by Georgie Lee
‘I’ll sleep in a little while.’
Mrs Townsend studied him from across the bed. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for her.’
‘I couldn’t have done anything else. I love her.’ The admission hurt because he hadn’t yet told Laura. Somehow, for Philip, the intimacy they shared together in the darkness at times seemed just as terrifying as the sickroom.
‘I know.’
‘She doesn’t.’
Mrs Townsend came around the bed, grasping one post. ‘She does know, Mr Rathbone. She has for some time.’
She patted his shoulder, then left. The sweep of her feet over the floor reminded him of the quiet leaving which had taken place after Arabella had passed away. Mrs Palmer had shut the curtains as everyone who’d worked so fervently to try to save Arabella had drifted out of the room.
Only Laura wasn’t dead. She was alive.
She shifted beneath the covers, mumbled something, then settled back to sleep.
Philip came around the bed, unable to take his eyes off her for fear that if he looked away she might drift away. He sagged down in the chair still warm from where Dr Hale had rested most of last night. It was the same chair he’d occupied a year ago when he’d watched Arabella and willed her chest to rise once more. Down the hall he heard his father-in-law’s deep voice soothing Thomas, just as he’d tried to soothe him after Arabella had died.
Philip grasped the sides of his head, his fingers digging into his temples. It was all too much like before.
Something inside him shifted, solidifying around his heart like hot metal when it cooled, creating a shield between him and the emotions threatening to undo him. He’d been determined from the start to maintain his distance with Laura, to enjoy friendship and companionship, but not this soul-wrenching closeness which had cost him so dearly before. He’d allowed himself to stray from his original intent, like one of his clients who, holding the money in his hands, wanders back to the gaming table instead of his shop, squandering his second chance and all hope of salvation. Last night had been a warning, like the first lost shipment cautioning an investor from buying more shares.
Philip wouldn’t walk away from Laura. He wouldn’t abandon her or the promises he’d made. Neither would he continue to surrender his heart. He’d given it away as casually as some of the less-reputable moneylenders gave away sovereigns. It was a mistake, a dangerous one. There were more tragedies which could befall a person than the loss of their assets. He knew. He’d suffered through that loss once before. He would not do so again. He’d pull back his heart, guard the investment of his emotions as stringently as he did his business. Loss would not shatter his world ever again.
Chapter Twelve
Laura opened her eyes and the room spun. She squeezed them shut, but it didn’t block out the strange wavering light around her vision or the pain radiating from the back of her head. Her stomach flopped. If it hadn’t been empty, she would have lost the contents of it.
Against the dark canvas of her eyelids, she caught flashes of images: her uncle, a looming circle of black. None of it came into detail, but wavered like a busy pattern of silk viewed from across a room. Nothing made sense to her now, not the pain, the strange light or whatever must have happened to leave her so hurting and confused.
Beneath the confusion, the image of Philip sitting on the bed beside her, the candlelight stroking the sharpness of his jaw and straight nose came to her. As the wavering light crowding her vision began to fade, the sense of Philip’s presence and love enveloped her.
Love.
She could almost hear him speak the word, but couldn’t untangle the memory of it from all the confusion smothering her like a heavy down coverlet.
The floorboard squeaked. Someone was here.
‘Philip?’ She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t want to disturb the faint respite from the pain.
‘No, my dear.’ Her mother’s voice came as both a comfort and a disappointment.
Laura opened her eyes. The room was dark, her mother’s form shadowy as she came to sit beside Laura, the bed sinking under her weight. ‘Where is he?’
‘Resting. It was a long, difficult night.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘He is. And how are you? You’ve slept away most of the day.’
‘Not well.’ It hurt to talk, to think, to lie here.
Her mother draped a damp cloth over her forehead. Laura felt a little sting above one eyebrow, but the coolness eased some of the tension along her temples. ‘You took quite a nasty bump last night.’
‘What happened? I keep seeing snatches of things, Uncle Robert, a dark circle, but nothing makes sense.’ She opened her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her rebelling stomach. In the air lingered the faint aroma of smoke and gunpowder beneath the tart scent of lemon scouring soap. Whatever images she’d seen, they weren’t part of a dream, but something real.
‘Uncle Robert broke in here last night and threatened us.’
Laura’s eyes flew open and she turned. A fresh wave of pain crashed through her and she gripped her head. ‘What happened?’
Her mother reached up to adjust the disturbed cloth. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when you’re better.’
Laura reached under the cloth and her fingers brushed the cut on her forehead. ‘Is Thomas fine? Is Jane and everyone safe?’
Her mother removed her hand from the cut and laid it at her side. ‘Everyone is fine, but if it will put your mind at ease, Robert is in no position to trouble us again. The poorly packed pistol killed him.’
‘Then he’s dead?’ She was ashamed of the relief sliding through her.
‘Yes.’
Laura closed her eyes, trying to recall what had happened, but nothing came to her except the image of a dark hole and smoke. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
‘It’s better that way,’ her mother reassured her, offering no more details about the events of the previous night. Laura didn’t press her. She was too drawn out and hurting to take in any more than the facts she already knew.
‘Is she awake?’
Laura’s heart skipped a little at the sound of Philip’s voice. She forced her eyes open and reached out, inviting him to hold her, to press his sturdy cheek against hers and wrap his long arms around her. The craving made her heart ache, but it didn’t sting as much as the reluctance which whispered through Philip’s eyes.
He moved forward slowly, as if compelled by duty, not by desire.
Her fingers curled over her palm and she nearly pulled her hand back, stunned and wounded by his reticence. Her mother had said he was fine, but something else had happened, something she could faintly detect, but couldn’t work loose. It was all too tangled in her mind, like a tightly knotted thread.
Philip stopped by the bed, taking a chair beside her, staring at her hand as if reluctant to take it. When he finally did, Laura felt like she was holding a dead fish. ‘How do you feel?’
‘As if I’ve been struck by a carriage.’ She rubbed her aching neck, then ran her fingers through her hair to feel the tender bruise beneath.
‘Dr Hale assures me you’ll make a complete recovery.’ His words were as they should be, low, comforting, but even through her haze of pain she felt something missing. It was as if he spoke because it was expected, not because he wanted to.
She willed back the light obscuring her vision to fix on his face. He didn’t look at her, but focused on her hand in his.
‘Philip, what’s wrong?’
At last he met her eyes. Warmth curled through her at the tenderness in his face. He softened his hand in hers until she thought he would take her in his arms and kiss away the fear seeping through her.
Then it was like a metal gate banged shut between them. He sat up straighter, something of the man she’d first met in this room, the
stranger, coming over him.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
Laura exchanged a look with her mother, who turned away to fuss with a basin of water. It wasn’t the wound or exhaustion making Laura see things which weren’t there. Her mother had caught his reserve, too.
She let go of his fingers, hating the stiff coldness of his grip. She laid her hand on his chest, startled at the way his heart raced beneath her palm. ‘I’m sorry you had to suffer, too.’
‘Your mother and Dr Hale were with me. It was a long night, but you’re better now.’ His face remained rigid as he leaned away from her touch. She lowered her hand back to the bed. It reminded her of the first time she’d touched him, outside Thomas’s room. He’d struggled so hard to keep his distance then and again over the next few days. He was doing it again.
‘Will you sleep here with me tonight and keep me company?’ If she could hold him in the darkness, she might drive away whatever was hardening him against her.
He shook his head, resisting her. ‘Dr Hale says you need rest. I would only disturb you. I’ll sleep in your room.’
‘What if I need you?’
Agony flashed across his face, as though he were fighting with himself to refuse her. The stoic man in him won the battle. ‘There’s a bell here on the table. Ring it and you’ll have what you need.’
‘I need you.’ Weakness coloured her words, but Laura wasn’t ashamed. She wanted him to know what he meant to her.
‘You need rest.’ He rose and laid his hands on her shoulders, pressing her gently down against the pillows.
She yielded, not possessing the strength to fight him.
* * *
Outside the bedroom, Philip sagged against the wall in the hallway, the pain so intense he struggled to breathe. She’d reached out to him and he’d pulled away and she’d seen it. Guilt gripped him hard as he felt the anguish of turning away from her when she needed his comfort the most.
‘Are you all right, Philip?’ Jane’s voice cut through his agony.
He straightened, facing his sister as she approached him. She appeared less like a woman today and more like a child. Fear still danced around the edges of her round face and he knew it would be some time before the events of last night faded from her consciousness, just as it had taken months for her to recover from the shock of losing Arabella. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine. You look as though you were the one who was thumped on the head.’
He rubbed his hand against his coat, Laura’s warmth clinging to his skin, reminding him of everything he’d done wrong. ‘Why don’t you sit with her for a while? I’m sure she’d enjoy the company.’
‘Why aren’t you sitting with her?’
Curse her directness. ‘A man from London Insurance will be here soon. I must speak with him.’
‘Let Mr Connor or Mr Woodson deal with him.’
‘It’s my warehouse; I’m the one who must meet with him.’
He tried to slide around her and make for the stairs, but Jane blocked his way.
‘She needs you.’
He studied his sister standing so defiantly in front of him. She was as determined as their mother had been whenever their father stubbornly refused to yield. ‘And I’m here.’
‘No, you’re not. You haven’t been here all morning. It’s just like after Arabella died, like this whole year had been until Laura arrived.’
‘What do you mean?’ There was no need to ask. He already knew.
‘You’re distant, like no one and nothing can touch you, not me or Laura or anyone.’
Philip tapped his thigh. He’d pushed everyone out of his heart except Thomas and Jane. Or so he’d thought. A fresh wave of remorse struck him. ‘It’s been a difficult night.’
It was a poor excuse for what he’d done to Jane this past year and what he was doing to Laura now. He was hurting those who loved him the most, but he couldn’t stop it or the increasing hardness encasing him.
‘Everything will be fine, Philip, you’ll see.’ Jane threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, comforting him the same way he used to comfort her. ‘Laura is going to get better and then she’ll teach me to recognise fine silk, like she promised she would.’
He wrapped his arms around Jane and laid his cheek on her soft hair, revelling in her innocence. It shamed him to think she could take in the horrors of last night, of this past year, better than he.
He removed her arms from around his waist. Her eager eyes met his, waiting for him to agree with her that all would be well. He wanted to share her belief, but he couldn’t. She was young. She’d been even younger when they’d lost their parents. She possessed no real understanding of the depths of suffering that loss could inflict on a person.
‘Yes, everything will be fine.’ But not the way she and Laura wanted it to be. ‘Now, go in and help Mrs Townsend. I must see to the insurance man.’
He descended the stairs, cursing the pain crushing his chest. He didn’t want this agony. He wanted everything settled as it had been before Laura had arrived, before Townsend had burst in and shattered their tranquillity, before he’d been foolish enough to fall in love.
Dropping off the last step, he strode to his office, squaring his shoulders as he struggled to regain something of the man he’d been two weeks ago, the one he both hated and needed.
* * *
Laura could neither wake nor fully sleep as the images haunting her semi-consciousness pulled at her like thick mud. Last night, Dr Hale had given her laudanum to dull her headache. The tonic tainted her dreams, turning them dark. Her uncle returned to harass her, threatening her and Jane and Thomas again and again until she cried out. As she struggled to free herself from the tortuous nightmare, she thought she saw Philip’s face above hers and felt his hand on her forehead. His tender voice had soothed her back into a dreamless sleep which ended with the birds chirping outside the drawn curtains and her alone in bed.
Through a crack in the curtains, a thick shaft of sunlight fell over the desk. She peered through to the dressing room beyond, thankful the strange, flickering light from yesterday no longer obscured her vision. Everything in the room was as it should be, the desk neat, the coverlet wrinkled over her, the chair beside the bed empty and the bottle of laudanum corked on the table beside it. There was no evidence Philip had been here last night except her hazy dreams and the lingering memory of his voice.
A knock at the door made her roll to one side. The room swam a little, but to her relief the aching along the back of her neck and above her eyes was nearly gone. ‘Come in.’
The door cracked open and Jane peered around it.
‘Oh, you look much better this morning. The circles around your eyes are not nearly as dark.’ She threw open the door and strode in, followed by Laura’s mother and Mary carrying a breakfast tray.
Laura’s mother marched to the curtains and pulled them open. ‘What you need is some fresh air and sunlight.’
Laura blinked against the bright light filling the room, but it didn’t increase her pain.
‘How do you feel?’ her mother asked as she raised the sash.
The cool air flowing in from outside drove away some of the exhaustion pulling at Laura. ‘My head doesn’t hurt as much, but I still feel so tired and sometimes dizzy.’
‘Dr Hale says you probably will feel like that for a while,’ Jane explained. ‘He suggested broth and bread for today. Tomorrow you may have eggs.’
‘Then I look forward to tomorrow.’
With her mother and Jane’s help, Laura sat up. Mary rested the tray across her lap, then set to tidying the room.
While Laura removed the silver lid from the bowl, Jane plunked down on the bed in front of her, making the coverlet puff up around her knees. ‘The coroner and the constable were here yeste
rday.’
‘Were they?’ Laura stirred the thick broth with the spoon, the rich, meaty scent of it heavenly. She tried a small amount, pausing to see if it would stay down. When it did, she eagerly ate the rest, thankful once again for the comfort of good food. If only Philip were here, it would help settle the lingering disquiet of her nightmares.
‘Philip wouldn’t tell me anything about it, but Mr Connor told me the constable wasn’t surprised to see the end of your uncle.’ In the quick clip of Jane’s words, Laura sensed her unease over what had happened and her desire to be brave and cheerful for Laura’s sake. It was the same way Laura used to speak to her mother when her father was ill. ‘According to him, in the past two weeks Mr Townsend got into trouble with at least two other moneylenders and someone named Mrs Topp. Who’s she?’
‘The owner of a bawdy house,’ Laura mumbled through the last bite of the soft bread.
Jane’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, how exciting.’
‘Laura, Jane isn’t old enough to hear such things,’ Laura’s mother chided, removing the tray and handing it to Mary to take away. ‘What happened at Mrs Topp’s?’
‘Mr Townsend was tossed into the gutter for fighting with one of her best clients,’ Jane eagerly relayed. ‘I think it’s exactly what he deserved. I told Philip so, but he only said Mr Connor shouldn’t have told me about it.’
‘Where’s Philip?’ Laura asked, trying not to sound concerned. A man wasn’t expected to attend the sick room, but his absence this morning was glaring and troubling.
Jane shifted hesitantly on the bed, looking unsure about speaking for the first time since entering the room. ‘At his boxing club.’
Laura picked at the sheet. ‘I see.’
‘He thinks he’s being brave by staying away,’ Jane rushed, as though revealing a bigger secret than the things Mr Connor had told her. ‘And that if he is, then no one will know how scared he was for you, but of course we all know. We were all scared.’
Laura was also scared, not for herself, but for her relationship with Philip.
Before she could think on the matter further, Dr Hale appeared at the door, interrupting their conversation.