by Vered Ehsani
“Now, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro admonished with the Indian-style waggle of his head as he sat by my side, reached for my arm and felt for a pulse. “You are very much needing to eat, and you can’t very well be eating in a coma, you know.”
“Coma?” I repeated. It came out rather garbled, as if I had a mouthful of pebbles. I checked and I didn’t.
“Yes, yes, a very bad coma,” he said, nodding with all the enthusiasm only he could express when discussing comas and the like. “I’ve never seen anyone so very death-like who wasn’t actually very dead. It was most intriguing.”
“Glad I could be so intriguing,” I said, my eyelids blinking against the soft light filtering through a curtained window. “It’s always reassuring to know that I’ll make an interesting corpse at my funeral.”
“Funeral?” Dr. Ribeiro repeated, his dark eyes widening. “No funeral talk is allowed, Miss Knight.”
“I should say not,” and Dr. Ribeiro’s head was replaced by Mr. Timmons’ as my fiancé pushed the doctor out the way.
I smiled, or rather I tried to, but I couldn’t quite manage the muscles sufficiently to succeed. I didn’t dare try moving anything else; I wanted answers, not anther fainting session.
“What’s wrong with me?” I whispered, struggling to find my voice.
Mr. Timmons smirked. “Where should I start?”
“I mean at this specific moment,” I clarified. “Not generally speaking.”
“Ah.” His expression shifted into something a good deal more somber and he averted his gaze. “Well, in that case, you’re recovering from Mantis venom.”
“You were almost dying, in fact,” Dr. Ribeiro added cheerfully from somewhere outside my vision. “But Kam and that little hairy creature…”
“The Tokolosh,” Mr. Timmons interrupted.
“Yes, that thing,” the doctor said. “Well, they were very, very handy, Miss Knight. I’m not knowing what we would’ve done without their assistance, in fact.” He paused. “Apart from buying a coffin, that is.”
“I didn’t know Mantis have venom,” I said, wondering what hideous truth they were withholding from me.
Mr. Timmons forced a chuckle. “They don’t, not in the normal variety. But Koki is anything but normal.” His stormy grey eyes met mine and he turned aside.
“What else, Mr. Timmons?” I asked. Every syllable echoed in my head and reverberated through swollen limbs and tender bones.
What had she done to me?
I could vaguely remember Nelly leaping to my side, knocking Koki away from me. I had a foggy recollection of clinging to Nelly’s neck as she flew up and raced the wind, destroyed the clouds. Too dizzy to sit up, I lay against her mane, my arms still wrapped around her neck.
I could remember that, barely. But all I could distinctly remember of Koki were her last words: He hasn’t forbidden me from hurting you.
Mr. Timmons cleared his throat and again. “Mrs. Knight, it’s…”
He looked into my eyes then, anguish contorting his features. His countenance frightened me more than the fierce aching and the reluctance of my muscles to obey me.
“What. Happened?” I demanded, my voice failing me at the end.
“Beatrice.” Gideon appeared by my other side, his expression mirroring Mr. Timmons, and said in his whispery soft voice, “She ate your hand.”
“Who?” I asked even as a snatch of memory wavered in my mind: Koki shifting into her Mantis form, pinning me against the tree with one front limb, clutching my left arm in her other limb, her jaws snapping closer and…
It’s fortunate I was in a horizontal position, for I fainted away again.
When I came to, it was to the less than melodious sounds of two men arguing.
“Shut it,” I mumbled.
“Very so, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro said as he popped into my view. “When two elephants are fighting, it’s the grass that is being trampled.” He leaned closer. “That’s an African expression, did you know? So very true, isn’t it? In fact, my ears are being very trampled by all that bellowing. Those two husbands of yours…”
“Mr. Timmons and I aren’t married yet. We’re just engaged,” I corrected him. With that, I wondered with a jolt if we would be married after all. Who’d want a one-handed woman?
“Yes, yes, but same-same,” he said with that endearing head waggle of his.
I felt a tear trickle into my mouth, which reminded me how thirsty I was. A door opened and I heard Lilly’s stern voice: “You two are shameful.” Shoes clicked closer and she appeared before me.
I felt another sort of agony at the sight of her worn features, the dark circles framing her eyes, the fear and relief inside them. Before I could say anything to her, a fuming Mr. Timmons and a sulking Gideon followed her in, just as Dr. Ribeiro and Lilly raised me up in my bed. I didn’t recognize where I was.
“We’re at the Hardinge’s,” Lilly explained, seeing my confusion. “We thought it best. They’re more comfortable with the likes of us.”
“I’m sorry I shocked you,” Gideon whispered, clearly torn between his dislike for Mr. Timmons and his genuine concern for me.
“As you should be,” Mr. Timmons muttered.
“No need for worrying, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro enthused as Lilly spooned a watery mush into my mouth. “Dr. Cricket, he is working on a replacement. A very good one, too. Jolly good, as you might say.”
I frowned, for I wondered how my almost-fiancé must feel, knowing that I was now engaged to another. “Is he happy to help me?” I wondered aloud
“Yes, yes, and why not?” Dr. Ribeiro asked. “You are giving him a very great project to engage his inventing brain with.”
Lilly set the bowl aside and smoothed back my hair. “Never mind that now, Bee dear,” she said, her voice as gentle as her hand. “It’ll all work out, particularly once we nail that insect’s head to the wall.”
“Lilly,” I said with a snort of laughter that zapped every limb with pain. I grimaced. “What have you told the Stewards?”
“As little as possible,” Mr. Timmons said.
“The truth,” Lilly said. “That you’re staying with me for a while.”
“But my hand…” My eyelids sunk with a heaviness I couldn’t resist.
“Oh that. Well, we’ll be telling them a lion ate it,” Dr. Ribeiro said, his voice ebullient but fading, as if one of us was rapidly moving away.
“Don’t fret over it,” Lilly cooed, stroking my hair.
My last coherent thought before I drifted away into painless darkness was that she’d make a lovely mother after all.
Chapter 12
“My nerves will not support this.”
The words wailed through my dream world, and I wondered what Mrs. Steward was doing there. Thus far, only Lilly, Gideon and my wolf had ventured inside.
“I’m in a most pitiable state. I insist upon seeing Beatrice at once, if not sooner,” the voice screeched.
Someone groaned. It took me a moment of reflection to realize that the sound emanated from me.
A calmer, honey-toned voice responded. The voice — belonging to Mr. Elkhart — mentioned something about shock, blood loss, trauma, infection and none of it very pleasant. The words made little sense and I wished Mr. Elkhart would escort the high-pitched voice elsewhere.
“Young man, I shall not be dissuaded,” Mrs. Steward shouted. If I’d been dead, I’d certainly have awoken at that point.
“Good gracious,” I muttered and requested my eyelids to open. They obeyed, which I interpreted as a very positive sign indeed, given the recent rebellious nature of my muscles and their determination to ignore all my commands.
“Out of my way, Mr. Elkhart,” Mrs. Steward ordered and the door to the room swung open, slamming against the wall and my ringing ears.
Mr. Elkhart stumbled in backward as Mrs. Steward barged past him and sailed to my bedside in a puff of lavender-scented, violet lace ruffles that shivered on her billowing dress. Mr. Elkhart stood b
ehind her, waving his arms and pantomiming a creature with claws.
“Oh, oh, my tender girl,” Mrs. Steward moaned as she sunk into a chair and held my right hand. “Are you all right? I mean, apart from the obvious. Are you in great pain?”
I tried to shake my head and I think it may have worked, for she continued, satisfied with my response. “I do hope this won’t postpone the wedding too much, for a wedding is just the thing to distract us from our…” She glanced at my handless left arm. “Concerns.”
I was too limp to roll my eyes or fashion a suitably sarcastic comment, so I remained unmoving.
“That’s right, dear,” Mrs. Steward said in a hushed voice. “Don’t speak. You need all the rest. But, if you can, perhaps you can explain to me what happened?”
My attempt at a reassuring smile failed and I was quite distracted by Mr. Elkhart, who was bouncing about behind his mother-in-law, his hands shaped as claws. He was clapping them soundlessly together.
“I… was…” What was I supposed to tell her?
Mr. Elkhart extended his arms wider and exaggerated his clawed clap as he mouthed something.
The claws were…
“Jaws,” I blurted out.
“You were jaws?” Mrs. Steward said, a frown starting to crease her forehead before she stopped it. She was a very determined woman, and wouldn’t tolerate crinkles on her forehead, even in such a trying circumstance.
“Mr. Elkhart, is she of sound mind?” Mrs. Steward asked as she turned to face the man, who tucked his hands behind his back and smiled blandly.
“Most certainly not,” he responded. “As you can see, this isn’t the best of times for a visit.”
My brain caught up with his charades: the jaws of a lion snapping.
“A lion,” I interrupted Mr. Elkhart’s eloquent explanation of my temporary mental disturbance.
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Steward said in that soothing voice one uses with the elderly and insane.
“I was attacked,” I insisted, my mind’s fog clearing away with each word. “By a lion.”
“That’s right,” Mr. Elkhart interjected before I could utter anything about a giant Mantis and flying horses. “She was attacked by a lion that ate her hand. As you can see, Mrs. Steward, she is in fact missing a hand and what else would eat it? Which just goes to show how careful we must be about where we put our hands.”
Mrs. Steward had been listening with amazement that increased with each word. While she might play the part of the non-intellectual, powdered and socially constrained Victorian housewife to near perfection, she wasn’t as flighty as she appeared. I could almost hear the cogs twirling as she sat there, staring from her son-in-law to me.
“Where are the scratch marks?” she asked.
Mr. Elkhart stood quite still, with an expression I’d seen numerous times on Bobby when he was caught eating biscuits before supper.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Well what?” he asked.
Mrs. Steward huffed and pulled out a lavender-scented handkerchief that she patted her nose with. “If a lion attacked her, Mr. Elkhart, surely there’d be claw marks on her. Or would you have me believe the brute simply popped out of a bush, snapped at her hand and ran off with it?”
“Well, what else would have?” Mr. Elkhart said.
“Mr. Elkhart!” Mrs. Steward said, her nerves at the point of snapping, which is never a good point to be at.
As I was still recovering from blood loss, venom, shock and an exceptionally traumatic memory, I allowed Mr. Elkhart to conjure up a plausible explanation as to why I was scratch-free. Sadly, he wasn’t doing any better than I, and he had no health-related excuses.
Before the conversation could proceed, heavy boots thumped along the passageway outside, and my heart thumped as heavily. Before he appeared at the doorway, I knew it was Mr. Timmons.
As he rounded the doorway, he pulled off a blanket that was covering Burr in his arms. The water sprite shook her head, her large ears twitching. Still focused on his passenger, Mr. Timmons announced, “I brought the little…”
He glanced up and upon seeing Mrs. Steward beginning to swivel to face him, he tossed the furry Tokolosh back into the corridor. Burr thumped against something that clattered and clanged.
“Little snack,” Mr. Timmons finished off, his smile wider than usual. Unseen, Burr hissed and cackled.
Mrs. Steward looked him up and down. “Well, where is it then?”
“Where’s what?” he asked, and I wondered if it was my medicine or was everyone else truly behaving in a most imbecilic fashion.
“The snack, man, the snack,” Mrs. Steward said. “Have you all lost your minds? And what’s making that racket out there?”
“The snack,” Mr. Timmons said. “Or rather, the cat. Obviously the snack’s not making any noise. I left the snack on the stool, and the cat’s trying to reach it. I should really go sort that out.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mrs. Steward said as she stood and performed her best imitation of a Household General. Mrs. Beeton, I reflected, would’ve been proud.
“Please excuse us,” Mr. Elkhart said, all warmth and persuasive smiles. “We’re all quite worn out from the past week of ministering to Mrs. Knight day and night.”
A week?
Mr. Timmons nodded slightly at my unvoiced question. Stunned, I regarded him with incredulity, as I couldn’t account for more than a few hours.
Mrs. Steward softened at that reminder. “Of course you are, and I’m grateful for all you and your family have done, my dear. But apart from coming to view my niece’s delicate condition, I came to discuss her future.”
She turned to face Mr. Timmons squarely and waved her handkerchief at him. “Mr. Timmons, I wish to know your intentions regarding my niece. She’s been through such an ordeal and she deserves to know the truth.”
We all gawked at her, and for my part, I marveled at her persistence in the matters of weddings and marrying off her dependents. But I feared to hear the truth, for it would mark the end of a hope I’d only recently allowed myself to savor.
“Whatever do you mean, madam?” Mr. Timmons asked. Gone was his smile and I wouldn’t have wanted to be in Mrs. Steward’s current position.
Neither did she, for she quivered a bit before the fierce stare, but wouldn’t relent. “I mean now that Bee is… well, to put it delicately, she’s absent a part of a limb, and I wish to know what you intend to do.”
Mr. Timmons stepped fully into the room; the space seemed to shrink before him as did Mrs. Steward. In a low voice, he said, “I intend to do what I’ve always intended to do: to marry her.”
“Really?” I gasped, not daring to believe.
“Of course, really,” Mrs. Steward snapped but she was as stupefied and relieved as I was. “A respectable man…”
“Which I apparently am not,” Mr. Timmons interrupted, still unforgiving of the slight against his honor. “I believe the words rude, vulgar and gruff, amongst others, have been applied to my character previously.”
At hearing her exact words regarding his nature repeated in public, Mrs. Steward sniffed but remained unrepentant.
“And with regards to a promise made, I never renege,” he continued. “I requested her hand in marriage, not both her hands. Of greater significance, I’m not marrying Mrs. Knight for her hands, so the absence of one doesn’t alter my intentions in the least.”
“Really?” I repeated. In my weakened state, tears sprung forth and I barely had the energy to wipe them away. When I tried, I used my left hand, which wasn’t there. I lowered the bandaged stump and gave up.
Mr. Elkhart cleared his throat loudly and stepped up to Mrs. Steward. “Shall we take a turn around the garden? It’s lovely at this time of day.”
With that, he took her elbow and guided her to the doors leading out the veranda and into the garden. He timed it perfectly, for Burr had just stepped through the other doorway, still clucking and hissing her displeasure, solid black eye
s fixed on Mr. Timmons.
As Mr. Elkhart led a sniffling Mrs. Steward outside, Mr. Timmons took up her seat and held my good, and only, hand.
“Are you very sure?” I whispered, not daring to hope that fortune might finally side with me.
“Of course,” he said, his voice gruff but the fingers brushing away my tears were gentle. “I’m not one to let such a trifle stop me.”
“A trifle?” and I giggled. It didn’t hurt to laugh so I did it again, relishing a joy that not even Koki could kill. “Well, I’m pleased my missing hand doesn’t inconvenience you much.”
“Not at all,” he said.
Burr hopped up onto the bed, still clicking and clacking her irritation at being thrown about, and picked up my arm. She sniffed at the bandage.
“She may look like a moldy ape, but she’s a good little doctor,” Mr. Timmons commented. “And we’ll soon have you up and about.”
At that moment, I would’ve been very content to remain right there with Mr. Timmons by my side holding my hand. It was in fact a blissful state and would’ve remained so if a fat little horse hadn’t galloped up to the open veranda doors, sending in a wave of dust and leaves inside.
Jonas peered into the room, leaning over Nelly’s neck to do so. He nodded at me and asked, “All right, Miss Knight?”
His face was scrunched up, reminding me of a brown, wrinkly apple. As vexed as I was by the interruption, he appeared sincerely concerned for my sake, so I forgave him. “Yes, Jonas, I’m quite all right.” That wasn’t accurate, but I couldn’t be bothered to go into details.
He nodded and slapped Nelly on the neck. “This ol’ horse saved the day.”
I didn’t point out that it was that very same old horse that had whisked me off to West Africa in the first place. Without Nelly, I’d have been hiking amongst the hills of Nairobi, with both hands attached. I refrained from commenting but simply nodded.
Jonas nodded back and lifted up an arm. “You missing something?”