But Simon had been right about one thing. It would have been extremely risky to go through with the act and then have to worry about pregnancy.
She had certainly learnt enough about preventing conception at the clinic. When she took a lover, it would simply be a case of getting some sponges and vinegar or lemon juice. Or some of the sheepkin prophylactics which also prevented disease.
And Simon would not be shocked. After all, he had said he lived in a brothel....
Then she shook her head. Listen to her, planning for her own seduction at the hands of a madman with all of the finesse of an army general. A French army general, she thought with a giggle.
For the French were reputed to be superb lovers, and she was sure Simon had to be at least partly French from his musical accent.
What she had seen of Simon had certainly more than confirmed the magnificent lover part. His every touch and kiss had been a devastating onslaught, even though he had been doing his best to hold back.
Curiously, he didn’t even seem to be aware of his own power. In fact, he seemed to think that she was the one who was bewitching him. Even her slightest brushing against his loins had rendered him unable to hold back his... What was it he had called it? Orgasm? Pinnacle.
She suddenly understood a few things that had puzzled her in the past. It had to be what she had overheard the girls at the clinic calling ‘coming.’ It was something they tried to get their clients to do as quickly as possible so they could move on to the next customer.
She also knew some men couldn’t contain themselves, while others couldn’t manage at all. And a couple of the women had even said something about stopping the men from doing it at all so the woman could catch up.
Gabrielle had tried not to listen, for indeed relations between men and women had seemed so far removed from her own life, worried as she was about her sister, that it had not mattered. She had certainly never imagined herself having a lover.
Lover. She hugged the word to her like a warm blanket as she went about her chores back down in the common ward, cleaning wounds, stitching, bandaging.
She had always been afraid of the word. But the reality had been so incredible. How could she fear something that had felt so perfect despite all of the appalling circumstances?
But she knew what Antony would say. And she had to acknowledge that he was right to a certain extent. Lucinda had believed she'd known Oxnard well, that he would be a wonderful lover and husband, and look how she had ended up.
What did she really know about Simon apart from the fact that he was in Bedlam, epileptic, and absolutely huge in every sense of the word? He was certainly large enough to be dangerous if he ever turned violent.
But then, Oxnard was not a large man and she had seen Lucinda shrink from his touch as though he were a plague-carrier.
No, Simon had seemed, gentle, kind, and certainly not selfish in any way. He had gone out of his way to help two perfect strangers, and done everything he could to protect them. Except they were not strangers after all… He remembered them even if she couldn't recall him as of yet.
Perhaps that was why she had felt so safe with him, and yet thrilled, excited too. He was from her past, her happier times. Only now, there had been a certain tension between them, a half-knowing, a little frisson of fear...
Or was it just nerves, a bit of reserve such as existed between a man and a woman who were aware of each other as such? It was not exactly flirtatious, more like a consciousness of each other’s every move. A sort of instinct, a special connection with the other person’s breathing, thoughts, posture and movement. Like leaning into each other to speak so only that person could hear. A certain intimacy.
Yes, that was it. She had never encountered such a feeling herself before, but she had seen it in her married cousins Michael and Randall, though certainly not between Lucinda and Oxnard. If she was being brutally honest, she and her sister had envied their dashing cousins and their wives with all their hearts.
Oh, she had never harboured any romantic designs upon Randall, even though he had been one of the most noted rakes in London and Paris after the war.
Michael certainly not, for he had been terrifying to her, the Grim Reaper, the epitome of the perfect soldier in the Peninsular War, hardly taking a day of leave from 1808 when he had gone over to Portugal with the first of the British forces in July of that year, until he had been badly wounded at Toulouse in April 1814. No, she had never wanted a war hero for a husband.
Yet, judging from the appalling scars all over Simon’s body, it would appear that she had might have got just that. Yet Michael and Simon were like night and day so far as she could tell.
Simon didn’t terrify her at all, except in the sense of wanting to be with him, but being painfully aware of her own shortcomings. Of course he would want and be interested in her. He had been locked away for a long time.
With her red hair and odd eyes which people said were like that of a sea-witch, she certainly didn’t think she was beautiful. Not compared with Lucinda, who was the English ideal, with blond hair, blue eyes and a delicate, slender beauty.
Gabrielle was thin and lithe as well, but her bosom had always been embarrassingly full, and her bottom too most definitely rounded and well-shaped, not suited to the straight hang of the gowns of the past few years at all.
But she also hated all the flounces and furbelows that seemed all the rage these days. Why on earth any woman wanted to look like a bell she had no idea. But at least the puffed out skirts distracted men from her bottom. Before those gowns had come into fashion, she had been pinched and subjected to even worse at the few balls she had been able to attend.
Well, now that she was for the most part poor, she didn’t have to worry about that any longer. Balls and soirees were in her past now, well and truly.
But that brought her to another practical matter. Did Simon have anything to call his own, even a change of shirt? Not that she cared, but if she was to help him, and possibly one day have a romantic future together, they were going to have to both work and effect a continuous household economy.
She made a modest competence at the clinic, and the little money she had left after her parents' and brother's death, and Lucinda's marriage, was invested well, she thought, her mind whirring down the blissful path of happily ever after as she applied some liniment to blackened eyes and bruised cheeks.
If she did her best to not touch the principal and let the interest accrue, the small sum would grow nicely. She could take in more work, sewing and so on, perhaps even be a governess….
She didn’t know what Simon had been trained for. She didn’t even know about his background, except that he had told her he had seen her in the past in Dorset.
He could not have been a friend of her brother, he was too old. Nor of her father. Too young. A Rakehell, then, one of Randall and Michael's set from Eton? Not close in age to Antony though, for they would have known each other, and Simon seemed older.
All of them had been to school together, were cultured, educated. Simon had the unmistakable bearing of a man of importance for all he had been humbled before her, naked, writhing in his illness and trembling from his lack of opium.
She wasn't sure if he had trained for any profession, or if he was monied, but he had to come from a family of some means for him to be so educated. Well, the main thing was to get him built back up, and above all, weaned from the opium. Once they did that, they could manage anything...
She drew herself up short there. That was really putting the cart before the horse. She wanted to help him, but was she the only one? He had to have a family, a home, people who cared about him, would be willing to help him. It really wasn't her responsibility. She would make inquiries and find—
“And this one needs to have—” Antony scowled down at his cousin. “I say, Gabrielle, do please pay attention.”
“I’m sorry. I've not had much sleep, and I’m worried about Lucinda. Can you go up and see her again just to be su
re that the bleeding has stopped and all seems well to you?” she said, covering her embarrassment with the most convenient excuse she could invent. She blushed even more hotly with guilt over the little lie.
“I will in a moment. Just help me with this lady first.”
“Thank you. I was just contemplating what might have happened if—”
“Don’t think about it.”
She pressed her lips together and sighed, trying to refrain from voicing her fears aloud. In the end she couldn't help but say, “But the fact is that Simon came along when we needed him, and helped us when he could very easily—”
His face closed up again for the third time that day. “If this is another hint for me to try to find him, it’s a waste of time. We’re far too busy to—”
She put down the pot of ointment and dared to meet his eyes. “But you heard what he said. He needs opium. He might be tempted to eat the food and kill himself in error. Or on purpose," she added after a moment, recalling the incident the might before with the opium bottle whe he had begged he to let him die.
At that alarming thought, he nodded. “You're right. Of course. I shouldn't let a few obstacles stop me from pursuing the just course of action. He was clearly in despair last night, and you're right, he doesn't seem the least mad to me, simply ill. Just think about the madness of our late king, and how much could have been done for him with the right medicines. All right, I’ll see what I can do.”
She flashed him a rellieved smile. “Thank you, Antony. Here, take these pies, and—”
“I know, I know. Fresh water and some opium if he's desperate.”
He went on his way with a brisk air of determination, but came back a half an hour later with a full basket and an apologetic look.
“Everyone tells me there is no such person. I don’t understand. I saw him, spoke with him. He was as real as you or me.”
Her brows knit. “Why would they pretend he didn’t exist?”
“I have no idea. I mean, it’s not as if you can hide him easily. He's rather large and distinctive looking.”
"Aye, too distinctive."
He raised his brows. "What do you mean?"
She thought for a moment before replying, "Doesn't he seem, well, familiar to you somehow?"
"Hmm, a bit, now that you mention it, but—" Then he shrugged one shoulder. "No, can't place him now. But he does remind me of someone…."
She didn't want to reveal all that Simon had said to her, so shook her head. “But even if he weren't a possible acquaintance, I just hate thinking of him suffering somewhere because of the opium and us being unable to reach him. Alone, cold, frightened, and worst of all, thinking—” She halted abruptly and blushed.
“Thinking what?” Antony asked softly.
“That we were repelled by him, or changed our minds about him or that he was at fault in some way.”
“But Gabrielle, he has to be in here for a reason. Why do you insist upon making him into some sort of, I don’t know, a kind of romantic hero?” he asked as he began to sort through his medicine bottles once more.
“I just feel, um, connected to him in some way.”
“He tiddled you when I was asleep, didn’t he?”
Gabrielle’s blush gave him all the answer he needed.
He looked appalled. “I can’t believe he would force—”
She shook her head quickly. “There was no force. I tiddled him just as much if not more.”
Antony thumped his head with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe this! Gabrielle, what were you thinking? If I didn’t know better I would say his madness was contageous. What on earth—”
“I’m old enough to know my own mind and body,” she said, squaring her shoulders.
“But he isn’t!" he rasped, shaking her lightly by the elbow. "He's an opium addict. And he's been committed. Even if he isn't really mad, it makes no difference. Don’t you understand? There’s no future for you! He had no legal rights, can’t vote or marry. Can’t sign himself out of Bedlam. Only his family can do that. He’s trapped in here for as long as they and the authorities see fit to keep him. He has less future than a man in prison, for God's sake. Even they have a fixed sentence and a chance for parole.”
His words chilled her, but Gabrielle argued hotly, “He may have been unwell once, but is it not possible that he was only in here because of the epilepsy? Or the addiction, which he says was not his fault? You’ve seen plenty of women and babies at the clinic who take a tonic thinking it's going to help, and end up addicted to opium or alcohol! Don’t attribute it to some sort of character defect in him. It would be the height of hypocrisy!”
“Now I never said—”
“So if we can get his strange fits under some sort of control and wean him off the drug, why can’t he come out?”
“And how can you control his epilepsy?” he demanded in exasperation.
“He did say he gets warnings of the fits. We can make sure that he rests, does not get agitated—”
“You want to tie yourself down to an invalid and former addict? When your sister, is ill, and when there are thousands of other men who would give their right arm for—”
“I can’t explain it,” she argued vehemently. “All I know is he needs me.”
Antony shook his head. “If I were you I would concentrate on rescuing my own sister. If you have all the answers, then help Lucinda so she can get out of here before that child is born.
"And now, if you will forgive me, I am going to go tend to that man over there. I really don’t want to listen to any more of this nonsense. I have work to do.”
He strode away without a backward glance, leaving Gabrielle staring at him, wondering what had got into her normally placid cousin.
And what had got into herself for ever dreaming of a future with a madman she had just met in an asylum…
Antony was stunned at the force of his emotions, and finally had to admit to himself what they were. He felt more ragingly jealous than he ever had in his life.
He could not believe his lovely auburn-haired cousin was so smitten by a mad stranger that she would have allowed him to take liberties and was now speaking of him as if...
As if he was her intended.
Well, he would soon see about that.
When he was sure most of the injured inmates had been tended to, he told Gabrielle to tidy up their supplies while he went to see Lucinda.
Instead he went to the hospital authorities. He stared at the attendant behind the desk, for he was short and portly, nothing like the man who had appeared to be in charge earlier that morning when they had been rescued from the bathroom.
“I’m sorry, Doctor, er—”
“Dr. Herriot, sir. I was just wondering, well, the inmate known as Simon. I don’t know his last name. He did a great deal to help my cousins yesterday, before he collapsed into some sort of fit. I was just wondering if there was something we could do for him. If I could perhaps come see him and try to help him with his condition.”
The tubby little man shook his head. “Your Christian sentiments are most admirable, young man, but some people truly are not worthy of being saved. That man Simon is just such a one. He is an animal. You should thank your lucky stars you were unharmed.”
“An animal?” Antony echoed in confusion. “Oh, surely—”
“An animal,” he reiterated, and called to his assistant. “Please get me the file on Simon. I think you’ll find all you need to know on the first page.”
Chapter Eight
When Antony returned from the office of the head of the hospital, Gabrielle could see at once that something had happened. Her cousin’s face was grey from shock.
“Lucinda? Is she—?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, no, everything is fine. If you and Oliver are done, I should like to go home and have a bath and some supper. Then we need to talk.”
“Antony, you’re scaring me!”
“No, it’s not Lucinda, she’s fine. I’m j
ust very tired and disgusted at the moment. Let’s go.”
He took her arm and almost dragged her out to the front gate. She had barely had time to snatch up her cloak and basket before he hurried her out of the asylum as though the common ward were on fire.
She shot a concerned look at Oliver, but her handsome blond colleague simply shrugged and followed on behind.
Antony took her back not the clinic, but their home, a small townhouse which he had had divided into two sets of apartments so that Gabrielle could be moderately independent and no one would attach any scandal to the cousins sharing the same household.
Madness Page 9
