"Don't you?"
"I have made no prognosis on the case. He is not my patient."
"Certainly you have an opinion. I rarely recall you ever being without one."
"This line of questioning leads me to believe there has been some alteration in his behavior." He stooped toward the fire and prodded it with a poker " "Your mind is yet sharp, sir. Yes, there has been Four nights ago he was found attempting to e his deceased wife's body. He then collapsed and has slept deeply for the last three days, rousing only upon occasion. This noon he spoke briefly with me."
Rounding to his chair, Brabbs sat onto it and crossed his legs.
"You don't appear surprised," I told him. Indeed, he seemed totally preoccupied with his thoughts.
Finally, he looked up. "Well? Tell me your opinion, girl. Certainly you have one."
"Do I?"
"I see it in the stubborn angle of your chin. In the glint of your green eye. Forgive me, Maggie-mine, but you have had more experience with feeble minds than have I. I am quite adept at rendering remedies for dropsy or—"
"Porphyria."
"But the mind is an enigma. We cannot open the skull, withdraw the organ and point to an area and say, ah, there is the cause of his howling at the moon, any more than we could say this matter is what separates a man with conscience from another who is without conscience. There is good and bad in all of us: agreed?"
"Aye."
"Ofttimes look to the soul and less to the brain, for it lives and thrives as surely as this matter." He thumped his temple.
Frowning, I shook my head. "You sound like the vicar.
"The soul cannot be healed by calomel or James's Powder. You must look to a higher power than mine for that."
"Whatever inflicts my lord has nothing to do with his soul. Indeed, if it had he would have been cured days ago, for each night in my bed I have invoked the help of the Holy Spirit to conquer this awful malady before it destroys him."
"Then pray longer and louder, Maggie. Mayhap, He will hear you."
"We both know God does not always listen.
"So now you are practicing sacrilege as well as medicine."
I ignored the remark.
Lifting his face, he watched me for several minutes without speaking. Finally, "Tell me what you wish to hear."
"Is Nicholas truly insane? Yes or no.
"Possibly."
The response rocked me. Propping my hand against the mantel to steady myself, I stared down into the fire. "Then you feel he should be locked away as was his grandfather? You think him that unstable?"
"His grandfather? Oh yes. I recall it now; I had completely forgotten . . , Well, no worry there. His grandfather's mental incapacity had nothing to do with some malfunction of the brain. Simply put, he was a randy old bugger and his indiscriminate philanderings eventually caught up to him. He was diseased with Trepo-nemapallidum. No doubt you saw a few cases o while at Oaks."
"But Trevor said—"
"I'm well aware of what Trevor said. Of course the family won't admit to it—it's quite an embarrassment, you see—but I am the physician who diagnosed malady. Indeed I witnessed the signing of the documents, along with several members of Wyndham s family, that interned the old man to Saint Mary’s, poked at the fire again, giving me time to consider this new information. He sat back and continued, an easy feat to commit someone of the late Lord Malham's peerage. There were stacks of documents t complete, as well as testimonies to hear."
'Testimonies?"
"Certainly. There must be a sum of no less than twenty witnesses to attest to the fact that, without a shadow of doubt, the unfortunate victim is mentally incapacitated and no longer able to function in a normal or rational way."
"But you say the treponema was the source of his problems."
"Without a doubt. He suffered with it for years: fever, loss of weight, and finally a breakdown of the nerves. I understand in his final days he was stricken totally with ataxia."
'Well," said I, at a sudden loss for words. I maintained a grave silence for some minutes before speaking again. "You say there must be witnesses willing to declare a man to Saint Mary's? Then I surmise that the more people that see the victim in a state of delirium, the more likely he is to be put away? Yes? Damnation!" I swept up my cloak and turned for the door, calling back over my shoulder, "Good eventide, Brabbs."
I returned to Walthamstow but I did not reenter the house. Instead I made my way down the garden path, beyond the frozen pond, beyond even the kennels to Jim's stone-and-wattle cottage.
I knocked on his door.
"I said," came the gruff response, "I ain't seen 'is lordship, so bugger off."
"Jim!" I whispered loudly as possible. "It is Ariel, If you will please—"
The door was yanked open an inch or two. Seeing Jim's grizzled face peer at me from his dark quarters, I smiled and spoke frankly. "He is here, I think. Will you let me in?"
"Let her in," came my lord's voice from within the room.
Heartened by the sound, I stepped gingerly in from the cold.
Lord Malham sat beyond the frail rushlight m t shadows with a tankard of what smelled like mulled wine in his hand. A heavy blanket hung about his shoulders as he reared his chair against the wall. "Take her coat," he told Jim.
Jim did so, giving it a shake before laying it out over a chair in front of the fire. 'Welcome to me 'umble 'ome," he said, "such as it is."
I looked about the comfortable but stark surroundings. No doubt the cottage was old, to judge by the remnants of the hob of clay in the center of the floor where once the fires were built. But years ago the house had been renovated and the open fire replaced with an arched fireplace and chimney built of stone.
"Perhaps Miss Rushdon would care for wine," Wyndham said. Jim hurried to fetch it.
Lifting the tankard nearly to his mouth, Nicholas said, "Have you come to coax me home, Miss Rushdon?" "No, sir." "Then you've come to convince me of my folly.
"No."
"Perhaps then you just enjoy wandering about the freezing nights dressed little better than an urchin."
"Sir," I said, "this is all I own."
"Pitiful. We'll have to do something about that.
"Does that mean you intend to up my wage?"
"No."
"Well."
"Come over here and sit down beside me. At hesitation he narrowed his dark eyes and frowned. "Have you suddenly decided against me? Perhaps you're convinced now that I'm a lunatic?"
"Lunatic is a strong word, milord. It has a macabre connotation, I think."
"Ah! Well, then, what about madman, barmy, imbecile, mooncalf . . . daft?"
"Daft is more dumb and you are not dumb."
"Confused? Demented?"
Nodding, I said, "I like confused."
Offering me a lupine smile, he lifted his tankard in salute and said, "Then confused it shall be from this moment on."
Jim handed me a tankard of the pungent wine. I wrapped my fingers around it, warming my hands. I did not, however, take the chair beside Wyndham. In truth, I did not trust myself to reside so closely to him. To have him look so appreciatively at me unraveled my senses.
Jim must have noted my thoughts, for he quickly lifted a hayfork and a passel of rake teeth from off a stool and placed it behind me. "There now, lass, sit you down and stay awhile. I've only me wimble for companionship afore milord came by."
I glanced down at the bore bit.
Nicholas lifted his tankard and in a baritone voice he recited: "And when the husbande sytteth by the fire, and hath nothing to do, then may he make them redy, and toth the rake with dry withy wod, and bore holes with his wimble."
Swiping up his mug, Jim joined: "Yokes, forks, and such other, let bailiff spy out. And gather the same as 'e walketh about; And after, at leisure, let this be 4s hire, To beath 'em and trim 'em, at 'ome by the fire!"
"Ha!" they exclaimed in unison, then throwing back their heads, they gulped their wines.
&nb
sp; I laughed, finding joy in their boyish behavior. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Nicholas dropped his chair to the floor and motioned toward me. "Ah, Jimmy, behold: cette jeune fille magnifique awe cheveaux noirs comme le jais, as my sweet sister would say it. Her laughter is like music. I have never heard her laugh ... or perhaps I have: I cannot remember."
They burst out laughing again, and I thought, Lud, they are caught in their cups.
Nicholas slapped his knee and said, "Come here, Miss Rushdon, and sit on my leg. You are perched there like a bloody sphinx. Have you never seen a man enjoy his drink? Don't you approve?" "I have and I do."
"Perhaps a man of my peerage should not so indulge?"
"You have every right, sir. However, it would behoove you, I think, to keep your voices down lest your brother find you out."
His eyebrows shot up. "Jimmy, I believe we have a soubrette in our midst."
"To soubrettes with green eyes!" the man responded, and they drank again.
Rocking back in his chair once more, Nicholas fixed his gaze upon me, watched as I drank timidly of the wine and blushed at his evident interest in me. Not that I was at all displeased—heavens no!—only discomforted; I was not, after all, accustomed to such blatant appreciation. He eyed me like a hound would a vixen, with a glint in his eye and his teeth showing in a smile. "Tell me," he suddenly said, "where have you been this eventide, Miss Rushdon?"
"To Malham." I spoke into my cup. "What? Speak directly to me, Miss Rushdon. There. Repeat what you said." "To Malham, sir."
He pursed his lips almost angrily before saying, "Do I not recall your telling me of some shepherd's son that you had smitten there?"
"No, sir. I've smitten no shepherd's son there or
anywhere."
"But you mentioned you're in love with him."
"No I didn't."
"Then I must have dreamt it."
"Assuredly."
"Have you ever been in love, Miss Rushdon?"
I barely nodded, then drank my wine.
His chair hit the floor. In two strides he stood before me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me from my stool. I followed obediently as he tugged me to the light before the fire. The pressure of his hand on my shoulder demanded that I sit, so I descended to the floor and curled my legs up under me. He followed suit, but with one black-clad knee bent up to his chest and his silk-draped arm looped around it.
Laughing, I said, "Lord Malham is feeling better, I think. He's up to games now."
"Beg to differ. Lord Malham's two sails to the wind,"
he responded. "But that is besides the point. I asked
you a question, Miss Rushdon, but the shadow and
wine hid the response. Have you ever been in love?"
I looked around at Jim. "He's very personal, don't you think?"
" 'e's a bloody nosy bloke, but that's nobility for y'." He winked an eye at me and smiled.
Looking back into the gray eyes that took my breath away, I said gently, "Aye, my Lord Malham. I have been in love."
His eyelids drooped a little as he looked at my mouth.
"Now it is my turn," I asserted, and his eyes came back to mine. "Have you ever been in love, Lord Malham?" I waited like an expectant child for his response, doing my best to ignore the lure of his beautiful mouth, with its teasing corners. By the soft glow of the fire his features took on the tenderness of a child's. "Well?" "Yes," he finally responded, "Who was she?"
"I'm told her name was Maggie." "You don't remember?" He shook his head.
"Then how do you know you loved her?" "Because I still love her. Do you think that odd? I do. I cannot understand how I can continue to love someone whose face I cannot remember. Can you?"
He watched me with a whimsical gaze. Looking away from his features and into the fire, I pondered that thought for some time. Finally I said, "I believe I can and I will try to explain. I was eight when my mother died. I loved her deeply. I love her deeply still. Yet when I attempt to bring her face to mind I cannot do it. Those features are lost to me. I cannot tell you the shade of brown her hair was, or even the color of her eyes. Her tone of voice is a mystery to me. But I recall how she made me feel: happy and content and , . . loved. Those spiritual things are what remain with us forever. In some small way they make us what we are.
Do they not?"
There was a dreamy expression on his face when I raised my eyes back to his. "She must have loved you," I said. "She gave you Kevin."
A soft hope bloomed in my heart. Stirred by the spirit that loved him still, my feelings leapt warm and vibrant like the flames in the hearth. Very slowly his hand came for mine. His fingers wrapped gently about my wrist, lifted my hand, and pressed my trembling palm upon his unshaven cheek. "Ariel" he whispered. "Heal me."
I leaned closer to him. "How? Tell me how and I will do it, my lord."
"Make the nightmares stop."
"What sort of nightmares? Perhaps if you confront them . . . ?"
"Fire."
"You dream of fire. The fire that killed your wife?"
"I see myself hitting her. She falls and doesn't get up."
He turned his face and breathed softly against my palm, then lightly touched the tip of his tongue to my hand. The love I felt for Nicholas was so intense at that moment that it was very nearly painful. And the awful realization struck me: I did not care if he murdered his wife, if he had somehow been driven by that hateful mistress to violence, if he raised his hand and struck her that fatal blow. I loved him that much.
Shamed by my weakness, I turned my eyes away.
"Ariel?" His voice touched the skin of my temple. "Look at me."
I could not. I would give myself away.
"Ariel."
Don't touch me, I thought. Don't speak to me, don't look at me . . .
He brushed my cheek with his.
God, oh God, what was to become of me?
"Don't turn away," he said. "I need you. You're the only one who doesn't look at me with accusing eyes. You and Kevin. I don't know what I did before you came here. What would I do if you left . . . ?"
It was all spoken in deep, husky whispers, warm and arousing and moist like a summer mist against my ear. Then as quickly he pulled away.
I watched from beneath slightly lowered lashes as he tipped his shoulders toward the fire and held his hands up to the warmth. "I've asked too much," he said finally. "Forgive me. You came to Walthamstow to sit for portraits and nothing more. You shouldn't like to become involved with my problems. I shouldn't ask it of you."
"But I am involved," I responded. "Perhaps I could help if I understood fully?"
"What is there to understand? I am losing my mind and in a fit of rage I killed my wife."
"But you cannot remember killing her."
"I remember striking her."
"Is the memory sharp?"
He shook his head. "The few memories I have are never sharp."
I turned and looked at Jim. "You said for several weeks after his accident he had no memory at all?"
"Didn't even know 'is name, lass."
"But he eventually remembered." Jim nodded. "Yet he had no recollection of what he was doing on his way to York?"
"Didn't even recall that 'e was goin' t' York, Didn't know that until we returned 'im to Walthamstow. 'is mother and the doc and Adrienne are the ones who told him 'e was on 'is way to see 'is betrothed, to make final preparations for the weddin'."
"Then he didn't remember Jane?"
Nicholas said, "The first time I saw Jane she was a total stranger to me."
Jim looked thoughtful before saying, "The doc called it am . , ."
"Amnesia?"
Both men looked at me, surprised. "Aye."
"And your memory of her never returned, my lord?"
"It did. Two days before the wedding. My head was splitting, as it often does, and she walked into the room where I was sitting. I looked up and the memories came rushing through my head like a gale."
<
br /> "All memory?"
"Only hers, though that is when I began having
flashes of others."
"Do you still experience these flashes?"
"They come and go." "What are they like?"
A frightened look passed over his features. His hands clenched as he stared into the fire. "At first they are normal, or seem normal, though in an instant they change into something so horrible only a twisted mind could imagine them." "Like nightmares?" He pinned me with his eyes. "At what time are you most likely to experience them?" I asked.
"Anytime. Day or night."
"Do they follow a pattern? Can you predict when
they will begin?"
Leaning forward, propping his elbows on his knees, Jim said, " 'ell have 'is few good days, then 'e gets 'is moods and 'e starts forgettin* again, 'e starts complainin' again about 'is 'ead and 'is nightmares come on."
"Do you ever seek treatment for your head, my lord?"
"Never."
"'Ceptin' a shot or two of sherry," Jim teased good-naturedly.
"Aye," Nick responded, smiling at his friend. "I do seem to have a weakness for that, don't I? But it's the only thing that stops the pain and the nightmares,"
We sat in silence then, listening to the fire snap.
Soon Nicholas got to his feet, held down his hand to me, and helped me to stand. Taking up my cloak, he placed it gently around my shoulders. "We're off, then," he said to Jim in a subdued voice.
Jim lifted his tankard to each of us, then Nicholas took my arm and we left the cottage.
I lay awake that night, tossing and turning, staring at my candle flame and listening to the wind moan outside my window. As the distant case clock chimed twice, I sat up in bed. How I hated that lonesome hour. My mother had always said that souls left their bodies with the turning of the tide, when they most craved release from their misery and loneliness. I shivered.
Leaving my bed, I moved to the window, scratched the icy condensation from the glass, and peered out into the wall of fog that roiled between me and the ground. I heard the hounds howl. Then the wind rattled the window so suddenly that I jumped back in alarm.
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