The Chemickal Marriage

the alchemical recipe they contained for physical transformation. Think of Lydia Vandaariff.’
    Svenson recalled the hellish scene in the laboratory at Harschmort: the Comte in a leather apron, cradling a snouted device of polished steel, Karl-Horst von Maasmärck lolling in an armchair, stupid with brandy, and Robert Vandaariff’s daughter tied to a bed, a pool of bright blue fluid between her legs. Whether she had been impregnated by the Prince or by the Comte himself barely mattered. Sailing to her wedding in Macklenburg, oblivious to all that had been done, the young woman had grown rapidly more ill, as poisons strove to remake her issue for a madman’s dream.
    Miss Temple shuddered. ‘But it cannot have
worked
. Lydia would not have given birth to … to any living … I mean – transformed –’
    ‘No,’ said Svenson. ‘I am sure she would have died. But what is death to the Comte’s – now Vandaariff’s – madness? And this new painting is more than three times the size of the
Annunciation
. We know it is a recipe for
something
. We must not delude ourselves at how terrible it may be.’
    ‘That is the snap of it,’ said Miss Temple. ‘Now he has the money.’
    ‘Exactly. His plot with Lydia was done in the shadows, indulged by the others in exchange for what they saw as his
true
work with the blue glass.’ Svenson sighed. ‘But now, what he only imagined before, he can make real.’
    ‘Or so he believes.’ Miss Temple shook her head. Her voice was ragged but firm. ‘And where is Francesca Trapping? Has she been harmed?’
    Svenson was surprised by the leap in Miss Temple’s thought. ‘The Contessa would not say. My guess is that the child has been hidden in the Palace, yet with the Contessa’s flight I think she must have been moved.’
    ‘Have they enslaved her too?’
    ‘Children are resilient,’ said the Doctor, without confidence.
    ‘But she will remember.’
    The words carried a quiet gravity. Svenson waited for her to say more. Chang inhaled through his teeth – the cycle of the card coming full circle. The Doctor nearly pulled the card away. He dreaded to receive Miss Temple’s confidence, despite his curiosity as to what she might say.
    Miss Temple sighed heavily, almost a groan. ‘We were together, you know … the Contessa and I, in a goods van, from Karthe. I was cold, and so tired.’
    ‘Were you harmed?’
    Miss Temple’s voice took on a pleading tone. ‘I did nothing wrong. She is a wicked woman.’
    ‘Celeste.’ Svenson knelt in front of her. ‘Elöise told us you had looked into a glass book – Celeste, you cannot blame yourself –’
    ‘Of
course
I can’t! I did not ask for this – this –
infestation
! I cannot think! I cannot go two minutes –’ Her cheeks went red and she covered her face with both hands. Svenson touched her knee and Miss Temple yelped.He stood at once, blushing. ‘I have
tried
,’ she whimpered. ‘But even with her – her of all people. She sees through my skin. I cannot
think
but I am overcome. God help me – God help me!’
    He had tended her through fever, bathed her, applied poultices, yet, as Miss Temple so boldly revealed herself a creature of appetite, the Doctor felt his view of her could shift. Was he such an ape? Was he so
fragile
? He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. Miss Temple pulled her hands away and Doctor Svenson saw, without question, her tear-brimmed eyes dart to his groin.
    ‘Chang and yourself – you mentioned a wardrobe – did you –’
    ‘Did we what?’ she asked hopelessly.
    ‘Did you see anyone else?’
    ‘In the wardrobe?’
    ‘In the Palace.’
    ‘Hundreds of them! That was why we had to hide!’
    ‘Yes – of course –’
    ‘It was terrible! That tiny space! Do you not
understand
?’
    ‘I do – my poor dear – but – does Chang – I mean to say, did you –’
    His gaze slipped to her bosom, and, before he could shift it, she had seen. To Svenson’s dismay Miss Temple’s expression altered in an instant. Within her undimmed agitation appeared first a flash of unfeigned hunger and directly after a grimace of contempt that shook him to his core. Then her face fell into her hands. Her huddled shoulders shook.
    He felt the cold isolation creep back into his bones. The girl was a quivering ruin.
    ‘My dear Celeste. Gather yourself. Say nothing more. We will find the Contessa. We will find the Comte.’
    ‘They think it all a perfect
joke
!’
    ‘That