Chapter Eight: The Hunting of the Baskervilles

"Poison and medicine are often the same thing, given in different proportions." ~Alice Sebold

*Part One of my Double Update this week for Thanksgiving! The next part comes out at the usual time on Friday!*

June 1st, 1879

London, England, United Kingdom, Europe

Months passed since Marie's experience on the Noahtic. During those few months, she continued to work with the Moriarty's and their group to dismantle the hierarchy around them. It was slow going with her side work poisoning the corrupt nobles and commoner men and women around her and Albert's work with MI6. Her leather-bound register had grown in size, filled with the names of those she helped kill.

Yet, she didn't regret a moment of it.

Her relationships with each of the group's members had blossomed over time. But, if she had to guess, she was closest to Fred Porlock. The stoic and quiet nature of the boy was a welcome change from the likes of Moran with his loud and brusque nature.

She had also bonded with Louis over making meals. He actually trusted her in the kitchen by herself now and would often clean the house while she handled supper all by herself. The two of them didn't talk much, if at all, when around each other. But it was a comfortable sort of silence that she liked.

Her relationship with William and Moran was strained to say the least. She didn't always agree with how they decided to run things, and they didn't always agree with how she ran her own business. After the entire situation with the Noahtic, she had gotten into several arguments with William, questioning his tactics and motives. But he had yet to kick her out of their group, so she guessed that was a good thing.

And her relationship with Albert was-

She was cut from her reverie by the sound of a knock on her door. She glanced up from her book where she had been reading by the fire and frowned. It was well past midnight and nearing the early hours of dawn. She had been unable to sleep. Instead, she had been kept awake by images of peacocks with glittering feathers and statues that dripped blood.

With a shiver, she shut her book—carefully marking the page—and stood, pulling on her gloves and drawing her dressing-gown about her nightgown. It was a lovely garment, made in soft lace and silks with a collared neck and long sleeves; it had been something she had made for herself on the rare occasion she had free time, and her hands didn't shake as severely.

Opening the door, Marie came face to face with Fred. She blinked several times and tilted her head slightly,

"Fred? What brings you here at this hour?" She asked and watched the younger boy seem to shrink in on himself. He was silent for several moments as if gathering the courage to speak. If he noticed her wearing her gloves at such a late hour, he didn't mention it. She waited patiently, knowing he would say what he wanted to say eventually.

"William wants you to gather any herbs and healing remedies you have. We have a mission." He said curtly, and she froze in surprise before nodding.

"Right, let me get dressed. Where are we heading?" At this, he steeled himself,

"Dartmoor, in Western England."

Marie sat beside Louis and across from William in the dark carriage as they rattled and rocked on their way to their destination of the human hunting grounds of Count Enders.

She had dressed quickly in a pair of stiff trousers and a button-down blouse that was tucked into her waistband, her gray hair swept up into a tight bun and her signature leather gloves. Fred had mentioned they would be climbing through some underbrush and woodsy areas, so she decided that dresses were likely not the way to go. She refrained from fiddling with the end of her shirt and instead opted for tinkering with the clasp of her bag holding herbal remedies to help heal instead of poison.

William had debriefed her on the way over on the situation. Kids were systematically kidnapped and taken to Enders' hunting grounds, hunted down, tortured, and killed.

The carriage rattled to a stop, and they all got out. It was cold, with clouds covering the slowly rising sun. Maire hung back as the group made their way through the underbrush. Marie's knuckles screamed in pain of the oncoming storm. With a grimace, she adjusted her gloves and pressed on.

She was lugging her bag along, head down, when she heard it.

A crunch and a child's scream.

She was instantly running towards the noise, but Fred beat her to it.

The young boy was shivering and crying, feet covered in blood that splashed up his shins. Fred was immediately on his knees helping the boy.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. Really… you're safe." He said, holding his hands up and smiling gently at the boy. Moran came closer to get a closer look at the injuries with the dim lighting.

"Is that one of the kids they kidnapped from London?" He asked, and Fred nodded. Marie knelt by Fred's side and held up her hands as the boy tried scooting away.

"It's alright; I have some herbs to help with your wounds." She said softly, and the boy hesitated before allowing her to touch his feet. The bear trap dug deeply into his flesh; she held back a gasp and refrained from covering her mouth. If she didn't help, he'd lose his feet and ability to walk. She had to act quickly before he lost too much blood. She set her bag down and began pulling out jars and concoctions, as well as several rolls of bandages, to help treat the boy.

"This is an animal trap. They shouldn't be used on humans." Fred remarked as he prepared to open the bear trap. Marie frowned and pointed,

"His Achilles on the other leg's been cut too." She said, and Fred nodded before turning to look at the boy,

"I'm taking this off. This'll hurt a bit." He said and opened the trap. The boy whimpered, but other than that didn't make a sound. Marie got to work, scooping out the thick paste from one jar onto her gloved fingers and spreading it over the wounds. She vaguely heard Fred and Louis begin to argue in the background, but she paid them no mind. Moran could handle them.

"What's your name?" She asked the little boy softly as she prepared a needle and thread with shaking fingers. Cursing as she dropped the needle, she drew another from her bag and managed to thread it correctly as the boy answered.

"J-Jimmy." He said through thick tears streaming down his face.

She smiled at him in what she hoped was a comforting look.

"It's nice to meet you, Jimmy. My name is Marie. I'm going to sew your injuries shut now. You'll feel a slight tugging sensation, but the paste I smeared on your legs should numb most of the pain." She said, and he nodded. Then, with his consent, she began to sew.

It was a clumsy job, but she got the wounds closed and wrapped them in sterile bandages.

"You'll be able to walk again soon. Just keep the wounds clean, and they'll heal nicely, alright?" She said, and Jimmy whimpered as Moran hoisted him onto Fred's back.

"I'll come with you to make sure the other children aren't injured." She stated, and the look on her face dared Louis to argue. He was in favor of leaving the children behind, but a swift cuff over the head from Moran changed his mind.

"Listen up." Moran said, and she perked up at the serious tone in his voice, "This ain't their hunt. We're the ones hunting them."

Marie crouched behind some trees as Moran set down Jimmy and headed towards the fortresses in the distance. She checked his bandages and nodded to herself. They were holding up well despite the rushed job. She adjusted her gloves and sat back, her back against the tree. One of the nobles was already dead, and the other three were being hunted. They were safe enough for her to relax.

"M-Miss Marie?" Jimmy whispered, and she looked over to him, face bathed golden in the rising sun.

"What is it, Jimmy?" She said gently, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Why do you wear gloves? Is something wrong with your hands?" He asked as if scared she would smack him for the question.

That was all it took for Marie to snap back to the past.

It was dark. The room lit only by the fireplace. The walls spun. All she could see were the embellished decorations and the glittering peacocks. The pain lanced through her knuckles, and she hung her head, screaming through clenched teeth. Tears streamed thick and hot down her cheeks.

Glowing eyes glinted menacingly and a bloody statue raised over the shadow's head, swinging it down again and again onto her hands, crushing the delicate bones with a disgusting crunch.

Marie came to with a scream and lurched back. Jimmy jumped back in the opposite direction with a cry of his own. The two of them tumbled into the dewy grass, Marie's fingers throbbing with tears on the verge of falling and a name on her tongue.

"Matthew-" She cut herself off and clutched at her hands, fingers clenched into fists. Her gloves felt stifling, and she ripped them off, ignoring the gasp of Jimmy at the sight of her twisted and broken fingers.

Marie allowed herself a few moments of silent crying, tears dripping down her chin. Then, after her few moments were up, she wiped her tears and slipped her gloves back on.

"Wh-what happened to your hands, miss?" Jimmy asked, getting on his hands and knees and crawling to her side. Marie was silent before answering.

"I'm so sorry you had to see my hands. They must be horrifying to a child." She whispered and Jimmy's face screwed up in concentration before he piped up,

"Well, I think they're pretty!" Marie nearly started crying again then.

"Thank you for that Jimmy." She said with a smile.