Finding Bliss

by B L Bierley

  Eric, without preamble, unpinned the feather from the side of Bliss’s cap and brought it down over the child’s face. Then he used the feather to tickle the boy’s nose, the roof of his mouth and when his tongue was resting, his uvula. The effect was nearly instant.

  The boy squinted a little, shook his hands frantically for a few seconds while making slight pre-sneeze sounds. A few seconds later he clamped his hands over his mouth just in time for Eric to cup the handkerchief over his nose as the sneeze blew outward.

  “Did it work?” Lady Westford and Bliss asked, though with differing levels of concern. Eric opened the handkerchief to reveal all four of the prune-skinned peas.

  “My goodness! Bless you, Robert! And bless you, Dr. Benchley! That was brilliant! You are, from this moment onward, our new family physician! And to celebrate our fortune at finding you, I am inviting you and a guest to dinner this evening! I will not take no for an answer, either! Oh, thank the Lord! And thank you! Oh, my husband will get such a laugh when I tell him about this!”

  Lady Westford continued to celebrate the end of the stuffy situation while Eric stared at Bliss. She knew he was feeling contrite for his earlier comments, and she also knew he would make it up to her in the end. The very end, of course. But for now, she would accept his invitation to dinner.

  “What do we owe you for this, sir?” Lady Westford asked the minute she caught her breath.

  “Just step out and give your house directions to my nurse. We’ll send a bill to you at the end of the month. Which is to say, sometime this week. And I accept your invitation to dinner. I’ll be bringing my good friend Lady Bliss with me if that’s alright?” he stated without actually asking Bliss. Since she’d already told him he would ask she couldn’t very well take offense at his answering for her, so she didn’t.

  The minute the invitation was accepted, the vision of the dusty room and a darkened hallway loomed in the back of her head. It almost made her shiver for reasons she couldn’t yet explain.

  Bliss put a smile on her face as Lady Westford ushered Robert back out to the front desk to give their information to the nurse. Bliss didn’t move. Eric remained back in the room with her as if by design.

  “Bliss, may I apologize to you. What I said earlier before the pea removal was rude and uncalled for. I am very sorry. Will you forgive me?” Eric’s utter sincerity made her heart trip. She shook her head, throwing him off just by the sheer refusal. But quickly she explained.

  “I don’t have to forgive you. I expected it and knew you’d be sorry the moment you did it. Besides, you have invited me to dinner. I’m very glad you are going along with me for once! That’s why forgiveness is unnecessary.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to discussion acts of contrition on the drive to the Westford’s townhouse. And don’t forget the closed carriage. And the dinner is at seven, so you’ll pick me up by six-thirty. I’ll be waiting. And you’ll be late,” Bliss told him assuredly.

  “I’ll pick you up in a closed carriage by six-fifteen. And I will leave early enough to avoid being late.” Eric replied half strained to hold his tongue to her predictions, looking like he was wishing he could tease her some more.

  Bliss didn’t take it personally this time, however. He was truly contrite for all the mean-spirited sarcasm earlier. She knew, even if he did tease her, he wouldn’t be that mean to her ever again. Then a jolt of something horrifying hit her, robbing her of all sight and hearing for a moment.

  Bliss could see a gun, though it sometimes changed to a knife and then back to a gun. There was someone holding the weapon on her and forcing her to walk ahead. Her kidnapper’s face was in shadow, so she couldn’t discern the features at all.

  Then the scene transformed into the dusty room. The darkened hallway played a role as well. The last piece of the vision involved a red cloth, a rolling coin and the sensation of being very wet and cold ... the same feeling she’d felt the moment Russ’s vision of drowning came over her all those years ago!

  “Bliss! Are you unwell? Scarlet! Fetch the salts! Is Lady Westford gone? Have her fetch them, and you come in here to ...” Eric was shouting orders so loudly that it rattled Bliss back from the cold depths of a watery scene before she could see who was in the water. She gave a trembling shudder.

  “No, that isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly fine. There’s no need to get upset. It was just a stray thought. I get a little … caught up in my thoughts sometimes,” said Bliss being pointed and yet dismissive to his concern.

  Eric studied her from a closer angle, scrutinizing her face for signs of trouble. Bliss gave him a smile to let him know everything was alright. It wasn’t alright, but there really was no need to let him know yet.

  She couldn’t say what the vision was about yet, which meant it was likely about her own future. With all its darkness and now the idea that weaponry was involved, it was definitely odd and frightening.

  Bliss’s visions were often like that when the news was disturbing: a flicker of something that would develop into more. But the current confusion gave no hints to the actions that would play out yet.

  The best she could hope for was to figure out who the person holding the gun was and what his connection to her really meant.

  Somehow this person wanted to hurt Bliss, or at the very least wanted her to believe he would in order to get something he wanted. A ransom perhaps from her father? Or maybe it was something to do with one of Uncle Ozzie’s business contacts she met at one of the many dinners?

  All Bliss could do now was wait until the assailant revealed himself or his motives so that the vision would show her more. Cold fear dwelled in her bones at the idea of what it might mean.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eric, Bristol, Late March 1811

  Eric watched Bliss and her friend leaving the office with concern. Something had happened in the exam room. He knew it as well as he knew the bones of the human body. But the worst part about it was that to ask about the incident would be almost as telling as admitting to her that he believed her predictions.

  He couldn’t let her know that he harbored any trust in them. It would prove disastrous, especially given her last important warning about his impending marriage! He continued the afternoon by reading through Dr. Stemley’s notes on the three patient cases.

  The stitches were given to an fellow from one of the stews near the river, so it was highly unlikely that he would see that one again when the stitches needed to be removed. Often his worst traumas came from some tavern brawl or pub dispute that resulted in fisticuffs or a knife wound. But the men were usually sailors on leave from their ships, or they had no money to pay their medical charges. They usually skipped out on the follow-up care.

  The child with the chicken pox was the eldest in a family with three other small children. He knew that he would likely see the others sooner or later if their lesions or pox became uncomfortable or needed tending because excessive scratching let to some type of infection.

  Most mothers wouldn’t bother with the diagnosis or the medical assistance because they had been trained by their own mothers to know how to handle such conditions of childhood. But this mother was from a wealthy family of means and probably had no trust in her nanny or children’s nurses to handle the illness. Eric put a note on his patient ledger to check with them the next week just in case.

  One of his elderly ladies came in to have him listen to her lungs that afternoon. She was often given to bouts of difficulty breathing, and Eric encouraged her to stop working in the barn with her husband and stay away from the dusty environs of the hay. She kindly refused to heed his warnings, unable to let her poor man do all the work alone at his age.

  They were not exactly poor, but they lacked extra money for paying help. Eric prescribed a steam for her in the office and asked her to consider only helping out one or two days a week to give her lungs time to recover each episode. The woman grumbled, but agreed to try.

  At last the office hours ended. Eric made a hast
y retreat to get ready for his evening. The streets were fairly empty, so he walked at a brisk clip the entire way to his suite of rooms. Once inside he deliberated for a little while over what would be most appropriate for him to wear.

  In the end he chose his brown trousers and a hunter green frock coat over a muslin shirt. He tied a tan cravat in place carefully and surveyed his look in his small mirror in segments. Satisfied that he looked presentable enough to escort a lady to dinner, he checked his watch.

  It was already nearing six. He decided to leave early, just to be certain Bliss wouldn’t get to look at him smugly if he arrived even one minute later than six-fifteen. He hurried down to request a rented carriage from his landlady.

  The woman owned several older carriages she’d acquired through estate sales and liquidations when her renters couldn’t make their bills. She rented to her less-affluent tenants on a first-come, first-served basis. Eric managed to get a Berlin carriage for a fair price.

  On the way to Whisper Chase, Eric felt his palms growing sweaty with anticipation. He chuckled out loud at his nervousness. He’d known Bliss for nearly twenty years, but the fact remained that despite all her efforts to insinuate herself into his world he still felt somehow distant from her.

  She was the daughter of a peculiar, well-respected and wealthy duke. Though he would admit that Lord and Lady Penwood weren’t average by ton standards in the way they related to people in general. They understood the common man’s ideology. That made them more real to the regular people they dealt with from day to day.

  Eric’s father had often commented that more of the ton should behave as the Penwood’s did. Lord and Lady Penwood raised a family with real values that blurred the lines between the upper, middle and lower classes. Their employees were allowed to marry and work for hourly wages, and the duke and duchess included them in the running of the estate as though they belonged as part of a large, extensive family.

  The jobs at Penwood Manor Estate were the most sought after in all of England, to hear it told. The senior Dr. Benchley agreed with most that the world would be a much greater place if more of the wealthy classes behaved as the Penwood’s did!

  Eric had envied Bliss and her family his whole life. They were the ultimate in familial love and companionship. Eric fought with the uglier pangs of jealousy when he was a boy and continued to yearn for the sibling love and the abundant parental support that all the children of the Penwood estate, including the working classes, enjoyed.

  That jealousy was likely the primary reason he held Bliss at arm’s length even when she continued to write to him throughout his medical training and college years. He never once returned a letter of hers. It made him feel guilty now to think of the wasted chance to get to know her better.

  The carriage suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Eric peered out the window to see what it was that caused the change. A vendor cart had overturned in the street, spilling produce all over the cobbled lane. Several men and a few shopkeepers’ wives were hurriedly gathering the bruised fruits and vegetables in order to clear the way. It was slow, and at one point Eric debated going to help if for no other reason but to hurry them and not delay the passage of traffic.

  By the time the street cleared enough to allow carriages to pass, it was well after the time he’d told Bliss he would arrive. Instead of being angry about the lateness, Eric found himself smiling at how Bliss’s prediction came true. He let himself remember the times in the past when her interference proved fortuitous.

  The girl was obviously very clever or very intuitive. She would have made a magnificent scientist with her ability to predict the outcomes of various scenarios. Not that he believed that it was anything more than deductive reasoning on her part.

  Some factoring in for luck could account for ninety percent of all the things she’d ever suggested and been correct about. It was only the other ten percent that made the hair on the back of Eric’s neck prickle.

  Denying Bliss’s ability was difficult when you looked at that ten percent. But there was one thing that made his denial real to him. If she was really able to see events that would happen in the future, then why hadn’t she been able to prevent his father’s own untimely death? The idea haunted him.

  Bliss had saved her brother’s life once. What was it that made Russ’s life so much easier to hold onto that in turn excluded his father? Wasn’t her most admired supporter worth the bother? He could only avoid laying the blame on her if he discounted that she had any real knowledge of future events.

  For that reason he continued his role as the skeptic to keep his father’s death an accident and not the preventable misfortune by the aid of a silly little girl with notions of precognitive talent.

  When he arrived at Whisper Chase it was six-thirty on the nose. He didn’t bother explaining his delay. He watched Bliss exiting the door as soon as the rented carriage came to a stop. Eric opened the door and stepped down to assist her into the carriage. She held a very large, very serviceable umbrella in one hand and her reticule in the other.

  “We’d best be off. If we don’t leave immediately we’ll be late. And I truly hate to be late when it’s so easily avoided, don’t you?” Bliss asked taking no pains to hide her smug smile.

  Eric shook his head and handed her up into the carriage. Once they were seated and the door secured, they took off at a clip.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bliss, Bristol, Late March 1811

  That afternoon Bliss’s mind was assaulted by hazy premonitions. The fact that something loomed on the horizon, something dangerous and frightening, made her tense. Eric was late, of course. But even knowing that he would be late didn’t help the time pass any easier.

  When he finally pulled up, Bliss left without a word to Aunt Pen or Uncle Ozzie. They knew she had plans at the Westford’s home, and they knew she was being escorted by Dr. Benchley. His status as an old family friend seemed to take the edge off of their concern for the propriety of her going without her maid.

  Eric’s demeanor was aloof during the fifteen minute ride to Lord and Lady Westford’s home. They chatted in fits and spurts about what each of her siblings were currently doing. After the first five minutes the topics were all exhausted.

  Bliss told Eric how wonderful he was with the little Lord Westford that afternoon. He told her he learned all of his skills with children from watching his father handle the majority of her siblings. It made Bliss blush when she remembered that a large majority of their visits were linked to some form of childhood mischief on her part.

  When they arrived at the townhouse, a butler hurried them in. Lady Westford welcomed them graciously into the sitting room and indicated that dinner would be delayed slightly due to the fact that her husband was detained by his responsibilities at the museum.

  The images in Bliss’s brain came into sharp focus at the mention of the museum. There again was the dusty room, a darkened hallway, some sculpture and other works of art spaced around in the foreground.

  When Lord Westford arrived a few minutes later with simpering apologies, Bliss needed only a moment to realize the significance of the visions’ new clarity. With painful recognition Bliss was certain that Lord Westford would be the man holding the weapon!

  Her pulse ratcheted up, and Bliss mentally raced through possible reasons for the scene while innocuous pleasantries were being exchanged.

  What on earth could make this respectable man, with a lovely wife and son, treat me so abominably? Is it something I say or do?

  Bizarre scenes began to come alive in her mind, and it was all that Bliss could do to keep up her end of the conversation as they were escorted into the dining room. She took her napkin and shook it out to place it in her lap. Without even looking at the menu, Bliss commented on how fond she was of cool bean soup. Lady Westford colored.

  “The menu says turkey and potato. Why would you comment on cool bean soup?” Lady Westford asked in shock. Bliss felt instantly that she’d made a terrible error in judgment
. But Eric laughed at their confusion and made a humorous comment thinking he was helping.

  “Lady Bliss has always played a game at dinner parties where she tries to guess the menu without looking. Looks as though her record has finally been broken,” Eric chuckled and removed his own napkin.

  Bliss sensed disaster in the air. A few minutes before the soup course was to be served, a footman walked quietly up to Lady Westford to whisper something into her ear. Lady Westford’s face took on a look of pure astonishment as the words reached her brain. She cleared her throat as the servant retreated as silently as he appeared.

  “It would appear that we are indeed having a cool bean soup this evening. My cook has just sent word that an unfortunate spill has prevented there being enough of the turkey and potato soup for the meal! Lady Bliss, however did you do that, my dear?”

  Lady Westford’s face was alight with the triviality of Bliss’s accurate “guess” at the soup. But the more noticeable change was in Lord Westford. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her without making a single comment about her trick.

  “Actually, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Lady Westford. I’m able to smell my favorite soup no matter the distance to the kitchen,” Bliss tried desperately to control the damage.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if the soup had been in the room, it was clear that Lord Westford did not believe her cover-up. Her mind became suddenly inundated with various scenes that didn’t appear to go together. She saw the earlier scenes, of course. But a few new ones joined the group.

  A vision of Lord Westford at Osterburg manner, shooting several people and taking her forcefully was now the most vivid. Another new vision of her struggling with him and feeling the sting of metal as a bullet entered her chest. That vision visibly changed her demeanor. Eric noticed her distress and quickly made a comment that she looked unwell.

  “Oh, dear, I hope she’s not getting ill. She looked very peaked this afternoon when we were leaving your office. It brings to mind the funny story of what happened to Little Robert today! Oh, Bernard, you’ll never guess what our little angel did today,” Lady Westford said with no hint of dryness in her endearments.