Throw His Heart Over

by Sebastian Nothwell

  Lindsey well recalled that prior meeting between his Aubrey and the good doctor. He’d first consulted Dr Pilkington on Graves’s recommendation, when Aubrey, returning home from Withington Hospital, had suffered morphine withdrawals on top of the injuries he’d incurred in the boiler explosion at Rook Mill.

  “Do not allow him to stay abed,” Dr Pilkington continued, drawing Lindsey out of his troubling reminiscences. “Ensure he does his breathing exercises and remains otherwise active.”

  “Should he get back on the horse, as well?” Lindsey asked in disbelief.

  Dr Pilkington chuckled. “Not quite yet. Though some light perambulation around the house and grounds would do him good. You needn’t worry about him unless that cough of his grows worse, or unless it starts bringing up mucus. Should either occur, send for me without delay.”

  They’d reached the front courtyard by then, so Lindsey could do little more than promise to follow doctor’s orders and let him return to London. He watched the family carriage rattle away down the drive towards the village and the train station, then returned to the house and took the stairs two at a time back to his bedroom.

  All the while, he tried to reconcile Dr Pilkington’s advice with his own instincts. He knew Dr Pilkington as an able and trustworthy surgeon, whose advice and expertise had already saved Aubrey’s life once before. Still, Lindsey couldn’t quite silence the little nagging voice in the back of his mind which fretted for Aubrey’s sake. This little nagging voice only grew louder once he opened the bedroom door.

  The bed was empty.

  Lindsey stared at the spot where he’d left his Aubrey not a quarter-hour ago. The bed wasn’t just empty—it was made-up, as if whoever had left it had no intention of returning anytime soon, or indeed, had never been there. Aubrey’s pyjamas were folded neatly at the foot of the bed, ready for the maid to collect for laundry. Aubrey himself, however, had totally vanished.

  A glance into the bathroom did not reveal Aubrey. Nor did the journey into the hall, or down the grand staircase in the foyer. In the breakfast-room, Lindsey found not Aubrey, but Charles, who informed him Aubrey had gone down to the ballroom with Halloway.

  Lindsey did not run to the ballroom, though it took great presence of mind to keep from doing so. He paused before the double doors to gather himself. From within, he heard muted conversation, a few notes of Halloway’s laughter, and a cough from Aubrey. Lindsey flexed his hands to steady himself, then pushed open the door.

  Halloway stood in front of his easel, arranging the tools of his trade, stripped down to his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Aubrey stood beside him, clad in his dressing gown and slippers, his everyday suit folded up and set aside near the pile of pillows, crates, and tarps.

  “Aubrey!” said Lindsey, cutting off whatever conversation passed between them. He just barely stopped himself from adding, Shouldn’t you be in bed?

  Aubrey had already turned to regard him upon his entrance and appeared no less puzzled now. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing here?” Lindsey asked.

  This question did nothing to clear up the bewildered expression on Aubrey’s face. “Modelling for Halloway.”

  Lindsey cast about for the most diplomatic phrasing possible. “Are you certain that’s a wise course of action, given your injuries?”

  “Dr Pilkington warned against bed rest,” Aubrey reminded him. “And this will hardly tax me.”

  Lindsey, helpless, turned to Halloway for reinforcement.

  Halloway coughed. “Forgive me for being indelicate, but given how Warren’s wounds were sustained in a fall… They could add great verisimilitude to my work.”

  Lindsey stared at Halloway.

  “In that case,” Aubrey piped up, “I ought to return to modelling without delay. Otherwise the bruising won’t be fresh and the colours will turn.”

  Lindsey stared at Aubrey.

  “Fresh bruises would be ideal,” Halloway agreed.

  Lindsey gave up staring at both of them, instead casting his gaze upon the painting-in-progress. Even in his distracted state, he had to concede the work had compelling properties. The pose of Icarus showed off Aubrey’s body to great advantage and made his natural beauty impossible to ignore.

  Meanwhile, the voice of the flesh-and-blood Aubrey broke into Lindsey’s considerations. “Did you want to stay and supervise the proceedings?”

  Since the beginning of the artistic process, Lindsey had felt intense curiosity and intrigue regarding the painting. He’d held back out of respect for Aubrey’s sensibilities and for Halloway’s work. Now, invited to act the part of the voyeur, he found the suggestion allayed many of his concerns. He needn’t spend the day fretting in ignorance; if anything dreadful should befall Aubrey in the course of modelling, he’d be first to know of it, and better still, be perfectly positioned to render aid.

  “I’d very much like to,” Lindsey admitted. He cast a glance at Halloway. “That is, if you don’t object…?”

  Halloway shrugged. “Not in the least. Shall we?”

  An extra chair was brought in from the dining room, along with the laudanum bottle from the bedroom, at Lindsey’s request. The ballroom doors shut tight against prying eyes from within. Halloway added fresh paint to his palette. All was readiness.

  Aubrey stepped out of his slippers and made as if to resume his pose—then paused, with a glance at Lindsey. Their eyes locked for an instant.

  Lindsey smiled at him, a simple, supportive gesture.

  Aubrey returned it in his usual way—a shy flicker, hardly more than a twitch of his lips, yet providing such warmth in its brief flash as to melt the heart of any man who saw it.

  Then he let the silk robe slip off his shoulders in a singular shrug—and handed the article over to Lindsey in a manner as shy as his previous gesture had been bold.

  Lindsey took it, letting his hand clasp Aubrey’s within the robe’s folds as he did so, a quick squeeze of assurance.

  Aubrey bit back a second smile as, together, they approached the makeshift background. Coming up to it, Lindsey perceived the charcoal outline of a body laid out over the draped canvas tarps. Aubrey started to settle in to the position indicated by the markings—then stopped with an abrupt wince. Lindsey offered his arm, and Aubrey took it with evident gratitude. With Lindsey’s help, he lowered himself down into place.

  Halloway, from his post by his easel, called out for a few minor adjustments of Aubrey’s position. Then he declared himself ready to begin, and Lindsey, with some reluctance, had only to “step out of frame,” as it were.

  Lindsey returned to his chair beside Halloway’s easel and settled in to watch the proceedings.

  He had seen Aubrey nude before, of course—many times over. But never quite from this perspective. When Aubrey disrobed behind their bedroom door, for example, he was always within Lindsey’s reach, and often helping to undress Lindsey in turn. Lindsey could run an idle hand over the wiry muscles of his arms—astonishing to see when Aubrey removed his shirt and revealed how the narrow frame beneath his suit held unforeseen strength—or trace his fingertips through the dusting of fine black hairs across his chest, and trail them down to the matching line over his belly, leading further south to the soft black curls nestled around his prick. He could smooth his thumbs over the jutting points of Aubrey’s hipbones, or grasp the shapely thighs and feel them tremble beneath his ministrations, or caress the sharp definition of his calves. He could kiss the spread of burn scars from cheek to shoulder, arm to fingertip, and show how he valued the marks of survival, ingenuity, and courage.

  Now, he could do nothing more than stare.

  The painting had transformed Lindsey from tactile lover to wistful voyeur. At present, only his eyes could roam over the curve of Aubrey’s collarbone or the slender bend of his waist. The distance heightened Lindsey’s appreciation for the beloved and familiar form before him.

  Even so, the bruises were new.

  Lindsey had seen them yesterday in the dim gasli
ght of their bedroom and the bath. The sight of them had stopped his heart, had required a sharp intake of breath to fortify himself against exclaiming aloud in alarm. Then, they had appeared like blotches of deep crimson watercolour blooming across Aubrey’s parchment-pale skin. Now, a day later, they had turned a dreadful shade of blue-black, like indigo ink, as dark as the night sky absent of moon and stars and hope. The mass over Aubrey’s ribcage looked the worst, marking out where the three ribs had cracked, from whence the greatest portion of his pain stemmed, and had kept them both awake half the night.

  With neither bedsheets nor robe to shield them from view, Lindsey saw every hitch in Aubrey’s breath, every flinch and wince, every cough reverberating throughout his frame, every tremulous, half-imagined shifting of his cracked ribs beneath the brutal bloom of his bruises.

  Lindsey wanted nothing more than to fold Aubrey’s broken and battered form within his arms, to clasp him in a warm embrace, to shield him from further harm.

  But he could only watch.

  Lindsey tore his eyes away from the painful visual reminder of Aubrey’s suffering and turned them instead towards Halloway and his canvas.

  The painting, which had looked almost as good as finished to Lindsey’s amateur eyes, proved barely begun. Halloway built up layer upon layer of brush-strokes, blending in new and more exacting hues, bringing the image of Icarus Fallen into sharper focus like a photographer adjusting his lens by minute degrees.

  So too did the new bruises come into focus. At first Halloway added stark dashes of maroon, crimson, and indigo on top of what had initially appeared as a completed painting of unblemished flesh. Then the blending began, and sharp edges of the paint daubs faded into a more lifelike representation of Aubrey’s very real contusions. Every delicate flick of the bristles brought new life into Icarus, making the fallen form seem to breathe within the confines of the canvas, as if actual blood flowed beneath painted skin.

  Halloway talked as he painted, with the same easygoing air he always had at dinner parties and more casual gatherings. At first he directed his gentle enquiries at Aubrey—out of habit, from what Lindsey could gather—before the pained tones of Aubrey’s replies checked him, and he instead turned his conversational prowess upon Lindsey. If pressed for details afterwards, Lindsey would be unable to tell what, exactly, the topics of their discourse had been, or how they had flowed from one into the other. He knew only that it felt friendly and carefree as ever.

  Awe-inspiring though he found Halloway’s speed and skill, Lindsey couldn’t help stealing glances at his Aubrey. One of these glances caught Aubrey’s eye and earned him a shy half-smile. Lindsey returned it, wishing all the while he could press his hand to his cheek and feel the smile against his palm, whilst Aubrey, as he so often did, disguised his evident pleasure with a kiss to Lindsey’s wrist.

  As he watched, Lindsey twisted Aubrey’s robe around his hands in his lap. The silk folds still felt warm. He hoped Aubrey wasn’t too cold without it.

  ~

  Chapter Seven

  While Aubrey still didn’t consider modelling terribly labour-intensive compared to some of his previous careers, it nevertheless proved trying to his bruised and broken body. Laudanum reduced the frequency and violence of his coughing fits, but it could not eliminate them entirely, and every time he coughed, it took some minutes to settle back into the correct position.

  Aubrey apologised the first time it happened, which earned him a confused look from Lindsey and a shrug from Halloway.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Halloway said, unruffled as ever.

  The second time it occurred, Aubrey apologised again.

  Again, Halloway told him not to worry about it, and added, “It’s not as though you’re doing it on purpose.”

  Aubrey gave up apologising, though the coughing fits continued throughout the morning. While not an artist himself, he could well imagine how difficult it must be to have the position of one’s model shifting violently every other minute. Still, Halloway never once complained, nor displayed the least hint of annoyance.

  Lindsey, meanwhile, had developed a semi-permanent crease of concern between his brows.

  It felt awkward to have Lindsey watching, if not quite for the reasons Aubrey had expected. After all, Lindsey had seen him nude more times than either of them could count, and out of all the people who’d witnessed Aubrey’s naked body, Lindsey was by far the most appreciative of the sight. Even the combination of Lindsey and Halloway’s presence, the intimate mingling with the merely observant, proved not so bad as Aubrey had anticipated when he first suggested Lindsey stay to watch. Aubrey had resigned himself to soldiering on through whatever uncomfortable moments would doubtless ensue—a small price to pay for Lindsey’s peace of mind.

  Halloway, however, swooped in to their rescue. His easy conversation continued just as if they all sat together in the library with their clothes very much on. His words did wonders towards dispersing the cloud of tension looming over the ballroom. Aubrey marvelled at it, and at length, had to conclude that Halloway had some experience with painting couples. Or at the very least, experience in handling husbands watching to make sure their wives weren’t getting too friendly with the portrait artist.

  Yet there remained one problem with Lindsey’s presence. Whenever the conversation came to a natural lull, or whenever he thought himself unobserved, his eyes came to rest again and again upon Aubrey’s bruises. And even when he wasn’t staring at the ugly contusions spreading across Aubrey’s chest, he looked extremely worried.

  Aubrey wished he could assuage Lindsey’s evident fears, but truth told, he felt as wretched as Lindsey obviously thought he looked. Even with the laudanum, following doctor’s orders to “breathe deep” proved easier said than done. Each attempt provoked another repressed coughing fit and left him weaker than the last. When he’d first disrobed this morning, he’d felt chilled by the slight draught through the windows Halloway had opened for ventilation. By noon, the ballroom felt as stuffy and overheated as if a hundred dancing couples whirled within it. And yet, despite the intense warmth, Aubrey still shivered.

  At last they broke for luncheon. It took Aubrey a few attempts to rise from his reclining position. In the meantime, Lindsey leapt from his chair and strode towards Aubrey to deliver his robe. Aubrey, who had managed to stand by the time Lindsey arrived despite the latter’s hurry, reached out to accept it. As he did so, he saw his own hand trembled with no small violence.

  Lindsey noticed as well—his blue eyes flying wide for an instant before he checked his alarm—and changed his approach, shaking the robe out and holding it up before him, its open front towards Aubrey.

  Aubrey gave him a weak smile in silent thanks as he turned and slid his arms into the sleeves of the garment. Lindsey tugged it up over his shoulders before he could even think to shrug. Then, placing his hand on the small of Aubrey’s back, he gently guided him to the chair where he’d put all his clothes; his jacket and waistcoat draped over the back, the shirt, trousers, and small-clothes folded in a tidy stack on the seat. Aubrey, still shivering, attempted to dress himself, but his shaking hands fumbled in their grasp upon his shirt. All the while he felt Lindsey’s concerned gaze upon him.

  “I’m fine,” Aubrey asserted through gritted teeth, to no one in particular.

  Lindsey didn’t appear convinced. He seemed about to suggest Aubrey needn’t get dressed at all, which was ludicrous. Aubrey couldn’t face the notion of stepping out into the hallway, where any passing member of the staff might glimpse him, in only a dressing gown. Footmen and maids alike despised his burnt face. They would think no better of the scars trailing down his collar to his side and arm, visible by turns in the ever-shifting silk of the robe. Liminal spaces like the corridors and staircases of the Wiltshire house posed the greatest threat to Aubrey’s dignity. He had no wish to face them without the armour of his suit.

  Still, Lindsey said nothing of it as he unfolded each of Aubrey’s garments in turn a
nd held them out for him to shrug on or step into. His deft fingers did up buttons, buckled garters, smoothed his lapels, knotted his tie, and turned down his collar with tender finesse. In a matter of moments, Aubrey stood as ready as any man not shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, beset by coughing fits.

  “Go on ahead,” said Halloway, in the midst of cleaning his brushes with turpentine. “I’ll catch you up shortly.”

  In the hallway they encountered Charles, who had come to tell them their meal was ready. Lindsey thanked him and added instruction for a fire to be built up in the dining room.

  “I’m not cold,” Aubrey began to protest through chattering teeth, but a cough broke through the last word, and took some moments to pass, leaving him doubled over breathless with stabbing pains in his side.

  When it ended, Lindsey had a firm arm around his shoulders and used it to help Aubrey pull himself upright against him. The moment Aubrey stood, Lindsey had the back of his elegant hand pressed against Aubrey’s brow. The gentle gesture nevertheless sparked pinpricks of pain, and Aubrey winced at the shock of Lindsey’s cold flesh on his burning skin.

  Lindsey dropped his hand. “Perhaps you ought to have luncheon in bed.”

  Aubrey’s pride demanded he argue. But in his weakened state, he bit his tongue and admitted defeat with a nod.

  The journey from the ballroom on the ground floor to the bedroom upstairs took a still greater toll on Aubrey’s body. By the time they arrived on the threshold, he remained standing only by virtue of Lindsey’s assistance. Lindsey half-carried him to the bed. Aubrey collapsed upon it as much in relief as exhaustion. He could make only the barest effort to assist Lindsey in undressing him, undoing all the work they’d done just minutes before. But when Lindsey made to pull the bedclothes up over his shoulders, Aubrey shook his head.

  “I’m too warm by half already,” he croaked out, earning himself another coughing assault upon his ribcage.

  Lindsey relented and opened a window.