poor human patients who flood the hospital, even if that means providing unauthorized treatment after-hours...and trusting a charming, endlessly resourceful thief.

  But the Artful Dodger is barely a step ahead of his underworld rivals, the menacing Bill Sykes and mercurial Oliver Twist, and Aggie’s association with him soon leads her into danger. When a brutal attack leaves her blind, she and the Dodger find themselves at the mercy of an experimental Bio-Mech surgery. Though the procedure restores Aggie’s sight, her new eyes come at an unnerving cost, and the changes in Dodger are even more alarming—instead of seeing Aggie as the girl he fancies, he now views her as a potential threat.

  As war between England and Germany brews on the horizon and a sinister medical conspiracy threatens to shatter the uneasy peace in Europe, Aggie and the Dodger must find a way to work together so they can protect their friends and expose the truth...even if it means risking their own survival.

  Praise for Alisa Kwitney and Cadaver & Queen

  “Fiendishly clever and gorgeously romantic. Alisa Kwitney spins an electrifying tale of beautiful monsters and mad scientists that will keep your nerves tingling and your heart racing long into the night.”

  —Carol Goodman, New York Times bestselling author of The Metropolitans

  “This is not a parody of Mary Shelley’s classic but a clever new take on its elements in a mystery, complete with Victorian writing flourishes and the mild titillation expected from a romance novel.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A dark, thrilling and ingenious riff on the Frankenstein legend.”

  —M. R. Carey, author of The Girl with All the Gifts

  “A page-turner from start to finish, fans of Marissa Meyer, Gail Carriger, and Cassandra Clare will find much to love. Highly recommended.”

  —School Library Journal

  “Alisa Kwitney’s bold reimagining of Frankenstein with Lizzie at its center is gripping, fierce and timely. Strikingly written and impeccably conjured, the monsters here are all too human.”

  —Gwenda Bond, author of the Lois Lane series

  “A page-turning fantasy/romance that brings some joy and monster-righteousness to the traditional Frankenstein story, while adding its own unique wrinkles to the plot.”

  —Locus magazine

  “The tension is high, the pacing is fast, the plot twists and turns in unexpected ways, the Victorian social and political scene is deftly sketched and the characters are vivid and satisfyingly complex. It swept me right away.”

  —Delia Sherman, author of The Great Detective

  More Praise for Alisa Kwitney and Cadaver & Queen

  “An electrifying tale of beautiful monsters and mad scientists that will keep your nerves tingling and your heart racing long into the night.”

  —Carol Goodman, New York Times bestselling author of The Metropolitans

  “This is not a parody of Mary Shelley’s classic but a clever new take on its elements in a mystery, complete with Victorian writing flourishes and the mild titillation expected from a romance novel.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A dark, thrilling and ingenious riff on the Frankenstein legend.”

  —M. R. Carey, author of The Girl with All the Gifts

  “A page-turner from start to finish.... Highly recommended.”

  —School Library Journal

  “Gripping, fierce and timely. Strikingly written and impeccably

  conjured, the monsters here are all too human.”

  —Gwenda Bond, author of the Lois Lane series

  “A page-turning fantasy/romance that brings some joy and monster-righteousness to the traditional Frankenstein story, while adding its own unique wrinkles to the plot.”

  —Locus magazine

  “The tension is high, the pacing is fast, the plot twists and turns

  in unexpected way... It swept me right away.”

  —Delia Sherman, author of The Great Detective

  Alisa Kwitney was once an editor at DC Comics/Vertigo and is an Eisner-nominated author of graphic novels, romantic women’s fiction and urban fantasy. She is one of the authors of A Flight of Angels, which made YALSA’s Great Graphic Novels for Teens Top Ten list, and the YA graphic novel Token, named a highlight of the Minx imprint by Publishers Weekly. Alisa has an MFA from Columbia University. Her thesis, Till the Fat Lady Sings, a comedy of manners about college and eating disorders, made the New York Times New & Noteworthy Paperbacks list. Corpse & Crown is the sequel to her first young adult novel, Cadaver & Queen.

  www.AlisaKwitney.com

  Books by Alisa Kwitney

  Cadaver & Queen

  Corpse & Crown

  Alisa Kwitney

  Corpse & Crown

  For my daughter, Elinor, born with a scientist’s mind and an artist’s eye.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  1

  As the hackney coach approached Buckingham Palace, a full moon broke through the dense fog overhead, casting an eerie, greenish glow onto the royal residence. The horses, traveling fast over rain-slick cobblestones, nearly lost their footing as they cornered sharply, passing the stately east wing before slowing down and pulling into a smaller servants’ entrance.

  Inside the coach, Agatha DeLacey felt a sudden pang of doubt: What if I forgot something? Opening her medical bag, she took a quick inventory. Stethoscope. Thermometer. Carbolic acid. A fresh bottle of ichor, along with a glass syringe and needles. All there. Taking a deep breath, Aggie snapped the satchel shut.

  Seated across from her, Ursula Shiercliffe, the Royal Victoria Hospital’s formidable head of nursing, gave her a sharp look. “Everything in order, probationer?”

  Feigning a confidence she did not feel, Aggie met the older woman’s cool gray eyes. “Yes, Matron.”

  “Then let us have no more displays of nerves,” said Professor Moulsdale, accidentally elbowing Shiercliffe in the ribs as he adjusted his cravat. “You may be a mere nursing student, but tonight you represent our school, and I expect you to comport yourself with complete professionalism.” Moulsdale patted his neat salt-and-pepper Vandyke beard and then ran his hand down the front of his bulging waistcoat, elbowing Shiercliffe yet again.

  Shiercliffe thinned her lips and shifted as far from him as she could in the confines o
f the cramped coach, but said nothing. She did not defer to many people, but Moulsdale was the head of medicine at London’s prestigious Academy of Bio-Mechanical Science and Engineering, as well as Queen Victoria’s personal physician. He was not the sort of man one wanted to offend, and he was easily offended.

  Aggie felt a squeeze on her arm. Elizabeth Lavenza, her friend and roommate, was struggling not to laugh. Not wanting to encourage her, Aggie gave a little shake of her head and looked out the window. Lizzie tended to be a rule breaker by nature—as the school’s only female medical student and one of the few Americans enrolled, she had to be—but Aggie couldn’t afford to take any chances. Lizzie had been chosen for this assignment because of her specialized skills, but Aggie was just in the right place at the right time. She could not afford to fail.

  A moment later, the horses stumbled to a stop and the carriage door was opened by a young footman. Placing a step stool in front of the door, he stood ready to assist the first traveler to disembark.

  Shiercliffe rested her hand on the footman’s elbow as if liveried servants performed this service for her every day, but then, she was not the sort to show weakness, even under duress. Aggie and Lizzie were young and agile enough to clamber out on their own, but Professor Moulsdale, who suffered from gout, required the footman’s hand to help lever himself down the steps to the ground.

  “Right, then,” said Moulsdale, “better get a move on. We don’t want to keep Her Majesty waiting.”

  “If you are ready,” said the footman, “you may follow me inside now.”

  Moulsdale went first, leaning heavily on his walking stick, with Shiercliffe right behind him. Aggie reached up to make sure her cap was still properly pinned in place before following them. She had been fast asleep when Shiercliffe had woken her up and told her to pack for a house call, and now she felt that strange mixture of alertness and disorientation that always seems to come with traveling late at night.

  Walking beside Aggie, Lizzie stumbled over a loose stone.

  “Put on your spectacles so you can see where you’re going,” whispered Aggie.

  “No need, I’m fine,” replied Lizzie.

  There was a scrape of gravel as Shiercliffe turned to give both girls a reproving look. “I don’t think I need to remind either of you, but a very great deal depends on what happens tonight. If things do not go well, Miss Lavenza, you may find yourself on a ship heading back to the former Colonies. And as for you, Miss DeLacey...”

  Shiercliffe did not need to spell it out. Aggie would be heading back to her mother’s cheerless house in Yorkshire. Drawing her cloak more tightly around her, she followed the matron through the servants’ entrance and into the palace.

  * * *

  Queen Victoria’s private chambers were dominated by a silk-draped canopy bed, several gilt-framed portraits of the late Prince Albert and the overpowering scent of dog. A fire blazed in the marble hearth, making the room feel like an oven. Already, a trickle of sweat had worked its way down the back of Aggie’s neck and past her shoulder blades. The overheated room was only partially to blame for her unease. The other cause was lying in bed, propped up by half a dozen lace-trimmed pillows, wearing a mobcap over her gray hair and an expression of stone-faced blankness. Difficult to fathom that this was the most powerful woman in the world—the Queen of England.

  The elderly Queen did not acknowledge Moulsdale as he checked her heartbeat with the stethoscope. Staring out into the middle distance, she did not even blink when Moulsdale waved his hand in front of her eyes.

  “Hmm,” said Moulsdale, turning to the man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the queen’s bed. “How long has she been like this, Lord Salisbury?”

  “Since the morning, I’m afraid. She was like this when her lady of the bedchamber came in with her tea.” Like Moulsdale, Lord Salisbury was tall and stout and had trouble with his legs, but while Moulsdale was a bull terrier of a man, bright eyed and tenacious, the prime minister seemed more like a morose basset hound. “I was afraid of this from the beginning, you know.”

  Moulsdale replaced the stethoscope in the leather satchel. “My lord, pray do not jump to some dire conclusion.”

  Salisbury shook his head. “Do not attempt to mollycoddle me! I am not some society lady you can bamboozle.”

  Moulsdale’s face registered a momentary flicker of irritation, quickly concealed by a salesman’s glib smile. “You are perturbed by Her Majesty’s ailment,” he said, pulling a bottle of bright green ichor from the medical bag. “Entirely understandable, but also unwarranted.”

  Shiercliffe, who was attaching a needle to the syringe, gave Moulsdale a look that contradicted his assertion, but Salisbury did not appear to take any notice. “I should never have listened to your outrageous proposal,” he said, his gaze fixed on the queen’s frozen countenance. “Better we should have let nature take its course last year than to—” He broke off, glancing at Lizzie and Aggie, who were both standing off to one side, trying to stay out of the way.

  “Don’t worry, my friend—it’s perfectly fine to speak freely in front of these young ladies,” Moulsdale assured the other man. Taking the syringe from Shiercliffe, he turned to Aggie and said, “Go on now, girl. You know what to do.”

  Aggie rolled up the queen’s sleeve, baring one plump and flaccid arm before cleansing the area with a cotton swab dabbed in carbolic acid. As Moulsdale approached with the syringe, the queen showed no sign that she noticed or cared what was being done to her.

  “Still and all,” said Salisbury, “I see no sense in carelessly revealing our secrets to just anyone.”

  “I am hardly careless,” said Moulsdale, injecting the syringe of ichor into the queen’s arm without checking for air bubbles. “Miss Lavenza is one of our top medical students and has been sworn to secrecy. As for the redhead, she’s a scholarship girl and dependent on the school’s largesse, so we can trust her to be discreet.” Moulsdale handed Aggie the used needle and syringe.

  Ears burning with embarrassment, she unscrewed the needle and placed it in a small steel case for disinfection. Buck up, she told herself. It’s not like he’s saying anything you don’t know. Still, it stung to hear the unvarnished truth stated so bluntly.

  “Is this meant to reassure me as to the soundness of your judgment?” Salisbury sounded disgusted. “You’ve brought a charity case and a bluestocking to attend the queen. Not exactly a masterstroke.”

  “I must admit, I was dubious myself at first,” said Moulsdale. “But it’s a new century, and we must all keep pace with the times. Besides, Miss Lavenza is the daughter of the late Robert Lavenza, and something of an engineering prodigy herself.”

  Salisbury looked almost comically astonished. “Please do not tell me that you actually intend to let this chit of a girl treat the queen!”

  “She may look like a chit,” began Moulsdale, but Salisbury cut him off.

  “Where is the professor who performed the initial procedure on Her Majesty?”

  “Deceased in the fire that burned down our Yorkshire location, I regret to say. But Miss Lavenza is entirely capable of assisting me in setting Her Majesty to rights,” Moulsdale added.

  Lizzie placed her attaché case on an antique rosewood side table and opened it, revealing a small electrical device bristling with various leads and attachments. “I know I may seem young and inexperienced, but I am very well trained in the use of this equipment,” she assured the prime minister.

  Shiercliffe nodded at Aggie. “Go ahead and prepare Her Majesty for the procedure.”

  Aggie set to unfastening the row of tiny pearl buttons at the queen’s throat, revealing two shiny metal electrodes. Even though Lizzie had told her what to expect, she still felt a ripple of discomfort. Here was undeniable evidence that the Queen of England was a Bio-Mechanical—an automated and reanimated cadaver.

  Bio-Mechanicals were not meant to be
capable of independent thought or emotion, and most of them could not speak intelligibly. Still, they did usually blink their eyes and move about, while the queen appeared to be frozen in place.

  Why on earth had Moulsdale transformed Queen Victoria in the first place? Had it been a case of medical men wanting to use every possible intervention to preserve an important patient’s life—even if the patient was now an empty shell of her former self? If so, Aggie thought that Moulsdale was misguided. The Prince of Wales was alive to step up to the throne should nature take its course, so why keep his mother, the queen, on this side of the ground?

  Not your place to question the plan, Aggie reminded herself. You’re just here to do what you’re told without making any mistakes.

  “Now,” said Lizzie, approaching the queen with a glowing violet wand, “the application of ultraviolet light should help activate the newly transfused ichor, and then I’ll follow up with a series of electromagnetic pulses that will invigorate Her Majesty. She’ll be up and about again in no time.”

  “No! No more contraptions and no more empty promises,” said Salisbury, addressing Moulsdale. “When I agreed to let you perform your black arts on Her Majesty last year, you assured me that the queen would be rejuvenated. Instead, all she did was shamble about whilst babbling absurdities—and now she can’t do even that. She’s a corpse walker who can’t even walk!”

  “I assure you,” said Moulsdale, “there is no necromancy involved in what we do.”

  “Call it what you like,” said Salisbury. “It’s unnatural to bring corpses back from the dead, and I regret the day I let you talk me into it.” Looking down at his feet, he bleakly contemplated his swollen ankles. “I suppose there’s nothing for it now. We shall have to announce the sad news of Her Majesty’s demise.”

  “My lord,” said Shiercliffe, speaking up for the first time. “Her Majesty is most definitely alive.”