Madness

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  “Well, I’m a dead man anyway, but I need you to be safe, dear girl. You need to leave London, leave and never come back. Or one day you’ll just disappear, and your poor sister here will never see you again.”

  “You’re not mad, but you’re not making any sense. Who are you talking about? Why would anyone want to harm me?”

  “You’ve seen them. And me. You need to go. And forget you ever met me.”

  “I can’t just leave you like this,” she argued vehemently. “You are clearly not mad. Ill, but not insane. So you don’t belong here. And I refuse to leave you to die.”

  “They won’t kill me until they’re sure they no longer need me. I have a little more time.”

  “Time for what?” she asked, staring at him with rounded eyes.

  “Oh, God, please Gabrielle, don’t ask me! My head! Oh merciful God, my head!”

  She cradled his head against her, heedless of her bare bosom, while Antony looked on in consternation.

  Simon sounded as though he was in the most excruciating agony. Yet if what he had said about the opiates was true, he ought not to feel such pain.

  Judging from his thinness, he might well be at one of his stages where he was trying to wean himself from the drug. That could be why he was suffering from such untold torment.

  “Look at his pupils," the doctor ordered. "Tell me what you see.”

  She quickly did as she was told. “They’re fairly normal. A bit narrow.”

  “Simon, when’s the last time they gave you anything to eat?” Antony demanded.

  “This morning. Eight o’clock. I had one sip of water and a mouthful of food. God, I’m so thirsty.”

  “Well that’s easy enough to remedy,” she said, rising.

  She took a small horn beaker from the side of the sink. She scrubbed it out with some hot water from the boiler near the tub, filled it and brought it over to him. She pressed it to his lips.

  “It’s all right, Simon. Pure and untainted. You can have as much as you like. And I have some cake and a sandwich here in my reticule," she said, removing it from around her waist where she had tied it up out of the way. "They're probably a bit flattened, but better than nothing. I brought them to try to tempt Lucinda’s appetite, but she won’t be needing anything now when she's so ill. Come on now, sit up and eat for me.”

  “Just watch he doesn’t choke. The drug can also make him nauseous, and he can still be only partly conscious from the seizure.”

  “I’ve a strong stomach. Thank you. Cake. Can’t remember the last time-” He clapped his hand to his temple, pressing the heel of his hand into his right eye until she pulled at his wrist, fearful he was going to injure himself further.

  “Don’t try to remember anything. Just eat, Simon. Eat quickly, for I fear you’re right. They’ll be coming for us soon.”

  The shouts and screams were growing louder by the minute. Gabrielle held the cup for him as he drank thirstily, sloshing water down his bare chest as he continued to tremble.

  “Watch your breathing and swallow,” she coaxed softly. “Come on. Chew a bit more slowly. Now take a sip. And don’t bite your tongue.”

  “Can’t stop shaking. Need the medicine. It’s been eight hours.”

  Gabrielle looked over her shoulder at her cousin. “Can I give him a tincture?”

  “Damn it, not again. I bloody hate this,” Antony muttered.

  She looked at him, stunned by the vehemence in his tone. “Hate what?”

  “I had to do the same for Matthew Dane’s wife Althea when they were first married. Be cruel to be kind.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Antony sighed heavily. “Administering drugs to addicts to wean them off the drug. Opium can help with pain, but it’s a terrible thing to cure addiction to it. All right. Give him some. One drop. It will ward off the cravings and still keep him with us.”

  Gabrielle pressed the cup into Simon’s hand and stroked his shoulder. She took the brown bottle and measured the smallest dose she could manage.

  Simon grabbed her hand and tried to wrest the phial from her. “That’s large enough a dose to kill me. Please, Gabrielle, just let me go.”

  Antony jumped to his feet and protested, “No! Out of the question.”

  “Damn it, you don’t know what you’re asking! Five years of this. I can’t stand it any more. And they’re only going to kill me anyway. Please, do the kind thing and just let me go, Gabrielle," Simon begged. "Let me die, please.”

  Chapter Three

  Gabrielle stared at Simon, suddenly feeling the most dreadful and inexplicable sense of loss. She knelt beside him and held out her hand for the laudanum bottle.

  “No, Simon, I can't let you die, do you understand? We need you,” she said gently. “You’re staying with us. And when this is all over I’m not going to forget about you. We aren’t, are we, Antony? We’re going to try to find a way to help you. My cousin here is a very fine doctor. I nurse for him at his clinic. I still have a lot to learn, but I can help. I promise we aren’t just going to abandon you.”

  “They won’t let me see you. Speak to you. It’s too dangerous for you, even if the authorities here did allow it. Please, just let me drink this and die.”

  Her eyes widened as he raised the bottle closer to his mouth. “No! Please! You saved my sister, and me. I need to save you. You saved us both twice if you want to be strictly fair about it. So this is the first time. Give me the bottle, Simon, now. You can have one drop. One. And then you’re going to give it back to me, and rest. Then we will decide what to do next together to help you get out of here, for its clear that while you might be unwell, you are certainly no madman.”

  His golden eyes flickered with a myriad of emotions, the main one being relief that at last, someone in the world was willing to treat him with decency and kindness. They stared at each other as though across a gaping chasm. Simon was the first one to blink.

  At last he placed his finger over the open mouth of the bottle, and upended it. He handed the bottle back to her with a sigh, and licked his finger clean.

  “Once more, and then you’ll leave me, Gabrielle, and never look back. You need to promise me that,” he said quietly.

  “Unless of course you save me or mine again,” she said with a small smile.

  Antony relaxed and resumed wadding towelling between Lucinda’s thighs. “Yes, Simon, I really think it ought to count as three times. For surely if we hadn’t come in here we’d all be dead by now. Quick thinking. Dashed handy chap to have in a crisis.”

  “Yes, when I’m not gibbering, twitching or in the throes of some sort of opiate withdrawal,” Simon said with a bitter laugh.

  Gabrielle listened to him speak, wondered why his pattern was so familiar, his intonation. The accent was English, crisp enough, but not as pure as her cousins or her own. There was a musical quality to the rhythm which suggested it was not his first language. French originally, was her guess, since he had uttered a couple of exclamations before in that language.

  But it was evident he had been in this country a long time. Well, at least five years from what he’d said. But she hardly thought he would have acquired his social skills and fluency locked away in a cell. In a cell…

  They were expensive enough, hard to come by, reserved for the best class of patient. Or the most dangerous....

  Simon had not been in the common ward. She had seen him coming down the corridor. He had been going to take a bath.

  She looked up and noted the simple shirts and breeches, all in white, on the shelves above her. The noise outside was dying down, and she knew how relaxing and refreshing a bath could be. As long as they were stuck there, they might as well make the best of it.

  She went over to the huge tub and turned on the spigots, testing the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Simon watched her, his golden eyes boring into her back, admiring the sway of her hips in the plain hunter green gown as she moved to gather towels and fresh clothing.

  He wa
s still wondering if he was dreaming. But no, the angel seemed real. She had the most wonderful auburn hair he had ever seen, reminiscent of an autumn day so crisp you could bite it.

  Her eyes were a remarkable shade half-way betwixt blue and green, and alternated with her emotions. When she had been terrified for her sister, they had been almost baby blue. When she had stood up to him over the bottle of opium they had sparkled with emerald fire.

  Now they looked like the ocean on a bright summer’s day. Simon could almost smell the sea, feel the breeze in his hair, the taste of the surf on his lips.

  Or was it her own taste, her sweet skin lightly salty from prolonged lovemaking? Her own nectar running from her lush secret cove to flow over his tongue as he...

  The undulation of her hips, like the pendulum of a ticking clock, nearly unmanned him again. The sight of her magnificent breasts, which she once again forgotten about covering with his scrap of towel, were like a hammer-blow of lust to his long-starved body.

  Who on earth was Gabrielle that she could be so utterly lacking in affectation or self-consciousness? This couldn’t possibly be her husband, could it? he thought with dismay.

  But no, he had used the word cousin. Which was not to say that cousins never married. But if anything he would have matched Antony with the other sister, whose hair was like pale flax, and who was also clearly pregnant.

  But no, the man had mentioned her husband, and no loving spouse would ever have put anyone he truly cared about in a place like this, would they? Least of all a doctor.

  One look at Antony’s earnest face, handsome in a rugged, world-weary way, told Simon all he needed to know. Gabrielle was not married.

  “Are you ready for the bath?” she asked, stroking his shoulder to call attention to her presence.

  He started. “Are you sure it’s safe? Or even wise?”

  “It seems to be more quiet out there, and Antony will help ward them off if they do try to break in.”

  “And, er, you don’t mind?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve told you, I work with Antony at the clinic. I’ve cleaned patients before.”

  “And he doesn’t mind?” he whispered. “I mean, you haven’t got any sort of um, understanding or anything?”

  She blushed prettily. “No, I’m not married or engaged, if that’s what you’re asking me. Are you?”

  He laughed harshly. “No, of course not.”

  “Not even in the past, before all this?”

  “No, never.” He waited for the inevitable jolt of pain, but nothing happened. Surprised and relieved, he let her help him up.

  “Good, then,” she said with a smile, wondering why this simple piece of information should make her feel so elated. “In that case, there’s no sin or harm in my seeing you naked or helping you.”

  He stripped off his loose cotton lower garments and got into the tub, and sat back with a sigh. “Perfect.”

  She let him soak there for a time as she gathered his discarded clothes and set out fresh ones. Then she realised she really needed to cover herself as well.

  She grabbed a bibbed apron such as one of the matrons would wear, and threw it around her neck to cover her rosy nipples. Simon felt as though the sun had been eclipsed as her breasts disappeared from view. Once she had tied it in place, she removed his towel and placed it on the counter by the tub.

  “Thank you for the loan. Would you like me to scrub your back with a sponge?”

  “So long as you promise not to do it so roughly that you tear all my skin off.”

  “I promise my ministrations will be as gentle as you like.”

  She took a tentative swipe. “Soft enough?”

  “Perfection. But your bare hands would be even better.”

  “Then you shall have both.”

  She continued scrubbing him with her long strong fingers, and they squeezed the wet sponge down over his back. The rivulets were like a caress all of their own. To his shame he could feel himself hardening once more.

  “Done this often, have you?” he asked quietly, trying to learn more about the remarkable woman with hair like flame and eyes of aquamarine.

  “Not on too many men. My brother when he was young, but he’s dead now. Various men at the clinic who can’t struggle any further for help. Many dead people, of course.”

  “And me, the walking dead.”

  “You stop that. You’re not to say such things.” She leaned forward so that her breath tickled his ear. “And you certainly look lively enough to me from here.”

  “Forward little thing, aren’t you?” he said, his laughter rumbling deeply in his chest.

  “Until my father died, I was a quiet young girl. Being under my brother’s thumb and now working for a living has really altered my life considerably. The clinic has shown me a whole new world. I’m not the shy Society miss I once was. A change I view as all to the good.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, my dear,” he said, sounding almost dejected. “There’s so much corruption in the world. It would be nice to keep some things safe, innocent and pure.”

  “I’m pure and innocent, just not naïve.”

  “Well, perhaps that’s all right then.”

  She giggled. “I’m glad you approve.”

  He grinned. “I can hardly do otherwise. You really are the most splendid woman. So brave and kind.” He licked his lips, hesitating, then added in a whisper, “And you have the most magnificent breasts I’ve ever laid eyes on, let alone touched.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t remember-”

  “Believe me, your breasts are not something I’m ever likely to forget. Especially when you sat on my chest and leaned-”

  “Stop that,” she hissed. “You men are all alike. We’re nearly killed and you’re thinking of, well, naughty things!”

  He chuckled. “On my death bed I’ll still be thinking naughty things, but only about you, Gabrielle. You’re a woman worth remembering to the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight.”

  Her worried gaze shot to his rare golden eyes. “Surely not.”

  “They’ll know we’ve talked. They’ll see I’ve been bathed. It could well be all up with me soon.”

  She thought for a moment. “Between the seizures and the drug, I think we can convince them that you’re half-dead and completely unaware by the time we ever get you back to your cell.”

  He paused to consider that, then shrugged one shoulder.

  "Maybe."

  "We'll do whatever we can to convince them."

  He reached for the hand she had rested on the side of the tub. “You don’t know what this means to me. Your faith, your help. I mean, we’ve never even met, and yet you seem so familiar. But that’s what happens before I get the seizures. Something will trigger them. A familiar smell or sound, and the next thing I know I’m, well, raving.”

  Antony overheard the last part of the conversation. “There are different kinds of seizures. I know some render you completely unconscious. But you spoke to Gabrielle, heard her questions. Just try to remain calm. Agitation is not good for you,” he advised.

  “Well, I usually have a fairly quiet time of it. But seeing that huge savage nearly rape your cousins was enough to upset any decent man,” he rejoined dryly.

  “I’m truly grateful for all your help,” the young doctor said in a tone which rang with sincerity. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you. In the meantime, you need to tell me, have you always had fits like that?”

  “No. Only since they put me in here.” He began to wince again. “And before. In Fr-”

  “Oh, God, he’s seizing again. Antony!”

  “Keep his head above the water. Talk to him, soothe him. Rub some of your lavender on his chest, and the rosewater on his temples.”

  “How is Lucinda?”

  “Still bleeding heavily. Hell and damnation. If only I had come five minutes sooner.”

  “If you had you might have been killed yourself. Only a man as l
arge as Simon could have handled him.”

  “T-t-thank you for the vote of confidence,” he said between chattering teeth.

  “Is the water warm enough?”

  “Yes. It’s just the seizure.”

  “Hold him so he doesn’t slip under.”

  Without hesitation she grasped him around the torso. His arms came up around her in a damp embrace. He rested his head against her bosom. Even clad in the cotton apron the contact was electrifying. She could feel her nipples puckering, almost longing for the caress of his lips.