Residuum

by ID Johnson

  “Please, Charlie. My only son will only be getting engaged once,” Pamela insisted.

  Meg cleared her throat but said nothing, and rather than taking a bite she moved some of her carrots around on her plate so that it might appear as if she were eating.

  “Honestly, Mother, I appreciate the fact that you want to make it a memorable affair, but really, just close friends and family should be sufficient.”

  “I wish your sister were here. Perhaps she could talk some sense into you,” Pamela replied. “I spoke to her on the telephone earlier, just as soon as you rang me, and most of these are her suggestions. You know her parties are always so popular in Buffalo. There’s no reason why we can’t make this engagement the talk of New York City.”

  “Trust me, dear, it already will be,” Mr. Ashton finally chimed in from his seat at the head of the table. Charlie was sitting next to him on his right with Meg on his left. Pamela sat at the other end. It would’ve been quite awkward if all of the leaves had been left in the table, but they were much closer now that the dining table was only a speck in the grand scheme of the formal room.

  “I’m only saying….”

  “Mother, perhaps we should talk about this later,” Charlie said with a small smile. “I’m not sure your vision, and Grace’s vision, is in line with what Meg and I want, but we’ve both had a tiring day, and I’d just as soon not discuss it this very moment.”

  She let out a sigh. “All right then.” She was quiet for a few moments before she muttered under her breath, “There will be an awfully lot of people who will expect to attend.”

  Charlie looked at her but said nothing, and Meg silently applauded his ability to bite his tongue, something she wished she had been better at with her own mother.

  “How did your meeting with the lawyers go?” Mr. Ashton asked, looking at Meg, which caught her off guard.

  She put her fork down, banging it a bit too loudly which made her jump. “Pardon me,” she said under her breath. “It was… enlightening, I suppose.”

  Mr. Ashton nodded and gave her a small smile. “Do you know what you intend to do then?”

  “Not yet,” Meg admitted. “Charlie and I are still discussing it.”

  “Luckily, Grace and I have been discussing the wedding for several months,” Pamela chimed in, and Meg envisioned the release of thousands of doves at the conclusion of the ceremony. “Should you want to get married in the next few months, we will be able to pull it all together.”

  “Wonderful,” Meg said, smiling at her and letting a nervous laugh escape her lips before she caught Charlie’s eyes. She felt his shoe gently tap against her slipper and knew he was signaling for her to humor his mother but not to bother to argue, something she wouldn’t do anyway.

  “Well, hopefully we will have a response to Jonathan’s telegraph to your mother soon. I’m sure you’re anxious to know her reply.” Mr. Ashton offered Meg another reassuring smile, and she felt drawn to him as she would if he were her own father.

  Charlie cleared his throat. “It is possible we may need to return to Southampton soon. Mr. Westmoreland has gotten himself into a bit of a financial bind, and Meg may be called upon to testify.”

  Pamela stopped eating and stared at her son in shock. Meg waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. Her eyes shifted to Mr. Ashton, and he looked as if he knew even more than what Charlie had mentioned.

  “Of course, neither of us is looking forward to re-crossing the Atlantic, but if it can’t be helped….”

  “Perhaps I should accompany Meg, and you should stay here,” Mr. Ashton offered. Meg could tell by the look in his eyes he was concerned for his son’s well-being. She imagined if it had been her child who had nearly died in such an undertaking, she’d never let him out of her sight again.

  “Thank you for the offer, Father, but I would like to go with Meg myself. It will be difficult, I won’t deny it, but if she can do it, so can I.”

  “I’ve heard some fellows already went back to London,” Mrs. Ashton stated, shaking her head. “One was said to have gotten on the next boat out. I can’t imagine.”

  “Neither can I,” Meg admitted, looking at her plate. The food was delicious, as it always was when Charlie’s cook, Lois, prepared it, but Meg found it difficult to eat while having stressful conversations, possibly the reason she’d been described as a “twig” most of her life.

  “We will plan the engagement announcement for next weekend, then,” Mr. Ashton suggested, “and then, if you should have to go back, you shall have it out of the way.”

  “I’m not sure that will give us enough time….”

  “Actually, I believe it needs to be quicker than that,” Charlie explained, interrupting his mother. “The point is to let the world know that Mary Margaret is alive so that the authorities in Southampton will… stop looking for her.”

  Meg thought he was about to mention Charlotte, and while she was unsure as to why he hadn’t shared that information with his parents, she didn’t question it. Surely his father knew; he must read the papers.

  “Didn’t the telegraph accomplish that?” Mrs. Ashton’s question was a valid one.

  “Yes, but the lawyers suggested a photograph be taken of the pair of us together so that they will know for sure that the telegraph was sent by Meg and not someone simply pretending to be her,” Charlie further explained.

  “That does make sense,” Mr. Ashton nodded.

  “So… we’ll discuss the details tomorrow, Mother, but I’d like to do it the night after next. Here. With only a small number of guests.”

  Mrs. Ashton had a smile frozen on her face. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. I’m not even sure if your sister is free and can make it down that quickly.”

  “She’ll manage,” Charlie assured his mother. “I apologize for leaving dinner before it’s finished, but I’m not feeling well, and I’m afraid I’ll need to excuse myself.”

  Meg had seen the color in his face draining layer by layer as the meal progressed. “Of course,” his father was saying. “Shall we call someone to escort you out?” He looked at the servants standing nearby, and one of them, a young man Meg didn’t know the name of, stepped forward.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Charlie said with a weak smile. “I’ll send Jonathan in for you, Meg.” She realized he didn’t want to abandon her to his parents, though she didn’t mind so much, as long as he was all right. She only nodded. He shook his father’s hand and wished him good night and stooped to kiss his mother’s cheek before he gave Meg one more look and slowly walked out of the room.

  Once he was gone, Mr. Ashton said, “I’m quite concerned, Pamela. I don’t think he should be getting on another ship anytime soon.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. “Meg, surely you wouldn’t mind if John accompanied you to speak to the police in Southampton, rather than Charlie?”

  Meg’s mouth suddenly felt dry, and she couldn’t formulate a sentence for a moment, Eventually, she pried her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “It’s not that I mind so much, Mrs. Ashton. It’s only, I’m certain Charlie won’t let me face my mother and uncle without him.”

  “Please call me Pamela,” the mother reminded her. “And why is that, exactly?”

  She wanted to tell them, or at least give them a logical explanation, but once again the words wouldn’t exit her mouth properly.

  “It’s all right, dear. If you don’t wish to talk about it….”

  “I do wish to talk about it. But I don’t seem capable,” Meg admitted.

  The Ashton’s exchanged looks that Meg recognized as sympathy. “Well, dear, whatever you and Charlie decide is best, we’ll try to accept it. I only worry that he will end up making himself more ill.”

  “I understand. I am also concerned.”

  “He isn’t as strong as he thinks he is sometimes,” Mrs. Ashton muttered, moving her own food around on her plate.

  Before Meg could say anything else, Jonathan stepped into the dining
room, and without crossing to the table, which she thought was odd, he called, “Meg, are you ready to go, or are you still dining?”

  “Don’t let us keep you,” Mr. Ashton insisted as Meg looked at each of them, wondering what she should do.

  “I’m certain we will see you soon, darling,” Pamela said with a smile.

  Meg stood, and Mr. Ashton rose to peck her cheek and wish her goodnight. Meg wished them both well and then met Jonathan at the door. With one last glance at Charlie’s parents, she went out into the hallway, her hand on Jonathan’s arm, but immediately, she recognized why he’d kept his distance. “Jonathan, you’re intoxicated,” she whispered sharply near his ear, though she wouldn’t dare get too close. The smell was enough to make her gag.

  “Yes, I am,” he admitted. “And I apologize for that.”

  “Why?” she asked. He was able to walk in a fairly straight line, but as they approached the back door, she felt that she was doing more of the leading than he was.

  “I didn’t realize Charlie would ask me to escort you home. I thought I was done for the evening.”

  His answer made sense; he was able to do whatever he liked on his own time. Still, she was surprised. “Did Charlie realize you were drunk when he asked you to bring me home?”

  “I doubt it since he looked as if he were about to pass out himself.”

  She stopped and looked at him, and he gave a loud guffaw. Meg wasn’t sure if he was telling a joke or not. “You know, Mr. Lane, I can see my apartment from here. I suggest you head back to your room, and I’ll make it the rest of the way myself.”

  “Now, don’t be silly, Meg. I can walk you to your apartment. It’s just over there.”

  “I know that—but it really isn’t necessary.”

  “Meg…”

  “Jonathan… thank you, but this is quite far enough.” She pulled her arm away from him, and he looked at her for a moment with a hint of something invidious behind his eyes, causing her to take a step back. Just as quickly as it came, it faded.

  “Very well then. Have a good night, Meg.” He spun on his heels and headed back toward the main house, covering the ground quickly. Meg would’ve been certain she’d offended him if she thought he would even remember it in the morning.

  A few hours later, Meg awoke to the sound of the ringing telephone. Unlike the night before, she recognized the sound now, and only choked on her own heart for a split second before she sprung from the sofa to answer. Less than ten minutes later, she was sitting next to Charlie on the bench, her coat wrapped tightly around her. She was fairly certain Jonathan would not be checking on them this night.

  “I wanted to apologize for my mother,” Charlie said with a sigh. “She’s never been much of one to throw such social spectacles until my sister’s engagement party and subsequent wedding. Since then, she’s become enamored with making as much of a show as she can. It’s like a … contest or something.”

  Meg couldn’t help but scoff. “I suppose that makes you lucky then if its only started recently. Most of the women I grew up knowing did anything and everything they could to outdo each other when it came to such get-togethers. My mother never had the money for such things until my coming out party—which you paid for.”

  Charlie smiled at her. “Too bad I wasn’t invited.”

  “It would’ve been much more fun if you’d been there.” She remembered the night well, even though it’d been several years ago. Not as many people had come as her mother would’ve liked, thanks to her uncle’s reputation as a womanizer.

  “Well, I wanted to apologize nonetheless, and to tell you I’m sorry I left you.”

  “No, it’s all right. I understand. You weren’t feeling well.”

  He inhaled deeply through his nose, held it for a moment, and then let it go. “Meg, I’ve been thinking… it’s been a few weeks now, and nothing seems to be improving. Perhaps, when we return from Southampton, if things aren’t any better… perhaps I should… see someone.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? See whom?”

  He pursed his lips together, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he could tell her. “I mean a specific sort of doctor who specializes in this sort of thing.”

  Her other eyebrow shot up. “You mean… a psychiatrist?”

  He nodded. “I know it might sound desperate. It’s only… I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want anyone to think I’m crazy….”

  “A psychiatrist would be the one to say that, though, wouldn’t he?”

  “Possibly,” Charlie shrugged. “I think I’m sane enough to stay out of an institution. I hope I am anyway. But I’ve been reading, and some of the techniques these doctors have come up with might help me. Have you read anything by Freud? Or Jung?”

  She had heard of Freud but not that other person. “I don’t know much about psychiatry,” she admitted.

  “They both have several theories, and they’re both quite different. But perhaps if I see a psychiatrist, they might be able to help me better understand what is going on in my mind and why I am hearing voices that aren’t there.”

  Meg opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “No!” She said it quickly, turning to face him. “Not at all.”

  “Then why are you against me seeking help?”

  “I’m not,” she reassured him. “I’m not. Charlie, if that’s what you need to do, I’ll support you. I suppose… I just wish I could be enough to fix it for you, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Meg,” he said, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “You are enough. Believe me, you’re more than I ever expected. But… this has nothing to do with you. That’s the problem. I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself. From what I’ve read, I have to sort out why it’s happening in order to be able to stop it.”

  She wanted to understand what he was saying, but she couldn’t. She had her own ghosts, her own voices, and they all fit nicely into the little box in the back of her mind. They were there just now. Why couldn’t he simply do that—build a fortress to keep them inside so they couldn’t surface? She didn’t ask. “Charlie, I love you, and if you want to see a specialist, I will do whatever I can to support you.”

  “Thank you,” he smiled at her and then leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead before pulling her head to rest on his shoulder. He held her in silence for a long time before he finally said, “You know, Meg, you’ve been through an awful lot as well. Perhaps, if this method works for me, you could consider seeing a psychiatrist, too..”

  Meg’s head shot up off of his shoulder. “Do you think I’m mad?”

  “No, I don’t. I didn’t mean that. Not at all, Meg. I only meant, surely with all you’ve been through, you must have difficulty sleeping. I know you don’t eat as well as you should. I just thought… perhaps it could help you feel better about what’s happened. That’s all.”

  She pursed her lips together. “I don’t need a psychiatrist, Charlie. I need answers.” She squinted her eyes for a moment, contemplating whether or not she should say what was on her mind. He looked at her expectantly. “Perhaps a gun.”

  “A gun?” he repeated. “Is that why you asked what would happen if one of them was deceased?”

  “Possibly,” she admitted with a shrug.

  “Meg, you can’t be serious. You couldn’t kill your uncle.”

  “No, of course not,” she said. The words came out easily. The thought did not fade as quickly. It hadn’t been the first time killing him had crossed her mind.

  “Meg, darling, don’t be silly. You know he’ll never hurt you again, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know.” She rested her head back on his shoulder. She didn’t want to kill Bertram so that he would never hurt her again. She wanted to kill him for what he’d already done.

  “We’ll go over there and tell the police all that we know, and they will lock him up for a very long time. He’ll get what he des
erves.”

  “You’re right,” she said quietly. But she knew there was no possible way Bertram could ever get what he deserved until he was burning in hell. She hoped one way or another he’d be there soon enough.

  Meg’s eyes fell on the window upstairs where they’d seen Jonathan watching them the night before. He wasn’t there tonight. She assumed he was likely passed out on the bed. Her stomach tightened at the thought. He was certainly having trouble dealing with the memories as well.

  “I’m rather surprised not to see Jonathan there,” Charlie said quietly, as if he had been reading her mind.

  Without raising her head, Meg said, “I’m not.”

  “Why is that?”

  She took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “He was a bit… tipsy when he walked me home earlier.”

  “Tipsy?” Charlie asked, clearly surprised. “Jonathan?”

  “I’m afraid so. I think he may be trying to drown his sorrows in a different sort of ocean, one that consists mostly of Johnny Walker Red.”

  Charlie pulled back so that she was forced to remove her head from his shoulder and look at him. “Meg, what are you talking about? I’ve never known Jonathan to drink excessively. In fact, there’s been more than a few times when he’s had to pull a bottle of brandy out of my hand.”

  While that information was less than appealing, she wasn’t about to get into a discussion of why she hoped her fiancé wouldn’t drink anymore. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I only mention it because I’m worried. I’m sure you haven’t noticed anything, but Jonathan has smelled of liquor frequently of late. I realize he assumed he was off-duty this evening when you asked him to bring me home, but clearly he wasn’t himself. I’m afraid he’s not dealing with all this as well as he’s letting on.”

  Charlie slowly shook his head. “I can’t imagine. Are you certain?”

  “I’m sad to say I certainly know how to tell when someone is intoxicated—and the smell of whisky cloaked with mint will be ingrained in my brain until the day they bury me.”

  “I suppose I’ve been so preoccupied with my own problems that I hadn’t even noticed.”