by Sarah Sokol
"Henry is an old friend," Charlotte insisted, but even as she spoke the words her mind flicked over the events that had occurred last time she had been alone with him.
"And so am I." Ben gave her a smile that spoke volumes of stubborn good will and offered her his elbow. "Allow me?"
"Very well." She bit her lip to hide her answering grin and took his arm. "But you shall have to stay downstairs until I determine it's all right for you to come up. Henry said he doesn't want Margaret around strangers. She must be doing quite poorly; it was never a concern before."
"Perhaps." Ben looked as if he might say more but closed his lips together and led her to the door, holding it open for her to pass through.
"What is it? Come, if you don't tell me I shall just think it's more terrible news about Sutcliffe," Charlotte said, shooting Ben a keen glance.
He just shook his head, closed the door behind them, and they began making their way to the front door. "It is nothing like that. Just that perhaps Henry only takes affront with strangers because I am the stranger." He paused, and seeing that she still did not comprehend, he continued. "It may be that he sees me as a rival, even if you do not consider it that way."
Oh. Charlotte's cheeks burned. She felt like a naive fool for not even considering Henry's jealousy. "Perhaps it really is best if you don't come, then. I wouldn't wish to upset him."
He opened the front door and they both stepped outside, where Duncan had the carriage ready as Charlotte had instructed. "If you truly do not wish me to be there, I will fetch Stephen and he can accompany you instead."
Now why was she disappointed that he had conceded so easily? What did she wish for, some barbaric display of Ben beating his chest and facing down Henry in a boxing match? She was being a ninny. It would be a perfect step towards making things less strange with Henry if she treated him as she would any other friend.
"No. You kindly offered to escort me, and I accept your offer." Charlotte lifted her chin. "It is quite close; I think it will be all right if you join me in the carriage."
"Thank you, no. I prefer to ride." Ben jogged around the corner of the house and returned leading a grumpy, sleepy Merlin. "I get ill in carriages," he explained.
"I understand completely." Charlotte waited while Duncan opened the carriage door for her, then Ben offered a hand to help her in.
Once she was all settled and the carriage lurched into motion, it felt like barely a minute had passed, hardly enough time to think, when they pulled to a stop before Henry's door. She stepped out into the soft, grey light of dusk, and Duncan hopped down to take the horses around to the stable.
Ben handed off Merlin to the lad as well, then nodded at Charlotte. "Shall I wait outside?"
"No, come in. It's getting dark, and I think it may start to rain." Charlotte led the way to the front door and rapped thrice.
It swung open to reveal not the housekeeper as expected, but Henry himself, who looked disheveled, but with a wide smile painted his expression. Then his gaze landed upon the looming figure of Ben, and the smile dropped away.
"I hope you don't mind; I asked Ben to escort me, as it is already getting late," Charlotte explained in a hurried whisper. She hoped to cut off any unpleasantness and get straight to the point. "Margaret doesn't have to see him, unless we determine she is ready. Is she upstairs? How is she?"
Henry hesitated, his eyes darting between the two of them. "This behaviour is unacceptable, Charlotte. I specifically requested that you come alone, and you ignored my request. Brought this hulking behemoth with you. Look at that scowl, he'll scare the daylights out of her."
"I've tended Margaret for years, free of charge, kept her symptoms at bay, and came running whenever you called," she snapped in the same fierce whisper. "If you wish me to leave, if you are that offended by Ben's presence, then I will. But I wish to see my patient, and I will not be bringing a stranger to her sickbed, because I respect you and what you ask of me. Please do me the favour of respecting me and my judgment in return."
Henry had the grace to look increasingly ashamed during her speech. When she ran out of breath and words, there was a long moment of silence, then he stood aside and opened the door wider.
Charlotte pushed inside, not willing to waste another moment. "Thank you. Is Margaret in her room?"
"Yes," Henry answered sullenly.
Charlotte did not wait for further response, merely handed Ben her cloak, gathered her skirts and started up the stairs. The familiar scents of mint and lavender assailed her nostrils as she drew close to the girl's bedroom. Try as they might, it was impossible to keep the odour of illness from cutting through.
Poor thing. This must have been a rough bout with whatever afflicted her. Charlotte nudged open the door to see Margaret curled up on her side, lashes dark on her pale, sunken cheeks. She seemed thinner than even just a few days ago, as if she were turning to shadow before Charlotte's very eyes.
Charlotte crept through the door and closed it behind her, then took a seat upon the wooden chair next to the bed. It was dark, only a little of the pale twilight making its way through the windows to illuminate the scene. She didn't need light, though. She curled her fingers over the little girl's bare wrist, careful not to wake her, and closed her eyes.
It was a strain to waken the vines of power within her, weak after healing all the animals. She knew she had enough energy still, however, and she was determined to help, so she forced the green tendrils up, through her arms and out of her fingertips, into Margaret.
There was pain everywhere, networks and pathways formed over the years, the likes of which a child should never have to endure. The cloud of darkness was strong as ever, coiled around the girl's heart and brain and clenching ever tighter, obscuring the light of the living more with each passing day.
Charlotte pushed hard at the darkness, fighting it back. She was always able to make leeway, to push it away from the lungs where the blackness lingered, from the limbs, but she could never make it disappear fully.
Once she had eased some of the pain, healed the rashes and pushed back as much as she could of the lingering darkness, Charlotte allowed her mind to explore idly, seeking any sort of clue as to what might have caused this most recent decline.
There, something sitting in the stomach, appearing in her mind's eye like a small lump of pulsing red energy. Something the girl had eaten was being rejected by her body, causing continuous irritation and indigestion.
Charlotte had seen this before. She didn't wish to wake the girl, but she needed to be sure. She shook Margaret's arm, softly so as not to frighten her. "Margaret. It's me, Lottie," she whispered.
The girl's lashes fluttered open weakly, and a smile spread over her face. "Lottie... You came. Papa said you would."
"Of course. How are you feeling, any better?" Charlotte felt her throat getting clogged with emotion at seeing such a sweet girl in this state.
"A little," Margaret replied. She reached for the mug at her bedside and took a sip. "My stomach hurts, but the rest of me feels a lot better."
"Good." Charlotte took a deep breath. She didn't want to know the answer to her next question, but she had to ask. "Have you been eating any strawberries lately?"
Margaret's eyes blinked open wider and she nodded. "Papa used to not let me have them but now he lets me with my tea."
"I see." Charlotte tried to keep her expression clear of a reaction, gritting her teeth around her smile. "That's all right, dear. I'll speak to your father about it, never you mind. You go back to sleep."
"May I have a hug first?" Margaret asked around a yawn.
"Of course." Charlotte leaned down and wrapped her arms around the child's frail body, cradling her close.
As the tiny arms curled around her neck, Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to contain her fury. Two years previous, Margaret had presented with symptoms of violent sickness and bad rashes, and it was only after much experimentation that they realized her body had a negative reaction to strawb
erries.
A fact Henry knew very well and could not possibly have forgotten.
Charlotte was going to throttle him.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Madness of Love
Ben felt fatigue pulling at every limb, trying to forcibly drag his eyelids closed, but he fought to stay awake and aware, watching Henry's shaky hands pouring a glass of port.
"Drink?" Henry held out one of the glasses, and it rattled against his thick gold ring. Why was he shaking so much?
"No, thank you," Ben said. Once Charlotte had gone upstairs, Henry had led him into the small parlour, and they had made valiant attempts to ignore each other. This parlour was dusty, and the rest of the house seemed abandoned and quiet. It was eerie, as if the whole place had been converted to one massive sickroom for the girl upstairs.
Now that the tense silence was broken, however, it felt too awkward to remain quiet. "How long has it been?" Ben nodded at the wedding ring that still graced Henry's finger. Perhaps it was rude to inquire, but Henry hadn't been the epitome of manners either.
"What?" Henry blinked, glancing down at his hand, then curled it into a fist. "Seven years since she died."
Ben winced. He could hear a wealth of pain in the other man's hoarse tones. "I'm sorry. So, it's just been you and your girl, then?"
"Margaret, yes. She is eight." Henry gave a choked laugh and tossed back his drink, then bent to pour another. "Raised her alone. Surprisingly difficult to find a woman who wants to take on a dead wife's child."
"Oh." Ben didn't know what he could say to that. He wished Oliver were here. He shifted on the hard-cushioned blue sofa, trying to find a more comfortable spot. "It seems you've done well."
"Oh yes." Henry laughed again, a bitter, empty laugh. He cast himself down into the gold-embroidered chair across from Ben and took another gulp, clenching his glass tightly to stop his fingers from trembling. "Exceedingly well. My servants have all left me. My daughter is sick. My estate is in disrepair, I haven't shaved in weeks. I'm handling it spectacularly."
"Your servants?" Ben frowned. Here, at least, perhaps he could help. Now that he saw the man falling apart, his jealousy faded completely, and he felt only pity. "Do you need recommendations? I'm sure I know several good households who could part with a reliable maid."
"Of course you do." Henry seemed unable to sit still for long, pushing himself up from the chair again and pacing back to the liquor cabinet. He set down his glass, keeping his head down and his back to Ben. His voice was muffled but still audible as he continued. "I knew someone like you would pounce on her the moment she stepped foot in London. Some fine, fancy lord too big for his breeches."
Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, seeking patience within. "I haven't pounced on anyone, and I fit quite well in my breeches."
"Oh?" Henry turned, eyes bright and face flushed. He raised his arm, visibly trembling with the effort of containing his rage. "So, you haven't desired her? You haven't lusted for her, burned for her? Tell me you haven’t, and I'll know you for a liar."
Ben spotted a glint of metal in Henry's hand, and his blood went cold. The other man was holding an intricately engraved silver revolver.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ben asked quietly. His mind raced, sorting through the possibilities. He had to remain relaxed and calm, not a threat. It was clear Henry had lost his mind somewhere between grief, desire and drink. "You can't shoot me. You'd go to prison. Lose your daughter, your home, your land. Where would Margaret go?"
Henry flinched, his head shaking wildly. He gripped the gun in both hands now, tremors causing the barrel of the pistol to flash rhythmically in the lamplight. He spoke through gritted teeth, stuttering and stumbling over each word. "D-don't. Don't change the s-subject. It's Charlotte. She was m-mine, she was going to be m-mine, until you b-blundered through and took her by force."
Ben shifted forward, trying to keep his tone reasonable. "Was she? She had accepted your proposal, then?"
"She w-would have d-done!" Henry shouted, his voice rising to a guttural shout. "She just n-needed more time. She had no one else. I g-got rid of her b-brother. She had to c-come to me. She j-just needed to finish g-grieving. But then you ruined it. You r-ruined everything, and now it was all for n-nothing!"
Ben's eyes widened as he struggled to comprehend Henry's words through the adrenaline, the clenched jaw and stammering. "You mean... Avery? That was you?"
"Y-yes. Yes, it was me." Henry's eyes shone, tears streaking down his cheeks and trickling into his beard. He shook his head and wiped away the tears in an angry gesture. "So, you kn-know I'll do it! He w-was holding her back. He d-didn't let her g-go out. No freedom. I saw it in her eyes, w-whenever she came to v-visit. She talked about how she w-wished she c-could go out. How overb-bearing he was. I would have g-given her everything!"
"You," Ben breathed out, staring at the madman before him. He didn't know what to say to reach such a delusional person. His cane was with his coat and hat by the door. Why hadn't he kept hold of his cane? To reach for his pouch of emergency components would surely startle Henry into shooting. Any words he might say could just as easily send Henry into a rage as calm him down.
Before he could decide the best course of action, there was a gasp from the doorway. It was Charlotte, standing in the parlour entrance. Her hair was tangled, half-falling from its pins, and her eyes were wide, dark pools of forest green.
"Henry, what are you doing?" Her voice was soft, trembling, but gained strength with each syllable. "Put down the revolver."
"No." Henry took another deep breath, keeping the gun pointed at Ben's chest. "No, n-no. It's t-too late. He's the last... the only thing standing b-between us now, Lottie."
"Is that why you took care of Avery? You wanted him out of our way?" Charlotte's voice was gentle, sympathetic, but Ben could see her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"Y-yes. I h-had no ch-choice!" Henry cried his voice strangled. "J-just like there's n-no choice now."
"There's always a choice, Henry." Charlotte swallowed hard and stepped forward, only a meter away from Henry now. "Let Lord Winters go. You don't need to do this. I don't want him, he's just a friend. He can't come between us."
Henry's face crumpled into another sob, but he gripped the shaking weapon tighter than ever. "He w-would have to l-leave. G-go, and n-never come back. I d-don't like him around you."
"He will," Charlotte assured him. "He'll go, and he'll never bother us again. Right, Lord Winters?"
Ben licked his dry lips. He knew, or at least, he hoped, she was lying about her lack of feelings for him. It still hurt to hear it aloud, but this was hardly the time. "Right."
"And then it will b-be just m-me, and you and M-Margaret. Like it's s-supposed to be," Henry sniffled loudly. The point of the gun trembled still, yet lowered from Ben's chest to his stomach, and hovered there.
A very, very small improvement, in Ben's opinion.
"It will be you, and me, and Margaret," Charlotte promised, stepping forward again. She was so close to being able to reach the gun. Would she try? Ben hoped she wouldn't. It would be too easy for it to go off accidentally in the struggle.
"He's not l-leaving," Henry said nervously, looking at Ben.
"I don't wish to leave a lady with a man wielding a gun," Ben responded as blandly as possible. "Put it down, and I will walk away."
"W-walk away, and I'll put it down," Henry answered, lifting his chin. His voice grew steadier, his hands shaking less with each passing moment.
"Margaret," Charlotte repeated. "We should talk about Margaret. I think perhaps you forgot; she is sensitive to strawberries. Remember now, darling? They make her sick."
"You think I don't know my own daughter?" Henry snapped, shooting a glance at her. Then he seemed to remember himself and looked vaguely guilty. "I hope you aren't angry with m-me, precious. Margaret doesn't mind, she likes strawberries. And we b-both like to see you. She loves you like I do."
&nbs
p; "But Henry, it's killing her," Charlotte burst out. Ben could see the edges of her temper fraying as she struggled to keep her composure.
"What?" Henry scowled, shaking his head and reaching up with one hand to rub at his forehead. "N-no. No, I only gave her small amounts. The strawberries, that was a one-time circumstance for today. I needed you to come. All these years I've been c-careful with the rest. I always watched her. She is fine."
"She isn't fine," Charlotte pressed. "Whatever has been done to her, it has marked her forever. She will never be the same. She will never be as strong; her heart and brain will never fully recover. And that is if she survives."
"If she s-survives?" Henrys face drained and he swayed back and forth. For a moment Ben thought he might save them a lot of trouble and faint, but he steadied himself. "She's n-not going to d-die. I am so c-careful. Always c-careful..."
"She is too weak. She can't grow properly. Her organs are failing." Charlotte was inexorable.
"N-no," Henry whispered brokenly. His head fell to his chest, and the tears flowed freely as he began to weep. His words were snuffled, nearly indistinguishable aside from the repeated, "No."
Ben watched the barrel of the gun. Still it remained pointed at him, but Henry was distracted. He could lunge forward and snatch it if he chose the right moment. His muscles tensed, ready to force his exhausted body into action.
"It's all right," Charlotte whispered. She placed her hand on Henry's back, eyes burning with anger now that he was turned away. "I'll heal her if you let me. Stop feeding her whatever poison you've been and--"
"No! My god, no," Henry wailed, and the gun barrel shifted.
The next moment was a blur. Henry lifted the gun and shoved the barrel under his own jaw, closing his eyes tight. Charlotte dropped to the ground, rolling away from Henry and holding both hands over her ears. Ben lunged forward and slapped the gun from Henry's hand as hard as he could.
The weapon clattered to the ground underneath the sofa, and as Henry cried out and scrambled for it, Ben drove his fist into Henry's face with a satisfying crack.