Shadows of Madness

by Tracy L. Ward

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Blair asked, swallowing hard.

  Upon hearing Blair’s question, Jonas’s eyes lifted to Ainsley before bringing the end of the dropper close to Margaret’s open mouth. They were both happy to let Blair’s question hang in the air, unanswered.

  No one knew exactly how long it would be before the antidote took effect.

  If it took effect.

  Ainsley rubbed his hands over his face as Jonas pulled back the dropper and slid it back into the tiny bottle. Three drops; that was all he had given her. Any more might be fatal.

  Mrs. Crane appeared at the door with a pitcher of water and fresh towels draped over one arm. When she saw Ainsley and Jonas she let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank heavens,” she said, entering the room. “She’s been asking for ye.”

  “Has she?” Ainsley perked up at the thought of her having some sort of consciousness.

  Blair nodded and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “She’s been asking for Jonas, mostly. Or perhaps just repeating his name, I’m not sure. It’s barely audible.”

  Ainsley nodded. He knew why Margaret would call for Jonas but to Blair she could have been merely worried about his present legal troubles.

  Mrs. Crane deposited her offerings on the bureau. “I’ll make ye boys a tea,” she said.

  Finally, Jonas turned to the room, shaking his head and raising a hand in protest. “Please don’t, Mrs. Crane,” he said. “I could not stomach anything at the moment.”

  “But ye have to eat something,” she said.

  Ainsley shook his head as well. “Thank you kindly, Mrs. Crane. Jonas and I will be fine.”

  She pressed her lips together as her gaze bounced between the two of them. “All right then,” she said after a time. “If ye need anything …” She did not finish her sentence and after a moment left.

  A moment passed before Ainsley turned to Blair.

  “You should go rest as well,” Ainsley said. “You’ve already done so much.”

  Blair seemed surprised at the suggestion but after a moment’s thought he nodded. “She has both of you to watch over her now,” he said, reaching for his jacket on a hook behind the door. “Shall I check back in the morning?”

  With a quick glance to Jonas, who was still not acknowledging anyone else in the room, Ainsley nodded.

  Blair hesitated at the door, perhaps unsure if it was the right thing to do, before slipping into the hallway.

  After a time, a new wave of convulsions began just as the hectic pace of the house was settling. Margaret was throwing up clear liquid now, everything else having vacated her body hours before. Her empty stomach did nothing to end her agony, however. Her body wished to eject everything and anything that may be causing her illness.

  Ainsley looked to the vial on the bedside table. “Should we give her a drop more?” he asked.

  Jonas gave a silent nod and passed over the vial to Ainsley.

  “You should do it,” he said. “My hands are shaking too much.”

  Ainsley administered one drop before sealing off the coniine for good.

  No one said anything as Ainsley and Jonas made small bundles of ice and cloth before placing them at her underarms and neck. Jonas used the remaining ice in the washbasin. He dipped a towel, wrung it out, folded it, and placed it gently on Margaret’s sweltering forehead.

  Ainsley could not stave off remembrances of another woman he had helped through such a time. It was a suspected poisoning then, and he could not help but think the same method was at play here. In the bed, Margaret’s face morphed into Lillian’s and then back again. When she began to moan, Ainsley only heard the piano music Lillian had played for him once, which haunted him still. He had feared for Lillian then, but the terror he felt for Margaret was even more pronounced. She was and would remain the only person in his family whom he truly loved and cared for. She mustn’t die. He would do anything to avoid such an outcome.

  “Dr. Waters is revising his autopsy report,” Ainsley said without taking his eyes from his sister.

  “Peter, I don’t need you bribing everyone involved in my case.”

  “I didn’t bribe him.” Ainsley shrugged. “I asked him a few questions and he pointed out some irregularities he found. I offered some possibilities.”

  Jonas rubbed his forehead and scrunched up his face as if he were in pain.

  Ainsley hopped to the edge of his seat and looked directly at his friend. “We can prove the body was moved. Frobisher wasn’t killed in his office. That is proven by the lack of sufficient blood at the scene.”

  “It certainly didn’t look like a lack of blood,” Jonas said.

  “We are getting close, Jonas. Don’t you see? Your case will be dismissed and, if what Rebecca said is true …” Ainsley looked back to his sister. “Everything will be fine.” The final words he spoke lacked the same level of conviction evident in his previous arguments.

  Jonas would say no more. He sat there, with Margaret’s hand in his, and waited.

  An hour went by, the ice long since melted, when Margaret began to shiver uncontrollably. Jonas and Ainsley’s vigil became a race for blankets and layers, anything to help her body retain her core temperature. And so her illness continued vacillating between fever, convulsions, and chills before she fell into a deep, otherworldly sleep.

  “You should go to bed.”

  Ainsley started in his chair and caught the wall to steady himself. He had not realized he had fallen asleep. “You need sleep as well,” he said to Jonas, rubbing his eyes.

  Jonas mirrored none of Ainsley’s current state. He sat holding Margaret’s hand as if it were noon and no later. “I will be fine,” he said. “You should get some rest.”

  Unenthusiastically, Ainsley stood up from his chair, pulled his jacket from the footrail and made for the door. He paused for a moment, said an uncharacteristic prayer for Margaret’s recovery, and then went for the attic stairs.

  ***

  The servant’s quarters were just as desolate and grey as Ainsley remembered. He had never wanted Margaret to sleep there, and certainly not after he had learned about the room’s former occupant. Suicide made a young person’s death all the more tragic. It did not have to be that way. Even though Ainsley did not know the woman, much less her reasons for committing such an act, he still felt empathy for her. He felt the loss as he turned the key in the keyhole and then placed it on the windowsill.

  Barely able to keep his eyes open before he entered the room, Ainsley found himself wide awake and his senses heightened in the darkness. A noise on the other side of the wall indicated John was still at work in his laboratory, most likely chasing Ainsley’s phantom poisons.

  He sat down on the bed without bothering to remove his shoes. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the letters Rebecca had given him and laid them on the bedside table. A small paper square floated and fluttered to the floor. Ainsley bent over and picked it up. It was his ticket from the train. He turned it over in his hand and held it to the light. York to Edinburgh with the date and times of their departure and arrival noted beneath. He was about to put it with the letters when he noticed the discrepancy. The ticket should have said London to Edinburgh.

  Ainsley shook his head at the ticket office’s mistake, tossed it to the letters, and draped his jacket over a nearby chair. Moments later he dimmed his lamplight and crawled into bed.

  How he wished Margaret had left on the train as she was supposed to. Jonas had warned him and would probably blame him once he had a chance to think about it. He should have put his foot down when it came to her. Had she not been so headstrong and reckless. Had he not been so convinced of her fortitude. Had she not gone to Eloise Locke’s house in the bloody first place.

  Angry at himself for not being able to diagnose her, Ainsley slipped away into sleep. He dreamed of blue medicine bottles, bloodstained laboratories, and waking up in a pool of Frobisher’s blood.

  And then he heard the d
oor of his room open. Impossible. He glanced to the windowsill and saw the outline of the black iron key in the limited moonlight. He froze and listened as the floorboards next to his bed groaned. Then whatever it was stopped suddenly. Ainsley listened intently, holding in his own breath so as not to confuse himself. The thing in his room was breathing and was most definitely a person.

  Ainsley sprang to his feet, lunging into the darkness, assured that whoever was in his room had flesh and a heartbeat. He let out a visceral growl when his hand hit a person, most definitely a man, and then threw him into the wall behind him. He used his arm under the man’s chin to hold him in place at the collar. “Who are you and what is your business in here?”

  “Don’t hurt me, Peter,” said a scared voice.

  “John?”

  Ainsley was reluctant to release him, unsure if his mind was playing him for a fool. He still could see very little, but in the darkness he could feel the man was slightly shorter than him and far less muscular. His prey trembled under the weight of Ainsley’s arm pressed into his chest. And then he began pulling at Ainsley’s forearm, entreating him to let him go.

  Ainsley felt him double over when he went for the lamp. A few seconds later, with the lamp lit, he was finally able to see that it was indeed John, bent over and gasping for breath.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here in my sister’s room?” Ainsley charged.

  “Nothing.”

  Ainsley stepped forward, doubtful. “Have you been coming each night?”

  John’s eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. “For goodness sake, Peter!” He cringed at the thought. “I would never …” He looked nervous and Ainsley sensed there was more. John pulled at his collar with one finger. “I didn’t know anyone would be here. I’m merely looking for something.”

  “Looking for something? At two o’clock in the morning?” Ainsley glanced about the room and saw that the second door, the one which they had been told no longer had a key, was ajar. “Is this how you got in?”

  Ainsley went to it and opened it to look at John’s laboratory on the other side. The shelf he used to hide the door was askew, but other than that everything looked as it should.

  “How long have you been doing this?” Ainsley asked, trying hard to dampen his disappointment and frustration. “How long have you been coming into this room uninvited?”

  “I only came tonight because I thought Miss Margaret was in your room,” he explained. “I was coming for the lamp when you came at me.”

  Margaret told him someone had been coming into her room each night.

  “Have you come in here before?” Ainsley asked, wearily.

  “Peter!” John looked indignant. “I would never. This was my first time since your and Lady Margaret’s arrival.” He paused from breath. “I told you,” John said. “I am only looking for something.”

  “What would that be?”

  John hesitated. He pressed his lips together and looked away. “A ring. It’s a family heirloom.” He grew agitated by Ainsley’s continued questioning.

  Ainsley shook his head and gestured to the sparse furnishings. “What would make you believe it was in here?”

  “Because I gave it to Molly before she died,” he snapped. “Satisfied?” The man’s lower lip trembled slightly before he managed to turn away.

  “John, were you”—Ainsley’s throat grew dry at the thought of what he was about to say— “taking advantage of Molly?”

  “We loved each other,” John snapped. “Something you would know nothing about.”

  Ainsley recoiled, angered by John’s spiteful assumption.

  “I loved her and wanted to marry her desperately. I asked her to marry me. I gave her the ring as a promise. But, my research … you see. I needed to finish my research.”

  Ainsley swallowed and tried not to imagine the young girl, compromised and alone. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out she was with child when she died. “How long?” he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. “How long had you two been involved?”

  “I did not know what she planned to do. I did not know she intended to take her own life.” John turned from him, weeping. “I did not know …”

  “How long?”

  “As long as I’ve lived here.”

  “John—”

  “I know! It’s horrible. To keep her waiting so long. I had no choice, Peter. The college was threatening to pull funding. I had to remain focused.”

  Ainsley spied the crucifix on the wall above the bed. Molly had been Catholic. His heart sank. “Do you realize what you have done?”

  “No worse than you or Jonas!” John used his handkerchief to wipe his nose as he sniffled.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  John appeared hesitant to say more but then rolled his shoulders back in a show of defiance. “You know exactly what it means! You may be the son of a gentleman but I’ve always known you to be a rake, nothing more.”

  Ainsley laughed at the absurdity of his words.

  “You used many women for your own carnal desires—”

  “And they used me! I didn’t have to sneak into their rooms at night.”

  John took two steps to Ainsley, angered and venomous. “At least I loved her! And … and I didn’t throw her away after the first night.” What was born from frustration and rage now morphed into shock and grief. He lowered his head as the tears spilled from his eyes. “I loved her,” he mumbled through grief-stricken tears. He fumbled backward and collapsed into a simple wooden chair.

  The tragedy was not lost on Ainsley, who himself had taken up a relationship with one of his family’s hired help. At first he hadn’t given their class divide much thought until his feelings for her grew and he realized he had a bigger role to play to ensure her reputation wasn’t compromised. In the end he decided she was the one who needed to be in charge of their relationship. If she decided it needed to end then, as devastated as Ainsley would be, he knew, because of his position in society, it was what needed to happen.

  John had been Molly’s superior in class and in the running of the house. She probably felt she couldn’t refuse him, even if she wanted to.

  “It wasn’t like that,” John said suddenly, mirroring Ainsley’s concern. “I gave her the ring. That should have been enough.”

  Ainsley shook his head in disbelief. John had never been very personable. He kept mainly to himself. Ainsley couldn’t imagine John having a lengthy conversation with anyone, least of all a woman. He felt sorry for the girl and wondered if it truly was the heartfelt relationship John professed it to be.

  “Margaret has your ring,” Ainsley said, unable to look at his friend.

  “Margaret has it?”

  “She found it in the chest and wanted to return it to its rightful owner. You can retrieve it in the morning.” Ainsley placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. It had been a long day and he needed sleep desperately.

  John stopped at the door. He had a look of regret in his face. “I’m sorry for saying those heartless things about you,” he said.

  “Don’t apologize,” Ainsley said, shaking his head. “It was all true once.” Ainsley looked up and met John’s gaze. “But we all change, John. We learn and we change. Whether we realize it or not.”

  Chapter 28

  The hours passed by and thankfully Margaret slept until the promise of morning kissed the distant sky. The entire time Jonas remained vigilant at her side, startled by any slight movement or moan she made. There was nothing more he wanted than to erase her pain. He shouldn’t have let her go, but how could he stop her? Expecting such obedience was akin to caging a songbird, something he refused to ever do, least of all to Margaret.

  How he loved her. Her tenacity. Her strength. Her courage.

  Absentmindedly, he began to stroke the curve of her hand and saw how much darker his skin was compared to her pale tone. We are two very separate beings, he caught himself thinking, from two very separate world
s. He reached to her face to move her hair from her cheek. As he did so, the scar at her throat and collar was caught by the lamplight behind him. Though completely healed the jagged line was still raised and the colour dark pink.

  The image made him cringe. He blamed his lack of skill that had marred her skin permanently. It did not matter how many lives he had saved before or since. Hers was the only one that truly mattered; hers and the life she carried for both of them.

  During the hours he spent at her bedside he prepared his heart and mind for what he must do for Margaret’s sake, and now for the sake of their child. He must release her from their promise to marry. It was a solution that had occurred to him within his first hour at Calton and it had been toying with him ever since. She’d not be subjected to jealous and vindictive women like Eloise and her reputation would not be tainted by her association with him, an accused murderer. She’d have no more scars for the rest of her days. She deserved a better life than he could give.

  It was an imperfect answer to an imperfect predicament. He’d been prepared to do it even before Blair showed up at his doorstep. He reasoned that even if the charges against him proved unfounded he’d still be subject to mockery and ridicule for the rest of his days. His career would never entirely recover and he’d never be able to provide the lifestyle she had been accustomed to. Blair Thornton, on the other hand, could provide that lifestyle and more, for Margaret and their child.

  “You should marry Blair,” he found himself saying, despite a screaming frustration that burned in his gut. “As soon as you can.” If she married Blair soon, he’d have to accept the child as his. If Jonas went to the gallows both Margaret and their child would have the second chance they deserved.

  He had been so close to calling her wife, and now he was glad she had been delayed and could not join him. Oh, the misery it saved her from.

  The echoes of Rebecca’s last words to him resounded even now, as he looked over Margaret’s overpowered and injured body.