by Abby Ayles
She lay in bed, waiting for a servant to arrive so she could ask for help. She loathed every second of it. It had been years since she had felt so helpless, so frail, so useless. She had made so much progress. Why would it only begin to reverse now?
When the maid found her, she immediately called for Lord Langley, who sat by his daughter's bed, reassuring her even though it was him who was the most distressed by her condition. Dr. Allen was sent for immediately and he rushed to her side. But it made no sense to him that she would suddenly be worse.
He checked her joints for swelling and flexibility and found that they had indeed seized up. But she had not been exposed to cold or damp, nor had she eaten anything which did not agree with her. The only thing he could put it down to was the continual pressure she had been under, which he deemed far too much for a young woman of delicate constitution. He said she would no doubt heal again in time and took her father out of the room to talk to him.
Alone again, she began to weep. She couldn't even curl up to cry, the pain was so intense. So she stared at the ceiling and cried quietly to herself. She wasn't quite sure what she was crying about. She was frustrated at herself and her body for letting her down at such a crucial time.
She was saddened that two people who meant so much to her were in such a dire condition.
She was heartbroken that Delilah no longer wished to be her friend.
But more than everything she was simply overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Things had been going so well for her and now she was paying back for the good times she had enjoyed.
Her father finally came to see her again by lunchtime. He brought a tray of her favourite foods, and with a little effort she sat up, struggling to eat a few mouthfuls. She didn't want to eat anything at all. But she could see the concern deeply etched into his face and she knew that if she did not eat, he would worry even more. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her father.
Every bite felt bland and thick in her mouth. Every swallow felt like a lump in her throat, making her gag a little. Every sip of tea left her wanting to stop. But with every morsel that passed her lips her father smiled in relief, so she kept on going until she had consumed a small but decent serving.
Her father took the tray and placed it gently on her bedside table so she could lie back down a little.
“You need to be strong, Kitty,” he said in a soft voice. “I know that you are suffering right now, but you must go on. I never expected your good health to last forever, but-”
Kitty shook her head. “It is not my physical health. I have no doubt that my physical health will return. Daddy, you are always so worried about my body, my strength and my weakness. But my body is not in such bad shape. When I am relaxed and happy, my body is very strong. It is my mind and my heart that are sore right now.”
He hesitated. “I suppose I have always focused so much on your physical health because that is something easy for me to address. I had a few issues with my body myself, I know what it feels like and what to do. The mind and the heart are far more mysterious to me.” He smiled meekly, averting his gaze. “I had the same problem with your mother. When her illness was all in her lungs, I knew how I could help. But as her mind grew sick I no longer knew what to do.”
Kitty took her father's great hand, which was resting on the edge of the bed, and squeezed it. It wasn't much of a squeeze. She didn't have enough mobility to even make a fist, let alone squeeze his big, strong, hairy paw. But he felt it and his smile became a bit more natural, a bit warmer.
“You did all you could for her, daddy,” Kitty said. “You did so much more than anyone else would or could. The fact that she passed of her physical condition, and not through harming herself, is testament to how much you helped her. Thanks to you she died a good, godly death, in her own time.”
He sighed. “Do you really want your old father's advice?” he asked.
She nodded. “I want nobody else's.”
“Heartbreak is not easy. It is never easy to lose anyone, but it is much harder to lose someone who you love so dearly,” he said quietly. “Even if he survives, you may still lose him. You can lose him to his family, to his class, to his business or to his travels. Such things happen, and even if he lives you must allow yourself to grieve.”
Kitty felt a weight on her chest and mind. “But I find it so hard, when there is still hope. It is still possible that I shall meet him again, that I may talk to him again, that Delilah may forgive me and ask for my forgiveness. How can I grieve when there is a chance of seeing him again?”
“Knowing I would see your mother again is precisely what helped me to grieve properly,” her father replied. “You must accept that you love him, and you will probably always hold some affections for him no matter what you do to hide them, or suppress them. Even if you meet a wonderful man and love and marry him, there will still be some tenderness in your heart for Lord Stamford. You must accept this and learn to live with that love.”
“What if it is all a mistake, though? Perhaps I fell in love by accident,” she said softly.
“God does not make mistakes, Kitty. It all has a purpose. Even this. Even the pain,” he repeated.
“I cannot see what purpose that would possibly be,” she said, staring at the ceiling.
“Perhaps the pain you feel on the inside is too great, and your body is letting it escape through the outside. Perhaps if it were trapped in your heart alone your heart might break,” her father said thoughtfully.
Kitty suddenly realized he was not only talking about her. He had lived this. She remembered her mother's death, and her father always complaining of a headache for a year after. That pain of losing her was so great it could not be contained in his heart alone. And she was suffering the same thing.
But... “Why do I need to suffer the internal pain in the first place, though?” Kitty asked. “I don't understand.”
“You will, in time,” her father replied. He stood up and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest. Perhaps after a nap your joints will feel better.”
He made sure the curtains were drawn wide, so she could look out across the fields as she rested, and then he left the room so she could rest.
She sank back into her pillows. He was right. The pain had come back as a consequence of her internal suffering. It was emanating out from her heart, affecting her body. But what could she do about it? And would the internal pain ever heal? Or was she doomed to experience it forever? And did that mean she would experience her joint condition forever?
Forever bedbound. Forever in pain. She could not imagine a worse fate.
Chapter 39
Kitty was not better after her nap. Or after a good night's sleep. In fact, it took an entire week for her joints to relax enough for her to even sit up, and a further three days before she was able to move to her chair by the window. She knew she would recover eventually. Whereas when she first returned home the idea of healing was ludicrous, now it felt more tangible, more realistic.
Even if love could not be cured, at the very least heartbreak could be. With enough time, enough patience, and enough love from her friends and family, she would not suffer his absence too much. But she could not be certain that she would return to her best health without him.
"You will heal, Kitty," her father assured her.
She shook her head a little. "I am not sure. I have never felt as well as I did in his company. Never before. It was like loving him gave me the strength to carry on."
"That did not give you the strength. You must have possessed it all along. You shall find it again," he replied.
"It's like a cruel joke, daddy. I have spent all my life trying to be healthier, to simply be a normal girl. And I got that, briefly, by his side. I woke up without pain, I travelled and did not require days of rest to recover. I had times where I did not so much as think of my joints when I moved," she explained. "And then it was all taken away."
"It must be painful, but have heart, you sh
all have it again," he reassured her.
Kitty paused, then sighed. "It doesn't matter. I have done it. I have shown everyone that I am just as strong and capable as any other young woman. It would have been nice to be healthy forever. But we all lose health as we age. I'm just facing that trial a little earlier."
Her father reached out and squeezed her hand. "Are you certain? Do not give up."
"I am not giving up. If I can ever be so healthy and happy again, I shall reach for it. But for now I must be content with what I have. And nothing shall take away the satisfaction I feel at succeeding," Kitty said.
"Did it make you that happy?" he asked.
"It was wonderful. So wonderful. Not just being normal, but living an adventure. Travelling to far off places, discovering new things. It was more than most healthy girls my age do. I have proven the world wrong. Someone like me can easily do everything healthy women do, and more," Kitty explained.
Her father leaned over and embraced her. "You truly have so much to be proud of."
"The only thing I cannot do..." she began.
Her father leaned back and made eye contact. "Is?"
"Is anything that requires cooperation from someone else. I cannot make someone spend time with me, or love me, or befriend me," she replied. "I cannot force anyone to accept care or words they do not want. No matter how much I want to give it."
"That is a painful fact of life for us all, Kitty," her father replied. "But is spontaneity not a wonderful thing?"
She paused, then nodded. "It is equal parts pain and joy," she said with a smile.
"That it is," he replied, kissing her forehead and standing up. "But we must focus on the joy."
As he left the room, she looked out of her window.
She saw the gardeners tending to the hedges. The garden had been specially designed by her mother, so that it looked at its very best from Kitty's window. That way at times like this she would be able to enjoy the outside, even if she could not be in it. Spontaneous pain and spontaneous joy. The loss of a mother, and her impulsive last minute gift to her child.
Kitty wasn't sure how she could go about healing, but whatever solution she could have chosen would have been better than the letter that arrived that afternoon. It was placed almost unassumingly on the edge of her tray, and nearly had a cup of milk spilled on it before she realized it was there and swiftly tore it open.
“To Kitty,
I am not sure how to address this letter, nor how to sign it, for I no longer know what you are supposed to mean to me.
Delilah has told me all that has happened. She has, in fact, told me several times, and apologized each and every time for her words and behaviour. I have forgiven her and I can only hope that you shall also forgive her and accept her as your friend once again.
During my recovery I was not sure about sending you a letter. I thought that perhaps your absence was intentional, and that you no longer wished to see us. It is only upon receiving news of your increasingly poor health that I put pen to paper.
I am very sorry for not writing to you sooner, but I have spent much of this time learning how to walk again. And how difficult it is! It is only the thought that a child can do so that has kept me making steady progress. And then I assumed you would not want to speak to me.
Now knowing all that has taken place, and with my body strong enough to travel, I believe it is vital that we meet again, so that I may properly thank you and ensure that you are keeping well.
Consider this a forewarning.
Yours gratefully,
Lord Stamford, aka Augustus Sinclair.”
Kitty was not sure at all what to do about this. She could not reject the company of an earl, much less that of an earl she loved. But did she dare face him? She was still recovering from heartbreak, and she knew full well that this could set her back.
It was not as if she had a choice in the matter. He was announced later that afternoon, before dinner, much to her surprise.
“I suppose I ought to see him,” Kitty said to her father, who was standing in her doorway, seeming a little concerned.
“Are you sure? You do not have to,” he said.
“I am sure. I cannot insult an earl, now, can I?”
“I shall speak with him first,” her father replied, “and call a servant to act as chaperone.”
Kitty had to suppress a laugh at the suggestion of a chaperone. If only her father knew how often they had been left together unattended.
It was not long after her father left that the earl and the maid walked in. Earl Sinclair looked amazing. So much better than when she had first seen him. Better than she had ever seen him. She suddenly felt so pitiful before him. There he was, standing tall and strong, taut muscles all but visible beneath his shirt, walking as assuredly as someone who had never been injured. And there was she, confined to her chair because of the damp.
“You look well,” she said, smiling meekly, trying her best not to show too much envy.
“I am not yet fully healed,” he said with a grin, “but I am working on it.”
“That is good to hear,” she said with a slightly more genuine smile as he walked over to the window, standing beside her chair.
She felt so much better just for having him near. But how could she allow herself to depend on him for her physical and emotional health, when he would no doubt leave? This was precisely what she had been afraid of. In fact, he was in such good shape, he was unlikely to be there for her help.
“I thought you might be here to ask me to rehabilitate you again. But as you can probably tell, I am a little busy working on myself, and you are doing an excellent job on your own,” she explained, now trying to hide her awe at having him stand so near to her in his full, healthy glory.
“I am not here to ask you to care for me, I am here to thank you for all you have done for me,” he said, leaning in. “Without you I might not be alive.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. “You might not be alive?” she asked.
“That is what they said. When they tried to determine the source of my unconsciousness, they noticed that there was some serious swelling against a main artery in my leg. They performed some surgery, to release the pressure, and discovered that my knee was half out of its socket, and had pinched the side of the artery. Had I continued to act as I pleased, rather than followed your advice, my knee could have torn my artery, causing me to bleed to death. Your wisdom saved me,” he explained.
Kitty was in awe. “So you are admitting that medical care helped?”
“You helped,” he said. There was a tense pause. “But I suppose we can also say that medicine helped. Without the doctors performing that surgery I may never have awoken. Even if I do have a rather impressive scar to show for it now. They have replaced my knee and say that with proper care it should all heal and work as normal again.”
Kitty smiled. “That is such fantastic news.” And it really, truly was. Her jealousy vanished, replaced with a true joy at the fact that the man she held so dear was going to be well.
“I suppose that after losing my father and my brother in law, I forgot the usefulness of medicine and of progress. I was afraid of it. Because for every step towards progress we must sacrifice so many lives,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Some of us must be the experiments which save others. And not all experiments end well.”
Kitty looked out the window again. “But some do. Sometimes an experiment saves even the first patient.”
“Indeed. I hope that shall be the case with your friend. What was her name? Helena?” he asked.
Kitty turned to look at the earl. “She has not had her surgery yet,” she remarked.
“I know, you told me,” he replied.
For a moment Kitty did not realize what he was saying. Then, she felt all the blood leaving her face. “But I told you when you were not conscious,” she said, feeling her hairs standing on end.
“I heard what you said when I was asleep,” he said softly.
“I will not say that I heard it all, but I most certainly heard most of it.”
“Oh, I see,” Kitty replied, nodding. Hopefully he had not heard everything she had said. Hopefully he had not heard that. “Well, I suppose that you would have heard some things besides my news about Helena.”
“Oh, yes. I heard a lot of things. Some very interesting things. Such as that there is someone who loves me, who had not thought to mention it to me until I was unconscious,” he smirked.
Kitty felt her face going from bloodless to slightly warm. “I suppose that you might have had a few dreams whilst you were asleep.”
“No, I am pretty certain that this was real,” he said with a grin. “I can most definitely tell the difference between the dreams I had and the things I heard. In my dreams I could see things, you see? But when I became aware in the hospital bed I could only hear.”
“How curious,” Kitty said, shuffling her feet and glancing at him before looking away again.
“Yes, and I have a very distinct memory of a very familiar voice saying that I could not die, because she loved me too much,” he said nonchalantly.
Kitty blushed, glanced up at his grinning face, and then looked aside again. “I am sorry. I said some things beyond my place, beyond my station. I ought to have kept my mouth closed, only, I thought you could not hear.”
“No, no,” she heard him say. “I am glad you said that. I am grateful to know, because truth be told I would have never guessed it on my own. I thought a few times when you were staying with me that you might have held some affections for me, but every time there was some doubt. But I still need to make sure of one thing.”
She heard a shuffling and looked to the side to see that he had knelt beside her chair. She smiled. He was so handsome. So perfectly formed.
