The news of the incident having already reached him through the most humanly rapid means, local gossip, Jed was waiting for them at the entry podium when they walked through the door. He rushed to her the minute he saw them, a mixture of relief and worry readily apparent in his eyes, and took Sandrine’s arm from the antique dealer leading her to the back of the inn toward the cottage.
Before Mr. Ransom left, Lady Madeline assured him that she would take full financial responsibility for all of the breakage caused by the unfortunate incident, thanking him profusely for all his help to which he bowed responding, “That won’t be necessary, Lady Cotswold. I’m a gentleman of the old school and only did my duty to help a lady in distress. There’s no need for any financial arrangements, that’s what insurances are for and I have plenty,” he said and smiled, backing away as was proper before turning to go out the door, but on the inside thinking, God, I can’t wait to get to a gin bottle.
Jed was just returning as Lady Madeline was going into the pub to look for Mitch. “I’ve taken her to her room, your Ladyship, and made her comfortable. I’ll take up some soup with toast and tea as soon as it’s ready. Dr. Bramson is waiting for you inside,” he said quietly and backed away towards the kitchen door.
Mitch stood up and went over to her the minute he saw her in the doorway, looking exhausted. He took her arm, leading her to an empty booth. “Lady Madeline! What the hell happened?”
“The doctors say she had an epileptic fit,” Lady Madeline said, putting her elbows on the table and rubbing her head, “…but I must tell you, my boy, it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
A respectable time later, Malcolm came over offering to get them drinks. Lady Madeline looked up, her eyes weary from the strain. “I’ll have a double scotch, then another one shortly after, thank you,” she said. A moment later he was back with her scotches, two of them, and a beer for Mitch. Lady Madeline downed the first scotch in one gulp.
Simon saw them as he came through the door and joined them. “Is there anything I can do to help, Lady Madeline?”
“No, my dear boy, I don’t expect so,” she said with a deep sigh. “The doctors just said to try and keep her away from any bright or flashing lights until she can get back to her regular physician, maybe let her rest in her room with the curtains drawn for a few days. But thank you for asking.”
Simon sat down close to Mitch with his Coke and was about to apologize to him for getting so drunk the night before, but before he could get a word out Mitch sensed what was coming, put his arm around Simon’s shoulders and gave him a good squeeze accompanied by a smile and a wink. Simon just blushed and nodded.
Lady Madeline downed her second scotch and looked at Mitch. “Would you be a darling, Mitch and have some dinner sent up for me, I am really feeling all out,” she said and got up to go, then paused. “And the bottle, too, if you don’t mind,” she said and headed off back to the cottage.
From there he and Simon went to the bar where Malcolm and Deck were doing the bartending duties. “Is everything going to be alright?” Malcolm asked, setting down a fresh beer in front of Mitch.
“We’re still going to be on for tomorrow if the weather is fair, aren’t we?” Deck asked from over Malcolm’s shoulder.
“Yeah, we’re still on. Lady Madeline may beg off, but we’re still going. At the very least we can tape off the area and start setting up the grids, eh, Simon?” he said, giving Simon a nudge with his elbow.
“Yes, sir, with bells on,” Simon said smiling, finally finding the courage after all this time to nudge him back.
Both Farthings nodded their agreement then headed off in opposite directions to attend to the other patrons.
It wasn’t long after that the pub began to fill up with its usual array of locals in for their evening cocktails. Soon the bar area was elbow to elbow. Mitch stood around watching Malcolm and Deck rushing back and forth with full glasses in one direction and empty ones in the other; thinking about the next day’s work.
Feeling insecure because he couldn’t put his back against the wall, Simon stayed very close to Mitch, literally almost under his wing. “I’ve prepared an email to send to Dr. Edgeworth this afternoon to advise him of our progress. I didn’t want to send it until I spoke to you. I scanned the sketches you gave me and downloaded some of the pictures we took the other day, too…and I thought he might like to hear from you,” Simon said, feeling like he just couldn’t get close enough to Mitch. “Would it be alright if I sent it before I go to bed tonight?”
“Yeah that would be great,” then he paused, “…just do me a favor and add one thing from me in a PS,” Mitch said bowing his head and letting his hair fall over his face. “Tell him that I miss him.”
“Yes, sir,” Simon said, wanting to tell him he knew exactly how he felt. And they both went back to their recent favorite pastime, watching the locals.
Mitch looked around the room and saw quite a few familiar faces. The group of giggling girls from the other night was back, but standing at the end of the bar against the far wall by the dart board this time. The black-haired woman was back, but this time in the company of a much younger man who kept his hand on her back making it clear to everyone that he had a present possessory interest there.
There was a new face too, a young man about Simon’s age with longish blonde hair, good-looking to the point of almost being pretty, standing at the bar in front of Malcolm, smiling with an empty glass in his hand. Mitch noticed that Malcolm completely ignored the young man, which was very unusual, then briskly turned away going to the other end of the bar.
The young man followed, holding out the empty glass to him and smiling. Malcolm ignored him again and went out on the floor to a table. Deck swung by then, took the glass from the young man and filled it, neither looking at him nor smiling which was very unlike him.
Simon was watching the footballers with the shaved heads pushing each other and laughing when he was overcome by a strange feeling; the kind that one gets of being followed down a dark street, but when they look behind them, finds no one there. He looked behind him. The old man was sitting in his usual corner with his beer in his hand, looking out of the front window. Simon felt his knees go weak and moved even closer to Mitch. “Come thee to me tonight, Holly. We must begin,” Simon heard whispered in his ear. He was just about to childishly ask Mitch if he could sleep in his room that night when he heard the voice again. “Fear thee not, Holly, for I am thy ally and thou art mine.”
Suddenly the feeling inside him changed; no longer fear but…anticipation. Without thinking, he asked Mitch if he minded if he went to bed early so he could be fresh and ready for an early start in the morning. “Sure, go ahead. After last night, I don’t expect to be up too late myself,” Mitch said, giving him another good squeeze around the shoulders and tousling his hair.
When he looked back up to the bar, Malcolm was serving guests again and Deck was out on the floor. He noticed the same young blonde man standing in front of Malcolm again with an empty glass in his hand. Again Malcolm ignored him and went to the other side of the bar. The young man followed him and held out his glass again. This time Mitch could hear them. “Please,” the young man said to Malcolm, smiling.
“Stop following me,” Malcolm snapped back, teeth clenched, then called out, “Deck!” and stomped away. A hurt look came into the young man’s eyes.
A second later Deck was back behind the bar, taking the glass from the young man and filling it. “Don’t they have a pub in your village, Alec?” Deck said, handing him his fresh beer, seeming to go out of his way to be patient, but by then it was clear that his patience was wearing thin. The young man turned away with his head hanging down and took a seat over in the corner by himself. Deck came over to Mitch and took his glass, “Another, Dr. Bramson?” he smiled.
“One more, or maybe two more,” Mitch said smiling back, “…who knows . . . maybe three more.” When Deck returned with the fresh beer, Mitch couldn’t
help but ask, “So what was that all about?” and he pointed with his head to the young man sitting by himself in the corner.
“Oh that. It’s nothing, really. Just a…” and he paused to think of the right words, “…gay boy from the next village. He fancies our Malcolm and keeps coming in here to see him and make eyes at him,” Deck said, rolling his eyes. “It drives Malcolm near to barking. I don’t understand why he just doesn’t go to London to be with his own kind. A small village is no place for…It’s like he’s just asking for trouble,” he said taking on a more sympathetic tone, shaking his head and shrugging.
“Oh, I see,” was all Mitch could think of to say.
The next thing he knew a scruffy-looking man about half Mitch’s size with a long goatee and old tattoos up and down his arms was standing next to him, waving to Malcolm and singing loudly in Mitch’s ear, “Tis really a pity, she’s only one tittie to feed the baby on. The poor little bugger will never play rugger or ever grow up strong…”
Mitch laughed out loud, practically spitting his beer across the bar. That was enough for one day. He was going to bed.
***
Simon sat on the edge of his bed waiting, again not sure for what. He reached into his shirt to feel for…what? And it was there. He held it in his hand and he knew. He got up and went to the window, opening it. The rain had stopped by then, replaced by a thick fog rolling over the land, so dense in fact, he could feel the thickness of it in his throat and lungs as he breathed.
A moment later he was out the window, standing in the shadows in front of the inn, staring across the road at the medieval church, its lights through the colored stained glass giving off an eerie glow against the rising mist of the fog. The next thing he knew he was standing across the road from the old man’s cottage as he had done that morning, but didn’t remember. “Come, lad,” he heard in his ear, and he walked across the road. The door was open, waiting for him, dim light coming through the doorway, bidding him to come in.
He walked through the door to find the old man sitting at the largest piece of furniture in the house, a large old oak table, worn down on its edges from an untold number of years of use, riddled with cracks on its surface. Once Simon was in, the old man pointed two fingers at the door. It closed.
The old man pointed his fingers at Simon and brought them down to the side of the table. Simon followed. Then the old man pointed his two fingers over towards a chair on the other side of the room and the chair moved, skidding slowly across the floor until it was close behind Simon. The old man then pointed his fingers at the seat of the chair. Simon sat.
As they sat in silence the old man brought up an old wooden box, hinged with wrought-iron like his front door, and set it on the table, opening it. Slowly he took something out and set it on the table. It looked like a dried black root. The old man motioned with his fingers and the root rose in the air in front of Simon’s face. “Take it,” the voice without words said to him, and Simon did. “Smell it,” the voice said and Simon did.
Suddenly he was no longer in the cottage with the old man. He was out in the forest at the base of a tree, digging on his hands and knees in the light of the full moon. He felt the root in his hand and heard the voice say to him, “Pull,” and he did.
The root came out in his hand, wriggling as if it were alive. “Hold it tight…” the voice said, “…and bring it back.” Simon opened his eyes and he was back in the room with the old man. “Do you see?” the voice asked him. Simon looked curiously across the table into the old man’s black eyes. “Do you see? ” it said again. Simon nodded. “This heals, the voice said.
The next item the old man brought out of the box was a bunch of bright red flowers or weeds tied with what looked to Simon like hair. The old man repeated the ritual, but this time Simon was transported to the graveyard at the church. He was again on his hands and knees with a small pair of scissors clipping what looked to him like little red bells from around an old gravestone.
When he came back, he heard the voice say, “This kills. Do you see?” Simon nodded. After this happened a dozen or so times and all the items were set before him on the table, the old man took out a huge book with hundreds of pages of parchment and set it before him. It was written in some form of code. The old man waved his hand in front of Simon’s face and suddenly he could read it. It looked like an ancient recipe book with primitive drawings on each page. “Do you see?” the voice asked him again and Simon nodded that he did.
The old man took each item and carefully placed it back in the box, then took the book and laid it on the floor by his chair. He walked over close to Simon and held out his left hand. In his right he had a small knife. He cut deep into his left hand, letting the blood collect into the palm like cup. “This is life. Do you see?” Simon nodded. Then the voice said, “On thy knees before me, ye boy called Holly,” and Simon obeyed, kneeling with his head down.
Actually, physically touching him for the first time that evening, the old man took Simon’s chin with his right hand and lifted it up to look into his eyes. He dipped his fingers in the blood in his left hand and marked Simons face with swirling symbols, mumbling in the old language but not allowing Simon to understand.
Once this was completed, the old man bent down and took Simon by the hand, helping him to stand. The old man removed Simon’s jacket, shirt and tee shirt exposing Simon’s thin pale, birdlike chest. The old man turned him around and laid him on the table, chest down. Simon could hear the old man making noise behind him, the clattering of metal objects, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to move. He heard the voice speak to him again asking, “Thou wouldst do this to protect him?”
“Yes,” Simon heard himself say in his own soundless voice. “Anything.”
The old man came to Simon’s side and opened his mouth, putting a smooth, hard piece of wood between his teeth, then went back around behind him. “Be thee brave, young Holly,” the voice said.
A moment later Simon heard the dull, muffled sound of metal striking metal; a sharp jolt of pain between his shoulders, like he’d been pierced through the heart. He didn’t cry out. He just bit down on the wood and closed his eyes, remembering the way he’d felt when Dr. Mitchell Bramson came to Holy Family that Christmas Eve to rescue him, and his words, ‘I will never let anyone ever hurt you again.’
***
Mitch was up bright and early the next day, glad to see that the rain had stopped and the fog melted away. Malcolm and Deck Farthing were waiting for him when he came down for breakfast, as was Lady Madeline.
They sat around the table discussing what was to be done that day. The ground would still be wet and most likely muddy, so they decided it would be best then to spend their time taping off the area, making their grid and setting up the tent with all the supplies they had, then maybe do a little digging around the granite object they’d found earlier, if there was still time.
Lady Madeline’s nerves had settled from the trauma of the day before, much to the credit of the bottle of scotch Mitch had sent up to her room with her dinner, so she was very much herself again, composed, contained, but still hesitant to go out to the site and leave Sandrine alone and unattended. Jed, who’d been serving breakfast, took the opportunity to offer to look after Sandrine for the day. He was working, so he wouldn’t ever be very far away, and he had been on an emergency medical team in Australia before he came to England to work at the pub, assuring her that he could more than handle an emergency should it arise, plus both Ivy and Fi would be there if there was anything on the female side of things that needed to be dealt with.
It made Lady Madeline feel better knowing the Jed would be there, particularly because she also knew he cared for Sandrine in that special way. That made a big difference. And it was true that since Ivy and Fi would both be there, Sandrine wouldn’t be without female assistance if she needed it, so Lady Madeline decided it would be alright go out to the site with the men after all.
While all this was going on, Mitch b
egan wondering about Simon. Where is he? he kept thinking, keeping his eye on the doorway; expecting any minute to hear his familiar walk, one step always landing heavier than the other. When Simon still hadn’t come down twenty minutes later, Mitch started to get concerned. He didn’t know about what. It was just a feeling in his gut, nagging at him, like it had so many other times when it came to Simon. They were so in tune with each other, the way he and Jack were. When Simon still hadn’t arrived in another ten minutes, Mitch decided to go check on him; maybe he hadn’t set his alarm and had overslept.
He’d no sooner stood up to go when he heard it, one footfall landing heavier than the other. The knot in his gut loosened. A moment later Simon walked through the doorway, a little paler, moving a little slower than usual, but otherwise alright. Mitch pulled a chair from the table next to them and set it next to his, tapping the seat with his hand for Simon to come and sit next to him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Simon said shyly, sitting down next to Mitch. As was his way, Mitch put his hand on the back of Simon’s neck and gave it a gentle squeeze and shake. Simon winced, what little color he had left draining from his face like a thermometer plummeting. Mitch was on it in a heartbeat. He leaned over and whispered, “Hey, are you alright, bud?”
“Yes, sir. I must’ve slept wrong. I’m just a little achy, that’s all. It’s nothing,” Simon said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and downing it in one gulp. Then he nudged Mitch with his elbow, smiling and looking at him shyly, his big blue eyes shining, wanting to make sure he knew he really was alright.
“Yeah? Mitch asked, searching him with his own eyes. Simon nodded, smiling bashfully, but thinking with his own soundless voice, Anything.
Chapter XIII
SALT IN THE WOUND
I see the bad moon arising. I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightnin’. I see bad times today. Don’t go around tonight. Well, it’s bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise….
The Digger's Rest Page 22