Veritas

by Quinn Coleridge

  And I have a new pair of spectacles. Black lenses again.

  We are due at the station in minutes, and my husband is in a great hurry. I hope he doesn’t notice the slight clicking sound in my case. I just helped myself to a pharmaceutical cabinet, taking as many containers of escape-in-a-bottle as would fit in the little valise. I found the right shelf, the correct medicine. An errant nurse took the same stuff out before leaving the little door open to crooks like me. Eight was the limit, plus a few needles.

  Really, Hester, couldn’t you have managed nine? It’s unlikely you’ll have this opportunity again.

  Kelly takes my arm, and we leave the hospital, making a clean get-away without the doctor even knowing we’re on the lam. The train chugs out of the station a few minutes after we take our seats. He’s given me the one by the window although the view is lost on my eyes. A gentleman out of habit.

  “How’s your back, Hester? Would you like to rest? Use my shoulder as a pillow, if you do.”

  It hurts when I move, or breathe, or remain stationary, or try to sleep. I do not mention this to Kelly. Instead, I turn toward the glass pane, realizing that this action is a great conversation-ender. One can face a window resolutely and conclude all communication with a traveling companion. Dulling my ears to sound, I lose myself in the gentle motion of the locomotive and awaken sometime later, plastered against Kelly. How mortifying. I hope I didn’t salivate or snore.

  “Feel better?” he asks. “We’ll arrive in Stonehenge by tea time.”

  Nodding, I again pivot toward the window. This time the doctor does not take the hint. “A shrug and a nod both in one day. I am a lucky fellow. Why don’t you sign instead, Mrs. Kelly?”

  My fingers fly into action before I can stop them. Not your real wife.

  The doctor laughs. “Legally, you are. The annulment hasn’t happened yet.”

  Our awkward marital state is amusing to Kelly but not to me. Tuning him out, I listen to the train sounds again until we reach Stonehenge. I’m not really upset with the doctor. He has become my closest friend, and I am grateful for all he’s done for me. But it is hard to be pleasant when I feel so wretched, when life seems like such a burden. Every bit of food, every kindness, every pleasant word is a condemnation. Surviving one’s survival can be difficult.

  Once we arrive in Stonehenge, Kelly leads me to the railroad platform. Exiting the station, we take High Street and turn west. The day is sunny and fairly warm, smelling of damp sidewalks, horses, and manure. As if on cue, I recognize the tread of the person walking toward us. Heart, mind, and soul cease to work properly. My first love is using the same sidewalk as Kelly and me.

  And Tom’s been drinking—a great deal too, by the smell of him. “Look here,” he says, slurring his words. “The girl of my dreams, the one who ruined me for all others.” He moves closer, blocking my way. “Didn’t take you long to move on though, did it? Married now, I hear, and to Kelly no less.”

  The doctor shoves Tom back a few feet. “Sleep it off, Craddock. Go home.”

  “I like it better in town, thanks.”

  Besides the alcohol, I detect the scent of jealousy. Not that Tom wants me back. He’s just mad because Kelly has something that once belonged to him. I feel his dark gaze on my face. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?” he asks, sounding truly perplexed. “One minute, I want to break your pretty neck. The next I want to kiss it.”

  “Shut up,” Kelly interrupts. “Don’t make me hit you. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

  Tom’s laughter is cold and hard. “And you’re such an ethical man? Won’t punch a drunk, but you’ll steal his girl.” He flicks the brim of his hat. “Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. I’m off to find a better class of people.”

  Tom steps around us, and pushes through the batwing doors of a nearby saloon. I listen as he greets the barkeep and a few of the working girls. Grief nearly drowns me when I compare the kind, gentle person Tom once was with the bitter wastrel I just encountered.

  “He’s the town hellion now,” Kelly says. “If it’s any comfort, I do believe his current behavior is just a phase.”

  It isn’t a comfort. Or a phase. Tom is still being influenced by my enemy. I felt the supernatural power of Archimendax, heard it control Tom when he spoke. How does one overcome such evil? I must locate that damn Mary Arden and get her help with this. Surely Willard Little Hawk would look for her if I paid him.

  Kelly hires a buggy and instructs the driver to take us to The Revels. I do not know where I will live now, but I’d like to get some things from my bedroom. The books Cordie read to me, the china teapot I received from Mama when I turned sixteen, my clothes and shoes. Kelly helps me into the vehicle and then climbs up, taking the seat next to mine. The horse moves forward, and we begin the journey to my old home.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” Kelly says. “I thought it would be too upsetting, but I’m not so sure now. Might be therapeutic.”

  What? I sign.

  He leans back and tells all. “There was a riot at the asylum last week. Some of the inmates got to Faust. It wasn’t pretty. They used the scarificator on his arms and legs, and left the man strapped down. Poetic justice, I suppose, but Faust hemorrhaged and died. Slowly and alone.”

  I think of the words I carved in the Pit. Lex talionis—an eye for an eye. Having killed the doctor many times in my imagination, I am surprised I’m not happier over this development. I feel sick instead.

  “Oddly, he was missing all of his fingers on one hand. They appeared to have been removed with a surgical saw post mortem.”

  The swirling in my belly grows. Was that the work of Harry Swinton? He held quite a grudge against the doctor. And Faust said Harry hated me, too. Even before I threw a dozen knives at him. I swallow and cross my arms, hugging myself.

  Kelly concludes the gruesome report. “Patients attacked the guards and tore up the place. Caused a fire in the west wing, a massive explosion. With so many bodies hidden under the rubble, it isn’t known how many people escaped the blast.”

  I wonder then about Matron. Watts. Titus. Roy. After fearing my tormentors each day at Ironwood, it’s difficult to accept that they’re injured or dead. And what of Gabriel? Did he survive? I doubt it. I’m lacking faith at the moment.

  The buggy turns left, horse’s hooves striking cobblestones. We’re at The Revels. I know this place so well and yet it doesn’t feel welcoming to me in the least. After the vehicle stops, Kelly gets out and lifts me down. Someone opens the front door. He walks across the porch and the soles of his shoes sound smooth against the stone—evidence of fine leather in action.

  “You’re a pleasing sight, Miss Hester. It’s good to have you back.”

  Simmons Harrow? I smile, relieved to hear his friendly voice.

  Kelly hands me my cane, and I take the steps slowly. The first thing I notice is the quiet, the sense of emptiness. No gossiping maids or fussy valet. No Cordelia Collins. I move across the foyer, and reach out to touch the old grandfather clock, but it isn’t there. The house even smells barren without the aroma of yeast and butter punctuating the air. Vases of sweet-scented flowers. Dried lavender.

  My footsteps echo through the dining room where I ate with my parents last November. Nothing but empty space. I proceed to the library and find it vacant as well. Kelly has followed me quietly to this point, but he walks to my side now.

  “What has happened, I wonder?”

  I shrug. No idea.

  Sim hovers near the threshold. I gesture for him to join us, but he hesitates. “I’m not sure where to begin…”

  “Get on with it, boy,” Kelly says. “Speak your mind.”

  “Her father lost all his money.”

  With those half dozen words, it is as though a verbal dam has suddenly broken inside of Sim. He releases a torrent of news all at once. “People are saying he cheated his business partners. That he would have gone to jail if he hadn’t sold everything and paid them off. And no one’s s
een him in weeks—not since he fired the staff. It’s just Willard and me here now, keeping watch over the place until the new owner arrives.”

  I can’t imagine Father without wealth. Cheating on his business partners is far easier to grasp. Maybe this was the cause of the desperate drinking after Mama died. He had been exposed as a crook and his carefully built empire was crumbling.

  “Must have owed them an enormous amount,” Kelly says. “What a shock for you, Hester.”

  I nod, although I don’t agree. After the last few months, I’d be surprised if my father’s greed affected me deeply enough to cause shock. I feel nothing. I might even like The Revels more without its riches.

  Fate’s use of irony in my life again.

  Sim clears his throat. “There’s a letter for you, miss. I put it in the study.”

  The doctor and I walk to father’s old sanctum, leaving Sim behind in the library. I feel badly for the boy, caught in the middle this way. And where will he go when the new owner of this house shows up?

  Once we enter the study, Kelly closes the door and moves toward the nearest book shelf, picks something up. A tearing sound, a paper being unfolded. I listen to his low, dry voice as he reads aloud. It is from my father’s attorney, written five days ago.

  “In essence, this says that your mother left you a stipend in her will,” he murmurs, after the first run-through. “And your father wants most of it.”

  According to the letter, Mama arranged for a deposit of $2, 400 annually to a bank account in my name. It was intended as personal wealth, to spend or invest as I deemed fit.

  “John Grayson provided well for you, from birth to the present time,” Kelly quotes Father’s lawyer. “He has experienced a reversal of fortune, and it is now imperative that you supply him with financial relief as a means of repayment for past largesse.”

  “Largesse? I’ll show your father the largesse of my boot when we meet again.” He shakes the letter in disgust. “And his lawyer should burn in hell for eternity.”

  I touch the doctor’s arm. He will give himself an aneurism if he doesn’t calm down. Kelly ignores me and continues reading. “We ask for sixteen hundred dollars a year, leaving you with the remaining eight hundred. In exchange, your father, John Grayson, will relinquish all of his parental rights. He will have no legal claim upon you, Hester Grayson, or any access to your future wealth.”

  Did I hear that right? He won’t have power over me again? Can’t commit me to another asylum?

  The whiskey-flavored voice draws me back. “You will be given accommodations at The Revels for the next thirty days, but we advise you to secure your own residence post haste as your family home was sold at auction. Please sign this document, should it meet with your approval, and return it forthwith to my office. Etcetera, etcetera. Have I mentioned how much I hate this lawyer?”

  I will sign, I reply.

  “Keep your money, Hester,” Kelly replies. “Tell him to—”

  Want freedom.

  “You’re a married woman now. Your father can’t touch you.”

  Not real marriage.

  “Yes, I know. You keep reminding me of that.” Kelly wanders the study, counting to himself. It helps him control his temper. After a few minutes pass, he’s ready to talk again. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t you like some time to consider this? Sixteen hundred dollars is a lot to give away each year.”

  He watches me for a moment, probably hoping I’ll change my mind. “All right,” he finally says, flipping his jacket pocket open. “Use my Waterman.”

  I take the pen and sign the paper against the doctor’s back. There must be drops of ink everywhere. On my gloves, Kelly’s suit. I don’t give a hang. Once the document goes into effect, I won’t be affluent, but I’ll have enough money to survive. And most important, I’ll be free of my father.

  Kelly paces the room once more, counting a bit louder. I sense the emotion inside of him—smell the frustration and anger driving each step. He makes one final rotation and comes to a stop in front of the study door.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks. “Would you like some supper?”

  I shake my head, trying to decide what to do next. Investigate the house further? Unpack? Cry for joy over my newfound independence? For reasons I do not understand, my reticence bothers the doctor.

  “A head shake, a few words in sign now and then, a grimace,” he says, stepping closer. “That’s all I get from you nowadays, Hester. Where’s the woman I once knew? Where’s your spirit?”

  Temper quickens my heartbeat and warms my skin. Just like a man. Putting himself where he doesn’t belong. I care for Noah Kelly, damned if I don’t. He’s worked his way into a corner of my heart—sticking there like a puncture weed—but this is a poor time for criticism. I’m tired, my back hurts something fierce, and I’m in need of a dose of opium.

  Kelly wants spirit, does he? He shall have it.

  I push up the sleeves of my coat and launch into sign. Give father money. My life! Not yours. My decision! Not yours. Stay the hell out!

  The doctor remains quiet, leaning against the door, the wood squeaking under his weight. It feels rather good to be mad, even if I am almost screaming with my hands. On fire now, I have another go at him.

  This is nothing. Nothing. No pain, no cold. Not locked up or dying. Losing money? Easy.

  With that, I snap my fingers. My chest is heaving, and I feel radiant, my former weariness forgotten.

  “Why hello, Hester,” Kelly says, sounding breathless himself. “About time you showed yourself.”

  I make an obscene gesture, but the whole effect is ruined when I sway a little. In reaction, Kelly pushes off the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me right on the mouth.

  To say that I am unprepared for this is an understatement. More surprising still, I cannot let go of Kelly. I am enthralled by the strong, hard lines of his body, the texture of the stubble on his cheek, his hand entwined in my hair. Vital. Ardent. This man is a new craving, like oxygen, opium, and sustenance, all rolled into one. I push him back to the door, hear him land against it with a thud.

  I am undone, utterly destroyed by the kiss. It tastes sweet and clean, the intentions behind it passion-fueled but honorable. If I maintain our contact, will I become sweet and clean and honorable, too? Made whole, as I never was before?

  Closer, Kelly. Please don’t stop.

  But an image forms in my mind, disrupting all physical sensation. Free of revelations for weeks and Fate prods at me now? And with prescience, no less. That rare glimpse into the future of a Visionary seen once or twice in a lifetime. Warning or promise, it’s a roll of the dice.

  The image shows Kelly and me, waking in a bed together. The room is neat and homely, with calico curtains and a braided rug. We’re nestled close—I’m pressed up against his back with my arm around his waist, and one of his feet is tucked between mine. Kelly’s darkish-gold hair is rumpled on one side when he rolls over and gives me a crooked smile. Unguarded, lazily affectionate.

  “Good morning,” he says, caressing my cheek.

  His wedding ring glints in the early morning light, and I drink in the sight of him, fascinated by the clever hazel eyes, the beautifully formed face. Who would tire of such a man? Kind, intelligent, funny as hell. A part of me wishes to stay here with him forever. This moment feels so happy, so normal, and what Visionary can deny the allure of that? Our connection has nothing to do with magic or ancient callings from Roman diety. We’re just Hester and Noah.

  Still prescience is a tricky thing. It allows a small glimpse in time, not the entire picture. What comes just after the incident could be terrible. Tragic, even.

  Fate, you treacherous crone. Why do you play such games?

  Then all goes dark, blind. Without Kelly knowing I’ve gone to another sphere, I am back again in my father’s study.

  The doctor pulls away, just a little. “I’ve thought of kissing you for some time,” he says. “Almost since the beginning.”

 
; 31

  Incendio.

  An all-consuming fire.

  His words seduce, intoxicate like sweet wine. They distract me from prescience, and visions and make all the poets in the world right as never before. Lord Byron, in particular. Drawing me against his chest, Kelly pulls the ribbon from my hair. It falls a few inches below my jaw, not at all the proper length for a lady, but he runs his fingers through the waves, murmuring, “Beautiful, like starlight.”

  Ridiculous man. My hair and the word beautiful have never been used in the same sentence. I touch his face, his smiling mouth, seeing without my eyes. Kelly bites one of my fingers. “Come home with me. Be my wife in truth.”

  Just the mention of truth pierces my heart, and I turn cold. Be his wife? His real wife? No. I cannot. I’m not fit for marriage to anyone, let alone dear Kelly.

  “You’re shivering,” he says, rubbing my arms. “Would you like my jacket?”

  I shake my head and he releases me. “Hester, you look ill. What’s wrong?

  Not a wife. Not now.

  “Well, you acted a lot like one a minute ago.” He laughs differently this time, sounding anything but happy. “All right. If not now, when? Do you have a time frame in mind? A month, a year, two years?”

  We’d fail. Can’t you see?

  “I see that you’re afraid of trying, of allowing yourself to be happy.”

  Stop, Noah. You don’t know.

  He touches my arm. “Then tell me. Tell me.”

  The study has grown crowded with just the two of us. Hot and oppressive with the smell of ink and dust and love and fear. I want to leave.

  Never understand. Broken inside.

  “I’m your friend. Let me help.”

  No. I fix myself.

  Turning my back on him, I find a handkerchief in my reticule and wipe my eyes. I’ve been so low since leaving Ironwood—nightmares, flashbacks, cold sweats. Sometimes I hear Faust’s voice at the most random moments, and I’m petrified, even though I know it isn’t real. I loathe confined spaces, freezing water, and most men, present company excluded. Father, Faust, even Tom have soured me on the species, but never Noah Kelly. None of this is normal or right. It’s far too great a burden to ask him to bear.