by J. L. Jarvis
“Wait,” said Gwendolyn. “Take these blankets and spread them out in the bed of the wagon.” Fletcher did as he was told. Gwendolyn told Emma to gather some clothing. “He might need it later. And go and pull yourself together,” she said with a glare that made Emma wither.
Emma obeyed. She took the pitcher back into her room and stood holding it, feeling the weight shift as she poured water into the bowl. How had it happened? She stared at the pitcher.
Gwendolyn barked for her to hurry. Emma quickly splashed water on her face. Her hands shook as she reached for the towel, but it was not there. Emma wiped her face dry with her sleeve. Without looking in the mirror, she pulled her hair back and twisted it into a lopsided bun.
When she went back to Benjamin’s room, it was empty. She followed the voices to the staircase, where they struggled to carry Benjamin down to the wagon. How badly was he hurt? People would ask her what had happened. She had no explanation to give. But the facts damned her: Benjamin’s bedroom, a broken pitcher, Benjamin lying unconscious, and Emma beside him. The conclusion was easy to draw, but why? What defense could she offer? She had none. She had attacked him somehow, for some reason she did not understand. And now she might lose him. Please, God, let him recover. That was all she could do—pray for mercy. Whether her prayer would be heard by God or by court of law would remain to be seen.
Minutes later, Emma went out to the wagon where Benjamin lay. Clutching the bundle of his clothing to her chest, Emma sat beside him.
Emma awoke with the same groggy and nauseous feeling she’d had in the morning. She was not herself today. What was happening to her? She looked about, trying to figure out where she was now. A glass covered cabinet stood against one wall. It was not familiar in any way.
“Wait here, please,” said a voice from the hall. Emma turned toward the door. From outside the room, another door scraped against floorboards to close. The pain in her head grew worse. She felt sick, and rushed to the wastebasket, arriving in time to vomit. She moaned, but refused to let herself cry. She was desperate for air. She leaned against the door for support, and listened for others. Hearing nothing, she pulled the door open a crack. She found the hall empty and crept silently out. Through a window at the end of the hall, shapes moved in shadows through the curtain. A door was open a crack. Emma walked over and peered in.
With a stifled gasp, she looked inside the room to see Benjamin’s body lying motionless on a bed. A doctor stood over him, feeling his pulse and listening to his heart. Emma wanted to rush to his side and breathe her life into him, gripping his hand until his pulse beat with hers. A gripping sense of foreboding told her not to. What had happened? She could not seem to wake fully and clear her mind of this sluggish fog. Moments and words hovered close to her memory, but in disjointed bits that she could not string together in order.
The door opened, and Gwendolyn’s silhouette blocked the light from the doorway. For a passing moment, Emma thought of escaping down the hall in the other direction, but she could not flee while Benjamin lay in the next room, unconscious. She would not leave him like that.
“What happened?” asked Emma.
“What do you remember?” Gwendolyn asked.
Emma looked at her, wanting to remember. “I don’t know. I remember you in the doorway. Why were you there?”
“Nothing before that?”
“No.”
“It’s your wedding day. Your father’s away on a business trip, so I thought someone should come to be with you. We’re family. We have to forgive, don’t we?”
After days before dragging Benjamin to jail, it seemed odd for Gwendolyn to forgive so quickly. But Emma’s thinking was muddled, and Benjamin needed her now. “May I see him yet?”
“You’ve done enough, don’t you think?”
“But I want to be there when he wakes.”
“If he wakes, seeing you will only upset him.”
The words rang in her ears. If he wakes? Emma could not reply.
“After what you’ve done, the last thing he needs is to wake up to see you standing over him.”
“What do you mean—what I’ve done?”
Ignoring her question, Gwendolyn snatched the bundle of Benjamin’s clothing from Emma’s clutched arms, and pressed the door closed between them.
Emma sank onto the bench in the hall and stared with blank eyes at the walls. A sob forced its way out as she covered her mouth to contain it. She had no memory of the previous night, and yet she had done a terrible thing—a violent and heartbreaking thing—to the man she loved. What sort of a monster was she? Blood pounded her temples. She leaned her head back on the wall and gave in to her tears.
Hands settled on her shoulders. She flinched and opened her eyes. “Fletcher, they won’t let me see him.”
“I’m sorry, dear heart.” His pained expression disturbed more than comforted her.
Emma went outside to the window and tried to look in. She leaned over a rose bush. The thorns cut into her clothing and scratched her. She peered in through the window. No one stopped her this time. He lay there inside, so still.
Sometime later, Gwendolyn came out holding a cup. “Drink this.”
“How is he?”
“We don’t know yet. Here, the doctor sent this out for you.”
“What is it?”
“It’s something to calm you.”
“I don’t want to be calmed. I want to see Benjamin.” Her head felt as though it might crack from the hammering pain. Calm her? She would never be calm until she saw him well again.
“Emma? Can you hear me?”
Emma glanced up. “Of course.”
“Here.” Gwendolyn held out the medicine closer to Emma.
A memory tried to come back, but it was only a feeling. Emma did not want the medicine.
“Doctor’s orders,” Gwendolyn insisted.
Emma put it to her lips, but the liquid was bitter. She handed it back.
“I don’t want it. I don’t feel well.”
With a crooked smile, Gwendolyn said, “That’s why you need medicine.”
Ignoring her, Emma turned and looked back in the window. The doctor seemed to have finished examining Benjamin, but he stayed with him and watched him.
Gwendolyn gave up and walked away, leaving Emma in peace. Minutes later, a firm hand pressed a rag to her mouth. The odor was strange. She reached up to pull the hand away, and then blackness engulfed her.
“That’s a good girl,” said Gwendolyn, as she flung Emma’s arm over her shoulder and dragged her to the buckboard.
Emma gently swayed as though floating on water. The waves softly lifted and carried her. She was drifting, drifting away from him.
“Benjamin.” But the sound would not come out. She tried to say it again, but her mouth would not move. Firm hands held her waist and her elbows. She wanted to ask something, but she could not recall what it was. She could not see where she was, but it did not seem to matter as much anymore.
Light danced in her eyes. The air was cool, but her face was so hot. She was walking. “First one foot, then the other,” said a voice. Her knees slowly buckled. She knelt for a moment, but was lifted.
She opened her eyes. The houses looked far away now. Which houses were those? She was weary. She was lying down now, with a blanket about her. She dreamed she was under the ground. Here she could lie beside Benjamin.
Emma awoke to murmuring voices, but they were too far off in the fog to make sense of. Her lids closed as she drifted off.
“You’re all compassion, aren’t you?” said Fletcher.
“Did Benjamin Stark ever lose sleep over me?”
“Nor under you. So, it turns out wishes don’t come true,” Fletcher said with a snide glance.
“Those were your wishes, Fletcher.”
He glared.
Gwendolyn said, “I’m just joking, darling. We both know you’re a man’s man.” She chuckled.
Fletcher stared at the road with narrowing eyes.
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They rode in uncomfortable silence for a couple of miles before Fletcher asked, “Just what were you doing this morning?”
“Trying to save Emma’s marriage.”
“By whacking the groom on the head—”
“Wrong groom, darling.”
“Not Clayworth?” He frowned skeptically.
She nodded, pleased with herself. “I was sure we’d lost him. Anyone else would have boarded the next boat to England. But it’s really quite sweet. The Earl has grown very fond of our Emma.”
Her syrupy smile made Fletcher’s lip curl.
Gwendolyn went on, proudly. “When I told him what the trial had put poor frail Emma through, he was moved. I saw tears in his eyes. Anyone else would have fled from the scandal, but our Count, it turns out, has some bollocks.”
“That makes two of you,” Fletcher said, glancing sideways at her.
Gwendolyn looked at him coyly. “Now who’s dreaming?”
She slid her hand up his thigh, but he swatted her away. She burst into laughter.
When they grew quiet, Fletcher said, “I’ve been wondering why you would go to all this trouble to get Emma a title. You could have married someone titled yourself.”
She gave him a curdling look. “I was lonely.”
His expression went from confusion to skepticism.
Unexpected peals of laughter burst forth from her. “Fletcher, you silly romantic! A girl has to prioritize. Prince Charming’s no good without money. If I’d been able to find a rich count, I’d have married him. But I found Henry Farlowe instead. Jute may not feel like ermine, but it buys plenty of it.” So amused was she by her supposed cunning, she continued to laugh all alone.
“Poor Henry Farlowe. He believes that you care.”
“Why should I care? Don’t kid yourself. Henry bought me, just like he buys everything else in his life.”
“You’re a cold piece of work.”
“We all tell our own little lies to get what we want. Don’t we, Fletcher?” Her condemnation bore through him.
He despised her, most of all because she was right. He said, “And what about Emma?”
“I’m doing what’s best.”
Fletcher looked at her blankly.
“What Emma needs is to think a little bit less about what Emma needs. This will give her time to get Benjamin Stark out of her system.”
“I can’t believe the Earl went along with this.”
“He thinks she was deeply wounded by the scandal.”
“Which she was.”
“So now she’s taking a rest cure, after which he’ll be there to comfort her. They’ll get married soon after, of course.”
“And somehow, it will all work out in your best interest.”
She looked pointedly at him. “Henry needs that marriage as much or more than I do. He’s on the brink of financial ruin. If he loses his social footing as well, his business will never recover. This will benefit him more than any of us.”
Fletcher looked back at the sleeping Emma. “And that poor girl must pay for everyone else’s secrets and failings.”
“Would you rather pay the price?” she asked with a pointed look.
Fletcher loathed himself too much to answer. He looked back at Emma, who looked so exquisitely peaceful and innocent. “Maybe they’ll see that she’s sane and refuse to admit her.”
“She’ll have the dashing Dr. Whitfield to look after her. Now that is a lovely, lovely man.” Gwendolyn shook her head wistfully. “At first he didn’t seem very willing to help our poor Emma, but he came around. He’s turned out to be very cooperative.” Her lips spread to a secret, satisfied smile. “After a few months of rest, sweet Emma will recover. She’ll marry the Earl, and go to Clayworth’s castle in England, and we’ll all live happily ever after.” She turned to give Fletcher a proud smile. “I know how much you love a good fairy tale.”
Fletcher turned and choked back the bile.
Before long, they were driving through downtown Buffalo.
“Dr. Whitfield is meeting us there to admit her. But just to be sure, we’ll tell them how she attacked Benjamin Stark. She’s a danger to her family, not to mention society. They’ll have to admit her.”
Fletcher stared straight ahead, clenching his jaw.
Gwendolyn smiled. “And this is a bonus. When Emma awakens, she’ll tell them how she killed Benjamin Stark. That will cinch it. She’ll need quite a long rest after that.”
Remembering something, Gwendolyn said, “Damn. The papers! Where are they?” She rummaged through her bag.
“Even with Dr. Whitfield’s help, they’ll need Henry’s written authorization to admit her,” Fletcher reminded.
“I know,” she snapped, now annoyed. “What if we made up some new ones? You’re a lawyer. Couldn’t you draw up some papers or something?”
“I don’t carry a full set of legal forms with me wherever I go—or signatures, for that matter. Sorry, but you’ll have to find that Power of Attorney.”
She leaned back over the bench and nudged Emma over to the side to retrieve another bag. She dug through it and pulled out an envelope, which she brandished victoriously.
They pulled into the drive that led up to an ominous castle-like structure. The New York State Asylum for the Insane was an imposing tower of a building. Fletcher had seen it before, but today more than ever, it fit the grim task before him.
Chapter 11
Emma’s head bumped against the back of the seat as the wheels stumbled over the stones on the road. Her head was clearing again as she opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings.
“It’s time for your medicine, dear.” Gwendolyn handed a small medicine bottle to Emma.
“What?” asked Emma, confused.
“It’s just a little something to relax you. You’ve had quite a shock.”
Emma drank, but then winced at the acrid taste as she lowered the bottle and thrust it away. She didn’t care anymore what was in it. She just wanted to be with Benjamin again. She stared blankly at the passing scenery. “Where are we?”
“Fletcher? What is this place?”
He would not meet her eyes. “It’s a hospital,” he said in an unnatural tone.
Emma sighed. “Is Benjamin here?”
“He’s dead,” Gwendolyn said bluntly.
Fletcher cast a sharp look in her direction. She threw her own pointed stare back at him.
“Dead?” Emma did not want to believe it.
“Don’t you remember?” asked Gwendolyn.
“I remember that we were outside.” She remembered the medicine, and spitting it out. How had she forgotten what happened after that?
“You had a spell, didn’t she, Fletcher?”
He did not answer, but Emma was too distraught to notice.
“What happened?” asked Emma, afraid of the answer.
“He was bleeding.”
“I think I do remember him bleeding.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “Because you picked up my bag and you hit him.”
Emma looked up at the imposing stone building. Time stopped long enough for the words to lodge in her ears and peal loudly. And then there were no words, just unbearable ringing. It could not be. No. Emma shook her head slowly.
The image of Benjamin flashed before her. He was lying asleep in the doctor’s office. “I remember—”
“What?” Gwendolyn snapped a little too quickly.
“The doctor’s office.”
“Yes, that’s where he died.”
“Gwendolyn, really!” Fletcher protested reluctantly.
“She needs to know. It will help in the hospital.”
Gwendolyn’s voice sounded quiet and smooth. “What else do you remember?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think.” Tears fell from the corners of her closed eyes.
“Don’t worry, dear. I’m going to help you,” said Gwendolyn gently.
“Help me?”
“I know that you didn’t mean to kill him.
”
Emma’s face contracted and her voice barely sounded. “No.”
“You never would have hurt him, would you?”
Overcome by despair, Emma shook her head numbly. “No. Never,” she whispered.
“You wouldn’t harm anyone.”
Emma lifted her eyes to meet Gwendolyn’s.
“Not if you were in your right mind.”
Emma wanted to protest but did not have the spirit.
“But you’re not.” Gwendolyn looked sympathetic.
Emma lowered her eyes and looked blandly away. Whatever was in the bottle was dulling her pain. She let herself sink into a numbing abyss.
“Feeling better?”
Emma gave a faint nod.
“Here.” She took the bottle that was offered mechanically.
“Go on,” said Gwendolyn. “It makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”
Emma stared at it for a moment, then swallowed some more. Still pungent, the taste bothered her less.
Fletcher took it from her. “She’s had enough.”
She lay back and drifted along with the serene clouds in the sky. Emma rode on those clouds for a long while, dozing and waking to see barren fields. She heard Gwendolyn talking in words she could not quite make out. She did not really care to. She was too far away. Or were the words too far inside her head? Gwendolyn was much kinder now. Emma drifted back to her dream world. It was better here.
When she woke, dusk hung, drowsy and thick, in the air. Quilts and heavy wool blankets covered her with oppressive warmth. Her nose and face were numbed by cold, and her thoughts wandered through a dense fog.
“Where are we?”
“We’re not too far away.”
“But I don’t know this place.”
“Emma, I owe you an apology. I’ve wronged you,” said Gwendolyn.
Emma’s eyes filled with tears. Her dulled thinking allowed her emotions free reign.
“You never meant to hurt Benjamin, did you?”
“No.” She was barely able to speak.
“When I realized that, I just had to do something to help you. The thought of just standing by, watching you go through a murder trial was just too much to imagine. Oh yes, my dear. They would try you for murder. Who would believe it was an accident? Well, I’ll tell you, not many. It just sounds too convenient. And what you’d go through? Horrible. It’s a small town. The word’s probably out by now. Before long, the newspaper reporters would be after you from morning to night, and I know how shy you are. I just can’t imagine how you would keep your wits about you. But, then, your wits aren’t about you to begin with, are they? That’s why, my dear, I will not put you through that.”
