Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3

by Jordan L. Hawk

  Allan offered him a tremulous smile. “Thank you, sir.” The smile slipped. “But…if you can…please, hurry. Since the crime I’m accused of was dreadful, I fear I’ll be sent to the fourth floor before long.”

  A chill fell over me. “The fourth floor?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” Allan confessed. “The second floor contains the children’s wards, and the third is for what they term ‘troublesome’ patients.” Griffin flinched at the word, although I didn’t think Allan noticed. “The fourth is only whispered about. But the other inmates are terrified, and I’ve already heard one of the nurses use the threat of it to force a patient to behave.”

  “I see.” Griffin’s face had taken on its previous pallor, but he summoned up a smile. “There’s no need to worry, Allan. We’ll have you out long before it becomes an issue, never fear.”

  The look in Griffin’s eyes told me he feared, very much. But Allan didn’t know him as I did, and so only nodded in relief. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

  We took our leave soon after. As our carriage departed back through the high wall, Griffin said, “We have to get Allan out of there as quickly as possible.”

  “Because of this fourth floor business?” I asked. “Dr. Peck mentioned nothing of it. Perhaps Allan is mistaken.”

  Griffin’s mouth pressed into a tight line, as if he struggled to hold back some outburst. “I cannot speak of it now,” he grated out at last. “But there’s something else going on; there must be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dr. Zeiler. I didn’t know his name until today, but I recognized him. God, how could I forget him?”

  My heart began to beat faster with worry. “Griffin? What do you mean?”

  His face ashen gray, he whispered, “Zeiler was the doctor who certified me insane and condemned me to the madhouse.”

  Chapter 5

  I had no opportunity to question Griffin further. Not only due to the presence of the driver, but also because we had to go directly from our appointment to the railway station, in order to meet the train bringing Griffin’s parents to Widdershins.

  We arrived at the station as the first passengers began to disembark. I’d visited the depot only a few times previously, not being inclined to leave Widdershins if at all possible. The place was generally chaotic, with persons rushing to and fro, many of them shoving carts piled with baggage or crates or even live chickens ahead of them. The platform was a great, swirling mass of skirts, hats, running children, dogs, baggage, and a lone cage with a live parrot inside, screaming its head off.

  Its shrieks were joined by those of a young girl, red faced and crying, apparently having lost sight of her mother. Perhaps reminded of another young child standing alone on another train platform, Griffin stopped and went down on his knee beside her.

  “Are you lost?” he asked kindly.

  She nodded and kept howling.

  Griffin looked up at me, and perhaps saw the expression of horror on my face. “Whyborne, would you be so kind as to find my parents? I shall help this little one.”

  “Of course,” I said hastily. I had no experience dealing with children, and hadn’t the slightest notion what to do when confronted with one.

  I hastened to the crowd of disembarking passengers, only to realize I hadn’t any idea what his parents looked like. What on earth was I doing here, anyway? My inclinations meant many drawbacks in terms of society, but surely one positive was not having to receive the approval of my lover’s family. And yet here I was, stumbling about like a fool, while Griffin played hero.

  A number of people—porters, perhaps, or hired drivers—shouted the names of new arrivals. Perhaps I should do the same? “Kerr?” I called tentatively. “Er, Kerr?”

  A diminutive older woman popped out of one of the compartments, almost on top of me. I barely had time to register a seamed face, simple dress, and plain bonnet before she shouted “Kerr?” back at me.

  “Yes?” I said helplessly.

  The next thing I knew, she shoved a small trunk into my arms. “Look, Pa! Griffin hired us a porter to carry our things!”

  A man with an impressive white beard exited behind her. “That boy always was thoughtful,” he said, grinning happily as he swung an even larger trunk into my arms atop the first. The weight staggered me; what on earth had they brought with them, bricks? Stones from the fields of Kansas? “Seems a bit on the scrawny side, though.”

  “I’m, er—” I tried to object.

  “Now, now, don’t you listen to him,” Mrs. Kerr said, piling a hatbox and carpetbag on top of the lot. My back let out a twinge of protest. “Carry these quick, and there’ll be a nice tip in it for you.”

  “But, I’m not…”

  “Come on now, Ruth, don’t be shy.”

  I peered around the pile of baggage as best I could to catch a glimpse of a young woman following them off the train. Griffin hadn’t mentioned anyone else, so who could she be?

  Whoever she was, she looked mortified. Curls of blond hair protruded from her bonnet. She wore a neat, though not terribly in-fashion, dress. I was no judge of women’s beauty, but I thought she resembled at least in general what most men seemed to consider attractive.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, a light blush pinking her cheeks. She reached to take the hatbox, but Mrs. Kerr cut her off with a call to come at once. “S-sorry,” she mumbled at me. “Coming, Aunt Nella!”

  Aunt Nella? Griffin had some explaining to do.

  I somehow navigated the platform without dropping everything, although the pile of baggage blocked my sight, so I bumped into several people and barely managed not to fall onto the tracks. That would be quite the headline: Niles Whyborne’s Son Run Over by Own Train. Father would probably raise me from the dead just so he could kill me himself.

  “Oh, Griffin, it’s wonderful to see you!” I heard from somewhere in front of me, so I aimed in that direction. “And sending a porter to take our things—you must be doing well!”

  “A porter? I—oh!”

  Thankfully, Griffin rescued me just as my arms were about to give out. Together we lowered their possessions to the platform; I resisted the urge to collapse into a heap on top of them, but only because I felt my dignity had already suffered enough for one day. As for Griffin, his expression teetered between laughter and horror.

  “Mother, Father,” he said. “Allow me to present my friend, Dr. Percival Endicott Whyborne.”

  For a moment, all three of them stared at me in confusion. Then Mrs. Kerr’s eyes went to the train, with the gaudy, stylized W on the side of every car. “No, he’s not…oh heavens! I am so sorry, Dr. Whyborne!”

  “Quite all right,” I wheezed. “I was happy to help.”

  “Now there’s some manners, right enough!” Mr. Kerr beamed and clapped me on the back, nearly sending me flying. “I’m James Kerr, and this here is my other half and helpmeet, Nella.”

  Griffin had by now noticed the third member of the party, and had assumed a rather fixed expression on his face. “Mother? Father? Are you not going to introduce the young lady?”

  “Well, it’s Ruth, of course,” Nella said, as if Griffin should have guessed. “Your cousin, you know. You’ve been corresponding for months!”

  Ruth’s face turned scarlet, and she stared at the platform as if she wished to sink through it. I rather understood the sentiment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flaherty,” she mumbled at the ground.

  Griffin, of course, was ever the gentleman. Bowing over her hand, he said, “And a pleasure—if an unexpected one—to meet you, Miss Kerr.”

  Ah. His parents hadn’t mentioned her presence to him either. At least it explained why they’d wished to stay in the hotel. Technically, it would be proper for Miss Kerr to stay with them under Griffin’s roof, as his adopted cousin…unless his parents had some other role in mind for her.

  No, no, such a thought was absurd. Wasn’t it?

  We found an actual
porter and soon had their luggage loaded on a cart. At the cabstand outside, Griffin hailed a cab to take them all to the hotel. “Thank you for accompanying me this morning, Whyborne,” he said, shaking my hand. “Will you be at the museum tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I should be,” I said, feeling like an idiot. After spending my whole life keeping my thoughts and emotions carefully concealed, the months with Griffin had rusted my skills. Had I come off as friendly or aloof?

  “I hope to see you there,” he said, releasing my hand before even the most suspicious mind could think our touch overly long or familiar.

  “I, uh, yes. So do I.” Now I sounded like an idiot as well.

  He followed his parents and Ruth into the carriage. They waved at me, and I waved back. When they vanished into the general traffic around the depot, I turned my attention to the vacant hansoms. I’d get at least a few hours of work in at the museum, and it might take my mind off any number of things, not least of which was the unexpected presence of Griffin’s cousin and what it might portend.

  ~ * ~

  I spent the evening tidying the house, removing any trace of my presence to the safety of what was ostensibly my bedroom, although in reality Griffin and I never slept apart. He’d said he intended to bring his family by tomorrow, after their visit to the museum, but I kept a careful ear out for any approaching carriages nonetheless. I could all too easily imagine them insisting on coming here this evening, forcing me to hide in a closet like an actor in a French farce.

  Fortunately, Griffin returned alone. “How was dinner?” I asked as he hung up his hat and coat in the front hall.

  “Well enough. I took them to Marsh’s, and they were all very impressed by the variety of seafood.”

  I waited for him to say something more, but instead he went into the parlor and began to sift through the papers on his desk. “Er, Griffin?” I said from the doorway. “Can we talk about the case?”

  “What about it?” he asked without turning around.

  Surely, he must know. “You said you recognized Dr. Zeiler.”

  His hands stilled. “I don’t wish to speak of it.”

  “I know, but I think we must anyway,” I said carefully. “I don’t wish to upset you, but it doesn’t seem possible. I don’t know a great deal about Stormhaven, but I’m under the impression Dr. Zeiler has been the superintendent for some time. Why would he have been admitting patients to a hospital in Illinois?”

  Griffin straightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “How the hell should I know? It isn’t as if we sat down together for coffee and pleasant conversation! I never even knew his name until today. And you heard him—he recognized me.”

  “He said he thought you familiar. Surely, he would have recalled a man he consigned to a madhouse not his own.”

  “Why should he remember my face?” Griffin turned on his heel, and the savage look on his features caused me to take a step back in alarm. “Perhaps he would have better remembered me were I naked, bent over at the waist with my hands about my ankles so he and his lackeys could probe me!”

  “Wh-what?” I asked, or tried to. There was no air left in my lungs, in the room, in the world.

  His lips twisted with disgust, perhaps aimed at Zeiler, perhaps aimed at himself. “As part of the ‘inspection’ for certifying me a lunatic. Somehow they found out. Elliot wouldn’t have told them, so I’ve no idea who did. They admitted me for ‘violent delusions,’ but someone added a note about ‘sexual deviance.’ Do you know the ‘cures’ they inflict on us?” His voice rose steadily into a shout. “Do you know what the attendants do, when there are no doctors about, laughing and asking if we like it when they—”

  He spun suddenly, sweeping a pile of books off his desk and onto the floor. A forgotten teacup went flying, to shatter against the hearth. Then, with a low cry, he buried his face in his hands.

  Horror froze my blood, nausea roiling in my stomach, while some little voice inside said no, this could not be true. These things happened, yes, but not to Griffin. Not to my love.

  Had I not held him through his fits, though, when he screamed in the clutches of nightmare? I knew terrible things had happened to him, even if he’d always refused to speak of them. Why had I not been better prepared for this moment?

  What should I do? Go to him? Stay away? God, what if I made things worse, somehow?

  But I couldn’t just stand here like a fool, not when he needed me. I crossed the room in three strides and put my hands to his shoulders. “I…I’m here,” I said, feeling more helpless than I ever had in my life.

  He turned to me, pressing his face in my shoulder, so I slipped my arms around him. I meant to hold him lightly, but when he asked, “How can you bear to touch me?” in a low, grating voice, I instead clung to him with all my strength.

  “Because I love you,” I whispered into his hair. He shuddered and pressed against me more tightly, and I held him while he wept into my coat.

  ~ * ~

  “Here,” I said, placing the tea service on the small table in the upstairs study. “Allow me to pour for us.”

  Griffin sat at one end of the couch, the loudly purring Saul ensconced in his lap. Griffin’s eyes were red rimmed, but he seemed a bit more himself when he said, “I didn’t realize you were of the ‘a cup of tea cures all ills’ school of thought.”

  “I’m not, but Miss Emily would serve me up one as a child, whenever I needed comfort,” I said, stirring a bit of sugar into his tea. “Or a cup of cocoa in the winter. It always stood me in good stead.”

  “I’d like to meet her some day,” he said, taking the cup from me and cradling in his hands. “Thank you, my dear.”

  I prepared a cup for myself as well then sat beside him. What was he feeling? I could barely identify my own emotions. Grief, and anger, and even fear. Not to mention a deep desire to do violence to Dr. Zeiler. “Is there anything else I can do?” I asked awkwardly.

  He sighed and leaned his head against my shoulder. “You’ve already done it.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. “If I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable, or hurt you,” I began uncertainly.

  “Ival, no.” He lifted his head to fix me with a stern look. “You must not think such things.”

  “I don’t mean to, I just…I only want whatever is best for you.”

  He took a sip of his tea, redirecting his gaze to Saul’s ears. “When Pa—Father—rescued me from the asylum, I couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything again, other than exhaustion and fear. Desire seemed like a foreign land I had once visited but existed only in my memories. I could no more picture wanting to be touched than I could laughing or singing or feeling safe.”

  His words wrung my heart like a sodden rag. I leaned my head against his shoulder, because it brought us into contact, and I hoped he might find comfort in the gesture.

  “Time passed, as it is wont to do,” he went on, “and eventually I began to come back to myself. To stop jumping at every sound, to no longer expect a blow for speaking, or looking directly at someone, or…or anything else. One evening I stood at the window of my room, gazing out over the fields, and I saw one of the farmhands washing up before dinner. The day had been hot, and he’d stripped off his shirt to better clean himself at the pump in the yard. The sight of his tanned body aroused me, I admit. And perhaps I should have been disappointed the cure hadn’t taken. But instead I felt the most overwhelming sense of relief.”

  Had he truly wished for his inclinations to be altered? Certainly it would make life easier. Perhaps he could imagine a version of himself who didn’t love other men.

  He pressed his lips lightly to my hair. “So I came here, to Widdershins. I considered visiting the bathhouse, but I didn’t quite know what my reactions might be. Better to wait and be sure, I thought.” His voice deepened to a growl. “Then I saw you.”

  I put my tea aside, to give my hands something to do, and to hide my blush. “The day in the Ladysmith…”

  “Oh, no,
my dear, that wasn’t the first time.” He set aside his tea as well, dislodging Saul from his lap. “I did not entirely trust you weren’t part of the Brotherhood yourself, if you recall. I watched you for a while before approaching the museum to ask for your assistance. The first time I saw you, I loitered about the newsstand across the street, pretending to read the morning paper. You hurried up the stairs, your arms full of books, your hair looking as mussed as if you’d just tumbled out of bed, and I found myself very keen to meet you as soon as possible.”

  My cheeks felt hot enough to fry an egg. “I’m not…”

  “Oh, you are.” His fingers twined around my tie, tugging me closer. “By the time I finally got you into bed with me, all I could think of was how badly I wanted to do anything and everything with you.”

  My member stiffened in response. “Griffin…”

  Hot breath ghosted across my cheek. “What is between us is fire, and passion, and a need I have never felt before for anyone. I am not some flower, bruised if you touch me the wrong way. I want everything you have to give me.”

  I swallowed against the tightness of my throat. “I’m yours,” I whispered.

  “Come to bed and show me.”

  Did he feel some need to prove himself? To assert he was still a man, and a whole one, no matter what they had done to him?

  Perhaps. I knew he wanted me, maybe even needed me, and I would happily do anything for him. Christine called me love stricken, deservedly so, but was it such a bad thing?

  Griffin kissed me, hard and deep, and I opened for him with an eager moan. He could set my blood afire with a look, let alone a touch, and my skin ached for contact with his. His fingers slid through my messy, spiky hair, tugging gently, then more insistently.

  “God,” he gasped, when we broke apart. “Do you know the moment I fell in love with you?”