by Emma Beaven
Rose opened one eye and peered at her sister. Maggie was staring vacantly out of the coach window, a small smile tilting the corners of her mouth. It annoyed Rose that she sat there, awake, without care, well rested. Maggie always slept well. Maggie slept while Rose’s eyes were wide open, seeking, searching carefully, lest some new horror slip from the cavernous furniture to pull gently at her nightgown before sucking her into Hell.
Rose would frequently turn to her sister and watch her, hoping to see the same fear-laden glances, the same sleepless twitches, so that they might suffer together. With Maggie asleep, she would never see if Rose was suddenly carried away into the frozen night, her screams falling on pleasantly deaf ears.
Rose shut her eyes for a minute, letting her weariness seep into her limbs. Her body relaxed from its clenched stance, and she leaned her head against the side of the carriage interior as the horses pulled it forward.
Her thoughts merged, creating new and strange shapes, winding and twirling in her dimming consciousness. Here in the carriage, the lines were clean. There were no cavernous hollows, no hiding places.
Six
Maggie poked Rose in the shoulder with her index finger. “Wake up.”
Rose twitched and shoved her sister’s hand.
“Rose, come on. The ride wasn’t that long.”
“Leave me for a bit longer.”
“And to think, you were giving me such a hard time for taking so long to leave the house.” Maggie yanked at Rose’s arm. “Ride’s over. Time to go shopping. I read in the newspaper that there are German linens on Light Street. I want to have a look.”
Rose muttered and pulled her head up sleepily. “My head hurts.”
Maggie frowned huffily. “No, no! Not now! Come on, Rose, this is our shopping day.”
Rose rubbed her head. “It’s not my fault.”
Maggie tightened her hold on Rose’s arm and dragged her out of the carriage toward a tavern. “What if we have a snack? Might you feel better then?’
“They won’t have anything to eat yet.”
“Not true,” Maggie said excitedly. “We can get a bite and something quick to drink. Maybe some fruit? Why didn’t you eat before we left the house?”
Rose shook off Maggie’s hand. Even from here, the smell of the harbor, with its thick marinade of dying fish and drying oysters, permeated the air. Oftentimes, when she and Maggie returned home from the city, she could smell it clinging to her dress and petticoat, carrying the memory of the lapping water tossing the boats gently against the docks. They never walked too close to the docks in order to avoid the more unsavory characters, but they did walk down to the market, which was full of fresh fish and hot sandwiches. Maggie bought them each a sandwich, which they devoured as quickly as possible.
“Let’s go to the cobbler first,” Rose said and began walking south to the water. “I ruined my shoes when we were outside in the rain. I’ll need new ones.”
“I thought you were more concerned about your dress.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about what I need,” Rose said with a wince. A throbbing in the left side of her head warned of pain soon to come. She pushed her fingers under her bonnet and felt the pulsing deep within her skull. “I’m ready now.”
Maggie glared at Rose but began walking. She cut sharply in front of her sister, her heels clacking on the cobblestones, sending spikes of pain through Rose’s temples. The sounds of horses and carts, as well as the buzz of conversation, floated along the air as they walked, further worsening the ache.
It was nearly midmorning, and people were everywhere, laborers lugging furniture and food, ladies and gentlemen strolling or shopping, children racing to and fro about the road and through the tiny parks wedged between tightly packed homes.
Rose opened her fan and swished it back and forth as they approached Gay Street. She slowed briefly to examine a stand full of painted furniture and various other odds and ends. She ran her fingers over a settee shoved close to the entrance of the shop, lingering briefly over the elegant upholstering.
“I can do a very professional paint job too, custom order.”
Rose turned to face the small elderly man who had emerged from the shop. Specks of multicolored paint clung to his shirt and vest, and the heavy smell of alcohol floated about him like a cloud. Nausea rose to the top of her throat as the pulse in her head beat harder.
She raised a hand, shooing him slightly as she clutched at Maggie. “I don’t need anything.”
The old man frowned and backed into the shadows of his shop, vanishing as if he’d never been there. Rose clutched her head, kneading it with her fingers. The smell still circled her, infecting her. “I feel sick.”
Maggie’s hand tightened on her own. “I thought it was of utmost importance that we shop.”
Rose’s head hurt too much to be angry at Maggie’s tone, at her irritated gaze and the way she squeezed far too hard. “Let me sit down a moment.”
“There’s nowhere to sit. I’ll get you some brandy. That’ll help.”
“It won’t help.” The muslin was too cool suddenly. She shivered in the heat, wishing she were safe at home. She could rest there. Lie down on the bed or on the couch. She could sleep.
“Well, what do you want me to do?” Maggie asked, exasperated.
“Let’s go on,” Rose said softly. She willed her feet to move forward, but the throbbing, clawed beast that pounded inside her skull was in control. Shakily, she shuffled forward, the light brutally piercing her eyes, making her squint.
“You look like you belong in an asylum,” Maggie hissed. “Now I suppose we’ll have to go home.”
Rose latched onto her sister’s arm. “Come on,” she whispered loudly. When she got no response, she pushed Maggie with the little strength she had left. “I said come on!”
“Fine,” Maggie said loudly, stepping quickly forward and nearly causing Rose to tip over.
“Hey!”
“Pride is a sin. Why don’t you just admit you need to go home?”
“I will have my dress no matter the pain,” Rose said weakly, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing. “I can skip the cobbler but not the dressmaker.”
They continued on to the Centre Street market, Rose hobbling slightly behind Maggie. The streets were noisy as ever, despite leaving the harbor behind them. Shops, taverns, and grocers seemed to line nearly every path, with random men and women hawking everything from rum to fine jewelry. All of it threatened to overwhelm her, the noise and bustle nauseating.
When they reached the market, she released Maggie’s arm and rushed to her favorite shop. It was located in the northeast corner of the market, an elegantly lettered sign read “Gordon’s Finery: European Fashions and Custom Alterations.” Rose had been dreaming about it in her short fits of sleep in the carriage. Colors and fabrics, furs and feathers had danced through her mind, morphing into stylish dresses and embroidered stockings.
She passed through the open door, and a wind chime above her tinkled briefly in the slight stir of heavy air. Inside the shop, the air was even thicker, its dark blue walls seeming to pulsate with the heat. Clothing was displayed on cloth and metal figures as well as hung along the walls. In the alcove in the front hung coats lined with fur, making the humidity somehow feel even worse. Fabric of every color lay atop desks and sideboards sporting open drawers filled with flowers and pearls and other decorations.
Rose breathed in and out slowly, her desire nearly overcoming the raw pain in her skull. A large man with long dark hair tied neatly in a velvet bow rose from a chair in the back corner. His maroon jacket was embroidered with thick clusters of deep blue and pale yellow flowers. He smiled thinly and, in two steps, stood by Rose’s elbow.
“Hello, Mr. Gordon,” Rose said haltingly as he took her gloved hand.
“Miss Shedd, how lovely to see you on this nasty day,” Mr. Gordon said sweetly, his eyes roaming over Rose and Maggie like a fox at the sight of rabbits. “And Miss Margaret. A ple
asure.”
Maggie allowed him to take her hand with barely concealed disdain. “Mr. Gordon, could you spare a bit of water for my sister?” She plucked her hand from his just as he raised it to his face.
“But of course. Is the heat getting to you, Miss Shedd? It’s really such a dreadfully hot day.”
Rose smiled slightly. “It’s only a headache.”
Maggie smiled and clicked her heels loudly, making Rose wince. “I think I’ll have a look around, Mr. Gordon.”
Mr. Gordon was already rushing to the back but turned swiftly to eye Maggie. “Good, good,” he said, his voice still dripping sticky honey. “I have some very nice new things in. Very stylish. My friend Mr. Hudson has just been to England.”
“England?” Rose asked. “I’m quite surprised at you, Mr. Gordon. I hope you don’t advertise as such.”
Mr. Gordon laughed humorlessly. “But of course not, my dear, but I know you’ll keep my secret.” He sucked on his teeth, his lips wrinkling tightly but his smile holding. “You would be surprised to know that many of my customers can’t tell the difference between the French and English fashions.”
Mr. Gordon whirled back around abruptly and headed to the back room. “I had better get your water, my dear. I wouldn’t want you to faint.”
Once he was out of sight, Maggie pinched Rose. “Your friend is suspect.”
“Don’t pinch me,” Rose said, wincing. “Please. I can barely hold up here.”
Maggie laughed quietly. “Either way, his merchandise is quite beautiful.”
Mr. Gordon stepped back in with a glass of water and motioned to Rose. “Here you are, Miss Shedd. I do hope you’re all right. Would you like to sit down?”
Rose peered at the cluttered settee to which Mr. Gordon indicated. She started to shake her head but instantly winced. A tight grin crossed her face as she met Mr. Gordon’s eyes. “No, thank you. I think I’ll shop now and hurry home to lie down.”
“Do you see anything you want? I’ll bring it to you,” Maggie said. Yanking up the bottom of her skirt, she headed over to the dresses that hung from the wall.
“The blue jacket,” Rose whispered, pointing to a mannequin in the back. “The jacket and whatever’s beneath.”
“That would be a gilet, miss,” Mr. Gordon said, pushing his way neatly in front of Maggie to begin unfastening the ensemble from the figure. After a minute, he gently laid the garment over his arms and whisked it over to Rose.
Rose, her head pounding, plucked the material with two trembling fingers. “It’s… it’s….” Is it the same dress? It was so difficult to think with her headache. Maybe it wasn’t as she remembered.
“Lord in Heaven, Rose, let’s go,” Maggie said. “You can’t even talk. Besides, it’s too hot for a jacket.”
Ignoring Maggie and trying to push past the waves of pain pounding against her skull, Rose continued to peruse the jacket and its matching gilet. She pulled the jacket slightly apart and fingered the lace closure in the back. “And… and… do… do you just wear it over a petticoat?’
“Indeed, Miss Shedd. I’ve been told it is quite fashionable. Do you like it?”
“Y-Yes. I would like it.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Gordon exclaimed. “Will you allow me to gather your measurements from the back? It should need just a bit of alteration.”
“I’ll do it… at home.” Rose fell into a chair coated in lace and feathers. “Let me sit.”
“Of course, Miss Shedd. Now, Miss Margaret, might I assist you in any way?” Mr. Gordon smiled and flung his lace-encased hand toward the wall. “I have a lovely pink jacket, a different style from the blue with a matching bonnet. I know it’s a bit warm, but perhaps you would like something like that? I can have it made for you in a week.”
Seven
The heat oozed over Rose, carrying with it the heavy smells that seemed to penetrate her head. It lay like a massive, sharply edged rock that rolled back and forth, carried by the pulse of her blood. The carriage was in front of the store now, awaiting her. Normally she and Maggie enjoyed walking a bit about the city, but today, Maggie had insisted Mr. Gordon send a servant to go and fetch the carriage.
Rose hobbled slowly, her fingers curled like claws on Maggie’s arm. Her heels scuffed the walk far too loudly, but she dared not lift her feet higher lest it jostled her body more than the slow shuffling movement already did.
Mr. Gordon leaned against the doorway, one pale hand slowly caressing its white-painted frame. His smile looked even sicklier as he watched her slow progression.
“Come on, Rose. You’re almost there.” Maggie tried to move a little faster, but Rose sank her nails into her sister’s arm and hissed. Maggie slowed instantly, her expression sulky. Finally Rose made it to the door, instantly relinquishing Maggie’s arm for the steadier frame. Maggie held Rose’s skirt as she pulled herself heavily onto the bench inside the carriage. It was already laden with parcels from the shop, which she shoved out of her way without a thought.
She was almost home. So close.
“Good day, ladies,” Mr. Gordon called. “I hope to see you again soon.”
Maggie gave a quick, irritated wave and sat down opposite Rose.
Rose flinched as she listened to the wheels, their crunching sounding as if they were snapping bones and grinding them into the earth. She could imagine her head in the path of the carriage, her skull popping and shattering, finally obliterating the throbbing, pulsing thing that plagued her.
“I think the skirt of that dress you got might be a bit big,” Maggie said.
Rose shut her eyes, deciding against responding. It was enough trying to keep her body perfectly still without parrying insults with her sister. She could feel Maggie’s eyes on her as she scrunched up her eyelids. A faint tapping sounded from the other side of the seat, and Rose knew it was Maggie’s nails deliberately scraping the window. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her hands clenched into fists.
After a few minutes, Maggie laid a hand on Rose’s forehead. It was cool against her skin. “Is it that bad?”
“You know it is,” Rose responded after a pause, her voice barely audible over the sound of the carriage.
“I guess we shouldn’t have gone today. You always get like this when you don’t sleep.”
“What would you know about how I sleep?” She shoved her hands over her ears and leaned back farther in her seat.
Maggie pulled back. “Fine, let’s pretend, shall we? I know. We’re on a beautiful porch, seated on cushions facing the sea, the wind lapping at our hair.”
They sat in silence for the rest of the ride, Rose clutching her head and Maggie turned pointedly away from her. The sound as they pulled up the drive ricocheted through Rose, a last stab at her battered body before she could drift into the silence of the house. She waited for Maggie to move past her with the parcels before attempting to get out.
“You’re almost there,” Maggie whispered as Rose descended and shuffled across the walk.
Rose quickened her pace in the unrelenting heat of the sun, her entire frame relaxing as she stepped through the front door. Maggie held her arm again and escorted her to the parlor. Rose sank into a chair across from the cold fireplace, and Maggie placed herself opposite.
“It’s time for tea, but maybe you should just lie down instead.”
“Maybe. Easier not to get up now.” Rose raised her head involuntarily as Rachel placed the tea setting on the small table between the sisters. She shut her eyes again and waited for the tea to be poured. The room was a bit cooler and not terribly bright in the afternoon so that, despite the formal chairs, she was able to relax slightly.
The clock chimed once, jarring them both.
“Maybe you should change,” Maggie suggested. “You must be awfully hot.”
“I’m cold now,” Rose whispered.
Maggie sighed as Rachel poured the steaming liquid into the cups. “It’s really much too hot for tea.”
The two sat in si
lence, delicately sipping while the faint sound of the clock mechanism shuddered in the stillness.
“I think you should lie down. In bed.”
Rose Struggled out of the chair. “You know, I think I will. Will you come up and open the window for me?”
Maggie smiled slightly. “Of course. Shall we go?”
Hobbling toward the entrance hallway leading to the stairs, she could feel the throbbing tearing at her as she moved, her body flinching with every step. She didn’t want to sleep despite her exhaustion, but she had little choice. Her room lay waiting, the bed neatly made and the wardrobe door carefully flush with the frame.
“Do you want to sit with me?” Rose whispered to her sister, desperately hoping she would agree.
Maggie patted the bed. “No, not right now. I think I’ll work on the dress. After all, I’ll need to adjust it.”
Rose could hear the carelessness in her voice, the ease with which she brushed Rose off. She stretched her body, trying to relax against the heavy stone in the side of her head. The pulsing continued as she adjusted her head and straightened her body.
Sunlight poured in through the lace curtains, its brilliance relentless. The thick and stagnant air offered no relief to the suffering. She imagined that it must be cool and airy in the garden and even more so in the woods beyond. Rose let her mind wander, imagining flying through the trees and across brooks with tiny waterfalls, far away from the house.
Soon sleep drifted over her, softly rocking away the wretched pain in her head. Soft feathers swished gently against her sleepy consciousness. She let her body relax just slightly.
The door creaked.
Rose yanked her head from the pillow, ignoring the brutal snap of pain that followed. Her blood pulsed heavily in her ears as she looked to the bedroom door. It was open just as her sister had left it. But she knew the creak hadn’t come from that door.
