by Kelley York
As I remove the dropper, I keep James’ face at the forefront of my mind. Of the care and gentleness in which he tended to me the last time I messed all this up. Of how patient he was, all through fourth year, even when my attempts to be free of this ended in failure.
For James, I want to be a better person. I want to be someone he can rely on, someone he needn’t worry about.
And right now, the best way I can do that is by taking only the prescribed dosage and no more. Enough to let me function. Later, when we’ve returned home, I will have to decide how to proceed, whether that means another attempt at going off it completely…but here and now is no place for me to be drugged senseless, nor falling over ill from withdrawal.
I take a single dropper full as prescribed, tuck the bottle back into the bag, and slip from the room to re-join Adelia.
She awaits me in the library where she greets me with a smile when I enter. “Ready for some reading?”
I grace her with a forced smile, still walking tightropes over my nerves, but I know it will pass. My medicine will kick in, and I’ll have a few hours of reprieve. “Of course.”
I slip out of my coat and set to researching, which feels monotonous and fruitless, but it’s something for us to do, something to keep us occupied. I do steal repeated glances at the clock above the fireplace, noting the passage of time, anxiously awaiting James’ return. Something could have gone wrong and we would not know it until it was too late.
Adelia never once comments on my distraction. The silence is eventually punctured by her clapping a book shut. “Well, this has been rather boring.”
When she speaks, my eyes have roamed over to the clock yet again. “I also suspect you’ve been through this library many times over the years and already knew we’d find nothing of interest.”
“Hmm.” The twitch of her mouth suggests that I’m right. Likely, all of this was simply a ploy to keep me busy in James’ absence. “The servants will have lunch ready soon. Hungry?”
Not in the slightest. “I can eat, if you wish.”
“I do. Let’s retire to the dining room, shall we?”
Yes, she’s definitely trying to fuss over me without being so obvious about it.
It’s only us for this meal, so the selection is small, which is fine by me. Less that I feel obligated to eat. For my part, I try my best to make conversation, distinctly aware of how terrible I am at such a thing without James there to seamlessly push a conversation along. I really do feel utterly hopeless and useless without him there, though perhaps it’s largely my concern over him and Virgil making it difficult to focus on much else.
Speaking of Virgil—there’s a subject I can linger on. “You and Virgil seem to be getting on well.”
Adelia reaches for her cup but does not bring it to her mouth quickly enough to hide the slow smile. “He’s quite adorable, isn’t he?”
“Adorable? All the words in your vocabulary, and that was the first that came to mind?”
“Oh, I apologise. Should I have said delectable? Enthralling? Alluring?”
A laugh escapes my throat without my meaning it to. “Are those all words you’d use to describe him? Honestly?”
Her eyes positively sparkle in amusement. “Endearing and ridiculous, to boot.”
Not at all what I would expect a woman to think of Virgil, whom I see as a friend but a very stuffy, no-nonsense sort of fellow who acts quite like a mother hen to those around him even when they’re his peers.
Still, I admire Virgil in many ways. He’s steadfast, loyal, level-headed, and concerned about what is right and fair above all else. Perhaps these are things Adelia has discovered about him, as well.
“I suppose I needn’t put in a good word for him, then.”
“Is that what you’d do? Aren’t you a good friend.”
“For most people, no. For Virgil, yes.” I reach for my cup—water this time, no alcohol, although I’m itching horribly for a drink. “Virgil was a great help to us at school, and he didn’t have to be. And…well, I don’t have many friends. In fact, aside from James, he might be the only one I consider as such.”
“You appear to be in good company, then.”
“Mm. Perhaps I ought to warn you, though; I suspect Virgil is very much the marrying type.”
Her brows lift. “Proper gentlemen usually are.”
“Yet you’ve expressed disdain at the idea of marriage.”
“I’ve expressed disdain for the idea of any man ordering me around,” she corrects.
“Virgil does seem less prone to bossing you around than he does anyone else.”
Her smile is amused. “That is part of his charm.”
The fact that Virgil has clearly won over Adelia’s affections so easily is immensely endearing. I doubt Lord Wakefield will see it that way. Virgil comes from a lower-middle class family and now, knowing he’s dropped out of school and the line of work he’s found himself in… He’s hardly of status to be courting a Lord’s daughter.
I also doubt Adelia would give a damn.
I’m getting ahead of myself, at any rate. They’ve only known each other a few days. Who knows what will transpire after the job has been completed and they have to return to their own individual lives?
Life has a habit of getting in the way.
After lunch, Adelia and I retreat to the drawing room. It isn’t until nearly an hour later that the doors heave open and James steps inside, Virgil in tow. In an instant I’m out of my seat, resisting the urge to throw myself at James and kiss him in relief. Certainly, it shows on my face. I wring my hands together to keep from reaching for him. “Everyone all right?”
“All right,” Virgil agrees, moving immediately to the fireplace to warm his hands before it. “It’s begun to snow again. We lost the tracks.”
James’ grin is strained. “Unfortunately. I’m afraid we’re left to run in more circles.”
“I told you,” Virgil shivers as he attempts to shake off the cold, “I still think you ought to try summoning them. Miss Bennett can do it, can she not?”
I pull out a chair for James, beckoning him over so he can have a seat near the fire. “Yes, and frequently she cautions us against trying such things ourselves. She says we’re not experienced enough should something go awry.”
James doesn’t look at me, really, but he does take the offered seat with a heavy sigh. “You’re welcome to try, Virgil. Nag the spirits into cooperation.”
Virgil’s face twists, unimpressed. “Is it really any more dangerous than digging up a grave in the dead of night while an angry spirit damn near killed you both?”
He has a point, and we are running out of options. I look at James, who finally has his eyes on me and an amused smile adorning his mouth. “Here I am, for once in my life, trying to be reasonable, and Mr. Curfew here is lecturing me.”
“I’m listening if you have a better suggestion,” Virgil mutters.
I sigh. “There’s an endless list of things that could go wrong. And—please, no offense—but especially with two amateurs who are not versed in this sort of thing. Makes it all the more dangerous.”
“True,” James agrees. “This is a task we would have to perform alone.”
Adelia and Virgil both take on the same affronted look. Adelia protests, “Surely you could school us on whatever precautions to take. You said it yourself, this is new for you, too.”
“But we’ve seen it done numerous times,” I point out. “And I’ll not have any blunders on our part result in harm to either of you.”
“Are you certain? It wouldn’t be wiser to have back up in case of trouble?”
It’s difficult to explain without sounding cruel. James and I work well together. We’re used to this, to stepping into situations that are unsafe and knowing we have each other’s backs. Having to worry about the safety and wellbeing of two ad
ditional people, however? I cross my arms and lower my eyes, deferring this decision to James. For all I know, he may be too angry with me still. After last night, I wonder if his faith in me has been shaken.
Yet he answers without hesitation. “Certain. We’ll be fine. We know what we’re getting into and how to get out of it should things get out of hand.”
With a displeased sigh, Virgil turns back to the fire. “Fine. But if you aren’t back first thing in the morning, we’re coming for you.”
“Deal.” We’ll be done one way or another by then, won’t we? I rest a hand against the back of James’ chair. “In the meantime, I had the cooks set aside some leftovers from lunch for you.”
Just like that, James perks up in his seat. “Oh, thank God. I was beginning to think I’d starve to death.”
My expression softens. “I figured you might.”
Rather than usher them into the dining room, I request the servants to bring the food to us. Shortly thereafter, they wheel in a cart of tea and leftover sandwiches and biscuits. While James and Virgil eat their fill, I fetch from my room one of my journals, poring over the various notes I’ve made from Miss Bennett, some of which have been observations of her séances. It isn’t much, but hopefully it will be enough.
After eating, James slouches back in his seat with a heavy, pleased sigh and a hand against his stomach. “Delicious. Now, if you all will excuse me, I think a wash and a nap are in order.”
I glance up, aching to go with him. A nap curled up together sounds delightful, but I’m attempting to give him space. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”
He does smile at that. “Try to get some rest yourself, dear William.”
Rest? I don’t feel as though I can.
Though that is, apparently, a feeling that changes. Long after Adelia has coaxed Virgil away to go for a walk in the gardens and go over the notes I’ve offered, and I’m left in the library with her father’s books, I become aware of just how tired I am. I can scarcely keep my eyelids open. With some reluctance, I drag myself to my room, strip out of most of my clothes, and fall into bed for a few hours.
Honestly, I would sleep right through dinner were it not for a servant coming to wake me. My eyes feel like sandpaper and my throat is dry and my body seems to have realised how tense I’ve been, because it aches. I shake the tension out of it, readjust my clothing and hair, and go to knock on James’ door to rouse him for dinner.
Wakefield will be returning the following day, Foss informs us. His business in London took a bit longer than expected. No matter for us, really. After dinner has been had, I’ll make sure we have snacks and a breakfast to bring along with us before James and I head out.
The trip is a quiet one. It isn’t until we’re halfway along that James blithely remarks, “If this doesn’t kill us tonight, do you suppose Miss Bennett will?”
To have James finally break the uneasy silence pops the lid on the back-aching weight I’ve carted around all day. Doesn’t mean things are fine again, but… Small steps. “Only if we tell her.”
“Doesn’t she always know when we do something we’re not supposed to do?”
“Fair enough.” She is good at that, isn’t she? A woman far wiser than her thirty-something years, Miss Bennett has seen a lot and knows a lot, much of it intuitive. She stresses that to us often; Focus on what your gut is telling you, boys. That sixth sense will never steer you wrong once you learn to listen to it. Of course, seeing as you both listen about as well as stray dogs, it might be a bit yet...
I wish I knew how to keep the conversation going, but anything I think to say catches wrongly in the back of my throat. For the remainder of the ride, I choose to stay silent.
Once we’ve arrived, however—after we’ve brought in our things, done a thorough search of the outside and inside of the house—I’m again trying to think of a way to make small talk. Instead, what comes out is a rather pathetic, “Are you still angry with me?”
James pauses in the removal of his greatcoat, sighs, and drops it onto a peg beside the door. “No. Are you still angry with me?”
Was I ever angry? I suppose that I was, although that anger was sparked by something much deeper. Fear. I light the candle on the kitchen table, keeping my head down. “No. I’m not even certain anger was the right word for it. I was just…scared.”
“I am sorry for that, darling,” he says gently. “Sometimes, though—sometimes risks must be taken in our line of work. Particularly when it has the potential to save someone.”
I know that. Logically, I know that. But my heart and mind are hardly on the same page, and I doubt any amount of getting used to this job will change that. It’s one more reason I don’t want to be in this line of work, because none of it is worth it if something were to happen to James.
“Yes, well, you were right, in any case. Had I been clearer-headed, I’d have been able to keep up with you.”
James leans into the sideboard near the stove, arms crossed. “Are you willing to tell me now why you’ve taken to drinking so often?”
“Is it really that often?”
“It used to only be socially. Lately, it’s been with meals, sometimes before bed. I know you’ve been sneaking off for it occasionally, too.”
My shoulders hunch. I can’t bring myself to look at him. Do I even have an answer that I can articulate? “I don’t know. Or perhaps I do, and I simply cannot…” I drag in a deep breath, tipping my head back to gaze at the ceiling. “I swear to you, James, these things I do to cope, it is not because I enjoy them. I just need something to get me through the day.”
“Is it because of the work?”
“It’s because I’m me. Because I’m—I don’t know. Because something does not work right in my head, or…” I find myself growing increasingly frustrated even trying to explain it, because it sounds so foolish. Mother always thought so. Father wouldn’t even hear of it. Had I pressed too insistently that something was wrong, they likely would have had me tossed into Bedlam like some defective toy. Hell, they already sent me to school just to be rid of me, and they’d sounded relieved when I propositioned the idea of me leaving home after graduation. They were glad to give me money in exchange to have me out of their way so that I could go off and be someone else’s problem.
I finally turn to face him, desperate that he, of all people, will understand. “The world gets so bloody noisy and close and I feel as though I cannot breathe and it’s all just…too much. Everything is too much.”
James’ expression is nothing shy of sympathetic and understanding. I think he must know what it’s like to some degree. I’ve seen him have similar moments, when he’s woken from nightmares, when something has dredged up memories he wishes to forget. Not often and perhaps not always as fierce, but…
“How can I help?”
I brace my hands back against the table. Isn’t that the question of the day? “You do help. Tremendously. Yet the longer it goes on and the worse it gets, I wonder if maybe this is simply how it is for me. Maybe I will spend my life teetering between being too sober and too intoxicated to function while struggling to find a middle ground.”
James tips his chin down, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching in thought. “Would it help? If you didn’t have to do this?”
My shoulders square. “We embarked on this journey together. I agreed to it, and I do not back out of my commitments. I’ve always known you’d not hold it against me if I chose not to take these jobs.”
“I don’t want this to be an obligation to you, William. I don’t want it to be something that chips away at your very being and drags you down. I want you to be happy and well, to look forward to whatever you wish to do in life.”
What would the alternative be? To sit at home while James is off risking his life? If anything were to happen to him because I wasn’t there, I couldn’t live with myself. “My happiness
is being with you. If… If I’ve been a burden, if I’ve complained too much, then I’m sorry.”
His brows furrow. “That’s not at all what I’m attempting to say.”
“Then what are you trying to say?” I ask slowly.
“Merely that if this life is too much for you, I understand. Not just the job. All of it. The secrecy, the isolation, the danger… You like women. You have the ability and the option to live a normal, better life elsewhere, holding a normal job and doing normal things.” He hesitates, finally forcing his eyes to meet mine. “I would understand.”
I blink once, trying to absorb exactly what James means with that statement. Not referring just to the job, but to him, too?
Have I truly driven him to think that? To think having him in my life somehow makes things worse, that I would be better off without him?
Oh, God, if I’ve said or done anything to make him think leaving him would ever be an option, that I would consider it, even for a moment…
“James…”
He’s trying to avoid my gaze, trying to act casual, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes and the worry etched into his brows. “We should get this over with, hm? Time to talk things over later.”
I’ve not been blessed with the power of words. Not with things that are personal to me, at least. Speaking of my family, my past, of home, of things I think and feel—they’re such elusive creatures to grasp. There is a lot I’ve never told James. Perhaps a lot I never will because I prefer to bury it in the dark and not shed light on it ever again.
And I see what James is doing now, attempting to give me time to mull over what he’s said. But, oh, I loathe leaving things unresolved. I step over to him, linking my fingers with his, squeezing tight and hoping the smile I offer is at all reassuring.
“Are we ready to do this?” I ask.
“Not at all.” He brings my hand to his lips to kiss it. “Let’s do it anyway.”
