by Amanda Deed
A thud came against the door. Not as though he attacked it in aggression, but as if he slumped against it. ‘The key.’ Muffled words followed that she could not make out.
‘What is it you are trying to say, Edward?’
‘I cannot think. Mind is foggy. Where is the key?’
‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘Where is the key?’ He mumbled again.
Serena shook her head. At a loss, she turned and leaned her back against the door.
‘It’s on the hook.’
‘What?’ She straightened again. ‘What hook?’
‘Hook.’ There was a long pause. ‘In the kitchen.’
The kitchen. Determination surged through Serena again and she hurried back up the stairs. With the candle held high, she searched for a hook with a key, or keys, on it. The flickering light fell on pots, pans and utensils, all reflecting an eerie gleam. At long last, when she feared the thumping of her heart would surely wake the household, she saw the key. Lifting it from the hook so as not to make any clunking or jingling noise, Serena then raced back to the cellar.
‘I’m here, Edward. I have the key,’ she murmured against the door.
She needed to set the candle on the floor to manoeuvre the lock in its flickering light. After much fumbling and jiggling, Serena recognised the click as the lock released, and she removed it then pulled the bolt. She retrieved her candle, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.
An ache wrapped around her heart at the sight she beheld. Aside from the common cellar occupants—bottles of wine, wheels of cheese, fruit and vegetables, and the odd rat—a paltry cot filled the corner, on which lay a dishevelled Mr King. The damp and cold of the cellar made her draw her robe tighter. The air in the underground room was dank and stale.
Serena sank to her knees beside Mr King, horror filling her chest. How could the family lock him in the darkness, alone? By the odour drifting from his shirt, they had not given him the chance to bathe either. ‘You poor man.’ The words jerked from her throat, almost resembling sobs, and she clasped one of his chilly hands in hers, pressing it to her cheek.
Edward groaned and rolled toward her. ‘Serena.’
Even in the light of the single candle, she saw the glaze over his great dark eyes. They were clouded by blood shot veins. Drugged. Sedated. Imprisoned. The knowledge that his family did this to one they loved shocked and hurt her more than the knowledge that Mr King might be insane.
‘You ... angel. My angel.’ He smiled up at her.
Oh dear. He was delusional. How much of the drug had they given him? And what drug was it? Common sense told her laudanum. She’d seen the effects of it before on her mother. The memory of Mama assailed her then. And all that her death had meant for her family. So much loss. Serena had told Mrs Jones she would leave in the morning, and part of her wanted to do just that. To be with her family. To escape from this terrible house. But another part of her couldn’t leave knowing Mr King was suffering. She let out a long sigh.
‘I love you, Serena,’ Mr King mumbled, his words slurred. ‘Marry me.’
Serena pressed her lips together in a grim line. Even in his delirium, he persisted in making advances. It both pleased her and made her ache even more. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. ‘What am I to do with you?’
‘Rescue me. Save me. That’s what angels do.’
When he told her his mind was foggy, he had been understating it. Serena sighed again. Delirious. She released his hand. ‘Only God can truly save. But I can help you to your suite where you will be comfortable. Can you get up?’
In response, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Serena gripped his arm as he stood up, steadying him. Despite his apparent weakness, the muscles beneath her fingers felt firm, tense even, making her catch her breath. Touching him did strange things to her stomach.
Ignoring those flutters, Serena slowly led Mr King to his room where she let him sink onto his bed. He groaned. In pain or relief, she wasn’t sure. As she busied herself making him comfortable, she wondered how the family would react come morning. Indeed, what would she say to them?
It may have been awkward to care for Edward last night—even if he was insensible at the time—but facing the family today, especially Mr Simon, was infinitely more so. Serena had gathered warm water and a cloth, to do her best to bathe Edward without crossing too many borders of propriety. In truth, the whole episode was improper. The sensations sponging his chest aroused in her were alarming. And the way her heart pounded as she spoon-fed him thin soup she’d rummaged up from the kitchen. By the time she left the room, agitation kept her from sleeping.
But now this ... this unavoidable and wretched confrontation.
‘Who gave you the right to meddle in our affairs?’ Mr Simon glared.
His words provoked Serena to anger, despite a herculean effort to remain calm after what she had witnessed. Still she kept her voice low. ‘And what, may I ask, gives you the right to lock up your uncle like a common criminal?’
Mr Xavier stepped between them then, a hand stretched out to Mr Simon to ward him off, as he looked back to her in supplication. Mr and Mrs Jones watched on with pale faces. ‘You do not understand. Please, Miss Bellingham.’
‘Not understand?’ Serena frowned. ‘I understand perfectly. I can recognise the effects of laudanum and lack of care.’
Now Mrs Jones stepped forward, eyes pleading. ‘You have not lived with Edward enough to comprehend completely. It is as though his mind soars higher and higher in a frenzy of thought. Thoughts that are beyond reality. He does not sleep. He ... he is not safe.’ She swallowed, as though trying to ingest a whole plum. ‘We put him in the cellar with the laudanum to settle him again.’
‘Without a decent meal? Without water for bathing? You punish him for his illness. It is cruel and inhumane.’
‘We intended to bring him out today, I swear it,’ Mr Xavier uttered, his head hung low. ‘We never leave him there for too long.’
‘And what is your estimation of too long? A week? Two weeks? Why can you not confine him in his suite when he is like this?’
‘This is what I mean by meddling.’ Mr Simon scowled. ‘Do you not think we have tried everything possible? His room makes him worse, and then he—’
‘She need not know the unpleasant details of his illness, son.’ Mr Jones cut him off then turned to Serena. He appeared ashen, weary, as though he carried a heavy burden on his shoulders. ‘They speak truth, my dear. This is a heart-breaking condition for us as well as for poor Edward. We do what we can, however desperate and unnatural it may seem, to keep him away from the asylum. I doubt we can say much to convince you that what we do is for the best. And because the best is what is in our hearts, I am convinced it is best that you pack your things and return to your family’s home.’
Serena stood agape for a moment, her mouth working, but no words forming. She’d expected this from Mr Simon, and perhaps even from Mrs Jones, but never from Mr Jones. ‘You’re sending me away because I tried to help him?’
Mr Jones released a heavy sigh. ‘I’m sending you away because your presence brings more heartache to an already traumatic situation.’
Tears pricked behind her eyes. The words hurt. They blamed her for Edward’s sickness, at least this episode of it. They blamed her for interfering. They blamed her for caring. It was not fair, but there was no strong point to argue, except for Edward himself. ‘But what does Mr King want? He told me if I returned home, he would imprison my father. I am afraid to leave without his consent.’
Truth be told, she was not afraid that Edward would condemn her father. Not anymore. Somehow, she didn’t believe he would do it. But she couldn’t walk away without an effort to fight. She feared they would lock him in the cellar again. He didn’t deserve it, even if he was brain sick. There had to be a better way.
‘We can take care of
Edward, Miss Bellingham. We shall see that he does not contact the police about your father. My wife already spoke to you regarding this yesterday.’
Serena let out a long breath and let her hands drop to her sides. ‘Well, it seems I am no longer welcome here. I shall do as you ask and leave right away. I always regretted leaving my family, so I suppose it is for the best.’ Somehow, it didn’t feel like the best though. She dropped into a deep curtsy and summoned as much gratitude as she could find. ‘Thank you for having me here for as long as you did. I know it must have been a trial for you as I was unaware of Mr King’s condition. Not a word of this will leave my lips, I can assure you. I have no intention of causing any of you, especially Mr King, further heartache.’
As Serena took her leave of them half an hour later, she knew every word she had spoken was true. She cared about this family, even if they thought her an interfering domestic. Mrs Jones looked relieved in a grim way, Mr Jones wore a resigned expression. but Mr Simon, well, he smiled for the first time she’d noticed. Mr Xavier appeared to be a trifle sad as he handed her into the carriage to drive her home. Serena swallowed her disappointment and turned to face the road ahead.
Emotions warred within her. On the one hand, it would be grand to see Papa and her beloved sisters again. She could play games with her sisters, or walk to the docks whenever she wanted. She would be free. But, on the other hand, she would miss that magnificent house of Aleron, almost magical in its design. And especially she would miss its eccentric owner. That is how she determined to remember Mr King. Eccentric and wonderful. Never would the words insane or lunatic enter her head again. He was no more than an outlandish, very generous, darkly handsome genius who may even love her given half a chance.
Serena sighed as Mr Xavier drove away from her front gate with no more than a curt nod. No sense in dwelling on ‘what ifs’, or allowing her imagination to take flight. Home was her reality now. A loving family who needed her.
‘Serena!’ Papa came bursting out of the house and wrapped her in a bear-like embrace filled with warmth and smelling of home. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were to serve Mr King for many more months.’
She opened her mouth. What could she tell him? Very little in fact. ‘I’ve been dismissed.’
Confusion creased Papa’s forehead. ‘Did you do something wrong?’
Serena shrugged. ‘Not precisely.’ Now to make it sound convincing. ‘They weren’t happy with my work.’
‘They?’
‘Mr King’s family.’
Papa’s expression clouded. ‘But what of his threat? He was most emphatic about reporting me to the authorities. He didn’t let you go so easily, surely.’
Serena tried to shrug and forced a bright laugh. ‘His family overruled him, you see. They assure me Mr King will not go to the authorities.’
‘That is something, I suppose.’ His face brightened a little, and then his brow furrowed again. ‘But to say you weren’t good enough ...I’ve never known a girl who worked harder or more selflessly than you, my dear.’
‘Thank you, Papa. That means so much.’ Serena squeezed his hands. ‘Aleron House is kept in such pristine order. In comparison, our home might be called a rubbish heap.’ Her thoughts travelled to Edward’s chaotic rooms. Perhaps she had grossly overstated the matter—for that one section of Aleron, anyhow.
Papa let out a deep sigh. ‘You cannot realise what a relief it is to have you home, Serena.’ He tucked her hand through his arm and led her toward the door. ‘I think a celebration is in order. Your sisters will be so pleased to see you home again.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they will.’ Serena’s smile covered a nagging doubt. Pleased because they truly missed her, or pleased because she would be there to coddle them again?
22
Thursday, 2nd June, 1842
Gone.
She is gone.
The light.
The life.
No more, no more.
Grey.
Dull shadow.
Nothing remains.
But the curse.
The curse.
Always the curse.
23
Serena sat around the kitchen table with her family as they shared their first supper together in months. As Papa suggested, they celebrated with mutton stew that Serena, for the most part, cooked herself, although it tasted nothing compared to Becker’s masterpieces. It didn’t even smell as good. So, her sisters had learned little in the cooking department.
As if reading her mind, Papa closed his eyes, savouring a mouthful. ‘I have not had food this tasty in weeks.’
Curious. ‘What did you eat these past weeks?’
‘A lot of bread.’ Papa chuckled. ‘From the bakery, of course. None of your wonderful home-baked goodness.’
Julianne pouted. ‘I made you food, Papa.’
‘Of course you did, my dear. Just nothing like this.’
Serena waited for more details, but none came. Probably boiled eggs, cuts of preserved meat, and a few vegetables, if she were to guess. Knowing Julianne’s fear of the stove, it would have fallen on Rachel to prepare any hot food.
‘Well, at least you’re home now. And sooner than I expected, too.’ Julianne wore a wide grin.
‘Sooner than we all expected.’ Papa corrected. ‘You girls should tell Serena your news.’ He waved his fork in their direction.
‘What news?’ Serena sat straighter.
Julianne’s grin widened. Serena wasn’t sure her sister could look more excited.
‘I have a beau.’
Serena had expected an announcement of sorts, but not that kind.
‘And I am to attend school,’ Rachel’s eyes shone. ‘At least, I will next year. Papa says so.’
‘You have? You are?’ Serena almost choked on a piece of mutton.
The girls nodded so vigorously, their curls bobbed.
‘My dear Reynold has been the greatest support without you here,’ Julianne sighed. ‘We met in the store, while I was attempting to buy sugar and flour. I cannot tell you how silly I felt. I was so uncertain about how many pounds to buy. Just when I wished that you were still home—because you know all about that kind of thing—Reynold approached me. He must have seen what a pickle I was in and most helpfully suggested quantities. After I made the purchase, he asked if he could call on me, and, well, that’s how it started.’
There were no words. This was the last news Serena had expected. ‘So ... you like him very much?’
‘Yes.’ She demurred. ‘When I am seventeen, I hope he may make an offer.’
Still nonplussed, Serena turned to Rachel. ‘And you? School?’
‘Papa says I am good with numbers and that I should learn.’ Her younger sister bit her lip, appearing nervous. ‘He says perhaps I might one day help him with the ledgers for his merchant business.’
‘You’re to keep ledgers?’
‘Oh, Papa thinks I am quite capable, and since his business is doing better again—’
‘It is?’ Serena’s eyes swerved to her father who wore an indulgent smile, rather than the expected shamefaced guilt or regret over his own failings. Surely their situation couldn’t have changed so much. And yet, he did not indicate opposition. He sat there, proud as a rooster strutting in front of his hens. Yet, Serena had been away for almost two months, and they hadn’t written her a single detail about any of this.
‘Why have I not heard anything from you?’
She wrote to them. She wrote often. And she had written everything. In return, they had written nothing. Nothing of consequence.
‘Well, we thought it might upset you, since you wouldn’t be able to return to see us, stuck in that terrible place.’ The three of them exchanged glances, flashes of guilt in their expressions.
So, they had moved on with their lives, never expe
cting to see Serena home again. Julianne was looking toward marriage and Papa would replace Serena with Rachel to administrate his merchant business. How vain I have been. She assumed they were at home pining after her, not managing without her—and they’d more than managed. The truth stung. And they had not considered telling her any of this, they put her out of their minds and continued with life. Well, that’s how it felt.
Trying to think about it from their perspective, she understood a little. They assumed she would not be home for a long time. ‘Aleron is not so bad, but I suppose you make sense.’ It was still disappointing though. After all, she had bared her soul in her letters, held nothing back.
Serena’s stomach lurched. She had written everything. Oh, dear God, what had she done? With a sense of panic rising, she searched Papa’s face. ‘Did you tell anyone what I wrote to you?’ She held her breath, waiting for an answer.
‘Well, no. I only read your letters to the girls. Why?’
She breathed out in relief. ‘A nasty report about Mr King found its way into the paper, and we don’t know how.’
‘We?’
‘Mr King’s family and I.’
‘Oh, that was me,’ Julianne announced in a matter-of-fact tone, then popped a piece of meat in her mouth.
Serena stared at her, shock and confusion warring in her mind. ‘What? Why?’
‘Well, it was dreadful here without you at first, and Papa was pining so. When he read that letter to us I worried so much about you. I thought, if everyone knew what a beast Mr King is, he would be locked away, rather than you or Papa. And then you would come home to us.’ She grinned with naïve innocence as she eyed each family member. ‘See how well it worked, and sooner than I’d hoped, too.’
Serena’s body trembled, nausea swirling in her stomach. ‘What did you do?’ She placed her hands beneath her thighs in order to stop their shaking.
‘I went to the newspaper and a lovely chap was very obliging and listened to my story.’
Serena bit on her lip. This did not bode well.