“Sometimes, I’m unsure of how to express my feelings.” My face grows warm as I think how this applies not only to my own writing, but to my feelings for him. “My words do not seem to accurately capture the moment and all that it encompasses.”
“Exactly!” Allan grips the edge of the table. “I have started something different. Something darker than anything I’ve ever written before. A study on the effects of death, and the shadows her dark pallor casts on all of us when murder is involved. Although I can see the story inside my head, the words come to me only in rare moments. I have tried …” He stops and shakes his head. “I’ve tried many things to write when I wish to, but the words will not come. And then, just when I’m no longer thinking about it, I find that I have written parts of this story. I find these words written in the oddest places, but try as hard as I might, I cannot recreate them.”
His words draw me in, and suddenly I find myself leaning toward him, putting my hand on top of his. “Inspiration is fickle, Allan, but you have a true talent. You will find your way.”
“I have been inspired”—he turns his hand so that his palm is touching mine—“every time I see you.” His hand is large, and I can feel the roughness of his skin as he entwines his fingers with my own. It seems as though every heartbeat, pulsing within my veins, echoes between us. Slowly, he leans in closer. With his free hand, he traces a curl that has fallen loose down my shoulder.
“So beautiful,” he whispers.
I’m afraid to draw a breath.
His hand moves to my cheek and I feel dizzy. The experience is strange and frightening and wonderful. As I part my lips to breathe, I find that I want to draw him in even closer. And, as if by some unspoken magic, he leans in.
And then he kisses me.
His mouth tastes like cherries, with just a hint of the brandy Grand-père gave to me, and his lips are so warm I wonder if they’ll burn me. He kisses me delicately at first, as the butterflies in my chest fly faster and the rain turns fierce, pounding against the windows with a relentless onslaught of wind and fury. We have already crossed the bounds of propriety. But I’m drawn helplessly toward him for more.
His lips move to my ear, leaving a white-hot trail on my skin. “Annabel,” he breathes, nipping at my earlobe. The pain is exquisite. I never want it to end. My breath quickens, and it feels as if I’m drowning again beneath the water, like when we first met. Lost under the waves that crash over my head and drag me under, even as I struggle to break through the surface. I cannot think for this mad wanting.
He pulls away, and I want to cry out—to beg him not to leave. But he turns his attention to my throat, and I’m satisfied again. He moves slowly toward the collar of my dress, when a flare of panic seizes me.
He pushes aside my scarf.
“No,” I gasp, moving away. My stays are making it impossible to breathe.
He stands abruptly. “I have forgotten myself. I’m sorry. Forgive me, it will not happen again.”
“No, Allan …” I straighten my scarf and then touch the combs in my hair. They are loose, and I’m sure I must look disheveled. I can hear Mrs. Tusk’s voice in my head again, speaking of proper etiquette and reputation. “There is nothing to forgive. I was just overwhelmed. It was … I did not mean to push you away.”
“No?”
He waits expectantly.
“No,” I whisper.
He pulls me to my feet and holds me close. The sensation make my heart pound frantically. My body is pressed against his.
“You have haunted my dreams. My waking hours. Every moment in between,” he says.
I stare up at him, lost in the darkness of his eyes.
He lowers his mouth to mine, and just before he steals my breath again, he echoes my thoughts. “I am lost in you.”
Fifteen
I request dinner in my room that evening, telling Cook I’m not feeling well. I cannot face Father or Grand-père after spending the afternoon with Allan. My face will surely betray every thought I have of him. And, truthfully, although I’m not feeling ill in the traditional sense, a mad fever races through my bones. Though we parted only hours ago, I long to see him again.
My body grows hot as I sit at my desk and relive his kisses. Glancing down at my arm, I trace the path that his lips took. Every finger, every bone, down the soft inner part of my wrist where he lingered …
And then I think of where my fingers traveled. How I freed his hair from the band at his neck and ran my hands through the soft, silken strands. It created a dark halo around us as he rested his forehead on mine. I could see myself reflected in his eyes, and the picture of wild abandon that I presented there shocked me. My lips were swollen, eyes wide, hair loose around my shoulders. He lifted one hand and tangled his fingers in my curls, dragging in a ragged breath and we spent a long moment in silence.
I close my eyes and then open them again, leaning forward to peer into the looking glass. Do I look any different? Will anyone take one glance at me and see that I’m his?
But the glass reflects only my normal self. My lips are no longer swollen, my cheeks are no longer red. The only thing changed are my eyes.… Something deeper shines out from them now. A knowledge that was not there before.
Johanna helps me undress for bed since Maddy is still ill, and I quickly climb beneath the covers. I can feel myself drifting off before she even leaves the room, and I mumble a good night. When my dreams suddenly turn to someone shaking my shoulder, I try to ignore the intrusion.
“Miss! Please wake up, miss. I need yer help,” a voice whispers urgently in my ear.
I frown, and burrow deeper beneath the covers.
“Miss, please, wake up. Miss … Annabel!”
My name is enough to rouse me from my slumber, and I open my eyes. Maddy’s frightened face is bent down close to mine, a trembling candle between us. Her whole body is shaking. “Maddy? What is it?”
She bites her lips and tears fill her eyes. “I need yer help. I know I should not be asking, but I have no one else. She’s hurt bad, an’ I don’t know what to do. Since you helped Johanna, I thought maybe you could help me, too.”
A sense of calm immediately comes over me. Mother always told me that, in a time of panic, a clear head is necessary.
“What do you need, Maddy?” I climb out of bed and hurry across the room to the armoire. Ignoring the corset and petticoat, I reach for my traveling dress and put it on directly over my shift. The tone of her voice tells me I’m needed too urgently to worry about propriety. I pull out my bedroom slippers and put those on as well.
“It’s Mama. She’s hurt an’ needs help.”
“Of course. Where is she?”
“At our house near the marketplace.”
“Let me stop by the kitchen for some supplies, and then we can be on our way.”
Maddy nods and takes my hand, leading me down the back staircase. Her hand is like ice. That she took mine without hesitation must mean she is even more worried than she’s let on. Once I have twine and a needle, a pair of scissors, the nettle-and-licorice salve, and linen for bandages, we exit through the kitchen door and go through the gate leading from Father’s courtyard to the street.
As we walk, I come to the realization that I’m about to openly defy Father. Only yesterday he told me he still thinks medicine has no place for women …
I quicken my pace. No matter what he says, I will not allow Maddy’s mother to go without medical aid.
We hurry on through the dark. Without Maddy by my side, I would surely lose my way. She takes me down narrow alleys where the row houses grow smaller and smaller until we come to a tall, skinny one. As we enter, there are several flights of stairs to climb. On the fifth floor, Maddy stops at the first door and pulls out a key. The room beyond is small and poorly lit. The only light comes from two stubby candles stuck on tin plates, glowing in melted puddles of wax.
A cough comes from behind a curtain on my left, and I see dirty feet hanging from the edge of a cot. �
��Is that her?” I ask.
Maddy nods and pulls back the curtain.
At first, I see nothing more than a pile of blankets. I let my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness as Maddy holds up one of the tin plates bearing a candle. Then the blankets move. A woman’s face peers up at me, and I stifle my gasp.
Sharp cheekbones jut out beneath sunken eye sockets. There is dried blood at the corners of her mouth, and a fresh bruise stretches across her jaw. Her skin is tinged with the pallor of malnutrition. She holds out a gnarled hand to me and her mouth opens in a silent scream.
“Be calm,” I say gently. “I’m a friend of Maddy’s. She brought me here to help you.” I hold very still and make sure my tone is low and soothing. “My name is Annabel.”
Maddy comes closer. “It’s true, Mama.” Leaning down, she gently takes her mother’s hand. “She’s a healer. Let her have a look at yer leg now. Please?”
Maddy’s mother shrinks back. She does not have enough strength to resist the request, though she is clearly terrified.
“My own mother was a healer, too.” I move slowly toward the cot. It is low to the ground, so I sit on the floor. “She taught me everything she knew.” I glance quickly at the bottom of the blanket and see a large black stain. My heart beats faster at the sight. I must convince her to allow me to see what has happened.
But in her fear, she pulls herself almost off the edge of the cot to get away from me. Her eyes are wide and scared.
I start humming softly, and then find the words to the song Mother used to sing. “Oh, the oak and the ash and the bonny birken tree. They flourish at home in her own country. A north country maiden up to London had strayed, although with her nature it did not agree. She wept and she sighed, and so bitterly she cried: I wish once again, in the north I could be.”
Maddy’s mother’s lips start to move and she forms the words along with me. “Oh, the oak and the ash and the bonny birken tree. They flourish at home in her own country.…”
We sing the rest, and I move my hand to her forehead. Gray hair clings to her bare scalp in clumps. I don’t know what’s happened to this poor woman, but she has not known an easy life. Her eyes start to drift closed. “I’m going to remove the blankets now,” I say softly. “I won’t do anything more than look, though, I promise.”
I glance at Maddy and she nods her agreement. She starts humming, and I’m thankful she can help keep her mother distracted. I lift up the blanket. It’s stiff with dried blood, and smells like putrefaction. I steel myself for what I’m going to find.
When the leg is fully revealed, it’s even worse than I imagined. The flesh is rotting. A strip of skin at least six inches wide is missing from the entire length of her lower limb, knee to foot. If it were a simple cut, I could stitch the edges of the wound together. But there isn’t enough skin to do that. I’ve never seen anything like this before.
I look at Maddy, and she must be able to tell how helpless I’m feeling.
“I’m going to get you some water, Mama,” she says, withdrawing her hand. “I’ll just be right over here.”
Her mother gives no sign that she understands what Maddy is saying. The only indication that she’s still alive is the slow rise and fall of her chest. I follow behind Maddy, and keep my voice low. “I would try to close the wound, but it’s so large and there is so little flesh left.…” I shake my head in frustration.
Maddy wrings her hands. “I did not know how bad it was. I only just found out. My brother wrote me an’ told me he came home to her like this.”
“Oh, Maddy … Her wound should have been seen to at least a week past.”
Maddy’s hand-wringing continues, and she worries her lip. I put my hand on top of hers. Is this what she meant about losing her mother?
“What happened?” I ask.
“She’s touched. It started when I was ten. We all tried to keep an eye on her. Me an’ my brothers an’ sisters. But Mama was found wandering the streets one day an’ committed to Pennsylvania Hospital. To the women’s insane ward.”
“And she was … released?” I cannot bring myself to ask if she escaped.
Maddy nods. “Last week. They said she was cured. She’s been here on her own an’ I just found out. That’s why I was so upset, Miss Annabel. Why I was ashamed.”
There is no delicate way to ask my next question. “Did she do this to … herself?”
Maddy nods again, miserably. “When I was little, Mama thought bugs were crawling beneath her skin, an’ she would tear off great bloody chunks to get at them.”
How difficult it must be to go through life having to take care of your mother instead of having her take care of you. “I’ll clean the wound and apply some salve. Then we’ll cover the injury and try to keep it dry.”
While I ready my supplies, Maddy fetches a glass of water. When I’m ready, she props her mother’s head upon her shoulder and helps her take a sip. “I’ll try to be quick,” I say.
Thankfully, luck is on my side, and the wound is easy to clean. It’s messy work, though, and I have to keep exchanging dirty rags for fresh ones. When there are no more signs of putrefaction, I dress the wound with a clean bandage.
Standing wearily, I wash my hands in a bucket that serves as a sink. “That’s all I can do for now. The rest is up to God.” My back is sore and my legs ache from sitting for so long.
Maddy joins me a moment later, her face showing relief. “Mama’s sleeping.”
“Good. Rest will help her heal quickly.”
“Miss, I—”
“Annabel.”
She blushes and looks down.
“You mustn’t thank me, if that’s what you’re thinking, Maddy. You’re my friend and you had a need. I wouldn’t be acting as your friend if I didn’t help when I could.”
She opens her mouth to say something more, but then simply nods. Her shoulders slump. She looks exhausted.
I press the pot of salve and the rest of the bandages into her hands. “Remember, just as I told Johanna, after the first three days, the bandages need to be changed and new salve applied. Keep an eye on the edges of the wound for discoloration.”
Maddy bobs her head and takes the supplies, placing them on the floor next to the cot. “I’ll be sure to do as you say, Miss Annabel.” Then she returns to me. “We should be getting back to yer father’s house now.”
“I’m glad you’ll be with me, Maddy. I don’t think I can find my way home in the dark.”
Maddy glances over at a grimy window above the bucket. The window is so small, I had not noticed it was there. “It’s not dark out anymore. There’s daylight.”
My heart sinks as I look over and see this is true. Morning has come.
And I’ve been out all night.
Sixteen
We race through the streets, trying to get back to Father’s house before we’re missed. The morning air is crisp and cool with a light covering of fog on the ground, and I rub my hands together to try to warm them. We’re almost there when, rounding a corner, I stumble on a loose stone. Hands reach out to catch me before I fall, and I look up to see a familiar face.
“Edgar.”
He helps me regain my footing, though he wears a sly expression. “My, my, my. Since your father had an early morning errand, I know why I’m out and about at such an ungodly hour, but what about you?” He glances over at Maddy. “Have you not heard there’s a murderer on the loose?”
I draw away from him. “My maid needed my help.”
“Did she? And what assistance did she require?”
Maddy takes a protective step in front of me. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Mmmm-hmm.” Edgar looks at Maddy, and then back to me. When his eyes shift lower, I pull the edges of my dress tightly around me. Not only am I without a coat, but my laces are still open in the back. I shiver uncontrollably as the morning air hits the thin material.
Edgar makes an aggravated sound, and then removes his overcoat. He roughly drapes it around my
shoulders. “Here. Take this.”
Before I can object, he is striding away from me, his cane tapping furiously as he heads in the direction from which Maddy and I just came. I turn to face Maddy. She appears as surprised as I am.
“Edgar Poe acting like a gentleman,” she says solemnly. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” Her shocked reverie lasts a moment longer, and then she blinks. Tugging on my hand, she pulls me forward. “We need to go, miss. Now.”
We pass through the gate and cross the courtyard, creeping quietly into the kitchen. Cook and Johanna are preparing breakfast and they give us questioning looks, but Maddy holds one finger up to her mouth in a silent request. They nod and go back to their tasks. We’re almost to the kitchen stairs, when the door from the dining room suddenly opens.
“I have repeatedly asked that the paper be waiting for me in the morning,” Father says loudly as he enters the room. “Where is that serving girl? I am in need of some coffee and—”
He halts when he sees us. Moments later, Grand-père follows.
“Well …,” Grand-père says. He is clearly at a loss for words. “Well …”
Father does not say anything at all.
Aware of how shocking I must appear, given the fact that I’m barely dressed and wearing a gentleman’s overcoat, I try to compose myself. “There was an emergency. My help was needed,” is all I can manage.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” Maddy says. She looks down at the ground. “Miss Annabel was with my mother. She hurt herself.”
A dark look of disbelief shadows Father’s face. He ignores Maddy and glares at me. “You were practicing medicine?”
Every word is as sharp as a razor.
“Yes.”
Of Monsters and Madness Page 10