Shadows of Madness

by Tracy L. Ward

  Ainsley pulled his eyes from his wineglass and saw John looking at him from across the table.

  “You should have some, Peter,” he said softly. “Fifty-five was a very good year.”

  Before Ainsley could say anything Giles plunked the nearly full wine bottle down at the other end of the table with a pronounced thud. He didn’t sit down. Instead, he raised his glass over them all. “To Jonas,” he said, his mouth twisting in a closed-mouth smile, smug and unconvincing. “May your many friends see you through this horrible ordeal.”

  Suddenly, John stood up and raised his glass over the gathering as well. “May his troubles be but a faint memory before long.”

  “May he find peace and prosperity,” Ezra added, joining the others by standing.

  Obliged to join them, Ainsley stood, his glass lowered in front of him at first. He looked from Jonas to Margaret and then to Giles at the head of the table. “May his innocence be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt and may we all join the task of finding Professor Frobisher’s true killer.”

  Giles’s smile broadened as he bowed his head toward Ainsley, acknowledging his tribute.

  A chorus of cheers rang out, “Hear, hear!” before everyone took a drink from their glass. The liquid was soft on Ainsley’s tongue, sending a sensation of titillating memories pulsing to his brain. He allowed the wine to flow down his throat and relished the taste in his mouth that followed. It had been three weeks since his last drink and this toast only served to remind him how much he missed it.

  Ainsley’s reverie was cut short when Jonas stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back so forcefully the legs reverberated banefully on the wood floorboards. He stood for a moment, head bowed, knuckles curled into the tabletop. Ainsley wondered if he wished to say something, perhaps overcome by his friend’s tribute, but now struggled to find the words.

  The three men and Margaret waited, looking at Jonas expectantly. He snatched Ainsley’s wine glass from his hands, and downed the remaining contents before turning and marching from the room. A look of worry flashed over Margaret’s face as she looked up to Ainsley.

  “Maybe he is still tired,” John offered, slowly lowering himself into his seat.

  “That’s one way to drink.” Giles tilted his head back to down the rest of his wine in a similar fashion before pouring himself another glass. “My apologies, Miss Margaret,” he said, without bothering to look at her. “You can appreciate the trying day we have all had.”

  But Margaret couldn’t have cared less if Giles drank all the wine in the empire. Ainsley saw her staring at the door where Jonas had left, as if contemplating whether to follow him. Before she could stand, Ainsley outstretched his hand, pleading for her to stay. “I’ll see to him,” he said, rounding the table. “Just stay.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Ainsley could hear Jonas upstairs, walking the length of the hall before shutting his bedroom door harshly. Ainsley stole a look past the curtain out the foyer window and saw the crowd staring at the house. The look of them reminded Ainsley of a hive of bees, packed together and buzzing about. He heard the hum clearly, every few seconds a loud pronouncement of disgust rising above the din and followed by a thud, which was probably another rotten vegetable making contact with the door.

  At the top of the stairs, Ainsley held the bannister and peered down the hallway. A long line of doors on either side stood before him, any one of them belonging to Jonas. One by one, Ainsley knocked, before slowly opening the door. The first two he noticed were empty. At the third, Ainsley slipped open the door and peered around the opening.

  He saw Jonas at the window that overlooked the street. He stood with his shoulders slouched and his hands in his pockets. He looked over his shoulder, saw Ainsley, and then returned his attention to the outside.

  “It’s one of them,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Ainsley stepped inside the room and made sure the door was closed behind him. “One of your flatmates?”

  “Yes, I’ve run everything over in my head a million times. I don’t want to believe it but …” his voice trailed off as his thoughts ran away from him. “But there it is.” He turned, his defeated stance reminding Ainsley of how he had looked in that cell the night before.

  “Giles was in London,” Ainsley pointed out.

  Jonas nodded.

  “You feel either John or Ezra are behind this.”

  Ainsley had a hard time imagining either of them capable. Neither one was particularly strong nor vindictive. For having such high intellects, they were both fairly simple men.

  “Or they know who is,” Jonas offered, as if reading Ainsley’s thoughts. “It’s just, how can they smile and offer toasts at a time when I feel my whole life is crumbling? Everything I have worked so hard for is dissolving before my very eyes. My career is over. Any respect I had has vanished. And worst of all, Margaret hates me.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  They both turned to see Margaret at the door. She slid in through a narrow opening and pressed the door closed behind her.

  “I may not appreciate being left out of things,” she said, with a fleeting glance to her brother, “but I could never hate you.”

  The mood in the room was strained. Ainsley could see it in the expression on the faces of his sister and friend. Ainsley crossed the room to the doorway and reached for the doorknob behind Margaret. “I shall leave you so you may speak in private.”

  No one protested and Margaret took one step to the side so Ainsley could leave.

  Chapter 12

  “You do not listen, Margaret Marshall.”

  Jonas turned from her, unable to look at her face while her eyes threatened tears. Margaret worked hard to steady herself—her breathing, her movements, her heartbeat.

  “Correction,” she said forcefully, “I do not obey.”

  She saw his rueful expression reflected in the mirror above his bureau.

  “That is hardly an amiable quality to be found in a wife,” he said, keeping his distance physically and emotionally.

  “I haven’t any interest in being your wife if such requirements are placed on me,” Margaret said. She could feel panic itching at her throat. She could hardly believe what she was saying but each word, each syllable, was right to say. If Jonas had wished to marry her merely so he could control her, then she no longer wished to marry him. That was the truth of it.

  Jonas was quiet, his gaze focused on something unseen in the mirror.

  Margaret could not stand the silence between them. “I can love, trust, and take care of my husband,” she paused, “whomever that may be … but never will I obey him merely because he is the man and I am the woman.”

  “Good.” Jonas turned and looked her in the eyes. “The last few months have not changed you.” He smiled. “For the worst, at any rate. You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

  He walked toward her. With each step she wondered if she should turn away and ignore the magnetism she felt for him. She turned her face but kept her eyes on him as he came forward. “Not another step,” she said, putting her hand up between them.

  He stopped at her words.

  “Never have I had a mind to strike you as much as I do now,” she growled. She squared her shoulders to him but did not close the distance. “How dare you treat me in such a fashion?”

  “I am a fool,” he said, his shoulders sinking. “I deserve your admonishments and your scorn.”

  She waited, confused. She hadn’t expected him to be so easily won over.

  “You are the only one I wanted at that dinner table,” he said. “You and Peter. Everyone else can go to hell.”

  “Jonas—”

  “I mean it. You are my only true friends and always will be.” He hunched his shoulders to look at her in the eyes. “I should never have sent you away. I was only meaning to protect you—”

  “And then who shall protect you?”

  “I realize that now. Sitting there, listening to their toasts to me, it’s all mea
ningless. It made me realize how much you and Peter would fight for me when all everyone else does is wish me well. A token sentiment but not followed by action. You are a woman of action. I’ve always liked that about you. It’s why I love you.”

  “I was beginning to think you did not love me anymore,” she said, her voice cracking with the heartache of it all.

  “Never.” He took a half step forward, close enough to reach over to her and touch her elbow. Without thinking she laid her forearm on top of his to hold. “I could never stop loving you.”

  She looked up at him, and was glad to see the kind man, who she had already given herself to in mind and body, reflected in his eyes. With him home and out of the horrible place, he resembled the man she knew him to be, the man she loved. With her other hand she pushed away a tear from her eye and forced a smile when she realized Jonas was still looking at her. “I love you too.”

  She reached for him and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck as he scooped her up into his arms. Their kiss reflected their long separation, the two months that had passed and the apologies on both sides for the confusion and lack of communication.

  “We will help you, Jonas Davies,” she said, resting her head on his chest and shoulder. “We will do everything we can and before long you will be free once more.”

  ***

  Giles climbed up the servants’ stairs ahead of Margaret and Ainsley, gripping the railing tightly and taking each step slowly as he went. The narrow, wooden stairway, with its nonuniform succession and dry, aged wood, creaked and groaned under their weight. It seemed as if every other tread buckled slightly, sending a piteous screech into the evening air before releasing a sigh of relief once it was allowed to pop back into its place. The threesome said nothing as they ascended to the fourth floor. They all knew not a word could be heard above the raucous protest of the stairs.

  At the very top, Giles unlocked a door using a thin, black key that he left in the lock before pushing the door into the room. When Margaret was finally able to step inside the tucked-away servants’ quarters she gave an internal sigh of relief at the sight. The room was nearly three times larger than any other servants’ room she had ever seen, with two large dormer windows along the right wall. A metal bed, rusted slightly at the joints, was placed between the dormers with a tiny table, scarcely big enough to hold a lamp, next to it. On the other side of the room sat a tall bureau, its finish chipped and faded with age, and a sitting area with a floral print armchair and matching green velvet footrest. An offering of fresh linens had been piled at the end of the bed, neatly folded and waiting to be spread out.

  Other than this, nothing else filled the space, which gave the vast room an empty, heartless feeling. Giles crossed the floor, heading for a closed door opposite the one they had just entered.

  “John’s laboratory is just in here.” Giles jiggled the handle and turned to Margaret. “He uses the main stairs. Not to worry. This door never opens. There was a key once, but no one knows what became of it.”

  Margaret nodded as she circled the room, avoiding Ainsley’s gaze. He hated the thought of her being placed in such a room but she was in no mood to argue. Sleep would be her refuge after such a trying day.

  The lodgings were a far cry from the hotel they had stayed at the night before and resembled nothing of their manor house back in London. In all her twenty-five years Margaret had never stayed in such a sparse and humble place, unlike Ainsley, who had become accustomed to near-empty rooms and unadorned furnishing. As a young surgeon not yet hired at St. Thomas, Ainsley travelled a lot, accepting any spare room that was offered to him by physicians or other community members. He had told her once he enjoyed the break from the oppressiveness of their city home, though she was certain he spoke of the absence of their father and not the absence of amenities.

  “The washbasin at the bottom of the stairs, in the hall, is yours,” Giles said, crossing the room and grabbing the key out of the lock. “Three flights of stairs is too far for Mrs. Crane for just a pitcher of water,” he said apologetically.

  Margaret nodded, but could think of nothing to say in response.

  “The windows look out over the park,” he said, trying to find something chipper to report. He crossed to the windows and peered outside. “Well, partially.”

  Margaret didn’t bother to look out. Any view at this storey would be of chimney stacks and the odd treetop. When Giles turned from the window, he presented her with the key. “You can use this key to lock your door from the inside or the outside. Mrs. Crane’s room is just below us. You can see her if you need anything.”

  Margaret nodded at she took it in her fingers. “Thank you, Dr. Grant.”

  The young man grew half an inch taller as his face alighted. “Please, Lady Margaret, call me Giles.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Giles gave one last awkward nod before passing by Ainsley and slipping out the door.

  “I’ll switch rooms with you,” Ainsley said before Giles’s footsteps made it halfway down the stairwell. “I believe you’ll be more comfortable on the third floor.”

  Margaret looked to him and gave a soft smile. “Nonsense. It’s fine, Peter,” she said.

  Truth be told, the arrangement allowed her to show Jonas that she wasn’t averse to such humble living conditions. He had told her once he believed her too accustomed to privilege to be a surgeon’s wife. What better way was there to show him she was not put off by creaky floors and sparse furnishings?

  “There can’t be ballrooms and dining halls in every house in Great Britain,” she said truthfully.

  “But you are not used it—”

  “What better time is there to get used to it?” she asked, sharpness in her tone. “Really, Peter, you treat me as if I were a china doll, so fragile and only suited for adornment.” She stepped toward the window and looked out beyond the grey glass. “In the morning, you and I shall go to the Royal Infirmary to find out as much as we can about Professor Frobisher’s death.”

  “There is no need for you to accompany me.”

  Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there? I believe there is all the reason in the world.” She made sure she gave him a determined look, one in which she displayed no room to be knocked down. “After the day you and Jonas put me through, you have to make things up to me somehow.”

  ***

  An hour later, Margaret changed into the nightdress Mrs. Crane had offered her and took a seat on the edge of the bed. The shift was balloon-like and much too big for the shorter, less plump Margaret, but she couldn’t turn it away. She had so little now that her trunk had made its way back to London. It was bad enough she would be wearing the same undergarments and petticoats as the day before. At the end of the day she was just glad to be rid of the stays that often left bruises on her ribs.

  The attic room was surprisingly quiet given the house’s location on the edge of Old Town and the location of her room directly above five grown men who had yet to settle for the night as they said they would. Exhausted, Margaret slipped between the covers, adjusting the fabric of her nightdress that twisted about her legs as she moved. The metal of the bed groaned somewhat at her movement and continued to send out pangs into the night even after she settled. The mattresses, one made of horsehair and another of feathers, were uneven and hard in places. The ropes that kept them from hitting the floor were loose and in need of a good tightening.

  Margaret pushed all these things from her mind, resolved to rid herself of her spoiled upbringing.

  Before long Margaret was carried away in a restless sleep. Her body was exhausted from the events of the last two days while her mind was busy replaying them. She kept seeing Jonas locked in that frigid, dark cell, his shirt stained with blood, his spirit broken. Margaret shook her head on her pillow, trying to rid the image from her mind.

  She took a deep breath and pushed all thoughts from her mind, which only paved the way for invasive images of the train tracks moving beneath her fe
et, the ground moving farther and farther away as the train she was riding lifted into the air. Then she realized she wasn’t on a train but was actually floating. The thought sent a jolt of fear through her and felt real enough to shake her in the bed.

  Chasing sleep was hopeless. She knew she would only be jerked from one unsettling image to the next, but she could not move. She was simply too tired to pull her head from the pillow.

  Open your eyes, Margaret.

  It took a moment for Margaret to realize the voice was not her own. She felt the soft tickle of breath on her cheek as it spoke again.

  Open your eyes. Now.

  Margaret snapped her eyes open and saw a black shadow on the other side of the room. It had the outline of a person, a man tall and slender, but she could not make out any more.

  “Giles?”

  There was no answer.

  “John?”

  She could hear the faint sound of breathing but wasn’t sure it came from the corner where the figure stood.

  “Get out of here,” she heard herself saying. “Leave me!” Her voice cracked with fear. “Leave me alone!”

  She closed her eyes, unsure if she was still dreaming or if there really was someone in her room. She visualized the door only three steps from the bed, the key to open it on the small bedside table. Could she make it to the door and unlock the iron latch before whatever it was descended upon her?

  She looked back to the corner of the room. It was gone. Margaret kept her gaze on the empty space where the shadow had stood and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once again, she was alone.

  Chapter 13

  Mrs. Frobisher had every right to deny Ainsley and Margaret admittance but surprisingly, with the brother and sister standing on her front step, she nodded, and stepped aside so the pair could walk in. Ainsley nodded his gratitude and allowed Margaret to walk ahead. They were two blocks from the edge of Old Town, in a development similar to where Jonas called home and within easy travelling distance of the university.