Chasing the Green Fairy: The Airship Racing Chronicles

by Melanie Karsak

  Giovanni nodded and went back out.

  I turned then to the secretary. “Please, have some broth and fresh bread sent up.”

  The secretary nodded.

  “Lily?” Byron called.

  “I’m here,” I said, closing the door behind them. I went back to Byron’s bedside.

  “I think they are trying to kill me.”

  “They are struggling to know the best course of treatment. Your condition seems to be worsening.”

  “I’m so tired,” he said and reached out to take my hand, falling asleep immediately thereafter.

  A short while later, I heard commotion in the courtyard. I went to the window and looked out to see Edward and several military men mustering. There were at least a dozen riders. Edward was shouting orders. He gazed up at me. I waved to him. He waved back to me then spurred his horse out the gate. The other riders followed behind him, all setting off in different directions when they reached the road. I closed my eyes and prayed for good fortune, because when I looked back at Byron again, I could swear I saw the shadows drawing closer.

  THE SECRETARY RETURNED WITH BROTH and bread. I broke some pieces into the liquid. “George, please wake up and eat something,” I said, kissing him gently on the cheek.

  “What is it?” he asked tiredly.

  “Food. You need to try to eat something.”

  Byron opened his eyes sleepily. He looked over the meager offerings.

  “I know, not quite in line with your normal tastes. No butter or cream or wine. But it is something,” I said, tapping the spoon on the side of the bowl.

  He tried to smile at my joke. He adjusted himself as best he could, and to my surprise, he let me feed him. He was quiet, which was very unlike him. As if swallowing pained him, he ate very slowly. After he got down just a few spoonfuls, he motioned for me to put the food aside.

  I poured him another glass of water and lifted the cup to his lips. The liquid spilled from the corner of his mouth. I wiped off the water and tried to keep up a brave face. My façade, however, was beginning to crack. And so was Byron’s.

  “Set it aside,” he whispered. “Come lie by me.”

  I pulled off my boots and climbed into the bed with him.

  “Is it cold?” he asked.

  “No,” I said then felt him for fever. He was burning.

  “Is it day or night?”

  “Night.”

  “Is Edward here?”

  “Yes, but I sent him on an errand.”

  “An errand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will he be back soon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you send him?”

  “To fetch another doctor.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like Dr. Bruno, and Mr. Millingen strikes me as an idiot.”

  “Is Dr. Thomas here yet?”

  “No.”

  He was silent for a while. “It took so long for you to come.”

  “Why didn’t you send for me earlier?”

  He was silent again, but after several minutes, he whispered my name. “Lily,” he said, gently cradling my face against his. Face to face, I felt the hot tears on his cheeks. “Lily . . .” he whispered again then broke into a sob. “Penelope . . . I love you so much. I am so sorry I let you go. I am so sorry . . . I did it for you . . . but I regretted . . . I never should have let you go. You were always my passion. I’ve never loved anyone as I’ve loved you.”

  “I love you too,” I whispered, my heart breaking. “Still. And always.”

  He kissed my face over and over again. His skin burned against my cheek, the salty taste of his tears wet my lips. I would never be able to forgive myself. The magic of Aphrodite had blinded me. I had given up my soul’s mate. I had talked myself into a simple life I was not even sure I wanted over the deeper, mysterious connection George and I shared, and I hated myself for it.

  “When I am gone, they will say wicked things about me. I could never shake the pagan inside me. But it was different with you,” he rasped into my ear.

  “You can still recover. You must be strong.”

  “I’m too far gone,” he whispered. “Keep me in your heart. I will journey there with you.”

  “No,” I groaned. My chest ached desperately. “No, don’t talk like that.”

  “Penelope,” he whispered, clutching my face. “Never leave me again.”

  “No. Never again.”

  His cheek pressed against mine, Byron exhaled deeply then slept again. Lost to misery, I lay weeping desperately.

  SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT, I WOKE to hear Byron muttering.

  “What is it? Do you need something?” I asked.

  “Tell me again,” he whispered.

  “George?”

  “Tell me again about Gight.”

  Gight Castle, his ancestral birthright, had been sold in the months before his birth to pay off Mad Jack’s, Byron’s father’s, gambling debts. Byron had never lived in the castle. Instead, he’d spent his youth living in near poverty, abandoned by his father. The castle had passed to his vulture cousins who were sitting in the salon outside. It was a loss, a near miss, which had always haunted him.

  “Tell me,” he whispered. I was certain that it was not me he was seeing, it was his mother.

  “It is a beautiful castle sitting in the middle of a green field . . .,” I began, lying as best I could, tears streaming down my face. I had never seen Gight Castle, but by the time I finished weaving my tale, he’d already fallen back to sleep.

  Sometime later, Mr. Millingen came in and examined Byron. He shook his head. “We need to do something soon,” he whispered then left.

  Deep in the night, Byron woke in a fit of anger: “Why would you tell such sick lies about me? About me and my own sister! What is wrong with you?” he screamed in my face, a look of such raw hatred in his expression that I shrank from him.

  “George, it’s Lily,” I said quietly. “I’m Lily.” It was Annabella he was seeing.

  “Lily?” He squinted away his confusion. “Lily . . . why did you leave me for that tinker?” he spat then fell back to sleep.

  I buried my head against his chest and wept. I didn’t know the answer to that question anymore.

  I must have dozed off then, because sometime after, Edward quietly entered the chamber.

  “Lily?” he whispered.

  I wiped my eyes and sat up. The room was dark save the candle Edward carried. “Light the lamps,” I replied.

  “He’s sleeping?”

  “Fitfully. He was asking about you earlier. I told him you’d be back soon.”

  “Christ, what a disaster. We managed to bring in three local doctors. They are in a room below arguing with one another.”

  “Is there a consensus?”

  “Millingen has nearly convinced them Byron has become languid. They want to give him ammonia.”

  “And Dr. Bruno?”

  “He said that if the ammonia is administered, he will leave.”

  “Do we know when we can expect Dr. Thomas?”

  “A transport arrived tonight saying the doctor will depart Zante at earliest tomorrow evening. His wife is in childbirth.”

  It would be too late. “What do we do?”

  Edward shook his head. “What choice do we have?”

  I looked back at Byron. In the long shadows cast by the lamp lights, he already looked like a corpse.

  “He won’t make it. We have to let them try something,” Edward said. “Is he still lucid?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “We need to wake him. It needs to be his decision.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll bring the doctors.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m glad you came, Stargazer,” Edward whispered. “He needed you.”

  I took a deep breath and went back to the bedside. “George?” I called, kissing his hand. “George, can you wake?”

  He opened his eyes groggily. �
��Yes.”

  “Edward is going to bring in some doctors to speak with you,” I told him.

  He motioned toward the pitcher of water on the table.

  I poured him a glass and helped him drink.

  “Is Dr. Thomas here?” he asked.

  “No. His wife is in childbirth. He is delayed.”

  Byron looked distressed. “Perhaps they will name the child after me in memorial,” he laughed ruefully.

  “Don’t say things like that!”

  Byron reached out and touched my cheek. “Do you think I will get well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s make it a match,” he said.

  “A match?”

  “If I live-”

  “You will live.”

  “If I live . . . you will marry me.” He stared at me with heartbreaking intensity.

  For a moment, guilty misgivings bubbled up regarding Sal, but I brushed them away with panicked haste. “It won’t kill our passion?”

  “Nothing can kill our passion.”

  “Then, agreed.”

  Byron smiled. “Go to my bureau,” he instructed. “From the top drawer, bring the box with the pocket watch.”

  I was puzzled, but I did as he asked. I rooted through the drawer until I found the box. Inside was an ornate pocket watch. I sat beside him and handed him the box. He removed the watch and tossed it aside. He then pulled off the velvet lining to reveal two items which had been hidden; he handed them to me. One item was an ancient looking key, and the other was a slim piece of copper punched with square holes.

  “And if I die, you will take these keys to the Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh and ask for the bank president. Refuse to see anyone else. Tell him you are there with the key to my vault.”

  “Your vault?”

  “You must never let these keys leave your sight. No matter what happens, you must be the one who takes the keys to the bank. It is imperative that it is you who opens the vault and no other.”

  “What’s in the vault?”

  “You will only learn that if I die. Otherwise, I’ll tell you after the wedding.”

  “George.”

  “Lily,” he said, grabbing my wrist tightly, “it is desperately important that you are the one to open the vault. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t delay. Be sure you see to it no matter what,” he said then let me go. My wrist ached.

  “I promise,” I said, slipping the keys into my bodice.

  Byron seemed satisfied that I had understood. He rubbed his temples.

  “Can I get you something?” I asked.

  Byron sighed heavily. “Tea?”

  I went to the fire and banked it up, setting the teapot on to heat. As I was preparing the tea, I heard a knock on the door. Giovanni entered. “Lily? My Lord? Edward is here with the doctors.”

  “Send Edward in alone,” Byron replied.

  I busied myself with the tea while Edward and Byron talked. As he had done with me, Byron instructed Edward to take a package from his belongings.

  “My remaining poems. Send them to my publisher,” he told Edward who had murmured in assent. “And my personal journals. Do with them what you will.” I turned to look. Edward was holding a large bag that contained several leather-bound journals. Byron saw me looking at the bag. “Don’t worry. Our world is private,” he told me.

  Edward looked back at me. His anguished expression frightened me.

  “Your tea is ready,” was all I could stammer out.

  “At least I will die like a Baron,” Byron said with a laugh.

  The china rattled in my hands as I crossed the room.

  “She’ll throw herself from an airship but is afraid to see me sick. You’re making me nervous, Lily,” Byron said.

  Carefully, I lifted the teacup to his mouth and helped him take a drink.

  Ahh,” he sighed after taking a sip. “You always knew just how much to sweeten it,” he added then turned to Edward. “Well, let’s hear what the leeches advise.” With that, Edward motioned for Giovanni to let the doctors inside.

  I sat at Byron’s beside, holding his hand. Fear had frozen my heart. I prayed they would not bleed him.

  Mr. Millingen spoke the most. “ . . . and we believe that you are no longer suffering from inflammation but are languid due to the long lung complaints. We are of the opinion that carbonate of ammonia will rid you of the lingering aliment.”

  “What say you, Dr. Bruno?” Byron asked.

  “If you agree to it, my Lord, I will leave this night. I will not have your death on my head.”

  “But you still urge the bleeding?”

  “Yes, and a copious amount,” Dr. Bruno replied.

  Byron looked thoughtful. I worried about his ability to make a clear decision given his mental and physical state. “The rest of you . . . are you all in agreement?” he asked the others.

  They nodded. I remained frozen.

  “They . . . we . . . are,” Mr. Millingen said.

  “Then prepare the treatment.”

  “You’ll kill him!” Dr. Bruno shouted, storming from the room. His certainty terrified me.

  I looked at Byron. His head bobbed drowsily. I touched his forehead. Fever ravaged him. When he looked up at me, he looked frightened.

  “Edward?” Byron called.

  “I’m here.”

  Byron nodded.

  After a few moments, Mr. Millingen brought Byron a tonic.

  Byron took the vial and lifted it to his mouth. He paused for a single moment and looked at me. “My passion,” he whispered.

  I felt like a hand had gripped my throat. I squeezed his fingers. “And mine,” I whispered.

  He drank, grimacing at the taste.

  “I’ll get you some water,” I said and rose. The doctors had moved the water pitcher to the medical prep table. As I was pouring a glass, I heard a strange sound behind me. Byron took a sharp, wheezing breath. I turned in time to see him start convulsing.

  “He’s seizing,” Mr. Millingen yelled. “Hold him down! Hold him down!”

  The doctors rushed to Byron’s bedside.

  The glass I was holding slipped from my hand and fell to the floor with a crash.

  “Get the opium distillation. We need to calm him,” Mr. Millingen shouted to the other doctors.

  They forced Byron’s mouth open and poured the opium concoction down his throat. I was horrified to see it splash all over his face and clothes as he thrashed violently. After a few moments, he went still.

  “What the fuck was that?!” Edward screamed at Mr. Millingen. “Is he dead?”

  The doctor took out his wooden stethoscope and listened to Byron’s heart.

  “Is he dead?” Edward yelled again.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Shut up,” Mr. Millingen spat. “Everyone be quiet.”

  We all waited. “Lord Byron?” Mr. Millingen called. “Give me the salts,” he said motioning to another doctor who brought a vial of strong smelling salts. “Lord Byron?” Mr. Millingen called again, waving the vial under Byron’s nose.

  Byron lay pale and still on the bed, his body twisted at a strange angle.

  “He’s alive, but in a deep sleep,” Mr. Millingen pronounced. He shook his head. “He won’t wake again.”

  Infuriated, Edward and I cleared the doctors out, allowing only Dr. Millingen to remain in the antechamber outside. I cleaned Byron up and arranged his body comfortably on the bed.

  “Someone should tell the vultures,” I said.

  Edward exchanged words with the secretary who went to inform the family of Byron’s condition. I crawled back into the bed with Byron. I lay my head on his chest. His heart was still beating but very slowly.

  Edward took a seat near the bed, folded his hands across his chest, and rested his chin on his knuckles. Giovanni sat weeping nearby. From the salon outside, I heard crying.

 
; I lifted Byron’s still-warm fingers and kissed them. “Don’t forget our match,” I whispered in his ear. “Wake up, George. Wake up and marry me. We don’t have to be apart again,” I said and gently kissed him. I closed my eyes and wept, my head pressed against his chest. I was still lying like that when, an hour later, his heart stopped beating. My passion was gone. And everything I thought I knew about who I was no longer mattered.

  I HEARD THE INHUMAN WAIL that came out of my mouth with detachment. I felt like I was watching the scene from outside of my body. Edward was trying to pull me from Byron while Dr. Millingen rushed to save him. There was nothing to be done.

  I heard myself screaming a succession of “No! No! No! No!” as Edward then Giovanni pulled me away. “George!” I screamed at Byron who did not move. “George!” I yelled, trashing against Giovanni who would not let me go. Finally pulling me to the ground, he held me tightly as I wept with such howling desperation that, in the end, I blacked out.

  I woke moments later to Giovanni carrying me out of the room. “You need to come away now,” he said tearfully. “It’s over.” I looked back at Byron. A pale, sickly corpse lay in his place. Giovanni took me to a private room nearby. “Rest, Lily. Rest now,” he said, lowering me onto a bed. He drew the curtains then left me alone to my grief. I wept and wept until I felt entirely empty. My head throbbed. I cursed myself to the depths of my being, hating myself for what I had given up. Weeping hysterically, I dropped into a tormented oblivion, aching with bottomless pain.

  A few hours later, I woke with swollen eyes, a pounding head, and a sick feeling of emptiness inside me. A crack in the curtains let in the first morning light. It was just after dawn. I crawled out of bed and headed back to the salon. I’d left my boots in Byron’s room. Barefoot, I padded down the cold marble hallway. The salon was now empty save the small alcove where Edward, Giovanni, Mary, Tommy, several soldiers, and other good friends were sitting around a large round table. Empty bottles littered the tabletop. They were all laughing loudly and talking about Byron. The room was full of smoke: tobacco and opium. They were just pouring another round of drinks when I arrived. I pulled up a chair beside Edward. He slid an empty glass toward me. I slid it back then plucked a bottle of gin from the center of the table. I pulled the cork out with my teeth.