This is what happens, a little voice in my mind said viciously. You wanted him to touch you and he did. You invited this.
He called Flora back. ‘Hot sweet tea in the parlour, girl. And fetch Mrs Chalmers – now!’
As he stretched out a hand to pull me up, I acted purely on instinct and punched him squarely in the mouth.
‘Fucking—’ He bit back the rest of the curse. ‘At no point in your preparation did it occur to you to take your bloody ring off, woman?’
I examined the smear of red on the stone of my engagement ring. In the firelight it glowed dangerously, more like a ruby than a diamond.
He licked the blood from his lip. It should have made him look weak, but somehow he seemed feral, dangerous, like a lesson I was incapable of learning.
He looked bewildered. ‘Gilchrist, what happened?’
‘Not . . . your fault,’ I gasped out. ‘Not you.’
He swore quietly. ‘Christ. I’m sorry, I should have thought . . . I should never have grabbed you like that.’
It was the use of my surname that helped ground me in reality. Merchiston wasn’t Paul, would never be Paul. I was in Elisabeth’s house, my friend’s house, and she would help me to my feet and hold me by the fire until I felt like myself again.
But part of me knew that I was more myself in that moment of struggle than I would ever be again. My whole life boiled down to being held in place by someone I had trusted and who meant me harm. Merchiston might not be Paul, but he still had blood on his hands and I must never entirely trust him.
When Elisabeth arrived, she found Merchiston with a bleeding mouth and me curled up on a chair in front of the fire.
‘Gregory, what the bloody hell did you do?’
Although she was little more than five feet tall and looked like she was carved out of bone china, Elisabeth seemed ready to kill him where he stood.
My voice felt scratchy and hoarse, as though I had been screaming. ‘We were boxing and I . . . I panicked.’
‘I should leave,’ he said, his voice raw. ‘Miss Gilchrist, my sincere apologies. If you find yourself unable to attend class tomorrow, be assured I will not mark you down for it.’
Once he had gone, Elisabeth and I sat in silence for a moment.
‘You’re still having the dreams.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Not as frequently. It’s just . . .’ I took a deep breath and tried again. ‘It’s nearly a year. Since Paul . . . Everything feels sharper, like all my senses are amplified. Half the time I don’t know whether I want to hit something or run away.’
She took my sore hand in hers. ‘I think we have an answer to that.’ She smiled gently.
I groaned. ‘First I accuse him of murder, then I kick him in the unmentionables and now I act like he was trying to assault me. It’s a miracle he comes round here at all.’
‘I wouldn’t call it a miracle,’ Elisabeth said wryly. There was a twinkle in her eye I wasn’t ready to see.
The room, cosy and charming as it was, suddenly seemed oppressive. I wasn’t sure that home would be any better, but I wanted to leave before I fell apart completely.
‘Could you call for the carriage? I’d better be getting back. We’ll have luncheon together this week, I promise.’
‘In that case, I have some designs from Charles Worth that you have to see,’ Elisabeth said brightly. ‘It’s about time I bought you an engagement present – and about time you replaced that hideous hat!’
I smiled at her attempt to cheer me. But I couldn’t quite shake the remnants of my fear, the way my legs had locked in place as though my entire body was siding against me with whatever Merchiston had in store for me. I had thought it was because he was a murderer, but I was beginning to suspect I was afraid just because he was a man.
‘If this is the way I behave around a member of the faculty, can you imagine what will happen if they force me down the aisle? I’ll have to do a lot more than just be alone with Miles.’
My fiancé seemed polite and deferential now, but on his wedding night, faced with a woman he all but owned, how would he respond to refusal?
‘Not all men are like Paul, Sarah.’
‘But enough of them are. Enough to make me never know when I’m safe.’
My friend paused, uncertain about how to answer my question tactfully. ‘You don’t . . . you’re not . . . You know Miles would never hurt you, Sarah. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘I don’t feel frightened around him,’ I promised. Not overly, at least. The problem was, I could find half a dozen women in London who would have said the same thing about Paul Beresford – and the ones who would disagree knew better, in the light of my public disgrace, than to say anything.
As we went into the hall, I caught Merchiston putting on his coat and hat. I felt as though I needed to offer him an olive branch, although – or perhaps because – I knew he didn’t expect it. He was my friend and I trusted him, or at least as far as I trusted anyone these days. I knew that part of my fear had come from my own desire, and I would not let it quash the sweet joy I felt in his presence.
‘Could you accompany me home, Professor?’ I asked tentatively. ‘There’s no point in us taking separate carriages, and you’re practically on my way.’
He looked relieved. ‘If you don’t mind? I’m so sorry about what happened – I hope you know that I would never . . . But I shouldn’t have frightened you like that, I should have thought it through.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled damply. Truth be told, there was something reassuring about his presence, safe even. It wasn’t because of his sex, although I could hardly deny being aware of it. It was the same care and protection I felt from Elisabeth – and oddly enough, despite her prickles, Aunt Emily. The bone-deep certainty that no matter what, I had someone on my side.
Elisabeth saw us into the carriage, with a kiss pressed against my cheek and low threats of violence to Merchiston should he do anything to alarm me. If he were to give her boxing lessons as well, I suspected she would be unstoppable.
We sat in silence as the carriage rolled past the Meadows, but it was companionable rather than awkward. He knew why I had reacted as I did, and I knew he didn’t – would never – judge me for it.
‘It’s wicked of your family to force you into a marriage with a man you don’t want,’ he said softly. ‘After everything you’ve been through, how can they think this is the solution?’
I shrugged, helplessly. ‘They think it will erase the past, or at least make people forget about it. All I can do is hope that we can uncover enough scandal to convince them that going through with the marriage would be worse than escaping it.’
‘There is another way,’ he said quietly. ‘It would get you out of your aunt’s house and you’d be free to study, to practise medicine – live the life you want, not the one society enforces upon you.’
‘It sounds like you’re talking about a miracle.’
In the dim light, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far.’
‘So? What is this grand plan?’
‘Marry me.’ His voice was so low, I wondered if I had misheard, but he carried on, words falling over themselves like rocks in an avalanche. ‘It wouldn’t have to be . . . I mean, my expectations of you wouldn’t include all the duties a wife must perform. It would be on your terms entirely. I have a room – it’s quite the nicest one in the house, really. It looks out over the garden. It could be your own private space, I wouldn’t intrude. And you could have a desk in my study. Really, the house is far too large for me, and frankly, Mrs Logan has too much time on her hands. It would be good to give her someone else to chase after.
‘Sarah, you would be safe in my house and you would be respected. And your family couldn’t really object, could they? Their main concern is that you marry, and here I am – a husband ready to take you exactly as you are. There would be no more sneaking medical journals into bibles to preserve your pious image – you don’t even hav
e to go to church after we’re married, I couldn’t give a damn. No more telling your aunt that you’re visiting Elisabeth when really you’re running after some miscreant through the worst streets of Edinburgh. I’d be by your side, every step of the way.’
I felt unaccountably short of breath. The gaslight lancing in through the carriage windows illuminated the planes of his face, and I saw earnestness shining in his eyes.
He took my hand in both of his and rolled down my glove. I wondered if he could see the indentation left by the engagement ring, which was now stowed safely in my reticule; if he remembered that this was my second proposal of 1893 and it was only February. But as he pressed his lips to my skin, never once breaking my gaze, I couldn’t even remember Miles’ proposal. I couldn’t remember my own name.
‘I can’t promise to be the husband of your dreams, Sarah. I’m irritable and solitary, and left to my own devices, my table manners are terrible. I’d rather stay inside and read than go to the opera or a party, I don’t know any poetry to recite to you and I’m more likely to send you autopsy photographs than flowers. But we can be partners. We can travel – I won’t cheat you out of a honeymoon, however much this is a marriage of convenience. Italy, Spain, America – wherever you want. You’ll always have someone to accompany you to public talks and no one would think to turn you away if you were on my arm. Can you honestly say that Miles Greene can give you any of that?’
I could not. I could not imagine any man offering me what Gregory Merchiston promised, and not even in my wildest flights of fancy had I considered such a thing. The shackles loosened that had tightened around me ever since my uncle had informed me that I would indeed be marrying Miles if I wanted to continue having a roof over my head, and I felt dizzy with relief and possibility.
‘You don’t have to give me an answer now. Wait a few days. Hell, wait months if you need to. But don’t walk up that aisle and throw yourself away on a man who doesn’t understand you.’
The taciturn Professor Merchiston had delivered an entire speech and I had yet to say one word.
‘I will,’ I whispered, and realised it sounded like an acceptance I wasn’t sure I could give. ‘Think about it, I mean.’ My thoughts flickered and jumped like the flame of a guttering candle, and although I was faced with the prospect of a happiness I had long since discarded, I couldn’t summon the coherence to say the one word that would grant me all of that.
The carriage juddered to a halt, and Merchiston dropped my hand as though it had scalded him.
We were in Newington, outside his residence. I looked at the building, imagining myself living there.
‘It’s much closer to Elisabeth’s, if you need any additional incentive,’ he said hesitantly, as if he was unsure that any of his previous inducements were sufficient.
‘I’ll take that into consideration,’ I said, smiling through tears I hadn’t realised I was shedding.
‘Goodnight, Sarah. Sleep on it; don’t feel rushed into a decision. I need to know . . .’ Here his voice broke slightly. ‘I need to know you mean it.’
He leapt out of the carriage and strode the few paces to his front door without turning around. As we jolted into movement again, I watched him fumble with his keys in the lock before disappearing into the light and the warmth.
The journey home could have taken five minutes or five days. I was aware of nothing but the phantom sensation of his mouth on my skin and his words whispered hotly through the darkness.
Chapter 19
My mother’s face was pinched with disapproval as she chided me over supper. I was spending too much time with my friends from the university and not enough with my fiancé. Had she known what I had really been doing, she would have had a fit of apoplexy. Not only was Miles grieving, but he was on the cusp of a substantial inheritance, one generous even for a second son. It was intended to support him in married life, but, as my mother crisply reminded me, there was no stipulation that it should be me that he married.
‘A rich man has romantic prospects that a poorer one lacks. There will be plenty of women keen to overlook his . . . well, his awkwardness, now that his coffers are filled.’
‘He was hardly in the workhouse before, Mother,’ I pointed out. ‘Colonel Greene helped him with some investments and he was quite comfortable. He was only waiting to marry before they set him up with a household of his own.’
I hoped that was true, at any rate. The thought of moving from my aunt’s house into Aurora’s was not an appealing one, even without a murderer on the loose.
‘But now that his father is dead, everyone knows. Alisdair may be married, but there’s still a Greene son who has yet to go down the aisle, even if he is engaged. Should he tire of you, there will be plenty of girls more than ready to take your place, and a dashed sight more grateful than you’re acting. Send him your condolences in person, or you’ll find that someone else gets there first.’
Frankly, the thought delighted me. Although I felt sorry for Miles’ loss, it could be my release. All sorts of possibilities were opening up to me tonight, it seemed. There was nothing anyone could say that would dim the warm glow in my belly that Merchiston’s words had sparked, although to give my mother her due, she did try.
I excused myself as early as I could, agreeing to call on Miles in the next few days, my mind awhirl.
How was it that I, the girl whose reputation had been so thoroughly ruined her family had no choice but to let her take up a university education and train for a profession, was in possession of not one potential husband but two? One whom my family approved of but who was caught in the middle of a scandal; the other enough to get me estranged from them for good but who would let me practise medicine – more than that, encourage me every step of the way.
I knew Merchiston well enough to know he didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He was a true scientist, a man who analysed things from every angle before committing to a course of action. If he suggested marriage to get me out of my engagement, it was because he thought it could work. That we could work.
Suddenly a whole world of possibility opened up before me – a life where I could train as a doctor and enjoy more domestic comforts than a set of rented rooms and a cat for company. Not to mention the fact that I would have access to Merchiston’s extensive library and perhaps even a study of my own, or at least a desk in his. And what a boon to a private practice if I were already a settled married woman with a pharmacology specialist on hand. Surely that would make up for at least some of the prejudices against lady doctors. The filthy slate of my reputation would be wiped clean and I wouldn’t even have to give up my ambition.
I wondered how Merchiston felt about cats. The thought of his companionship stretching out ahead of us for the rest of our lives warmed me, and no matter how much I relished the thought of living with his quick wit and considerable intelligence, the thought of seeing him over the breakfast table every morning pleased me in a way that had nothing to do with his medical qualifications.
Was this what women were meant to feel?
Elisabeth had once accused me of wanting a marriage that sounded more like a debating society than a romantic partnership, and it hadn’t bothered me that she was right. The thought of my body – my weak, stupid female body that couldn’t even bring a child into the world – wanting like this had horrified me. I had tried so hard in the wake of Paul’s attack to forget it existed. I ignored all its urges – not eating unless forced, not sleeping unless drugged. And even then, it betrayed me. Images of what I had wanted – what I thought I had wanted – plagued me until I wasn’t sure if my memories were even real any more, if I was the foolish slut they said I was.
The thought of a man’s touch had brought bile to my throat. Until Gregory Merchiston. I had seen him stripped down to the waist, skin slick with a sheen of sweat. I had seen him charm and tease and flirt as well as glower and lecture. I had seen him kill for me and every moral fibre I possessed told me to run in the opposite direction,
but I couldn’t. I had fought my reactions every step of the way because surely nothing that made me feel like this could be good, but it was a battle I was losing. And now here he was, offering to cloak my need in the legitimacy of marriage, even if it was one of convenience.
Imagine the life I could live as his wife. Never having to miss a lecture because my family wanted me home, free to spend my evenings in the library as late as I pleased. Not having newspapers hidden away from me lest my delicate female brain should be overcome with politics or international affairs. Studying The Lancet together in front of the fire, reading journal articles out loud to discuss them. The brush of his arm against my waist, the nearness of his body. His mouth claiming mine the way it should have done before we were interrupted all those weeks ago. My fingertips were tracing a pattern on my stomach, dangerously close to where desire pooled. This was wicked, it wasn’t what he was offering, but it was what I wanted with a force that scared me.
He was no saint, that I knew, so was the offer of celibacy for my sake or his? Perhaps that magnetism that I had tried so hard to ignore was only one-sided; perhaps that not-quite kiss had been intended as a brotherly brush of my cheek. But I knew – as truly as I knew that I was meant to be a doctor, as truly as I had known anything in my life – that if we married, I would ignore his gentlemanly protestations and offer myself to him as his wife in every way.
The thought made my blood pound, and I shivered even though I wasn’t cold. I cocooned myself in blankets, pressing my thighs together, not sure if I wanted to banish the feelings or lean into them, not sure even what they really were.
I wouldn’t mock our nuptials by wearing virginal white – neither of us expected that of me. But I ran my hand across the lace trim of my nightgown and imagined the soft fabric of the sleeve slipping off my shoulder as I stood in front of him, daring him to stop me. The rustle of linen on wooden floorboards, the candlelight forgiving of our shared imperfections. And Gregory pressing a gentle kiss against the ugly scar on my stomach, a remnant of the operation that had robbed me of my right to bear his children. I could barely look at it in the mirror as it healed, but now I pressed my body against the fold of the blanket between my legs and the thought of his mouth against the jagged raised line was so sharp and sweet it overwhelmed me until all rational thought blurred into an aching pleasure that left me shaking.
The Unquiet Heart Page 14