Unhinged

by Amanda Deed

  ‘No, Edward. Please—’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘Edward. You don’t—’

  ‘Now! I said get out!’

  The roar in his voice left her with no choice but to retreat. And retreat she did, all the way to her bed chamber, where she locked the door.

  24

  Monday, 6th June, 1842

  She rejects me.

  The curse turns her away despite her affection.

  How can I convince her to stay? How can I assure her of my love? Can I even make her understand?

  Serena.

  I am repulsive to her. She sees only the curse in me, and not the truth of me. I shall never be enough.

  If only she knew...

  It is Judith’s doing. At the very least. She has turned her against me with her lies. How I hate her pretence of care. How I wish she would leave me alone. But I am held like a prisoner. She watches my every move, judges my every word and action. Judges me as unhinged. Judges me as a heathen sinner, deserving of this curse.

  This is my judgment. The condemnation of their god. This curse.

  I hate them. They can all burn in the hell they preach.

  The darkness surrounds me, thicker than ever. Heavy. Weighing on me as though I am buried alive. And yet breath comes, even if I will it to cease. There are times I cannot lift my head, much less my limbs. And they want me to eat? To walk in the garden? Even the thought exhausts me.

  But then there is the fig. Its strength draws me, calls me. It can carry me, hold me. I am sure. Confounded curse. Be gone! Leave me.

  25

  Serena paused by the table of miniature paintings—the one containing the infamous rose—her head heavy. She had slept little, and poorly at that. The clock showed it was well past the breakfast hour and she would likely receive rebuke for tardiness. At this present moment, however, she cared not. It would be easier to receive another dismissal.

  And to think, that tiny painting had started it all. A beautiful, delicate depiction of a rose had set into motion a chain of events that had brought so much upheaval and pain, and even confusion. Serena picked up the miniature and ran her finger over the carved wooden frame. Part of her wanted to throw it hard on the tiled floor, and yet she wanted to hold the painting to her heart.

  So much for her return bringing healing, or at least stability to Edward’s life. After her experience last night she could only believe things were much worse. The family was unaware of what had transpired. Serena carefully replaced the painting and pressed her hands over her face. She was despicable, and she deserved whatever they might say or do to her. Serena swallowed a groan as she turned toward the dining room. And they still didn’t know about her part in the newspaper article by Caleb Moncrief, or Julianne’s part anyway.

  With a resigned sigh, she pushed open the door and trudged through to her trial. Yes, they were still there, probably waiting for her. Four faces turned to her in expectation, some wearing frowns, others expressions of hope or question. Serena drew in a deep breath and took the seat withdrawn for her by Mr Xavier.

  ‘Thank you and good morning,’ she nodded to him.

  ‘I assume things did not go so well last night.’ Mr Jones watched her face. He must have seen the lack of sleep or smile in her gaze.

  ‘No. They did not.’

  ‘Can I offer you some eggs, some bacon perhaps?’ Mr Xavier still stood beside her, lifting lids from trays to serve her.

  If there was anything Serena needed, it was sustenance. Something to give her strength, and she could almost taste the salty goodness of that bacon just by its smoky aroma. She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What happened?’ No time for trivial conversation.

  ‘He tasted the food, but I would not call it eating. He seemed happy to welcome me at first. But ...’ But what? Then they’d shared a profound moment of intimacy and now he wanted nothing to do with her. Because she was no better than everyone who had no faith in him. ‘I cannot be what he wants me to be. I cannot give him what he is asking.’

  Resignation registered in Mrs Jones’s eyes and she nodded, but Mr Simon’s face showed only distrust.

  ‘I told you there was no point in bringing her back.’

  ‘Simon. Keep your thoughts to yourself,’ his father chided.

  ‘It’s true. She has been bad news from the beginning. Why am I the only one who can see it?’ With a scowl, he scraped his chair back, dumped the napkin on the table and strode from the room.

  Mr Jones’s brows knitted together. ‘I apologise for Simon’s ill manners, Miss Bellingham. Xavier, go after him and have a word, will you?’

  Mr Xavier nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’ He gave Serena what might have been a wink of encouragement, if it wasn’t for the grimness of his countenance, and then followed his brother.

  Serena forked perfectly-cooked egg into her mouth and waited for the Joneses to berate her. The couple shared a glance which she couldn’t read, and Mr Jones covered his wife’s hand with his, before excusing himself. ‘I must be about my business, ladies. I’m sure you have many things to discuss.’

  No sound remained besides the clinking of china. Mrs Jones turned to her with a sympathetic expression.

  ‘It will pass.’

  Serena paused, fork half way to her mouth, confused. ‘I’m sorry? What will pass?’

  ‘Eddie’s infatuation.’

  ‘Oh.’ Serena let her gaze fall, along with the fork. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘It always does.’

  Wonderful. She was naught but the latest infatuation in a long string of them. But what if her infatuation did not pass? What then? Would this misery last forever?

  ‘He will settle down. Give him time. You are still the best person, in my opinion, to help raise him out of his despair.’

  Serena blinked at her. Less than a week ago, this woman thought the best was for her to leave. ‘You’ve had a change of heart, I see.’ She was too tired, too upset to hide her anger. ‘You all thought I was a bad influence on him last week, and now you want me to be his saviour? Well, only God can save him from his despair. I have no such power, as much as I wish I did.’ It was too much pressure. Too much expectation. And her refusal of Edward’s proposal would not help matters.

  Mrs Jones broke eye contact and appeared to be studying her empty plate. ‘I was overly hasty in my judgement, I admit. But Xavier tells me of the way Eddie responds to you. You appear to have more power over him than you realise. But you should consider carefully. Even if he returns to his right mind, there is no guarantee that he will still hold you in affection, or that he will remain stable. Or, indeed, if he will still attend you. He doesn’t take notice of me, and I am his sister.’

  Mrs Jones clearly believed Serena had strong influence over Edward at present. But she didn’t. Unless she agreed to marry him, perhaps. But then she had no idea how long his happiness would last if she said yes. True happiness needed to come from within. From peace with God. A peace he most certainly did not have. Serena drew in another deep breath and released it slowly. Perhaps that was the answer. She must convince him he needed God. She could not walk away from him without at least trying to help. Serena cared too much for that. But Mrs Jones also made an important point. Edward’s mental and emotional state could not be trusted.

  ‘I will endeavour to speak to him again, Mrs Jones. Beyond that, I stake no claim.’ The words came out sounding resigned.

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ Mrs Jones looked relieved.

  Serena tried to form a smile but was sure she failed. How she would do any good, she could not foresee or comprehend.

  Once again, Edward met her at the door in disarray, as though he cared not for his appearance. His eyes were shuttered; not closed, but void of energy and vibrancy. Defeat hung like a weight from his shoulders, and they slumped even more when he looked at he
r. He turned and shuffled back to the chaise, where he flopped into a recumbent position, leaving her standing there.

  She soon realised Edward had no wish to see her. That thought sent regret spiralling to the pit of her stomach. Had she hurt him so deeply? Serena gazed at the food tray the family had insisted she bring again and sighed. ‘Should I leave this for you?’ She doubted he would eat, even though Becker had filled it with his favourite foods.

  Edward waved a dismissive arm, but said nothing.

  Unsure whether that meant he wanted the food, she scanned the room for a space to put it. The tray from last night remained just where she’d left it. A sideboard stood mostly empty against the wall. Biting her lip, she set the new tray down and hurried for the open door, flames of heat rising on her neck and face. Shame for her behaviour. Embarrassment over his sudden reproach. Serena couldn’t escape fast enough. Her hand was on the doorknob, pulling it closed behind her when he spoke.

  ‘It is not my fault, you know.’

  Serena halted in her rush, eased the door open again, not letting go of the handle, and hung her head. ‘Of course it isn’t. I should never have ... I should have made it clear ... I never wanted to ...’ She lifted her face to see him frowning. A frown of incomprehension.

  Then, as understanding lit his eyes, he shook his head. ‘I am not speaking of last night. I’m talking about me.’

  Now it was Serena’s turn to frown in confusion. ‘About you?’

  ‘You all assume I’m unhinged. But I’m not. I mean ... maybe I am, but, it is not me. It is the curse.’

  ‘The curse?’ What was he talking about? Curious, Serena stepped further into the room and shut the door. She sat opposite him, on the edge of a chair, her back stiff, ready to fly again if needed. Her fingers found a loose thread on the chair’s upholstery, and she nervously fidgeted with it.

  Edward sat up and looked her directly in the eye, one of those intense gazes she should have been used to by now. Nevertheless, she wasn’t, and now her stomach lurched with nervous anticipation.

  ‘I am under a curse, Serena.’

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. How was one supposed to respond to that? Was it madness speaking? Would she encourage his insanity by continuing this conversation? Perhaps. But, his words intrigued her enough to learn more. What convinced him he was cursed? ‘Tell me.’

  Edward’s eyes lost their intensity and became hooded again. He reclined on the chaise and dropped his forearm across his brow. For several moments, it seemed he might say nothing further.

  ‘Several years ago, I met a travelling monk in town. We sat in a coffee house and discussed philosophies at great length. Yes, I remember that day. At first, I recognised him as someone of equal intellect and logic. I enjoyed our conversation and debate. But in the end, when he could not sway me to his way of thinking, he placed a curse on me.’

  What kind of brother or saint would curse a person? The notion offended Serena’s senses. ‘Of what faith was this monk?’ Surely he must have been from a strange sect. Perhaps one that mixed religion with ancient pagan practices. Not godly in the least.

  ‘Does it matter? The point is he cursed me.’

  ‘Of course it matters. If the cleric abused his office, something ought to have been done.’

  Edward swung his legs around and sat up, eyeing her. Suspicion? Doubt? Serena couldn’t be sure. He waved a hand dismissively. ‘Well, I remember not in any case. We deliberated over the teachings and ideas of Pythagoras, Augustine, Plato, Luther and Voltaire, to name a few.

  ‘He must have studied extensively.’ Serena only recognised one or two of those names.

  ‘Yes. Our discourse lasted several hours, and we became rather animated at times. I argued my beliefs, much as I outlined them to you.’

  ‘Will you refresh my memory, Edward?’

  He frowned at her, as though repeating himself would be an annoyance. But he skimmed over his conviction—too many gods were fighting for supremacy—and he was happy to take care of himself.

  ‘And this is what you told the monk?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘And then he cursed you?’

  ‘When it came time to say farewell, he told me of King Nebuchadnezzar.’

  ‘King who?’

  ‘Nebuchadnezzar. From your Christian Bible, the writings of Daniel.’ Edward frowned again.

  Heat spread up Serena’s neck. She had not read the Bible enough. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I do not remember his story.’

  ‘He was a great king of the Babylonians. Nebuchadnezzar defeated many nations, creating a vast empire in his time. He knew his success was above all others and built his kingdom by his own hand. But Daniel interpreted a dream Nebuchadnezzar had, saying that the king would be driven from the people. He would live like an animal until he acknowledged that God alone ruled over the nations. And indeed, the king appears to have gone mad for a time, until he decided that God was the one true king.’ Edward’s head dropped forward. ‘The monk told me the same fate would overtake me if I did not acknowledge God as my creator and provider. He cursed me with madness because I do not believe God is supreme. And now, here I am, insane by all accounts. You see what he did?’

  His face lifted again, and a depth of pain was written in those brown eyes. Whether it was true or not, Edward believed he was under a curse. Serena made a mental note to read the story of Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar as soon as she had a spare moment. She needed to learn more about this situation. Could a monk really have cursed Edward with madness? It seemed incredulous.

  ‘I ... I don’t know what to say, Edward.’ Truer words, she had never spoken. If she agreed with him, would she help him sink further in delusion? But if she argued that he had misunderstood somehow, would he feel betrayed?

  Edward must have studied her face as these shifting thoughts swept through her, for he shook his head and closed his eyes. His voice came out deeper, more guttural. ‘Please don’t pity me. I cannot bear it.’

  On impulse, she reached out and touched his hand. ‘No. That’s not ... I was not ...This—what you have told me—gives me much to ponder. I need time to contemplate. Yes, perhaps that’s what I should do.’ Serena rose quickly. If it had been awkward in his presence before, right now was ten times worse.

  ‘You don’t believe me.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  Serena’s heart constricted, as though a vice tightened around it. She didn’t want to hurt him and make things worse. But she didn’t want to encourage him in fantasy either, and this curse talk might be exactly that. ‘Edward, please, just give me time. Right now, I don’t know what to think.’

  His face fell in disappointment. ‘I thought you loved me.’

  The vice around her heart tightened. Serena couldn’t breathe. ‘I do.’ Her voice squeaked.

  Edward looked up again. ‘Not enough to accept me, curse and all.’

  Dear God, how was she supposed to respond to that? She couldn’t deny it, but neither could she agree. Serena opened her mouth, but found nothing to say that would make this moment any better. ‘I’m sorry, Edward.’

  Before he could respond, she made a hasty retreat, not pausing until she was locked in her room to be alone with her troubled thoughts.

  26

  Although Serena paced back and forth in her room enough to wear a rut into the rug, no amount of reasoning could help straighten her mind. What she needed was to talk the matter over with someone, but with whom? Who in this house would be most likely to give her honest answers?

  Serena blew out a deep breath and leaned against the wardrobe. Perhaps the blame was not so misplaced after all. Since she’d come to Aleron, Edward’s equilibrium had been unbalanced. When she’d arrived he’d been in a sour mood, then slipped into a mania of euphoria and excitement, and now the depths of despair. He called it a curse, but the family claime
d he was ‘brain sick’. The question was, had Edward been relatively stable before she came? Not if Mrs Jones was to be believed. But Mr Simon held an opposing opinion. Who was right?

  Before Serena had fully formed the idea, she’d flung open the door and headed for the gardens, ignoring the chilly wind that howled through the countryside. She needed to speak candidly with Mr Simon and understand the truth of his revulsion once and for all. Serena found him in a corner of the garden, on hands and knees, weeding one of the flower beds.

  Still churning with unresolved emotion, Serena placed her hands on her hips, her skirts whipping around her legs. ‘What is it precisely you hold against me, Mr Simon?’

  He hadn’t even sensed her approach judging by the way he started, colour rushing to his neck. He stammered, as he rocked back onto his haunches and straightened, dirt smeared on clothes and hands. Even his face was smudged with black soil.

  ‘You know exactly what the problem is, Miss Bellingham. I’ve not tried to hide my thoughts on the matter.’ Mr Simon gritted his teeth, even as he wiped black muck from his hands onto a rag from his trouser pocket.

  ‘Except that your accusations are completely unfounded.’ Serena swung her arms out, impatient for truth.

  ‘I doubt it.’ He folded his arms, resolute.

  ‘How do you suppose I came to be here, Mr Simon?’

  A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. ‘You somehow wormed into Edward’s affections and manipulated him into an invitation here on the pretence of work.’

  Serena pressed her lips together so tight they must have gone white, but it was preferable to screaming at the belligerent man. ‘How wrong you are.’ She bit out the words.

  ‘You deny that Uncle Eddie is beguiled?’ Mr Simon’s mouth twisted with cynical amusement.

  ‘How Mr King feels now is irrelevant. I—’

  ‘Ha! You admit it then?’

  ‘Admit what?