The English Channel,

January, 1873

Berenice Spencer stood at the rail of the passenger ship, staring up at the moon. Out at sea, the nights could be the deepest black, but this evening the full moon spilled its milky light across the deck. A cold gust of salt air rushed up, and she tightened the blanket around her shoulders. The approach to England was a far cry from the balmy nights she'd enjoyed across the Mediterranean Sea four weeks ago. And before that, the dusty heat of Bombay. Her fellow passengers remained below, sipping after-dinner coffee. None were willing to endure the bracing temperature on deck.

No one except Anju.

The other girl arrived at her side, wrapped in a shawl. "There you are. Please come inside, Bunny."

Berenice – or Bunny to her family and friends – breathed in the tang of brine. She wasn't in the mood to join the other travellers in the dining room, or sit in her cramped cabin. Out here, overlooking the roiling sea spume, she was free and uninhibited.

"Just a while longer."

The wind whipped through Anju's clothes and dark hair. "If you stay out here, you'll freeze before we reach your damp and foggy island."

She sighed. "It's not my island, Anju. At least, it doesn't feel like it." It had been years since she'd left England with her father and his regiment. "I remember London being a grey city, full of strict rules and stuffy old nannies. I was happy in India. Why did Papa have to send me back now?"

It was time to experience her true British heritage, he'd said, and learn to fit into London society. To Bunny, it marked the end of a glorious childhood. No more lazy afternoons watching the soldiers play cricket on the sunbaked plain. And no more sneaking out of the compound to explore the dusty track that led to the jungle.

Anju leaned on the railing beside her. "You were born there. Don't you think we should give England a chance?"

Bunny knew she was right. At nineteen years old, her companion was two years her senior. Anju could be quiet at times, but she had a sensible head on her shoulders. And she always put others first.

"I'm sorry, Anju. How selfish of me. If it wasn't for me you'd still be back home."

Her face softened with a smile. "And if I wasn't here, who would keep you out of trouble? I take chaperoning very seriously, don't you know?"

The corner of Bunny's mouth lifted playfully. "Ah, so that's why you came along. Afraid of missing all the excitement?"

Anju laughed. "Please, Bunny, let's keep the excitement to a minimum, yes?"

"No guarantees."

The clang of a pulley in the lines echoed overhead, catching their attention. Steam that powered the colossal ship churned silently from the great black funnel, passing in front of the moonlit masts like a ghost. A chill climbed Bunny's spine.

"Have you noticed anything strange on this voyage?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

She didn't want to worry Anju, but when she peered into the shadows her concern grew. "Now and then, I feel I'm being watched."

"Really?" Anju glanced around the empty deck. "By who?"

"I don't know." She shrugged and forced a smile. "It's probably nothing. Come, let's go inside."

The daughter of a British officer didn't admit fear. But the sooner they reached England and disembarked, the easier she would sleep at night.

***

They arrived at port the following afternoon, hit by the stench of tobacco, rum and rotting vegetables. Like an almost forgotten dream, London was strangely familiar. Beyond the cranes and warehouses, factory chimneys choked black clouds into the winter sky. Dock workers swarmed the wharf, wrapped in weather-beaten great coats while the less fortunate made do with bare sleeves.

Travellers who could afford passage on the luxury steamships disembarked along the gangway, warm and snug in their expensive coats. Bunny's simple English dress and cloak were nothing remarkable. What use were bustles and fur wraps to a girl who spent her life exploring forests and rivers? Likewise, Anju's loose trousers and tunic were more practical than genteel. Amidst the extreme noise of traffic and industry, she and Anju carried her leather trunk to the gates.

With her free hand, Bunny held the instructions her father had given her. "Do not engage with street beggars, avoid poor neighbourhoods after dark... If in doubt about directions inquire at a respectable shop or consult the Post Office Directory for private addresses..."

"How far is your uncle's home?"

"Not far at all. You'll like my Uncle Appleby. He's a kind man, my one sunny memory of this place."

A dusting of snow survived on the rooftops, but the constant parade of iron-shod wheels on the roads had turned the ice to sludge. They trod with caution, searching for a cab-stand, the icy air nipping Bunny's cheeks. Just then, a well-groomed gentleman skidded to a halt beside her, arms flailing. For a moment she thought he might slip and land on his backside, but he recovered and waved at the passing vehicles.

With a nod in her direction, he said, "Miss Spencer. Orson Carte."

She inclined her ear, trying to hear over the noise of the street. "Pardon me. Did you say Horse and cart?"

"No, no." Sounding embarrassed, he replied, "You misheard me. My name is Orson Carte, remember me? We were on the same ship. The Bombay Star."

"Oh!" She recognised the young man's face; pale and freckled with a hint of old sunburn across his nose. "Mr Carte. Hello. We saw little of you during the voyage."

"I'm afraid seasickness kept me abed."

"Of course. I remember now." She was unlikely to forget the sound of retching from his cabin. It had put her off the Julienne Soup.

She scanned the rumbling carriages and hailed one. Almost at once, a four-wheeled cab for hire pulled up beside them. But when she reached for the door her fingers collided with a gloved hand. If she wasn't mistaken, Carte was trying to steal her cab. A breeze ruffled the fur that edged his woollen coat and he smiled, the waxed tips of his little moustache curling.

"Which direction are you headed?" he asked. "Perhaps we can split the fare?"

Given her limited funds, his suggestion made sense. And it stood to reason they would be safer with a familiar face who knew the area. But there was something bothersome about Carte. Something she couldn't quite place. Keen to get out of the cold, she ignored her misgivings.

"We're going to Hammersmith."

"Splendid. Knightsbridge is on the way." Carte flashed a coin at the driver and directed him to lift his case.

Unable to afford such service, she and Anju dragged her own luggage aboard and wedged it in place. She set her hand luggage carefully on the squabs, then sat to catch her breath. They were soon joined by Carte, and Bunny blew a messy blonde strand of hair off her eye.

"You don't suffer travel sickness in carriages, do you?" she asked him when the wheels lurched into motion.

He crossed one leg over his knee and rested his leather-clad hands in his lap. "Only sea travel."

Stuffed into the cab like pickles in a jar, she fidgeted to get comfortable. Anju yelped when Bunny leaned on her long plait.

Dash it!

"Sorry," she whispered, shifting to set Anju free.

Carte looked up from buffing his pocket watch and smiled again. He had a small gap between his top front teeth. "It's a relief to be home after all that unbearable sun. Thank goodness my business affairs only kept me in Bombay for a month. You must feel the same, glad to be home safe and sound?"

Home?

Where should she call home now?

He brushed away a wrinkle in his suit. "How long were you in India?"

"Ten years."

"Good Lord!"

"My father is an officer in the British army."

His nose wrinkled. "Raised in a cantonment?"

"Yes."

"How on earth did you cope? Foreign climates do not agree with me. Lord, the disease, the smell, and the natives. I can't begin to tell you how much I've missed civilised society."

At his insulting remark, Anju bent her head and folded her slender brown hands in her lap.

Bunny frowned and crossed her arms.

I knew there was something bothersome about him. Why didn't I listen to my instinct?

"Actually, I-"

"Oh, look, we're cutting through Hyde Park," he said before she could finish.

How rude!

He peered through the window, then at his reflection and smoothed a hand over his hair. "Not far now."

A squeak sounded beside Bunny and her hand luggage wriggled with a life of its own. Suddenly, a bundle of grey fur spilled across her lap.

She gasped and grabbed her pet. "Where do you think you're going, Pikoo?"

Carte's eyes widened. "What on earth is that?"

"Pikoo is a mongoose, Mr Carte." She held him close to her chest and stroked his back. "He's been sleeping to keep warm, but it looks like he's hungry now."

"You keep a mongoose? They're bloodthirsty little killers. Good heavens, Miss Spencer. I should toss that thing out into the snow before it bites someone's finger off."

Bunny grit her teeth. "I would never do such a thing. Pikoo has been with me since he was a pup."

Carte said nothing, but watched the mongoose raise his small pointed nose to sniff the air.

Outside, daylight faded. The gas lamps that lined the quiet park road glowed, receding into the misty distance. At that moment, something slammed into the side of the vehicle, startling everyone. The wheels slid to a halt and an inhuman roar bellowed outside, followed by the scream of their driver. Bunny's blood froze.

"What is it?" cried Anju, eyes darting to the window.

The carriage shook with thuds and screams above their heads.

Carte recoiled into his seat. "Oh, dear Lord."

Jaw clenched, Bunny passed Pikoo to Anju, then opened her trunk and hunted through petticoats and spice tins. She found her father's revolver under a pair of bloomers. The weapon held a single bullet, but it was better than nothing.

Carte's mouth dropped open. "A gun?"

"Yes."

"Do you always travel with a pistol?"

"It's a revolver, actually. Army issue. I'm more accustomed to a rifle, but it wouldn't fit in my travel case."

The carriage stopped shaking and silence descended. Heart pounding in her ears, Bunny strained to listen. Carte froze, his chest rising and falling. In the gloom, fear glinted in his large eyes.

"Has it gone?" he whispered.

They waited for a long moment until they appeared to be alone, then she forced herself to open the door a crack.

"Don't open it." Carte shot forward.

"We can't stay here all night. I think it's safe now. The driver may need help."

The thought of the man's scream turned her stomach. If he were alive, he must be injured. She pushed the door open and leaned out.

Carte appealed to her from the edge of his seat. "Miss Spencer, please reconsider. We don't know what's out there."

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "I shot a hyena once."

He looked more scandalised than reassured.

Anju followed her outside, clutching Pikoo to her shoulder.

In the rising moonlight, snow shone, dotted with puddles of orange lamplight. The air hung dense and silent, and a familiar feeling crept over her; a sense of being watched. But the park was full of dark spaces, making it impossible to see what lurked within the trees. They stayed near the carriage and edged towards the harnessed horses. Clouds of hot breath billowed from the animals' fleshy nostrils. When they reached the driver's seat, they found it empty.

"Where is he?" whispered Anju.

Snow crunched behind them and they spun around to face Carte.

"Oh, it's you." Bunny let out a relieved breath. "The driver is missing."

Carte peered up at the vacant seat. "I'll drive. We should inform the police about this."

"What about the driver?" She scanned the road for any sign of the man.

Clawed prints in the snow circled the carriage and led off towards the trees. A howl echoed through the woodland.

Carte glanced over his shoulder and climbed up to take the reins. "There's no time. Now, please get back in the carriage."

Bunny hated to desert an injured man, but she knew they were in danger if they lingered. She started toward the carriage door, halting when she saw the deep slashes across the vehicle. Three jagged tears scored the metal, and a clump of dark, stringy fur clung to the twisted steel.

"What on earth could have caused this?"

At the sound of panting, she tensed. Steps crunched on the other side of the vehicle, rounding the back. She raised the gun.

Anju took shaky breaths behind her. "I don't think it's a hyena this time. Bunny, get back in the carriage."

Whatever approached, Carte saw it first and yelled in fear before he snapped the reins. Alarmed, Bunny grabbed the door handle. But the motion of the carriage jolted her backward, sending her smashing into Anju. The gun fired wide, and both girls crashed to the ground where the road met a shadowy slope. Pikoo escaped Anju's grip and darted into the bushes, screeching.

"Mr Carte, wait," screamed Bunny. "Wait!"

A creature bounded past in pursuit of the carriage, apelike in its movements – a streak of sinewy limbs, fur, a bushy tail, and a pointed muzzle.

Carte showed no sign of stopping. Then a groan reached Bunny's ears. On the other side of the road, half hidden by a snowdrift, she spotted the driver. Together, she and Anju scrambled over to him.

"Are you injured?" she asked.

The driver held his bleeding leg and winced. "I'll be all right."

Up ahead, the creature lashed out at the retreating carriage and bounced off the back. It gave up on the chase and crouched, howling, a black shape on the road against the misty, lamp-lit horizon. Then it snapped its head in their direction, bright yellow eyes shining in the dark.

Don't come back, she prayed. Please don't come back.

The beast broke into a sprint towards them.

"Run," said the driver, shaking her arm. "Both of you, go."

Anju tugged her arm in desperation. "Please, Bunny, let's go."

In the shafts of blue moonlight, she caught glimpses of the creature. It was gangly and powerful, and covered in ragged hair. Its shaggy ears were pinned back on its head, and drool flew from its canine muzzle as it closed the distance.

Throat constricting with terror, Bunny took Anju's hand and ran. But the snow slowed their escape. They managed a few steps before Anju stumbled, dragging Bunny down with her. Frozen ground broke their fall, forcing a cry from Bunny's lips. Snarling pants and the crunch of paw pads on snow closed in. Terrified, she rolled onto her back, and braced herself for the pain of claws and teeth, when suddenly a figure burst through the treetops.

From a dizzying height, the stranger landed on his feet between the creature and its prey. He released a rope and fetched a rifle from his shoulder. To Bunny's astonishment, he took aim at the charging beast.

"Tag. You're it," he called and squeezed the trigger.

Bunny covered her ears before a crack of gunpowder lit the road. The shot slammed into its target, knocking it backward with a yelp. In a spray of ice, the creature tumbled across the ground. It lay still for only a moment, then stood and shook its long pelt. The stranger rolled to the side and arrived on his knees beside Bunny. Just as swiftly, he tugged two flintlock pistols from his belt, and fired. The guns exploded, and the injured creature retreated into the trees, disappearing from view.

Relief flooded Bunny's body, and she sat up, ears ringing and mind whirling. Before she could thank the gunman, he sprang to his feet and followed through the pistol smoke. For a moment, it seemed he might pursue the beast into the woodland, but he glanced back, appearing torn.

"Confound it," he muttered and tucked the guns in his belt. His boots stomped through the powder as he approached. "Do excuse the unconventional entrance. Is everyone alive?"

The moon formed a halo behind his silhouette, and Bunny wondered if she was awake or dreaming. Had she fallen asleep in the carriage?

She blinked up at him. "What just happened?"

"Werewolf."

The ringing in her ears had faded, but surely she'd misheard him? Such creatures were English folklore. Fictional tales told around campfires. Werewolves weren't real, were they?

She blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say werewolf?"

"I'm afraid so," he replied. "I say, are you all right?"

He crouched in front of her and she saw his face. In the pearly moonlight, the young man resembled an angel from a renaissance painting. He was all cherubic cheeks and curly blonde hair. Only, she'd never heard of an angel wearing a blood-speckled duster coat and goggles. Nor did angels carry rifles over their shoulders.

"Yes." She took his gloved hand and stood. "We're alive, but this gentleman is hurt."

His warm smile evaporated, and he turned to the driver who leaned on Anju for support. "What happened?"

The driver winced and shook his head. "Got me with its claws. I reckon my ankle's broken too."

"There's a park ranger and police lodge twenty yards that way. They'll be able to help you. It's been a pleasure, but I'm afraid you must excuse me." He shook her hand with a firm grip and bowed.

It was a peculiar display of good manners, given the circumstances. Probably one of those London society things, she thought. He strode back to the dangling rope where he removed a glove and whistled through his fingers. A rope ladder dropped from the heavens, and he prepared to ascend. Perhaps he really was an angel disguised as an Englishman. Her gaze trailed up the ropes.

"A gas balloon!"

The young man grinned at her, his white teeth glinting in the darkness. "Indeed. And it's the perfect way to track a werewolf."

She stared in wonderment. It wasn't every day one saw a colourful gas balloon floating overhead.

"Wait," she called. "I don't know your name. I'm Berenice – I mean, Miss Berenice Spencer."

"Forgive my manners. Jim Penderry – investigative journalist and monster hunting enthusiast – at your service." He plucked a card from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

James Penderry of Penderry's Bizarre Magazine. Investigator of myth, legend and the supernatural. 59 Jermyn Street, London.

He climbed the ladder, and the balloon moved away on the wintry currents, drifting behind the trees. Pikoo appeared out of the bushes, sniffing the churned snow. Bunny called him, and the mongoose raced up her cloak to nestle in the crook of her neck.

"Pikoo." She exhaled with relief and rubbed him under the chin. "What do you make of all this?"

Myths. Legends. Werewolves? Amidst her confusion, one thing was clear. Her new life in England was not at all what she'd expected.