by P. N. Elrod
She fixed me with a look that told me to cease apologizing. “We decided to let you sleep and try again the next night. Again, nothing. Finally Jericho went down to the hold and drew off some blood from one of the cattle and wet your lips with it. Then he tried putting a few drops in your mouth. Not even that worked.”
I spread my hands. Apologetically. Couldn’t help it.
“We were frightened by then. For all we knew you might truly be dead. You mentioned once to me you had a problem crossing water, and I was terrified that this ocean had somehow killed you. Jericho held hope better than I, and pointed out that your limbs still moved freely. But just to make sure, I jabbed you with one of my mending needles—”
“Oh, I say—!”
“I said we were frightened! It drew blood and the wound healed up. I nearly fainted with relief. That’s the only way we knew that your body still held a spark of life. We didn’t know whether to leave you alone or try something sterner, then Mr. Quinton, the apothecary, came ’round. Lieutenant George sent him to look in on you, the blasted toady.” The tone she used with his name indicated that George was the toady, not Quinton. “Jericho tried to put him off, but Quinton remained curious and went into your cabin when we weren’t around. He promptly ran straight to Mr. George to declare you dead.”
“Oh, dear lord.”
“That brought the captain down to see, and I was flooded with so much sympathy that I could hardly make myself heard. When I finally got them to listen, they thought I was a madwoman.”
“What did you say?”
“That Quinton had got it wrong and you were only deeply asleep. No one believed me; they wouldn’t even listen to Jericho, and I was getting more and more angry. Quinton held a mirror to your face and of course you weren’t breathing, and your heart was still; it was so ghastly. Oh, but they were so kind, telling me I was distracted by my grief and they were more than willing to spare me from the sad responsibility of seeing you decently taken care of. By that I understood you were in for a sea burial.”
“How did you stop them?”
“By grabbing you and shaking you like a butter churn and screaming myself hoarse—”
“Wait, I remember that!”
She paused. “You do?”
“Vaguely. I don’t think I was polite.”
“You weren’t. You growled, cursed, damned my eyes, shrugged me off and rolled over asleep again.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Don’t be, the fright you gave them saved your life. They stopped trying to remove me from the cabin and had Quinton make another examination. He was surprised and upset by then and anxious to redeem himself, and though I know he couldn’t possibly have found a heartbeat any more than before, he said, you were indeed alive, but unconscious. What a relief that was to hear. The captain and Mr. George wanted a closer look for themselves, but I’d caught my breath by then and an idea came to me of how to deal with them.
“Since they’d been so sympathetic, it seemed right to make use of it, so I finally got the lot of them out into the passage and lowered my voice the way Father does when he really wants people to listen. Then I told them in the strictest confidence that you were sadly addicted to laudanum and—”
“You WHAT?”
“I had to! It was the one thing I could think of that would explain your condition!”
I groaned.
“I said you’d brought a supply with you and were taking it to help your seasickness and it was likely you would remain like this for most of the voyage. Afterward, they had quite a different kind of sympathy for me and were perfectly willing to leave you alone, and that was all I wanted. Perhaps your reputation might suffer a little should there be any gossip—”
“A little?”
“But I doubt if anything will come of it; they gave their word of honor to say nothing, and unlike some people I’ve known, I’m willing to believe them.” She stalked across the room to rummage in a small trunk, drawing from it her fourth handkerchief. She blew her nose several times. “And so passed the first week.”
A week? A mere week? “I’m afraid to ask about the rest of the voyage.”
“Happily my well-wishers weren’t as disruptive. Jericho took small meals to your cabin, supposedly for you, then either ate them himself or hid them in the chamber pot to be thrown overboard. He didn’t have much of an appetite, nor did I; we were so damned worried. The others had an explanation for your condition; we did not. As the days passed and you kept sleeping, we almost got used to it. We reasoned that since you had survived the grave, you were likely to survive this, but it was such a thin hope to cling to with so much time on our hands and nothing to do but wait it out.”
“It must have been awful.”
“The word, little brother, is horrid, and I don’t mean in the lighter sense of which Cousin Anne is so fond.”
“Ah . . . yes, of course.”
Elizabeth paced up and down and blew her nose again. Jericho was taking his time bringing the tea and brandy.
Two months. Months. Dear God. There was much about my changed condition that was unnatural, but this one was beyond comprehension. “It must in some way be connected to my difficulty in crossing water . . . .”
She gave me a sour look.
But I continued. “I was so seasick, perhaps it is meant to spare me the constant discomfort.”
“Jericho and I had many, many discussions on the subject and came to the same conclusion.”
“And you sound as though you’re bloody tired of the subject.”
“You are most perceptive.”
I sensed it would be wise to be quiet.
She stopped pacing. “I do apologize, Jonathan. I shouldn’t be so rude to you. You’re safe and well and that’s what we prayed for all this time. I’m just so damnably weary. I feel like a drawn bow that’s been suddenly undrawn and unstrung.”
“With much justification. Is it very late?”
“Not really. You woke up at sunset as usual, or what used to be usual. I’m glad to see your habit is reasserting itself.”
“Is this my first night off the ship?”
“Yes.”
Right. I was away from water and doubtless the solid ground below had aided my revival. “Uh . . . just how was I debarked?”
“Jericho put you back into your box and locked it up, same as when you were placed aboard. The sailors shifted it to the quay, I hired a cart—”
“Did no one notice I was missing from the other departing passengers?”
“It was too hectic. After those many weeks aboard, all everyone wanted to do was to get away from one another.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
I heard steps in the hall, recognized them, and hurried to open the door.
“Thank you, sir,” said Jericho. His hands were occupied balancing a tray laden with enough tea and edibles for three. With the crisis past, he anticipated my sister’s return to a normal appetite. I got out of his way so he could put it down on the room’s one table.
“That smells good.” Elizabeth came closer. “Are those seedcakes? And eggs? I haven’t had one in ages. . . .” She hovered over the table, looking unsure of where to begin.
The smells may have been toothsome to her, but they were enough to drive me away. Cooked food of any kind had that effect on my sharpened senses. While she piled the beginnings of a feast on a plate, Jericho poured tea, adding a generous portion or two of brandy to the cup.
“All I really want is the tea,” she protested, crumbs of seedcake flying from her mouth. “This only spoils the taste.”
“You need it, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Then so do you. Stop fussing and sit down. I shan’t eat another bite until you have some as well.”
This was an unheard-of violation of custom, to be sure, though the three of us
had been friends long before growing up had drawn us irretrievably into our respective stations in life. Jericho hesitated.
“Sit, Jericho,” she said. “Please.”
“Never argue with a lady,” I told him.
He glanced once at the door to be certain it was closed and once at me to be sure it was all right. Gingerly, he sat opposite her and suffered her to pour tea for a change.
“I’ve missed this,” she said. “Remember how we used to take away a parcel of things from the kitchen and eat in the woods, pretending we were pirates hiding from the king’s navy?”
I gave a small chuckle. “I remember you insisting on playing Captain Kidd for all your skirts.”
“Only because I’d made an eye patch, but I recall giving it to you when I became ‘Scarlet Bess, Scourge of the Seas’ after Mrs. Montagu’s gift of those red hair ribbons.”
“Yes, and what a terror you became. As Captain Kidd you were a much nicer pirate.”
She threw a seedcake at me, and I neatly caught it just to annoy her. She laughed instead. “I wish you could join us in this feast.”
“But he can,” said Jericho, garnering questioning looks from us. For an answer, he reached for a second teapot on the tray and held it ready to pour the contents into a waiting cup. He cocked an eye at me.
“What . . . ?” I drew closer.
He tipped the pot. From the spout came forth not tea, but blood. Elizabeth gasped, eyes wide and frozen.
When the cup was full, he gently replaced the pot. Then he picked up the cup and a saucer and offered them to me.
Hardly aware that I spoke, I whispered a thanks to him. The scent of the blood filled my head. The sight of it . . . the whole room seemed to have vanished; all I saw was the cup and its contents. I reached out, seeing my fingers closing ’round it of their own accord. Then I drank. Deeply.
My God, it was wonderful.
Still warm. So much of it.
I drained it away in one glorious shuddering draught. Not until it was gone did I understand the breadth of my hunger. Muted by my long sleep, it snarled into life and was only slightly appeased by this offering.
“Another, sir?”
I could only nod. He poured. I drank.
So very, very wonderful. Eyes shut, I felt the glad heat spreading from my belly to the tips of my limbs, felt the weight of need melting away, felt the life of it infusing every part of me. Each swallow restored my depleted body with that much more strength.
Jericho cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, miss, I should have said something before . . . .” He sounded stricken.
I opened my eyes, abruptly mindful that I was not alone, and looked at Elizabeth. She was ashen. Her gaze fixed on the teapot, then Jericho, then me.
“I am most sincerely sorry.” Jericho started to get up, but Elizabeth’s hand shot out and fastened on his arm.
“No. Don’t.” For a long moment she did not move. Her breath was short and fast, then she forcibly slowed it.
“Elizabeth?” I hardly knew what to say. Only now did it penetrate my slow mind that the sight of me swigging down blood as another man might take in an ale might be less than pleasant in her sight.
She gave herself a shake. “It’s all right. I was just surprised. You did nothing wrong, Jericho. In truth, yours is an excellent idea that allows Jonathan to partake meals with us again. I’m just being foolish.”
“But—”
“Nothing . . . wrong,” she emphasized. She eased her grip on his arm and patted it. “You stay exactly where you are. Give Jonathan more if he so desires.”
I stood. “Elizabeth, I think I should—”
“Well, I don’t,” she snapped. “It’s food to you, is it not? Then it’s time that I got used to the idea. For God’s sake, some of our fieldworkers enjoy eating pigs’ brains, so I suppose I can watch my brother drink blood. Sit down with us.”
Taking my own advice, I chose not to argue with the lady and obediently took my seat at the table.
In silence Jericho gestured inquiringly at the teapot. I cautiously nodded. Elizabeth looked on, saying nothing. She resumed her meal at the same time I did.
“How did you obtain it, Jericho?” she asked in a carefully chosen tone better suited for parlor talk about the weather.
He was understandably reluctant to speak. “Er . . . while the cook was making the tray ready, I excused myself and went down to the stables.”
“There’s such a quantity, though. I hope the poor beast is all right.”
“I drew it from several horses.”
“And just how did you accomplish the task?”
“I, ah, I’ve had occasion to give aid to Dr. Beldon when he found it necessary to bleed a patient. It was easy enough to emulate.”
Heavens, but he was full of surprises.
“The taste is agreeable to you, is it not?” Elizabeth’s bright attention was focused on me.
Anything less than an honest answer would insult her intelligence.
“Very agreeable,” I said, trying not to squirm.
“How fortunate. What a trial your life would be were it not.”
“Elizabeth . . . .”
“I was only making an observation. You should have seen your face when Jericho gave you that first cup. Like my cat when there’s fresh fish in the kitchen.”
Jericho choked on his egg. I thumped his back until he waved me away.
We three looked at one another in the ensuing silence. Very heavy it was, too. I wondered just how much of an effect that drop of brandy was having on her.
Then Elizabeth’s face twitched, she made a choking sound of her own, and we three suddenly burst out laughing.
* * *
“If anything, I feel cheated,” I said sometime later, when we’d recovered from our shared fit. At ease once more, we lounged ’round the table, content to do nothing more than let peaceful digestion take its course.
“Of the time you lost?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, certainly. It’s like that story Father told us about the calendar change that happened a couple years before we were born. They were trying to correct the reckoning of the days and made it so the second of September was followed by the fourteenth. He said people were in riot, protesting that they’d been robbed of two weeks of their lives.”
Jericho, with both his natural and assumed reticence much weakened by the brandy, snickered.
“How absurd of them,” she said. “However, that was a change made on paper, not in actual terms of living. Yours has definitely caused you to miss some time from your life.”
“So instead of two weeks I may have been robbed of two months. Unfair, I say, most unfair.”
“Even if it spared you all that seasickness?”
“Ah . . . .”
“It’s just as well that we will be staying in England, since it is likely you can expect a similar long sleep whenever you venture out to sea.”
I shook my head and shuddered in a comical manner. “No, thank you. Though I might have to make a channel crossing if Nora is still on the Continent. It won’t be pleasant, but it’s short enough not to put me to sleep.”
“Providing you can find a ship to take you across at night. Otherwise we should have to stow your traveling box in the hold like any other cargo.
Which seemed preferable to being conscious while over water. “I’m sure something can be arranged, but it’s all speculation anyway until I can talk to Oliver. Have you sent him word that we’ve arrived?”
“Not yet. I wanted to see if you were going to wake up first.”
“I’ll write him a letter if you’ll have it taken over tomorrow.”
“Why not go tonight yourself and surprise him?” She knew that Oliver’s London residence was not far from our inn, but the miles in between could be treacherous.
“We could send one now—”
“Not without an army to protect him, dear Sister. London is not Glenbriar and is extremely dangerous at night. I don’t want either of you ever going out alone after dark. The streets are ruled by thieves, murderers and worse; even the children here will cut your throat for nothing if it suits their fancy.”
Both bore identical expressions of disbelief and then, as they understood I was utterly serious, horror for the realities of life in the world’s most civilized city.
“I mean that. Even in the day never go about alone, and always keep your wits about you and your money hidden. The cut-purses here are bold as brass. Once we’re settled we can hire some large trusty footmen and get a carriage, but until then . . . .”
“What about yourself, sir?” asked Jericho. “Will you not find your activities restricted as well since you’re limited to the hours of night?”
“I suppose so, but I’ve got that Dublin pistol and sword cane, and those duelers . . . but remember, I also possess certain physical advantages because of my change. I should be safe enough if I keep on guard and stay away from the worst places. It’s not as though we’re imprisoned by the scoundrels, y’know. Once we settle and are introduced into society we’ll have lots of things to do in good company, parties and such. Oliver’s a great one for parties.”
“So you’ve often told us,” Elizabeth murmured. Her eyes were half closed. Oh, yes, but that must have been very good brandy indeed.
I rose and pushed my chair under the table, making it clear that our own celebration was concluded. “Bedtime for you, Miss Barrett. You’re exhausted.”
“But it’s much too early yet.” She made an effort to straighten herself.
“For me perhaps, but you’ve had hard going for a long time. You deserve to recover from it. Besides, I’ve more than once boasted to Oliver about your beauty; you don’t want to make a liar of me by greeting him with circles under your eyes, do you?”