13. A Gathering in the Forest

“He can’t have gone far!” said Blackburn, sounding more excited than worried.

Cordelia scoffed, plunging into the nearby trees. How could they have been distracted enough to lose a dead man? She spun around, worried Bellingham was right behind her, ready to drag her away.

“Here!” Her stomach flooded with relief at Blackburn’s call. She weaved in between the trees towards where his voice had come.

He was bent over Bellingham, who was lying face-down in a spot of mud.

“What’s he doing?” she asked, hiking up her skirts to keep them clean.

“Quickly, we must drag him back. Take his arm.” Blackburn was clutching the man’s limp arms and beginning to pull him backwards.

Cordelia’s skin crawled. Bellingham looked so very...dead like this; he hadn’t moved an inch. The last thing she wanted was to touch him. “I—you can handle it, can’t you?” She was near pleading. Any other man would never ask a woman to help drag a dead man through the mud. Then again, any other woman would not have gone promenading through the forest with Blackburn.

Blackburn glanced at her through the dark hair that had fallen in front of his face. “Grab his arm,” he directed.

Cordelia made a face of distress, but no one was there to see it. Humming, she stepped forward, her poor shoes sinking into the mud, and took up Bellingham’s left arm. She was grateful for her gloves, for she did not have to touch the dead man directly.

Bellingham was not the largest of men, but he was a good few inches taller than Blackburn, and was not easy to drag from the mud. Blackburn provided much of the muscle, while Cordelia tried her best. Blackburn was adamant that they must pull him back towards where they’d come from.

After a few yards, the dead man’s head rose, and his feet scraped against the ground, trying to get his footing. Cordelia nearly dropped his arm, so surprised was she to see him move again. She’d thought he was dead, and honestly this time.

The man seemed very weak, and only managed a kneeling position, his hands digging palm-first into the dirt in front of him. Even Cordelia, who knew nothing about “forest golems” as Blackburn put it, could surmise that he was drawing energy from the forest floor. But what had drained it?

Cordelia looked over at Blackburn, and saw his mud-spattered trousers. And his shoes: absolutely ruined. She dared not look down at her own self.

“I thought Bellingham was truly dead for a moment,” she admitted.

Blackburn nodded. “I was afraid he was as well. I found that the further from the center of the forest he is, the weaker. That’s why I kept him in that man’s cottage; it’s near the edge of the forest. The golem was too weak to escape on his own, especially without being able to draw energy from the ground.” Blackburn shook his head. “He must have gotten too close to the edge of the forest.”

“Is that why Notley died on the carriage ride to Rotherhithe, because he left the forest?” Cordelia asked, looking out at the trees part-way through her question. She thought she heard rustling…

“They’re over here!” a woman’s voice rang out.

Blackburn’s eyebrows drew together, looking for the source of the voice. Still, he answered Cordelia’s question. “Yes. A second death, in a way.”

Two figures then emerged from the trees, and Cordelia felt a rush of apprehension, as if she was about to be caught for doing something wrong. Then, she saw who is was.

“Mrs. Bellingham?” Cordelia said, slightly shocked. The woman was breathless, her hairdo coming undone, her eyes wide and searching.

Cordelia rushed forward and stood between the woman and her now dead husband, hoping that her skirts were enough to hide Mr. Bellingham’s identity from view.

Blackburn’s voice came from behind Cordelia, sounding not surprised, but rancorous. “Harvey Marfleet. Impeccable timing, as usual. Strange how you only seem to appear after all the hard work has been done.”

Marfleet looked bedraggled, as if he had sprinted the entire forest. He stopped, as if he just realized this fact, and ran a hand through his hair. “Just because you’ve located Mr. Bellingham does not mean the hard work is done,” retorted Marfleet, straightening his vest. His eyes flicked to Cordelia, and to the body that she was trying to hide behind her. It was clear that she was not doing a good job at concealing it.

“Let me see him,” pleaded Mrs. Bellingham, stepping forward.

Cordelia put out her arm. “Please, Mrs. Bellingham. It’s best if you don’t.”

Cordelia’s words only agitated the woman. “Aren’t you supposed to be sick?!” she exclaimed, trying to see around Cordelia’s body. “Let me see my husband!” Her voice was near a shriek.

Panicked, Cordelia looked to Blackburn while physically holding back Mrs. Bellingham. The idiot was the picture of calm, silently observing the two women. “Mr. Blackburn? A little help?” Cordelia found herself yelling.

Luckily, Marfleet was present, and he, like a good gentleman, guided Mrs. Bellingham backwards. The poor woman fell against him, crying into his shoulder astonishingly loudly.

Cordelia sent a sharp glare to Blackburn, but he ignored her.

“Malissa, your husband is dead. I’m sorry.” Blackburn walked past Cordelia to address Mrs. Bellingham, but stopped short, as if physically repelled by the presence of Marfleet.

Mrs. Bellingham sniffled, her tears subsiding for a moment. She peeled herself off of Marfleet, whose lapel was probably well-soaked. “He—he is not!” She let out an awful high-pitched moan. “He’s standing! He’s here!”

Cordelia spun around to find, like Mrs. Bellingham had said, Mr. Bellingham’s body upright. But, his eyes were cloudy and unseeing, his mouth hanging limply open. In some ways, it was worse than seeing him dead.

“What’s wrong with him?” Mrs. Bellingham asked, voice still thick with tears.

The golem-man swayed on his feet, then lurched forward.

“Miss Green!”

It was unclear whether Marfleet’s yell was intended to warn her, but it mattered not, because it was far too late. For the second time, Cordelia was seized by a forest golem.

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