“I’m not sure.” Unable to hold it back any longer, his ribs rattled with the wet coughs that forced their way up his throat. “I do not mean to be rude, but I cannot recall your name, sir.”
“Dr. James Hawthorne. My wife, the one who has been caring for you, is Eliza Hawthorne.”
Immanuel bit his lip and nodded. “To answer your question, Dr. Hawthorne, I am still hurting all over. I cannot really see out my left eye. Will that eventually go away?”
Dr. Hawthorne stared into Immanuel’s damaged eye, which was still stained with blood from the broken vessels. “As the swelling goes down and the blood recedes, you should regain some sight, but I think you will have some permanent damage.”
He nodded as he ran his fingers over the slightly swollen spot above his eyebrow. “How long have I been here?”
“Ten days.” The doctor watched as Immanuel’s eyes widened. “I am not surprised you lost track of time. You were extremely ill when you were brought here, and we thought we were going to lose you. We did lose you on the first night actually, but you seem to have finally fought off the pneumonia and the infections. I know you are feeling better and will want to move around, but you must take care not to disturb the bones you have broken. You mustn’t bend, pull, or lift anything because you will disturb your ribs, and you must refrain from pressing on your nose or left orbit.” Immanuel winced at the mention of his eye. “I have been wondering how you broke your zygomatic bone.”
Swallowing hard, he saw the moment through the dirty blindfold. “I was hit with a chair. At least, I think it was a chair.”
“That would explain that,” James replied as he jotted down a note in the ledger he had been transcribing.
“Explain what?”
“Why you tried to strike me when I brought you a chair the first night you were here. The noise must have scared you, especially since you could not see where it was coming from.”
“Oh.” He tried to think back to that day, but it was all a blur. There were only bits and pieces with no beginning or end, glimpses of faces and a bathtub. “I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize, you have been through a lot.” James noticed how sunken Immanuel’s eyes and cheeks were as he swallowed and coughed. “Are you hungry, my boy? I cannot make much, but I can make you breakfast.”
“Thank you, sir. I am a bit hungry.”
As he did the first night, James supported him down the stairs and deposited him in the dining room. Immanuel smiled to himself as the older man hummed over the sizzling pop of the stove. Being at the Hawthornes’ was so different from Oxford or the catacomb. It was almost like home. Within a few minutes, Dr. Hawthorne returned with a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast along with a pot of tea and placed the bounty before the skinny young man. While he slowly ate his first real meal since the kidnapping, he found his jaw grew tired chewing, but at least he could swallow his food without having to worry about it falling out of his mouth. Immanuel glanced up at James Hawthorne but only saw the back of the newspaper.
“Dr. Hawthorne,” he began and waited until the gentleman put his paper down to continue, “I don’t know how to thank you and Mrs. Hawthorne for all you have done for me. The thing is, I have no way to repay you. What little money I had was stolen when I was kidnapped, but my mother may be able to send a few marks when I write to her to tell her I am all right.”
James sighed as he watched him bite his lip and push his food with the prongs of his fork. “Immanuel, I was never expecting you to pay me when I helped you. I do not want your money.”
“Thank you, but I cannot stay here for free. As soon as I am strong enough, I will go back to Oxford and find some way to repay you.”
“Are you a student of science or a professor?” he asked casually as he folded the newspaper and put it to the side.
Immanuel’s eyes widened. “A student, but how could you possibly—?”
“I asked how you broke your zygomatic bone, and you replied without hesitation. I understand you would like to return to your studies as soon as possible, but I do not know if you will be strong enough to travel before every one goes on holiday.”
“On holiday? What day is it?”
“The second of December.”
Tears burned the bottoms of his eyes as he realized how much time had been stolen from him. In the darkness of the catacomb, days and weeks slipped by unnoticed, but he never suspected he had been there that long. Hawthorne watched his patient’s face pale as the moisture disappeared from his mouth and migrated to the edges of his eyes. The boy covered his face while his chest throbbed with each silent cry.
“My boy, what is the matter?”
“He— he stole two months from me!” he sobbed. “It was September when they kidnapped me. I lost a whole chunk of my life, and I don’t even know where I am or how to get back.”
As Immanuel collapsed into hiccupped cries, the doctor quietly walked to the other side of the table and stood behind him. He hesitated a moment, unsure how the young man would react to his touch, but taking a chance, he held his knobby shoulders and rubbed them, hoping it would soothe him.
“It will be all right in the end. I know all this is a lot for you to deal with, but you do not need to worry about where you will go or what you will do. You need to focus on getting better, Immanuel. This man may have taken a lot from you, but he did not take your life. You will miss the rest of the term, but after Christmas, you can go back to Oxford if you would like.”
Each inhalation sent a sharp pain through his cracked ribs. “I don’t know if I can go back there.”
James Hawthorne gently shushed the weeping man, feeling a slight burn behind his own eyes at the sound of his pained lamentations. “You do not need to figure anything out now. You are in no shape to make any big decisions. Now, I do not want you to tax your system with fretting about school or repaying me. School is not going anywhere, and if you insist on earning your keep, I could always use a secretary to type my autopsy notes.”
Immanuel’s head snapped up as the front door opened and two female voices erupted into bickering. He wiped his good eye and dabbed at the bruised one with his napkin before the Emmeline or Eliza could see his tearstained cheeks.
“Why should I have to learn anything?” Emmeline whined. “I’m seventeen! Mama said I was too old for a governess or lessons. I was supposed to go into society this season, not go back to school.”
“Do you expect to sit around all day reading novels for the rest of your life?”
Her high-pitched voice rose to a shriek. “Society women do not need to learn about laws or geography! I am not a child.”
“How can you be a society woman if no one introduces you into society?”
As the two female voices tussled and tried to overtake each other, the men at the dining table merely looked at one another and sighed. James ignored his wife and niece yelling in the next room, using his newspaper as a shield while Immanuel kept his head down and shoveled eggs into his mouth between sniffs and coughs. The pocket door flew open as Emmeline stomped in, her face red with angry tears.
“Why can’t I live with Aunt Georgiana? She would do what is best for me. She would do what mama would have wanted.”
Eliza huffed, grabbing the door before Emmeline could slam it shut. “Your aunt is in America, and I don’t think she will come all the back to England just for you.”
Emmeline grabbed her hair by the fistful and screamed. “I hate you! I hate all of you. I swear if I do not go into society this year, I will throw myself off London Bridge!”
“Please, don’t do that,” Immanuel peeped.
The women’s gazes whipped toward Immanuel’s gaunt, pleading countenance as if seeing him for the first time. With her aunt’s attention suddenly shifted toward the man with one bloodshot eye, Emmeline grabbed the twined together boxes of hats and gowns from her aunt’s grasp and stormed up the stairs. Slamming her bedroom door behind her, she sunk onto her bed and wept into her pillow.
Her aunt could try her best to please her but she would never be good enough. She could never bring back her mother, and for that, she hated her.
Chapter Twelve:
Trepidation
“That poor man,” Hadley Fenice cried as she poured her brother and cousin another cup of tea. “Why would someone do that to another person?”
Eliza shook her head. “I have no idea. He will not talk about it either. James does not want to push him, but he is not dealing with his problems. Now, he is up in the study typing autopsy reports all night.” She took a long sip and let her eyes roam over Hadley’s automatons, which lay in unpainted pieces of porcelain on the counter or in the corner as fully articulated dioramas ready for shipping. “He has been at it nonstop for three days.”
“Won’t he work himself into exhaustion going on like that?”
“Probably, but I think that is what he wants.”
“Why would he want that?” Adam finally asked as he pictured the frail young man with the bruised face shivering in bed again. “He nearly died. Shouldn’t he be happy he is alive?”
“In theory he should, but from the little I gleaned from Emmeline and what I have seen of his injuries, Immanuel was tortured.” Mrs. Hawthorne swirled her tea absentmindedly as she continued, “When people go through something like that, they either think about nothing but what happened or think about everything but what happened. He has chosen the latter, and honestly, I do not know how to draw him out of it.”
Hadley thought about what would bring her back into the world or make her smile again, but all that came to mind were her creations or her fiancé. She looked at her oddly quiet twin. The subject had been on his mind from the moment he dropped the stack of books off for Emmeline days ago. Since then, he had asked if she had heard about the blonde man’s condition while unconsciously rubbing his wrist just as he did when he was nervous about an account at work. He tried to mask his concern with indifference, but she saw him flinch as their cousin pronounced the word torture.
“Do you think a day of sightseeing would help him forget his troubles?”
“It might, but I do not think I will be able to convince Emmeline to cooperate. I have become her enemy now that I want her to be more than a socialite with a pretty face.”
“Don’t you think you are being a little hard on her?” Adam brushed at the sawdust and porcelain residue from the workroom floor that stubbornly clung to the bottom of his trousers. “You cannot expect a cosseted child to give up her ways for a more serious life without a fight. Why don’t you tell her that her mother left her a fortune for when she is of age? You are still planning to introduce her in the spring, aren’t you?”
“If I told her that, she would be an even bigger horror to deal with and there would be no chance of changing her. She would want to spend her entire fortune on new dresses and balls. I want her to understand that there is more to life than just fancy clothes and being a wife. If she applied as much energy to her studies as she does to whining, she would be well on her way to being the first woman in the House of Commons. I am so glad that James was home, so I could escape her tantrums for a little while. I do not know when I will be able to take Immanuel around town without Emmeline.”
“What if Adam took him instead?”
Adam’s eyes widened in alarm, but before he could respond, their cousin flashed a tired smile. “Oh, would you? You have been such a great help since all this happened. He will probably enjoy your company more than mine anyway since you are closer to his age and know what he would want to see.” She glanced at the clock near the door. “I should be getting back. Thank you so much, Adam. Would you be willing to collect him tomorrow morning?”
“Of course,” he replied with a tight grin as he and his sister followed Eliza to the door. He trailed beside her and waited until the other redhead was finally out of sight before turning to his sister. His doppelganger smiled wryly as she easily pushed past him. “And why, may I ask, did you volunteer me to play tour guide to someone I do not even know?”
“Because you need a day out as much as he does,” Hadley explained as she walked back to her room of automatons but lingered with her hand on the knob, “and because you would like to know him but are too afraid to do it on your own.”
She quickly shut the door to keep him from arguing, but as he stood on the other side poised to retaliate, he couldn’t help but sigh. Who was he fooling? His twin knew him all too well.
***
It was half-past ten, and Immanuel Winter had already been hammering at the lettered keys for three hours. A partially eaten plate of cold eggs and toast sat beside him along with a pot of tea that had been nearly drained. His eyes stayed locked on the ledger to the right of the typewriter as he tried to block out his blurry eye and focus only on the words that flowed directly from his eyes to his fingertips. Keeping his head down, he pretended not to see the physician standing in the doorway frowning at him.
“Mr. Winter, I think you should take a break. You have been in here so long you are beginning to become part of the furniture.”
“I will, but I am nearly done with this one, Dr. Hawthorne,” Immanuel murmured, never missing a letter.
“You said that last night when I told you to take a break, but you did not stop until well after midnight.” The doctor quietly closed the book and put it aside. “I insist you take a break today.”
Immanuel’s jaw clenched as his fingers froze over the keys, stopping mid-word. “I don’t want to sit in my room all day, sir. I would much rather be productive.”
“You have been productive enough for five people, which is why we have arranged for you to go on an outing. Eliza’s cousin has kindly offered to take you on a proper tour of the town.” James waved his hand toward the door, and a man with the reddest hair he had ever seen hesitantly came in but remained on the blurry side of his vision. “Immanuel, may I introduce Adam Fenice, Mrs. Hawthorne’s cousin. Adam, Immanuel Winter.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winter. I do hope you are feeling better,” Adam replied with a grin as he proffered his hand to the pale man, who still looked befuddled by the idea of an outing but shook his hand anyway.
Immanuel stared up at him, taking in his pencil mustache and his impeccably tailored dark blue and cream suit. “Much better, thank you.” He couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen those eyes before. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fenice, but have we met?”
“Barely, I stopped by one day when you were still in a very grave state, but I did not think you would remember my visit.”
As the young man stood up to make an excuse about not feeling well and excuse himself, Eliza appeared in the doorway with one of her husband’s old coats, a derby, and a pair of dark gloves. He resigned himself to his fate and silently donned them, but next to the dapper gentleman, he felt like a child wearing his father’s clothes. Immanuel swallowed against the knot in his throat as he followed the stranger out the front door and into the sunny street. At the top of the steps, he hesitated. The man who destroyed him could be anywhere, around any corner, or in any cab. He could pass the house that nearly became his tomb without ever knowing it. That man had blinded him from ever knowing the truth of his confinement, and now, all his nightmares lay just beyond the porch.
Adam watched the steamer cabs roll past filled with passengers and raised his hand to hail the next free one, but while waiting, he took a better look at his companion as he lingered on the steps. The long cut and bruise that deformed his delicate features were gone, but it left behind a dark rose crack that shifted his brow and lid and stained his eye. The white was still sallow from the bruise, and his once pristine blue iris was now blotted brown on the left side while the other half retained the natural color of its brother. Immanuel’s aurous hair waved and curled around his colorless cheeks, but in their shadows, a little bit of pink flesh began to peek through. His eyes widen as he glanced up and down the road as if searching for someone.
“Mr. Winter
, where would you like to go? We could go to the usual places, like Buckingham Palace or the Tower of London, or we could go to places that suit your interests.”
He walked down to the curb and stood beside Adam as a cab gradually came to a stop in front of them. “I do not know where to go. I have never been to London before.” He sighed and hung his head. “Mr. Fenice, you do not have to take me anywhere. I do not want you to take time away from your own life just to take me for a walk.”
“Nonsense, you are no trouble at all. I hope you do not mind, but Eliza told me and my sister about you and what happened. After being that sick, I think you deserve a day of relaxation and leisure.” Sensing the man’s trepidation, he flashed a bright grin and allowed him to go in first. “I think I know the perfect place to start. You can see the palace or Big Ben any day.” As he closed the door, he called to the driver, “To the natural history museum, please.”
Immanuel stared at the handsome man in the car beside him and frowned thoughtfully. A part of him wanted to be afraid of Adam Fenice, to not trust him, but he had been nothing but kind and affable toward him. As Adam turned and noticed his eyes upon him, Immanuel averted his gaze to the steamer’s window but soon realized London was bleary and dark at the edge as it rolled past them. To admire the view, he would have to look at Mr. Fenice.
Chapter Thirteen:
Really All Right
As Adam watched Immanuel’s eyes run over the cases of stuffed birds from Darwin’s adventure in the Galapagos Islands, he finally saw a smile brighten his features. He wasn’t sure if the younger man would enjoy himself after his initial reaction to seeing the natural history museum. At first, he stared up at its nemes-striped bricks and cathedral spires without saying a word as the other visitors bumped past them and entered through the Romanesque, ringed portal that led into the museum. The rain began to patter down when suddenly with a jerk of his head, the spell was broken, and he headed inside. Once within the upturned hull of steel and stone, his companion’s eyes and feet roamed through the parade of skeletons and fossils as if in a trance. The accountant couldn’t be sure if he was miserable or enjoying their trip until that smile appeared.
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