Sacrament

by Susan Squires

  "I am going to get you out of here," she whispered, "but you must help." She had no idea whether he understood or not. "Lansing, give me the key."

  "Your Ladyship," Corina's servant admonished. "I can't say I'd go near him with his hands free."

  Sarah sighed. She needed Lansing. "I must unlock his ankles. We are not strong enough to drag him bodily up the stairs."

  Reluctantly, the maid proffered the key. Sarah bit her lip when she saw the open sores the iron bands revealed. No time for revulsion. Just get him up the stairs. She paused to look into Davinoff's face. Had he killed Reece? "No tricks," she whispered, whether he could understand or not, "or you will never get out of here." She took the cloak from Lansing and fastened it around his shoulders. Then she put the key into her reticule.

  "Lansing, you have to help me," she commanded. When the woman hesitated, Sarah barked, "Can't you see he's stuporous with drugs? He cannot hurt you now."

  Lansing moved reluctantly into Davinoff's range. "Get on your feet," Sarah ordered him. She took an arm and pulled the man up as he struggled to get his feet under him. His touch shocked her still, just as it had in an inn yard, at the masquerade, in his curricle. She might get no pleasure from his pain, yet she still could not trust herself; what had been in Sienna could arise again. Sarah pulled Davinoff's manacled hand across her shoulder resolutely and Lansing supported one arm as they struggled to the stairs. The stairs provided an unfortunate revelation: They weren't wide enough for three.

  "Lansing, follow behind." Sarah was already panting. "Davinoff, you have to get up these steps if you want to see daylight," she urged. She put her free arm around his waist under the cloak and felt the warmth of his body against hers. She shuddered as they took the first step. It seemed as if there were hundreds. Somehow, they made it to the top. She let him sag against the wall. They gasped together with their effort.

  Lansing took up his other arm and together they got him out a small side door into the deepening twilight. Pembly stood at the head of a horse harnessed to the gig. He made no move to help as they allowed Davinoff to fall into the back of the vehicle, manacles clanking. Sarah gathered up Davinoff's legs and folded him inside. Lansing hurried back into the house as Sarah threw a blanket over him. Sarah went round to the driver's seat and took the whip from Pembly.

  "That one is a devil, Your Ladyship, and no mistake," the groom growled. Sarah drew her cloak around her against the freshening wind. Only eight miles back to Bath, but three-quarters of an hour at the least. It was dusk, four-thirty and drawing on to five.

  Lansing appeared in the lighted doorway. She held a wooden box up to Sarah. "Laudanum," she murmured, as Sarah set the box beside her on the seat, "and money."

  "How much does he get?" Sarah asked, suddenly realizing how important that piece of information might be. She would have to tell the doctors.

  "He gets a cup," Lansing said. "A cup in the morning, a cup at night."

  "No, no, I meant how much is in the cup?" Sarah demanded as she gathered up the reins.

  "I told you," Lansing replied, her voice hard. "He gets a cup, night and morning."

  Sarah turned to stare. "A third that dose would kill a man."

  Lansing turned wary. "Well, that's as it may be. But that's how much he gets. He's strong, that one is, and dangerous." She closed her mouth as if determined to say no more.

  Sarah sat, stunned for a moment. Then she turned fiercely to Pembly. "Stand away," she shouted, and cracked her whip. The horse broke from the house at a canter.

  As she passed the gatehouse, Sarah was flooded with relief. They were out of that house of horrors and away from basements and chains and Corina's brittle laugh. She found the road that led through the village of Langridge and thence to the Bath road and looked back at Chambroke, all its lights blazing across the park as night drew on. Sarah's mind reeled. She had thought Davinoff evil once, anarchy incarnate. Perhaps he was. But evil • seemed rampant in the world tonight. It glowed out of Chambroke's symmetrical windows. Glancing down at the still cargo in the rear of the gig, she then turned and urged the horse back into a canter. She prayed the clouds would not obscure the full moon that promised to light her way.

  What to do? Now that they had escaped Corina, Sarah began to tremble. Should she knock up the magistrates at this hour to report the foul doings at Chambroke? No, first she must help Davinoff. She imagined a scene wherein she took him to George and begged his help in breaking the addiction. Would George do it? And then there was the dosage. Dr. Parry and George never took on those with severe addictions; they sent whoever who could afford it to asylums to receive their drug and the simple care they needed to finish their days in a vegetable state. The man she knew as Davinoff would never willingly accept that. But it was the only choice George or Dr. Parry would give him.

  Sarah slowed the horse to a trot to save his strength, her mind boiling. Was there another choice? The authorities would just throw him in a cell and wait for him to die. She could not abandon Davinoff. She owed him that. But where did that leave her? Fear licked at her mind as she realized what the way ahead must be.

  She had to try to save him herself. Perhaps if she used Dr. Parry's method of removing the laudanum slowly, she could rid him of his slavery to the drug in spite of the high dosage. Dr. Parry's method was meant to soften the blow of withdrawal to the system. Maybe it would save Davinoff's life. It was a chance at least. A chance the man would not get from anyone else. Did she know enough from her days at the hospital to do it? Her mind darted over the process, the things she would need. He might die anyway, she thought, and she faced that possibility. But not before she had done the best she could for him.

  This meant that she could not report Corina's crime. If she did, Davinoff would be discovered. Then it would be the asylum or the cell. Corina deserved punishment, but Davinoff came first. If he died, she would have to explain a body to the magistrates. She smiled grimly. She would be in much the same dilemma as Corina. She could end in jail herself. But it didn't matter now. She was committed.

  It was eight o'clock before she started to Clershing. It was the only place she knew where they could be private. She bundled Amelia off to a friend in Bristol for the holidays, and Jasco and Addie to relatives. Jasco would close up the house in Laura Place tomorrow, after shipping the trunk Pembly brought round to the Dower House. She sent a note to Lady Beldon, crying off from Christmas dinner but promising to be back for the New Year's ball. Then she had braved the hospital, pretending to look for George. Would he miss the things she had stolen from his laboratory? She had now lied to Corina and stolen from George. And she didn't care.

  The trip to Clershing was a nightmare: sixteen miles of bone-chilling wind and worry. The crowded streets of Bath delayed her. The landscape on the post road to Bristol had a ghastly quality, strange and unfamiliar. She had never been so far at night alone. She had entered a world where the sun never shone. There was only night, the snorting of the horse, the wind, and her living cargo—living how long she did not know. She stopped twice to check Davinoff. He was growing restless for his laudanum. Yet he had to wait until she got him to the Dower House. She skirted Bristol; the busy streets of a port city were no place for a woman unprotected.

  All her doubts assailed her now. Why had she taken it upon herself to kill what was left of this poor man? She had feared and hated him when she thought he wanted Clershing. She had been disgusted by his infatuation with Corina. She had been attracted to him in the most dangerous way. But the man who treasured the stones at Avebury deserved more than what Corina had left him. Sarah had made her choice, and there was no turning back.

  , When finally the looming darkness of the Dower House rose up behind its wrought-iron gates, it was almost midnight. Sarah threw off her lap rug and allowed the tired horse to stand as she jumped down. She almost fell. Her feet were numb with cold. The gates creaked open. She led the horse through, then closed them behind her and climbed back into the driver's seat. In one w
ay she was glad it was late. She could not let anyone know she and her charge were here.

  The gardens of the Dower House were eerie in the moonlight. The trees that provided such lovely shade in summertime now towered, black skeletons, above the gig as she trotted up the drive. Then they were out of the shadows and into the silvery glow that brushed the unruly bushes with ghostly winter fire. She brought the gig up in front of the portico and leapt down to tie the horse to the hitching post almost buried in the shrubbery beside the doorway. He should be rubbed down, but he would have to wait until she got Davinoff inside.

  She strode to the back of the gig and threw off the blankets covering Davinoff. He raised one hand, clanking with manacles, to the side of the gig and dragged himself into a half-sitting position. That was more life than she had yet seen.

  "Where is this place?" he murmured.

  "The Dower House at Clershing," Sarah replied, her nerves making her voice quake. "Not far from your precious abbey." Feeling in her reticule, fingers made clumsy by cold and her gloves, she finally produced the huge key. She held each of Davinoff's wrists in turn and opened his manacles. "Let's get inside before we freeze."

  She grasped his hand, more icy than her own, and pulled his arm once more across her shoulder. His body seemed to engulf her as she moved her arm round his waist. Leaning on her heavily, he stumbled up the shallow steps to the front door. Sarah managed to produce her key and push the door open. They practically fell into the house. The wind gusted in around them and twirled the last damp leaves of autumn onto the wood floor of the entry hall. Sarah dragged Davinoff into the dark drawing room and allowed him to drop upon the shadow of a divan. She felt for the lamp she kept upon the table near the door, then fumbled for the flint striker. It took her several frustrating moments to produce the spark to light the wick, but finally a sturdy flame lit her way to other lamps about the room.

  When she turned from the last lamp, Davinoff watched her with dull eyes. His chest heaved with the exertion of getting into the house. In the light of the drawing room, his condition was even more appalling. His cheeks were hollow. Dreadful black circles under his eyes made them appear sunken. Through his stained and tattered shirt she could see not only the cuts that had shocked her in the cellar, but horrid bruises in various colors over much of his upper body. His breeches were shredded, and similar violations on his hips and thighs peeked through. She would have to heal these wounds as well as challenge his addiction. Already he trembled with need. It all seemed overwhelming.

  As she stood there, daunted, he raised his head from the back of the divan where he was sprawled. Was there hatred in his clouded eyes? "Why do you change my prison?" he whispered.

  Sarah was shocked into silence. Of course he thought she was in league with Corina. She flushed to the roots of her hair. "You may think the worst," she said with difficulty. "But I did not know Corina's dreadful plans when I sent you to Chambroke. She thinks I took you to an asylum on the Continent tonight." She stopped. How to tell him of her plans to risk his life? What did he want? Was he capable of deciding in this condition? She took a deep breath and went to sit at the end of the divan. His flat gaze followed her. "I want to help you," she said. Her voice sounded small in her own ears. "No hospital will take you with your dose of laudanum. They would send you to an asylum, continue your addiction. That kind of life…"

  "No," he croaked, shaking his head. Then with even greater effort he focused his eyes upon her. "If you want to help, kill me."

  Sarah moved her hand to her throat, abruptly unable to breathe. "I… I could never kill you," she said. Was there a pleading in his eyes? He was definitely shaking now.

  "Yes, you could," he whispered. "Easy now. A knife, a pistol…"

  "But there is another choice," she said. "If you agree to try. I… I have seen Dr. Parry reduce the dose of laudanum slowly, over time. He has had some good results, not with anyone taking so much as you, of course," she rushed on, aware of how inadequate her plan sounded. "I could try the same with you. That is, if you agree." He watched her, his hands shaking with his need. She must tell him the whole truth. "You could still die."

  She looked for acceptance, defiance, anything that indicated he understood. His eyes closed. Had he lost consciousness entirely? Then he did something surprising. She heard a low rumbling chuckle escape him.

  "Cast the dice," he muttered. "I win either way." Then his eyes closed again.

  That was all the absolution she would get from him. When nothing further was forthcoming, she rose reluctantly. "I will try," she whispered, the promise almost choking her.

  She brushed down the horse while she mentally toted up the supplies left from her last week's visit. She would not starve, and neither would the horse. Four trips with the bucket for water, then it was back to the house with her lamp and the box of laudanum. She could not face bringing in her trunk and the bandbox from the hospital just now. As she crossed the midnight garden to the house, the wind pulled at her hair and her cloak. She began to think of Davinoff killing Reece with his bare hands. Would he be there, slumped upon the divan? Or would he be lying in wait somewhere in the darkened house to give her as good as he had given Reece? She went round to the front door, to enter into a lighted hall, rather than trek through the dark house from the back. She stalked up onto the porch, and felt her steps slow involuntarily. She mustn't stop. She must keep moving toward that door. If once she stopped, she might well turn and run. The handle of the door seemed to reach out and grasp her hand. She turned it with a force of will and pushed into the hall. But there he was, still sprawled where she had left him. When a sigh escaped her, she realized she had been holding her breath.

  Well, enough of that. She must be overtired. Even so, it was time to get to work. Davinoff was trembling and needed the laudanum. She set down her lamp and opened the box. A cup? Could he really be taking that much? If he wasn't, she would kill him before they were fairly begun. Sitting beside him, she poured out slightly less than a cup into a vial she had stolen from George's laboratory, and touched Davinoff's arm. He rolled his head in her direction and opened his eyes. They fixed upon the vial.

  "Lansing said you got a cup at night and one in the morning," Sarah said, taking a breath. "Is that true?" He only stared at the vial. "If it isn't, this will kill you. You may want that, but I don't want you to die," she whispered fiercely. "Tell me the truth!"

  The eyes broke the fascinating hold of the vial with effort and brushed against her own. He only nodded and took it from her with shaking hands. He pressed it convulsively against his lips and upended it, eyes closing in relief. The first of many, Sarah thought. Before the drug had time to cloud his senses any further, she had to explain.

  "There will be less and less each time, until you are free of it. When you begin to withdraw you could hurt yourself." Or me, she thought. She rushed on. "I have seen it at the asylum. I know you will not like this…" How could she say what she must? "When it begins, I will have to tie you up, and the only place I can do that is the cellar." The words sounded hollow. "It won't be like Corina, I promise you. But I cannot afford lights to be seen at night in the upper house. I can't let anyone know we're here." She chewed her lip and looked for his response. His eyes closed. A small smile touched his lips, as if from far away. She needed more. She needed to know he did not blame her. "Please tell me you agree. I cannot do it without your help, you know." The smile lingered. He nodded.

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "I will prepare the way." She took the lamp and began the scavenger hunt. Bedding, candles, and a large mixing bowl were her first finds. Then it was down to the cellar, smelling musty and damp. One end was crowded with items no longer used: a trunk, a huge mirrored wardrobe, a birdcage for a childhood friend long dead, crates of china, a scarred marquetry table. Sarah set down her lamp and began to rearrange the room. She pulled a large dusty wing chair out from the wall to reveal the metal rings so reminiscent of Corina's cellar. A shudder ran up her back. All houses
had a place for hanging meat. It meant nothing.

  When she had cleared a place for the bedding and arranged the chair and table, she left a candle burning, and went to get Davinoff. The trip down to her own cellar was at least as hazardous as the journey out of Corina's. Davinoff seemed to have doubled his weight. As they staggered down the steps, Sarah pictured them falling in a heap of broken bones to the flagstone floor below. Somehow she got him to the pallet she had formed from a featherbed folded in half and several blankets. He collapsed to the bedding, and she was left holding only his hand. Even in this light, she could see the nails were dirty. But that could not hide the elegance of his bones. With a start, she released his hand as though it burned her, and it dropped to where he lay on his side. She turned away quickly and retrieved the candle.

  Davinoff watched her through half-closed eyes. "I will leave the candle," she said. "You must sleep now, and save your strength." He seemed already to be fading as she drew a blanket up around his shoulders. She would treat his wounds in the morning. She made her way upstairs to douse the lights in the drawing room and find her own bed. Tired though she was, it was a long time before she fell into a troubled sleep, dreading the task she had set herself and him.

  Chapter Twelve

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  As Sarah shook off sleep the next morning, her thoughts buzzed lazily about until they came to Davinoff. She sat bolt upright. What hour was it? She leapt out of bed and threw back the heavy curtains. The sun said it must be nearly ten. She hurried into her clothes from yesterday, hastily dragged a brush through her hair, and twisted it up in the back. She left the short hair that framed her face a wild dark halo and ran down to the drawing room to retrieve her supplies. Her patient would suffer for her tardiness.