The Lazarus Engine – Chapter 25
The Watchmaker’s Daughter
Bethlem Royal Hospital stood on a hill outside London, its iron gates black against the winter sky. Thorne visited on a Sunday, when the other patients were at chapel. Charlotte March had been excused from services. She was considered too dangerous to pray with the others.
He found her in a small room at the end of a long corridor. The walls were padded. The window was barred. She sat on a wooden chair, her bandaged hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the gray light.
“Dr. Thorne,” she said without turning. “I wondered when you’d come.”
“You asked me to.”
“I asked for a witness. Not a visitor.” She turned. Her face was thinner than he remembered, but her eyes were still sharp. “You saw the trial. You saw what they made of me. A madwoman. A monster.”
“I saw a woman who killed people.”
“I saw a woman who loved her father.” Charlotte smiled—a sad, fragile expression. “We’re both guilty of love, Dr. Thorne. You loved the dead man you revived. I loved the dead man I couldn’t.”
Thorne sat on the opposite chair. “You sent for me. Why?”
Charlotte reached under her pillow and pulled out a rolled sheet of vellum. It was old, yellowed, tied with a black ribbon.
“The original blueprint,” she said. “For the Lazarus Engine. Not the one I built. The one my father dreamed of. The one that could actually bring back the dead—not as a machine, but as a living, breathing person.”
Thorne didn’t take it. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because I’m never getting out of here. And someone needs to keep it safe. Or destroy it. I don’t care which.” She held it out. “You’re the only person I trust.”
Thorne took the blueprint. It was warm from her hands.
“Charlotte, I have to ask—the mechanical hand. The evidence list. Is it true? Did you record every member of the Order?”
“I recorded everything. Every death. Every experiment. Every name.” Her eyes met his. “Including yours, Dr. Thorne. You were a member. For one year. You attended meetings. You performed experiments. You helped build the first prototype.”
Thorne’s blood went cold. “I was young. I didn’t know what March intended.”
“The jury wouldn’t care. The public wouldn’t care. They’d see a resurrectionist and a killer.” Charlotte leaned forward. “I didn’t give that list to the prosecutors. I burned it. Your secret is safe.”
“Why?”
“Because you tried to stop me. Because you showed mercy. Because you’re the only person who ever looked at me and saw a human being, not a madwoman.”
Thorne looked at the blueprint. At Charlotte’s pale face. At the bars on the window.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t thank me. Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Destroy the engine. All of them. Every gear, every blueprint, every scrap of March’s work. Burn it. Melt it. Forget it.”
Thorne nodded. “I promise.”
He stood up.
As he reached the door, Charlotte spoke again. “Dr. Thorne. The ticking in your pocket. The watch you carry. Does it still keep accurate time?”
Thorne touched his pocket watch. It was still ticking.
“Yes.”
“It was made by my father. He built it for you. Before he died.” Charlotte’s voice was barely a whisper. “He said you would need it. To know when to stop.”
Thorne left the room without looking back.
Behind him, he heard Charlotte begin to hum a lullaby.
Hush little baby, don’t say a word…
He walked down the long corridor, past the iron gates, into the winter sun.
The blueprint was heavy in his coat.
The watch ticked on.t look back.