I will not die. It was all Makepeace could think, and she thought it over and over. I will not die. Not yet. I have not had my chance. I have not been all that I can be, or done all that I can do. Not yet. Not yet.
At one point she became aware of the doctor’s voice in her head, quietly and calmly insistent, as if talking to a small child.
That was a knock at the door, child. They have probably left food outside. You must get up now and go to the door. We need food, do we not?
And she rose, oh so groggily, and staggered to the door, her head pounding. There was a bowl of soup outside. Makepeace tried to stoop for it, but her knees gave way, and she sat down awkwardly. With great effort she dragged it into the room along the floor, then closed the door.
Eating was a marathon task. Her head was so heavy that she had to rest it against the wall, and kept nearly falling asleep.
Another spoonful, the doctor urged. Another. Come on, now. Here . . . let me use your hand. So Makepeace let him take control of her right hand, and guide a spoonful of soup to her mouth, then another, then another. She felt like a very young child, and for some reason this made her want to cry.
That is better, the doctor said. Now you need to take your medicine. Under his guidance, Makepeace crawled to his medical bag, and pulled out a little green glass bottle. Just a little sip for now. More later.
The medicine made her mouth stickier, and the reeling of the room grew worse. Bear didn’t like the smell.
‘I can’t stay here,’ Makepeace whispered, as her blood galloped in her ears and temples.
You have no choice, said the doctor. Rest is your only possible cure. You must sleep or you will die.
Makepeace was not willing to die.
Her sense of time melted. There was another knock on the door, and she did not know why, because she had already eaten the soup. But this was new soup, the doctor told her. She had to open the door and eat the new soup. Why had they come with more? The doctor told her it was suppertime. Hours had passed. She ate the new soup. A little later, she had to move again to use the chamber pot. Shifting herself around the room was like dragging a hill.
The grooves of the floor pressed against her face. Why had she chosen to sleep like that? Knock, knock. New soup. The doctor was getting better at manoeuvring her hand and the soup spoon now. Even though she knew who was moving it and why, it was uncanny to watch her own limb moving like that.
‘Why are you not dizzy too, Doctor?’ she croaked.
I am, a little, he answered, but you are tied to the body more strongly than I am. Its ills affect you more powerfully. Your strength is your weakness. My weakness is my strength.
The doctor was talking about medicine again. Yes, it was medicine time. Drag, drag, dragging herself to his bag, sipping from the bottle.
She had fever-dreams. She could swear that there were others in the room, talking in hushed voices. But when she blinked her tired eyes and peered around her, she was alone.
Seconds stretched out like sleeping lions. Hours passed in a blink. The sky beyond the window was grey. Then it ached with sun. Then it was bruise-coloured and the light was fading. Then it was a pit of deep and blessed darkness. Then the whole cycle began again.
This made Makepeace anxious, but she could not remember why. There was something she needed to remember, and somewhere she needed to be, but they were lost in the fever fog of her brain.
Murmur, murmur, murmur. It was happening again. Imaginary voices holding a conversation above Makepeace’s head. But this time they were not imaginary. Makepeace opened her eyes a little. The door was slightly ajar, and through the aperture she could see the face of her host and that of a thin woman, who Makepeace assumed was his wife.
‘We can’t keep hiding her and feeding her forever!’ whispered the woman, glancing at Makepeace with a mixture of pity and exasperation.
‘That red-haired lady paid us the first good coin we’ve seen in a month, and she asked us to tell nobody about the young lady until she is well again.’ The landlord’s words were staunch enough, but he wore a small, uncertain frown.
‘But what if this fellow asking after her really is her friend, as he says he is? Let him take her! If anyone finds out we haven’t reported a case of camp fever—’
‘I tell you, it’s no such thing! Look at her – no chills or rash.’
‘The rash comes later, and you know it!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘She’s barely been abed three days!’
‘And she’s been in town only four,’ her husband answered sharply. ‘Did you ever see camp fever take hold that fast?’
‘Perhaps she brought it with her!’ The wife sighed. ‘You should not have turned the gentleman away. We must send someone after him, and tell him the truth.’ The older woman stared down at Makepeace for a moment, her face tired, troubled and not unkind.
The door closed.
With a titanic effort, Makepeace managed to pull herself up to a sitting position, her back against the wall. Desperately she scrabbled for her slippery thoughts.
Three days. She had been sick for three days. That . . . was bad; she remembered that now. She was not supposed to be here still. There was danger. She had been noticed at court. If the Fellmottes came asking after her, somebody would remember seeing her with Helen. Somebody would remember where Helen had lodged.
A man had been asking after her. Perhaps the Fellmottes had already found her.
Steady, murmured the doctor.
‘I . . .’ She swallowed. ‘We . . . We need to go. Now.’
You know you cannot. You have no strength.
‘I must!’ Makepeace’s voice sounded croaky and husky, but talking made her feel more solid, more alive. ‘I need to go before that man comes back . . . the Fellmottes . . .’
Calm yourself, said the doctor, and think. Our hosts will not send for him now. It is getting dark. If you sleep now, the fever may break, and then we can . . .
Makepeace tried to stand, and fell to her knees again.
Listen to me! Listen! The doctor sounded frustrated and regretful. I understand your panic, but I am telling you as a doctor that you cannot – must not – exert yourself in your current state! You need to respect your limits. You do not know what is happening to your body right now, but I do.
‘Sorry, Dr Quick,’ whispered Makepeace. She crawled on hands and knees over to her cloak, and dragged it awkwardly around her shoulders.
Well . . . at least take some of the medicine first, to defend yourself from the night humours.
‘No. I . . . I always sleep after the medicine.’ Her feet were like lumps of lead, but she pulled her shoes on to them anyway.
For God’s sake, you can’t even stand!
Makepeace took deep breaths, grabbing hold of the bed’s footboard to steady herself, then hauled herself up . . .
. . . and stood.
Unsteadily she scooped up her bundle of belongings and the doctor’s bag, and took step after wobbly step towards the door. She had to concentrate on placing each foot, but she reached the door, opened it, and stepped out on to the darkened landing.
Stop this madness! hissed the doctor. Stop it! He abruptly took control of her hand and tightened it around the door jamb to stop her continuing.
Angrily she wrested control back again. But now she was aware of a dangerous rustle of whispers at the back of her head. This time she was sure she was not imagining it.
Do whatever you must, the doctor said, and this time Makepeace knew he was not talking to her.
As Makepeace started to descend the stairs, she suddenly felt her left foot rebel against her. It twisted under her, obeying a will that was not her own, and she fell. The edges of the steps bit into her legs and side as she bumped and slid down the full length of the stairs, with a deafening rumble.
There were confused voices from the floors above and below. Bare footsteps approached. Figures appeared in nightclothes, tapers in hand.
She struggled to her feet, assisted by a
couple of helping hands.
‘Thank you . . . I . . . I need to leave . . .’ Makepeace’s voice sounded husky and thick.
‘At this time of night?’
Makepeace could make out hints of suspicion in the blurry faces around her.
‘Miss, are you well?’
She blundered past the hovering figures, and opened the front door. The cold of the night air made her gasp.
‘Why, there she is!’ came a call from the street. Too late, Makepeace noticed the whitebaker’s wife, hurrying back towards the house. There was another figure at her side, a male figure.
A great wave of panic rose up inside Makepeace. She knew that silhouette. She knew it as well as her own name, and her childhood nursery rhymes. He stepped forward into the light, smiling up at her with his arctic eyes.
It was James.
CHAPTER 25
For a moment Makepeace stared in horror, then her survival instincts took over. She threw herself sideways, hoping to dodge past James, but he moved with lightning speed to seize her shoulders and pull her back.
Uncanny speed. Elder speed.
‘There, now, Maud – what’s wrong?’ He was smiling again, with a smile that looked terribly wrong on his ugly-handsome face. ‘Don’t you recognize me?’
‘Let me go!’ In desperation she turned to the whitebaker’s wife. ‘He’s not my friend!’
‘You seemed to know him for a moment.’ The other woman frowned in confusion.
‘She did.’ James forcibly wound one of Makepeace’s arms through his, pinning it against his ribs. ‘Maud, it’s me – James! Your own brother!’
‘Oh . . . now I think I can see the likeness.’ The baker’s brow cleared, and Makepeace could see the other faces showing signs of comprehension and relief.
‘He’s not my brother!’ Makepeace tried to pull her arm free, then struck out at James’s face with her free hand. ‘For God’s sake, listen!’
Voices were raised in concern. Restraining hands settled on Makepeace’s arms and shoulders. Calming things were murmured to her. She was dragged into the parlour, and pushed down into a chair.
‘There, now, flower.’ The baker’s wife still looked a little uneasy. ‘Your brother has ordered a chair to carry you to his lodgings – you can stay here in the warm until it gets here.’ She glanced at James. ‘Do not take her words in ill part, sir,’ she added in a whisper. ‘It is just the fever talking. She will know you very well soon enough, I am sure.’
‘Oh, she will,’ said James. There was only one candle in the room, flickering on a little table by Makepeace’s chair, and by its light his features seemed to quiver and dance.
‘Listen! Listen to me!’ Makepeace was still groggy, but she managed to pull herself up to a sitting position in her chair. ‘He is not my brother. Look into his eyes. Look at him! He’s a devil. Don’t leave me alone with him!’
The baker’s wife’s eyes flitted to James’s face and rested there for a moment. Then her gaze dropped again, and she hurried from the room. Makepeace suddenly realized that even if she succeeded in convincing her landlady, it would achieve nothing. The strange man might be a devil, but he was taking a troublesome invalid out of the house.
The door clicked shut behind her. Brother and sister stared at one another.
‘James,’ said Makepeace, as quietly and steadily as she could. ‘We promised we would never abandon each other, do you remember?’
‘He did not abandon you,’ said the Elder. ‘He simply remembered his duty to the family at the last.’
‘Did he? How many of you had to hold him down to help him “remember his duty”?’
‘Is that what you imagined?’ Again, a small rictus tremor of amusement. ‘You thought that the boy tried to fight us? No. He submitted himself willingly. Despite all his flaws and follies, he redeemed himself at the end.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ whispered Makepeace.
‘You should,’ said the Elder. ‘I know him better than you do now.’
Makepeace remembered the bean in the Twelfth Night cake, and the way James had thrown aside their plans to become Lord of Misrule. The allure of lordship, power and a title had called to James in a way that it never had to her. She could even imagine him convincing himself that he was strong enough to hold his own against a gaggle of ghostly guests.
‘James, you idiot,’ she whispered.
‘You, on the other hand, abandoned your duty,’ continued the Elder. ‘Never mind your brother – what about us? What about your duty to us? And who helped you escape? Who placed that beast in you? Who gave you that rope?’
That was what was bothering the Elder most, Makepeace realized. Even now, the ghosts could still not believe that she might have managed her escape alone. She might have found it funny, if she had not been so angry.
‘Oh, to Hell with all of you!’ shouted Makepeace, reckless with rage. ‘Are you still planning to take me back and fill me with Lord Fellmotte’s ghosts? Are you all blind or stupid? I’m rotting with the camp fever. So go ahead, pour them in! We can all watch our skin blister and our brain melt together, till we’re ready for a winding sheet!’
A moment later, Makepeace’s throat contracted and trembled as another mind took control of it. With a horrible queasiness, she felt her own tongue squirm in her mouth without her permission.
‘The girl is mistaken.’ The voice came from her own throat, but it was not her own, and it rasped against her throat. ‘She is not infected.’
‘Ah,’ said James, with every sign of satisfaction. ‘There you are, my lady.’
Makepeace gagged, trying to regain control of her throat, and feeling panicky and breathless. Who was talking through her? Its voice was cold and controlled. It did not sound like Mother. Nor did it slur or rave, like the attacking Mother-ghost of Makepeace’s nightmare.
‘She is only drugged with opiates,’ continued the voice. ‘The beast is weakened by the drug as well – its spirit is so tangled with that of the girl. There is another spirit too, a doctor of middling merit whose drugs we have used.’
Traitor! thought Makepeace as she understood at last. She had never been ill. She had been tricked into drugging herself into semi-consciousness. Dr Quick, you liar! I should have let your sick old spirit soak into your deathbed like spittle. She could feel his sallow ghost weighing down her arms, ready to stop her if she tried to struggle or run. You snake, she thought. You idiot!
‘Hold her still, then,’ said the Elder. He opened Dr Quick’s bag, and drew out the little bottle of ‘medicine’. He pulled its cork and sniffed at it carefully. ‘This time we will take no chances.’
Bear! Makepeace called in her own head. Bear! But Bear was cloudy and confused. He was angry and could hear her, but he did not know where to swing his paws.
She tried to struggle as James came over and took hold of her chin, but the drugs and ghosts in her system weighed her down to the chair. She could feel the subtle malice of the doctor and the unknown other as they exerted all their willpower to stop her moving. The bottle was held to her lips, and a large dose poured into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but she could feel her mouth and throat convulsing against her will, in an attempt to make her swallow.
‘Good,’ said James, his voice cold and distant. ‘Once she is unconscious, my lady, begin scouring her out. We will need those other spirits removed if there is to be room for Lord Fellmotte’s coterie.’
What? Dr Quick was shouting inside Makepeace’s head. That is not what we agreed, my lady! You promised that the Fellmottes would give me a place among them! Tell him! Tell him! Makepeace’s limbs suddenly felt slightly less leaden. The flustered doctor was no longer helping to pin her down.
With all the force she could muster, she kicked away the little table, toppling the candlestick.
She only meant to plunge the room into darkness, but the candle tipped back and fell against James’s cloak. The flame caught a tasselled fringe, and hungry tongues of gold licked up the clo
th. James yelled a curse from another century, and tried to tug loose the cloak’s fastening at his throat. At the same time, Makepeace hurled herself out of the chair, and scrambled towards the door on hands and knees, spitting out the drug as she went.
The unknown Other was trying to claw at her mind, commandeer her limbs and sabotage her motions. However, now it had to contend with the doctor. Makepeace could sense the two of them wrestling with silent fury, as she grabbed her possessions and scrambled into the hall.
She dragged back the bolts of the front door, opened it and flung herself out on to the street. Behind her in the house she heard a cry of pain, and more swearing. Elders were ancient and terrible, but apparently still flammable.
Makepeace ran. The cold air stung some clarity into her groggy brain. Bear was with her now, staggering, grumbling but aware that she needed his strength. Her steps rang out on the cobbles, and soon another set of steps were echoing behind her, faster than hers and more deft.
She turned a corner, and found herself in an unexpected pool of light.
‘Stop!’ Half a dozen armed, scruffily dressed men stood in her way, each wearing a dingy sash, their leader holding a lantern aloft. It was a patrol of some sort. She made to duck round them, but one of them grabbed her by the arm. ‘What’s the hurry, mistress?’
Makepeace looked back, and saw James sprint forward into the candlelight, eyes alight with rage. He would sell them a story and talk them round in moments. Or he would if she gave him the chance.
‘You said you would hide me!’ she screamed at James, to his obvious astonishment. ‘You said it was safe to go out on the streets! But now they’ve caught us! I don’t want to go to the quarantine cabins!’
During the shocked silence that followed, Makepeace could see the patrol guards noticing her greasy pallor and shivers for the first time. The man who had grabbed her arm hastily released it, and the group moved to surround her, maintaining a slight distance.
‘You have the fever?’ the lantern-holder demanded.
‘It’s not my fault!’ wailed Makepeace, and had no difficulty in letting tears come to her eyes. ‘I don’t want to die!’
A Skinful of Shadows Page 21
