by Georgie Lee
‘Good morning, ladies.’ He looked more rested than he had last night, his usual good cheer evident in his wide smile. ‘How are you doing today, Mrs Rathbone?’
‘She’s much better. Ate nearly everything cook sent up for her,’ Jane answered for Laura, jumping to her feet to stand at attention by the bed.
Dr Hale approached, setting his leather bag on the floor before leaning in to examine Laura’s eyes. ‘And the pain?’
‘Mostly gone.’ Laura followed his finger as he moved it in front of her eyes.
He examined her forehead. ‘The cut is healing nicely. I’d say in a few days you’ll be back to your old self with this whole ordeal behind you.’
She wasn’t as confident as the doctor. She might be the same as before, but things with Philip wouldn’t be. She sensed it in his absence. She leaned back against the pillows with a sigh. It was all too much to think about right now, yet it was nearly the only thing occupying her thoughts.
‘You’re tired so I’ll leave you.’ He picked up his bag. ‘Jane, I was so eager to check on Mrs Rathbone, I didn’t have my breakfast. Would you be kind enough to escort me to the dining room?’
‘It would be my pleasure, then I can tell you what Mr Connor told me the constable said.’
Laura’s mother shook her head as Jane and Dr Hale left the room, arm in arm. ‘She enjoys gossip far too much.’
‘So do you,’ Laura teased, the levity lightening a little of the weight in her heart. ‘Philip hasn’t been in to see me since yesterday.’
‘Yes, he has.’ Her mother lifted a shawl from the back of a chair and began to fold it. ‘He was in here with you last night while you were sleeping. I heard you call out and came in to sit with you, but he was already here. He didn’t notice me. I don’t think he wanted anyone to see him, so I didn’t disturb him. He stayed for a very long time.’
Tears welled in Laura’s eyes at the image of him holding his silent vigil. He was still caring for her as he had since the moment she’d come under his protection, but hiding it. ‘Why wouldn’t he want anyone to see him? Why is he avoiding me?’
‘He’s had quite a shock, my dear.’ Her mother perched on the bed next to Laura, crumpling the shawl against her stomach. ‘We all have.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘Dr Hale doesn’t think it a good idea for you to know just yet.’
‘I don’t care, I have to hear it.’ It was the only thing which might explain Philip’s sudden distance.
In short sentences, her mother relayed her uncle’s threat, Laura’s bravery with the poker and finally his death caused by the poorly packed pistol. Laura looked to the now bare floor near the fireplace, noticing the dark circle staining the wood, the lingering scent of vinegar and lemon soap explained. None of it moved her like her mother’s description of the long night afterwards and how Philip had sat beside her, determined to keep her awake and alive.
The throbbing behind her forehead increased and Laura closed her eyes. She struggled to remember the events her mother described. Only the vague awareness which had come to her late into the night, the peace and comfort of Philip sitting next to her and old memories of Christmas in their rooms above the shop revealed themselves.
She couldn’t believe the same man who’d sat with her making her feel so warm and safe could be so distant now. What had happened between the darkest part of night and just before dawn to change him so much?
‘Is she worse?’ Philip’s voice pierced the cloud of confusion swirling around her.
Laura opened her eyes and lifted her head from the pillows, wincing at the stab of pain at the back of her neck.
‘No, she’s much better,’ her mother replied.
The bright statement didn’t ease the firm set of his mouth. He didn’t move into the room, but lingered by the door, hands stiff at his sides, just like yesterday.
‘Laura was only worrying over you. She hasn’t seen you this morning,’ her mother remarked. It wasn’t a chastisement but a reminder, a pointed one.
If Philip experienced any awkwardness he didn’t reveal it, waiting near the door as her mother rose to give Laura a hug.
Her mother leaned in and whispered in her ear, ‘See, he’s here now. There’s nothing to worry about.’
She made for the door, pausing in front of Philip. ‘Go and sit by your wife.’
She drew the door closed behind her as she left.
Philip didn’t move, but studied Laura as he had the night she’d first faced him in this room when he’d been wearing nothing but soapy water. She smiled a little at the memory.
‘It’s good to see you smile,’ he offered, cautiously approaching.
‘I wish the same might be said for you.’
‘When you’re completely recovered, I will smile.’ The words were tender but his tone was a little cold, like some posy of flowers obliged to be delivered. He sat down on the edge of the bed, near her waist, close but somehow distant.
‘My mother told me what happened.’
He turned his hand over, bringing his thumb in to touch his wedding band. Nothing else about him changed. ‘She shouldn’t have.’
‘I insisted.’ She watched him stroke the ring, her worry sharp, pain thudding along her temples. ‘When Uncle Robert was at his worst in Seven Dials, I used to wish for him to meet with some accident. I didn’t think one would befall him here.’
‘He never should have been allowed to creep in.’ Philip’s fingers curled until his nails dug into the lines of his palms and his knuckles turned white.
‘There was no way either of us could have known what he was planning.’
‘I should have known. I should have guessed it.’
‘It’s not your fault, Philip.’ She laid her hand on his cheek, wanting to comfort him as he’d comforted her during her nightmares. ‘Everything is well now.’
‘No, everything is not well.’ He jumped to his feet and paced back and forth beside the bed. ‘I should have done more to prevent last night. I should have made sure Mr Walker found Townsend before I left, I should have insisted Townsend be pressed instead of being lenient and waiting for him to strike. If I had, you wouldn’t have been hurt. I failed you, just as I failed Arabella.’
‘You didn’t fail me.’
‘I did. Can’t you see it?’ he blurted out, the shame in his eyes more powerful than it had been the evening he’d stormed away from her in the entrance hall. He jerked back his shoulders, the fight to regain control evident in the tightness along his jaw. He paced to the mantel, then turned and strode back to the foot of the bed, stern reserve descending over him. ‘Now isn’t the time to discuss it. I’ll leave you to rest.’
He made for the door.
‘I love you,’ Laura cried, desperate to make him stay and not knowing any other way to pierce the wall encasing him.
He halted, but didn’t turn around. The sun brought out the deep hint of blue in the darkness of his coat and another darkness threatened to consume them both. ‘You shouldn’t. You don’t know who I am, how incapable I am of—’
‘Love? You’re wrong, Philip. I know you love me as much as I love you. I heard you say it when you sat with me and kept me awake through the night. I thought it was a dream, but it wasn’t.’
She twisted the sheet, waiting for him to answer, to acknowledge at last what she’d suspected since their wedding night. Instead he stood in silence, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. She willed him to face her, to reveal the scarred and battered Philip he was fighting so hard to hide, but he didn’t.
‘It was a mistake to make our relationship more than an business arrangement, a bargain.’ He reached for the doorknob, his words as chilling as the morning breeze that flew in through the window. ‘I can’t be the husband you want. I’m sorry if I led you to beli
eve otherwise.’
Then he was gone.
Laura stared at the empty hallway and the painting of a dog hanging on the opposite wall. Tears made the room waver and she squeezed her eyes shut against them. Everything she’d fought for, everything she’d done to win Philip’s heart came crashing down around her. She lay back against the pillows, her head hurting, her body too weak to do more than sink into the soft down. She cursed her uncle again. He’d severed Philip from her and Philip was all too willing to allow it.
She rolled on her side and opened her eyes. The bottle with Dr Hale’s laudanum mixture sat on the table beside the bed. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to sleep, to face again the cloying dreams which had left her so ragged this morning. However, if sleep was the only way to bring Philip back to her, then the elixir was just tempting enough to taste.
She clasped the bottle, tilting it back and forth to make the liquid dance inside. For the first time she understood why some of Dr Hale’s patients took to bed and the easy peace of the drug. Sleep was more comforting than the cutting loneliness of watching a once-loving husband turn away.
She ran her thumb up to the cork, ready to remove it and enjoy the sweetness inside. Her nail dug into the soft bark, peeling back a thin layer before she stopped.
She didn’t want to be like Dr Hale’s patients, trapped in a lifetime of loneliness, abandoned by the one man who’d vowed to love her the most. She set the bottle back on the table and pushed herself up on one elbow. This was not how it would be between her and Philip.
She flung aside the covers and swung her feet to the floor. The room spun as she sat up. She gripped the thick wood of the bedpost until everything stopped swaying. Then she pushed herself up, wobbling as she took her first step, catching the back of the chair to steady herself.
With her fingernails digging into the chintz, she wasn’t sure how she would make it downstairs, or muster the strength needed to face Philip, but she knew she must. Another day could not go by like this, not another hour could pass with him retreating from her.
Her mother appeared in the doorway, stopping so quickly, the water in the pitcher she carried sloshed over the top and dribbled on to the floor. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’
‘I must see Philip.’
‘You can’t.’ She deposited the jar on a low bookshelf and rushed to Laura’s side. ‘You’ll make yourself worse.’
Her mother tugged her back towards the bed, but Laura fought to stay standing. ‘No, I have to. You told me once you tried to push Father away because of your grief. Philip is doing the same to me now. He’s retreating inside himself and I can’t let him do it. I have to fight for his love, like you told me to do. I can’t let him pull away.’
* * *
Philip sat across the desk from Mr Charton. Word of the fire and Townsend’s demise had circulated among his friends and the affable man had paid a visit to make sure everything was all right. Assured by Philip that it was, he lingered now, sharing one of his many humorous stories. Philip was eager to draw the visit to a close, but he didn’t want to insult his friend.
‘And that’s when I said he should try it and he did.’ Mr Charton slapped his knee and let out a loud guffaw.
Philip laced and unlaced his fingers together in front of him, unable to share Mr Charton’s humour. If he let even one harmless emotion through, then everything else he held back would come rushing out with it. Before Laura, it’d been so easy to shove everything, his pain, his fear, into the deepest corners of his mind. Then Laura had unleashed it. Now it took all his effort to keep the tentacled beast in its box.
‘Don’t you agree, Mr Rathbone?’ Mr Charton prompted eagerly as he waited for an answer to something he’d said.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Charton. I failed to follow you.’
‘I’m not surprised, not with you worrying about Mrs Rathbone. I always worry about Mrs Charton when she’s ill, never so much as when she was delivered of our children. Soon, you’ll have the same reason to worry and then another strapping boy in the nursery.’
Philip forced himself not to bolt from the study, hurry to the boxing club and pound the first dummy he saw into a pulp of feathers and leather. After last night, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit with Laura in her confinement, pacing the room until she and the child were either safe and well, or dead.
He snatched up the pen lying across the top of his desk and clutched it hard, working to ignore the beast inside him rattling against its cage. He’d been careless with Laura since the wedding, risking getting her with child instead of holding himself back. He set the pen down, lining it up with the ledger as Mr Charton prattled on about his children. When Laura was well, Philip wouldn’t return to her room. To be alone with her in the dark was to risk both her safety and himself with their intimacy. He couldn’t do it again.
A slight commotion in the hallway made him look up and the wind was knocked from him.
‘I say, are you ill?’ Mr Charton looked alarmed, before following the line of Philip’s stare to turn in his chair and face the door.
Laura stood there, exhaustion clear in the darkness beneath her eyes. Mrs Townsend was beside her, helping her to stand.
At the sight of Laura, Philip’s chest clenched, not with fear, but excitement. The life flaring in her eyes took hold of him, bringing him to his feet. He wanted to jump over the mahogany desk to reach her, hold her, kiss her, but he didn’t move. The angry gash on her forehead was a reminder of everything she’d been through, everything he couldn’t face.
He pressed his fingertips into the polished desktop, as if they might take root there and keep him anchored against the storm of emotions roiling inside him.
Laura ignored the other men who rose to greet her, focused as hard on Philip as he was on her.
‘Everyone leave, now,’ she commanded.
Justin pushed off his perch by the window and made for the door. ‘Shall we, Mr Charton?’
‘We shall.’ Mr Charton moved fast on Justin’s heels, following him around Laura. ‘I’ve been married long enough to know when there’s trouble brewing.’
Laura let go of Mrs Townsend and moved into the room, stepping cautiously. With surprising strength, she swung the door closed, then winced at the loud thud it made. Her heavy breathing betrayed her determination as she gripped the back of the chair before his desk, struggling as much as Philip to steady herself.
‘You shouldn’t be up. You should be resting.’ Philip hurried around to her side and took her by the arm. The beast inside him roared at the touch and her nearness. The intensity of the moment was everything he didn’t allow himself to be: irrational, unexpected, uncontrollable.
She resisted the gentle pressure he placed on her arm, her body trembling under his hand, not from weakness but conviction. ‘No, Philip. You won’t push me away so easily.’
‘I’m not pushing you away.’ He balled his free hand tight at his side. He’d tried for so long to hide the ugliness inside him. Now she was seeing it and the awful man it made him.
‘I know exactly what you’re doing, even if you won’t admit it. I won’t let you crawl back into your stoic castle or live with me as a partner, but not as a true wife or companion.’
Philip scraped in a ragged breath, struggling for the strength which had carried him through the last two nights, determined not to crumble under the force of her determination. ‘If you don’t rest, you won’t get better and then you might—’
‘Die?’ She stuck her chin defiantly in the air. ‘Is that what you’re afraid of, Philip?’
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak through the rigid exertion of beating down the helplessness and pain welling up inside him. It was a battle he was slowly losing.
She slipped her hand behind his neck, leaning heavily on him as she drew his forehead down to touch hers. The fortit
ude blazing in her eyes singed him and he dropped his gaze to the floor. Beneath her feet, the scratch on the floor snaked under the desk, white against the deep brown of the surrounding boards, a glaring reminder of his failings. He screwed his eyes shut, understanding for the first time why men swung or cursed at him when he came to collect their debts. He forced them to face their mistakes and the consequences just like Laura was forcing him to face his.
‘Life is about risk, Philip, you can’t hide away from it.’ Weakness sat hard in the pull of her fingers against his neck and the faint struggle between breathing and speaking. Her bravery shamed him. She was stronger than he. ‘It was a risk to accept you when you proposed to me, to give you my future, my happiness, my body. I had to trust you would be a man worthy of them all and you have been. You’ve been kind and good, even when I doubted you. You stood by your word, even when I thought so low of you. I wouldn’t have blamed you for giving me over to Halcyon House. Instead you took me as your wife, showed me your heart and your soul.’
He jerked up straight. She didn’t understand. The Philip she wanted was dead, crushed by dread. He was ugly and hard and damaged, incapable of loving her, his sister, maybe even his son. ‘The man you want never existed.’
‘No, he’s right in here in front of me. He always has been.’ Warm hands slid along the sides of his face, drawing him in, comforting, tender. Her belief in him was more powerful than his doubts, the whisper of her touch stronger than anything he’d ever done to maintain the cairn of stones crushing his heart. Like water, she slipped between the cracks, penetrating him until the stones began to tumble and light filled the darkness. ‘I love you, Philip, and I know you love me, too.’
‘I do.’ He opened his eyes and took her by the waist, pulling her into the arch of his body, his strength supporting her in her weakness. ‘I have since the night you first barged in here.’
He brought his lips down hard to cover hers. They dropped to their knees together, clinging to one another, life, love, happiness in every mingled breath. He couldn’t push her away or live without the deep connection of their embrace. She believed in him, loved him, even when he hated himself. He couldn’t deny her his belief and love in return, nor did he want to.