Veritas

by Quinn Coleridge

Nodding, I move closer to Tom, feel his arm slide round my shoulders. The doctor is quiet for a moment and then brushes off his coat. “A secret affair, is it? Well, to each his own, I suppose.”

  Tom’s Scottish temper flares. “Careful, Doctor,” he says. “Show Miss Grayson the proper respect.”

  Kelly moves past me. “Oh, I respect Hester. It’s you I don’t think much of. If she were mine, there’d be no sneaking around. The entire town would know I cared for her.”

  Tom curses through his teeth. “Son of a—”

  I grab his arm tightly. Let it pass. He thinks he’s defending me.

  The doctor walks to the mouth of the alley and waits for Tom and me to follow. “I am Miss Grayson’s escort at present,” he says. “And when I take a lady out, I damn well see her home.”

  The body heat from the men at my side is stifling, and I want this encounter to end without further incident. I’ll go with him, Tom. It’s only a short ride, after all, and my mother will ask questions otherwise.

  Fine.

  Anger pulses from Tom as he hands me what remains of my spectacles and strides away. The frames are bent, the lenses broken. It’s the topper to a hell of a day. As I despair over the spectacles, Kelly fetches my cloak from the hotel and leads me to the buggy, stiffly polite. Seems he’s angry, too.

  Kelly whistles for a while as the horse trots along before turning to me, his knee grazing mine. “I’ve known my share of deceptive females, but your skills are of the first water. The ice-angel, butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth act fooled even me.”

  Reaching into my pocket, I turn away from him and hold the lucky pebbles inside, thankful for the breeze blowing against my flushed face. We finally arrive at The Revels and Kelly walks me to the front door. I curtsy because it’s expected and thank him with a nod for taking me to tea.

  “You’re quite welcome, but it seems that trysts in alleyways are more to your liking. Had I but known you were in the mood for a tussle, Hester, I would have gladly obliged.”

  The treacherous cad! All that talk about friendship and loneliness. And to think I defended him to Tom.

  I release the pebbles in my pocket as Kelly raps on the door, alerting the butler that I’m waiting to be let in. “At your service,” the doctor murmurs.

  I don’t wait for the butler, for all I know he’s visiting the cook again, and I push the door open myself. As I stomp into the house, I hear Kelly call my name and turn around.

  “The choking man survived, in case you were wondering. And I’ll see you in my office tomorrow. Your mother and I have made arrangements for your education.”

  He walks toward his buggy, and I pull back the door so I can slam it. I’ll never go anyplace with him again, regardless of what he and Mama say.

  But Kelly gets in a final jab before I slam the door. “Be there at one, Hester, and bring Miss Collins along to chaperone. I’d hate for your reputation to suffer.”

  Later that night, I try to contact Tom, without success. He’s shut down our connection. I toss and turn for hours, fighting the urge to weep.

  Things are no better the next morning.

  I go to my mother’s suite after breakfast, but she is still abed. The room smells musty, and I wish I could throw open the windows. Yet Mama complains her hands and feet are cold, even though Cordelia said she’s covered in blankets and wearing a mink victorine. I gesture for my companion to add a log to the fire.

  “Still under the weather, I’m afraid,” Mama says in a faint voice. “All I want to do is sleep.”

  Cordelia places another blanket over Mama’s legs. Then my mother explains about those educational plans that Kelly mentioned. I am to visit his office each day, blast it. There I will be instructed in a language of hand gestures tailored specifically for my needs. Modified sign language, she calls it.

  Mama says that Kelly’s younger sister Rachel is deaf. No wonder he wanted to be friends! It all makes sense now. He felt sorry for me because I reminded him of her. Evidently, Rachel learned to sign later in life and instructed Kelly in the skill.

  What’s this? In addition to sign language, the doctor wishes to teach me the alphabet, and later, Braille. I will be a slave to scholarship! And I did not ask to be renovated. I abhor change. The people I care about understand me. At least Tom does, when he’s not upset.

  I’m happy as I am.

  My mother is not happy. “I should have thought of getting you a tutor before, but it didn’t occur to me. You will try these lessons, Hester. The world is exceedingly limited for women. Why make it more so by being ignorant?”

  She thinks I’m ignorant? My own mother? Well… I’ll just refuse to go. The woman can’t do anything to me if she’s stuck in bed.

  “I’m not to be agitated,” Mama says, sounding tired. “It’s bad for the baby.”

  Damnation. I can hardly say no to that. Curse you, Kelly, for stirring up my life and making a mess of things.

  11

  Experientia docet. Ipsa scientia potestas est.

  Experience teaches. Knowledge is power.

  We drive into central Stonehenge amid snow flurries. Kelly’s practice is located on Black Swan Lane, and Willard drops us off there precisely at one. I follow Cordelia into a waiting room, and nearly slip on the wooden floor. It would seem that many a foot has crossed this threshold before us. I smell carbolic solution and mustard plaster. Funny that I never detect these odors on Kelly even when he’s been surrounded by them all day.

  Must be the fastidious sort. Always changing his shirt or overcoat after working in the surgery.

  I still resent being forced into this, but I can act the part of an inquisitive student. That way, Mama won’t be distressed, and I will have the satisfaction of taking the moral high road with Kelly. How much can he require in one measly lunch break?

  A great deal, it would seem. He barely acknowledges my presence but explains the stencils to Cordelia, asking her to work with me on the alphabet. When that is done, I practice writing the letters with chalk on a piece of slate. All twenty-six of the confounded things! Over and over!

  Life is easier when nothing is expected of one.

  Kelly finally turns to me. I feel his steady gaze and shrink from it. Too bad we can’t just send messages through Cordie without any personal interaction. He rolls his chair around the desk and stops at my side. “I’ll need your hands now. No gloves. ”

  I shake my head, tucking my hands under my knees.

  Kelly scoots a bit closer. Is he wearing cologne? Sandalwood, perhaps?

  “I can be as stubborn as you, minx. Give over. Let’s see them.”

  I shake my head again. I do not wish to make contact with this man’s skin. Dealing with him is difficult enough without visions entering into the equation. I should know by now that Kelly won’t be deterred, however. He reaches under my leg and grabs my hand, stripping the glove off in one motion.

  Cringing, I fear the worst, but nothing happens. I am visionless. Deo favente…

  “There, that wasn’t so hard. What exactly are you hiding? Warts? An extra finger? Looks perfectly smooth and soft to me. Really, Hester, have you ever done an actual days work?”

  Odious, insulting buffoon.

  In addition to being odious, Kelly is also physically strong and he won’t release my captive hand until he’s good and ready. “I’ll make a sign, you’ll feel my fingers, and then you make the same gesture in return.” He swivels to the side, still latched onto me. “Miss Collins, you need to learn these, too. I have practice cards with drawings of the signs to send home with you—finger spelling, new vocabulary, common phrases and such.”

  The doctor lifts my hand up by my face, pinky side forward and thumb nearest my nose. He straightens my fingers and pulls my thumb out a bit

  “Keep those fingers straight and tap your chin with your thumb. That’s the sign for mother,” he says. “Try it again.”

  Kelly sits back in his chair. I imitate the sign, fascinated in spite of myself. Perhaps I
was wrong about scholarship. It might be of some use after all.

  “Fingers straight, Hester. Very good. You even mouthed the word correctly. How can you do that? Residual language skills from speaking in your childhood, perhaps.”

  Without warning, the room begins to sway. A vision. So dizzy. Falling through shadow, falling. Past an attic room. Open suitcase, boots with red heels on top. Heartbroken. Stop her. What can I do? What can I say? Don’t go, Evie. I’m tumbling fast, out of control. Some women aren’t meant to be mothers, I told you that. Angry voices shouting… isn’t yours... isn’t yours… isn’t yours. Hard landing. Darkness everywhere.

  What isn’t his?

  The revelation ends there, and I return to myself, as though my lessons with Kelly had never been interrupted. I realize then what isn’t his. Or rather who.

  He moves in his chair, the hint of sandalwood cologne growing stronger, and takes my hand. Kelly teaches me to sign thank you and you’re welcome. I try to concentrate, but it’s difficult to act normal, to not replay in my mind the moment when he realized he had been cuckolded, that his daughter Alice wasn’t his own.

  I quietly slip my fingers back into the kid gloves, a lump forming in my throat. I often hate being what I am. How I wish I were just a normal girl sitting here in his office, instead of the worst kind of thief, stealing privacy and secrets.

  Unaware of the turmoil in my head, Kelly praises Cordelia’s efforts. He doesn’t mention my re-gloved hands and says little to me, other than the names of the signs I’m learning. Goodnight, help, I am hungry, dinner was good, and I love you. Quite unexpected, that last phrase.

  “I love you,” he says, making the sign against my palm. “Now it’s your turn. Feel the shape I’ve made with my fingers, and repeat it back to me.”

  I manage to copy the sign correctly. “Once again, Hester. Excellent.”

  Thank you, I sign.

  “Well done, minx. May come a day we won’t be able to shut you up.” Kelly rolls his chair behind the desk. “The hour’s over. Thank you, Miss Collins. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  Cordelia and I practice signing the entire way home, and for some reason this lifts my spirits. Each word is like a new discovery, and I cannot get enough of them. As soon as the wagon stops, I hike my skirt up to my ankles and climb down without assistance. Cordie runs to catch up with me as I hurry to the house, cane swinging before my feet.

  I enter Mama’s room at a gallop with Cordie at my heels. “Have you no manners, Hester?” Mama exclaims. “You mustn’t rush about like that. It’s undignified.”

  After giving her my best curtsy, I make the sign slowly, so she is sure to see it—I love you, Mother.

  “What’s she doing now, Cordelia?”

  “She’s telling you she loves you, madam.”

  “Really? Are you certain?”

  I sign again. Yes.

  My mother calls me, and I move into her embrace. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  Pulling back, I hold my hand flat, palm up, and bring it toward my stomach. “You’re welcome,” Cordelia replies as I mouth the phrase.

  This small moment of understanding between my mother and me fuels my desire to learn more. I hope Kelly’s up to the challenge for I possess perfect recollection. Every vision—everything I have ever experienced down to the smallest detail—is stored within my brain, waiting to be summoned for future reference. There is much I wish I could forget, but it will remain with me forever.

  Perhaps this time, memory will be a blessing rather than a curse.

  Meet me at twelve. Throwing practice.

  Tom’s words are direct and brief—in my mind one moment, gone the next. He’s at the ranch shoeing a horse, an enterprise that requires his full attention, and can’t elaborate. It was a great relief when we reconciled five days ago, after our quarrel over Dr. Kelly, and I am thrilled at the prospect of a midnight rendezvous.

  Evening finally descends, and I meet Tom at the usual place by the French doors. Tom helps me onto his horse, and we fly away to the mountains. The night is so cold, I shiver despite my heavy, hooded cloak.

  He insists that I exhaust both arms since I haven’t thrown in nearly a week. When my muscles sing with exertion, he brings out a pair of saddlebags, hanging one on each of my shoulders.

  What do you expect me to do with these?

  “Walk around the circle. Fast as you can, vita mea.”

  This is not as simple as Tom makes it sound, but I apply my cane and complete the course. What do you have in your saddlebags? Bricks?

  “Rocks, actually. Try it again, but keep your posture straight and tuck in your belly.”

  I don’t like you very much right now.

  His laughter sounds genuine. “That wounds, lass, really it does. Off you go.”

  Sweat films my face when I finish the next lap, but Tom has no mercy. He wants me to go twice more.

  This dress will be ruined! I’ll never get the smell out.

  “And there’s a hundred more just like it in your wardrobe. Pick up the pace.”

  All right, but you owe me a replacement. A new pair of glasses, too.

  He kicks the dirt with his boot, cowboy language for the-hell-you-say. “I didn’t start that fight. Ask Noah for your glasses.”

  Tom turns me to the course and pats my behind to get me moving. I promise myself that I’ll finish this round if it kills me. The next one is worse. I dry-heave, stub my toe, and trip a few feet from the finish. Tom squats down next to me, and gives me a canteen. I gulp greedily for a few seconds and then he takes it away.

  “Enough, love,” he murmurs. “You don’t want it coming right back up again.”

  Disregarding protocol entirely, I flop onto my back in the dirt. I have never in my life done anything so improper. Well, except for sneaking out of the house without permission, having a forbidden romance, and throwing sharp things into the early hours of the morning.

  Was that really necessary, Tom?

  He sits down beside me. “You need to build muscle and stamina. If you get attacked again, it won’t be a drawing room musicale or a night at the opera. You can’t fight like a lady—”

  I’ve never been to an opera or a musicale, and you must admit, it’s a stretch to call me a lady.

  Tom laughs, and I take in the sound like a thirsty flower absorbing water.

  “Just my way of saying that the killer isn’t fooling. Fight him any way you can, Hettie. Knee him in the bollocks, gouge his eyes—whatever it takes to have you walk away alive.”

  I hold out my hand, and he accepts it, leaning down for a kiss. Tender, gentle. I touch his face when he releases me, and feel the dear, familiar lines of his jaw and brow.

  Thank you for caring that I’m safe.

  “Always, Hettie. Always and forever.”

  We hold each other, warm where our bodies meet, and listen to an owl hooting in the pine trees.

  “I have a present for you,” Tom says, reaching into his pocket.

  He slips something over my head. I can barely feel the meager weight of it resting against my bodice. Taking the cool, delicate chain between my fingers, I find an oval attached in the center. A locket? You didn’t need to do this.

  “Yes, I did. It’s a topaz. Belonged to my gran and her mother before that.”

  This is not a token gift. Few things mean more to Tom than kin, and the fact he’s offering a family heirloom to me brings tears to my eyes. I’m honored. I send him an intense rush of emotion. Gratias tibi ago.

  “You’re welcome. Gran said the stone protected her from harm. Let’s hope it does the same for you.”

  Te amabo semper, Thomas.

  Te amabo semper, Veritas mea.

  Time passes sweetly in his arms, and then he takes me home and we are separated until the next night.

  From this point on, my life becomes an arduous routine. I strengthen my mind in the daylight, learning to sign with Kelly and Cordelia, followed by night practices which test the limits of my
physical endurance. I struggle through it, sleeping when I can, and give my best every time. In an odd way, I feel empowered—as though I am gaining an edge I never had before. An advantage.

  Who would ever think that a dumb, blind girl could be dangerous?

  12

  Caveat.

  Beware.

  Dr. Kelly visits my mother on Sunday evening. I sit in a chair near Mama’s bed while they talk. He’s concerned about her fatigue and swelling.

  “Not too unusual, I suppose, but most women feel more themselves at this point, once the early sickness is over.” Kelly asks Cordelia for his coat. “I’d like you to eat foods that are rich in iron and protein, Mrs. Grayson.”

  Mama agrees, and Cordie and I walk with the doctor to the front door, where the butler is ready with his hand on the knob.

  Maybe he and the cook have fallen out.

  Kelly isn’t prepared to leave, however. Instead, he asks after my studies. “You’re being industrious, I hope?”

  I nod and sign. Work hard.

  “Here’s an idiom, then,” he says. “In keeping with your personality. My sister Rachel uses it a lot with me.”

  He makes the sign and describes the accompanying facial expression. I practice it a few times, knowing that I will use it with Kelly just as Rachel does.

  “The sign means what precisely?” Cordelia asks.

  “You’re full of hot air,” Kelly replies, deadpan. “Now, let’s see. What’s another? How about—I need sleep? You seem rather weary, Hester.”

  I perform this phrase until he’s satisfied.

  “A triumph, minx.”

  Full of hot air.

  “I may regret showing you that one.” The doctor laughs and squeezes my arm. “You winced just now. Are you hurt?”

  Only the after-effects of knife-throwing… Very tired.

  “I won’t detain you further. Goodnight, ladies.”

  After Kelly leaves, Cordelia and I practice signing for a while, and then get ready for bed. I have my companion read from The Histories by Herodotus, expecting her to doze off immediately, but she is galvanized by his words, puttering around her room until nearly twelve.