Despite his continued haze, Ridley already knew what that meant as he had faced it prior to drinking the laudanum.
He was a hero no more.
At thirty-two, he was sentenced to a life that would end what he loved most: his career.
His inability to walk would announce to every mother fucking delinquent that he, Evan Oswald Ridley, was a stronghold no more and that he was weak and that with a single sweep could be toppled over like a domino unable to stand on its edge.
No longer would he be able to sprint, hop over walls or grab collars.
He’d be confined to a bed and a chair.
It was too much. “Leave,” he rasped against the dryness of his throat. “I don’t want the likes of you tending to me. Leave.”
“You have certainly made a mess of things, Mr. Ridley. All of your own doing.” Dr. Watkins held up the empty glass bottle of laudanum and tapped it with a large, calloused finger. “Much like the coca/limestone, no more of this or you’ll end up dead. These apothecarians and doctors here in London don’t know medicine. This does not heal. It poisons. It will therefore be removed from your bedside and regiment and replaced with water steeped with ginger. Drink it on the hour and no more coca/limestone or you will be dead.”
The coca and the laudanum he could live without, but…Jemdanee…Jem…da…nee…
She was his new coca.
It was yet another reason why he drank the laudanum.
To save her from himself and what he wanted: her.
Ridley tried to sit up against quaking arms, unable to hold onto his pride, despite knowing his leg was unusable. He needed to see her. For he sensed she had found him. Much like she did when she followed him to the abandoned building.
For she was his little raven. The one that tapped at the glass, wanting in. He swallowed knowing it. “Where is she? I have to…I have to apologize to her for what I did.”
A large hand firmly eased him back down. “She left for India a few weeks ago. She insisted I stay with you and oversee your healing. She tasked me to deliver these into your hands.” Dr. Watkins gestured toward the bedside table where a sealed parchment and a small green bottle sat atop of it. “She wishes you well.”
‘I can be as stubborn as you. I will tap the window until it cracks and if you still refuse to open that window despite my beak bleeding…’ She held up her bandaged hand. ‘Then I swear unto you, Ridley, I will make you bleed in turn and I will make you crawl, too. For you cannot make us both suffer for the bond we have found in each other.’
She was punishing him. She was punishing him for having punished himself. And she did so by leaving. By making him breathe knowing he now couldn’t.
Though it felt as if a sword had been impaled into his brain knowing she was so far out of his reach, despite the damnable breaths he still took, he now knew what his path was without even touching her letter.
There was no changing it.
The real Ridley was coming for her.
Dr. Watkins grew quiet. “You take your profession far too seriously, Mr. Ridley. A bit of advice when ‘investigating’ and ‘incriminating’ others. Vile accusations are no different than committing murder.”
The man leaned in close, his nostrils flaring. “If your leg wasn’t already broken, I would break it again because I specialize in setting and breaking bones. Because I never wanted her to know the truth of the disease I was born with. Yet because of you I was forced to say it. Because of you, I was forced to expose my vile shame to the only person who ever mattered to me. I have never lusted for children. I am what you virile men call a Molly and a Peter. But my profession and my faith in God has always been far more important to me than who I bed, and therefore I have taken a righteous God-loving path and don’t associate with men. Never even touched one and never will.”
Ridley’s lips parted.
Dr. Watkins looked away. “The ring you had stripped from my waistcoat after my arrest was a gesture any father would make to his daughter.” A breath escaped him. “When she was twelve, she begged for a ruby ring which I thought too ostentatious for a child. Every year thereafter, she continued to beg for that same ring. I therefore saved for it and wanted to surprise her with a trip to London given she had never been. Whilst I had no hope professors might see her potential, I still wanted her to feel important given the amount of rejection she has endured in far too many facets of her life. To her people, she is too light, and to our people, she is too dark. No one wants her, not even those who claim to be of her caste. I feel the burden she endures every day. And you…you tried to erase what little hope I have given her by making her believe the only person who loved her was a lie. You, who are blinded by darkness in the name of a justice you no longer represent.”
A shaky breath escaped Ridley’s lips. His throat and chest burned. For in the name of justice, and his need to grab every last collar, he had become the very thing London and all of its people and its newspapers were good at: gossip in the guise of a righteousness that was never there.
“Forgive the crass assumption,” Ridley finally offered, trying to remain calm yet unable to. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt her. I was attempting to protect her.”
“I recognize that.” Dr. Watkin’s smoothed his mustachio, his brow creasing. “Despite my own grievances, and that she now knows the truth, you did do more for her than anyone has in a long time. She is safe and the conviction was overturned due to your faith in her innocence. And for that I thank you and that is why I stayed to oversee your healing. She is a miraculous individual full of light set against high winds, is she not?”
Ridley didn’t need to be told twice as to where this was going. “I didn’t touch her.” I wanted to but I didn’t. I fought the devil in her name and couldn’t even die doing it.
Dr. Watkins stared. “I never insinuated you did. She told me everything. I merely wish to understand what it is you, a man of your age, want from her. Define it and I will try to understand.”
How fitting. God was officially sitting at his bedside. He’d barely been conscious for ten minutes and the guilt was setting in. “I am an unconventional man in nature, Dr. Watkins. Much like you are. I hide in the shadows for a reason. I belong there.”
“Let us permit this conversation to be kept between us men. Which I am. Should there be any doubt about the arms I am known to break.” His tone hardened. “I will not permit her to become what too many white men do to her people. The only association I will ever permit is one of matrimony. Do you understand?”
Ridley eased out a breath, trying to think through the haze. “Setting aside that she is far too young to even—”
“Is that all you see? An age? I can assure you, Mr. Ridley, her soul is as old as any river given all that it has seen. And much like a river, she continues to flow and bubble clean despite what people throw into it. For she clings to what few people ever do anymore: the glory of tomorrow.”
That voice faded. “Prior to landing into my care, she was living beneath a manure cart subsisting off of rotting apricots she chewed well-beyond the pit’s bitter center in an attempt to feed herself. She had been living there for over a month after the death of her mother who had been raped and butchered by a group of Bengali men who were determined to show women in that district what associating with white men resulted in. I never told her, because the truth changed nothing. She is and will forever be an orphan, regardless of what I give her, so if I can lessen that orphan’s pain, as a doctor, I will do it. Never tell her. Never tell her lest the last of her smiles die. Save her.”
Ridley closed his eyes, sinking into the pillows and the bed around him. He felt his soul sway with a pain he hadn’t known since his own father had been butchered.
Their souls were now mates.
Mates bound by the pain of life.
She who had saved his life twice.
She who broke her beak doing it. “Why did she leave? Does he letter explain it?”
“I do not know what she
penned, Mr. Ridley, but there were a multitude of reasons as to why she left. Your attempt at suicide was not something any human ought to witness. It altered the state of her mind.”
Ridley swallowed knowing it.
“Aside from that, she had little choice but to leave. She went from being infamous to a celebrity overnight after it was made known she not only rescued you from death, but found the broken tip of the quill at the murder scene which led to the confession of a manservant who had been hired by the Barlow heirs to do the poisonings. The journalists and crowds were making it impossible for her to have any peace. Men were climbing up the bannisters to break windows.”
Christ. The usual. “You didn’t send her alone, did you?”
“What sort of a guardian do you think I am?” Dr. Watkins gave him a pointed look. “You needn’t worry. She was escorted by the best Scotland Yard had to offer to oversee her trip back to India. In fact, she will be living with the Governor-General, who is a good friend of mine, at the Government House in Calcutta until further notice. It is my attempt at giving her a sense of normalcy and independence. She will be overseeing their vast array of greenhouses on the grounds and will be paid incredibly well for her duties. She is thrilled about the prospect of earning an actual wage.”
The tightness in his throat was unbearable.
India was too far.
He had to get to her.
Before his little raven flew off to be with someone else.
He’d sooner break that someone in half and bury the bones.
For they were bound.
He dreaded her letter. “Is she waiting for me? I need to know.”
A disgruntled breath escaped Dr. Watkins as the clattering of instruments being gathered filled the room. “Damn you for thinking she would and no,” he bit out. “She has given you up and did nothing but cry. In fact, she did more than that. She fed and bathed you after your attempt at suicide and well before that, when you suffered your initial seizure in that abandoned building, she saved your life by placing her own fingers against your tongue to keep you from choking. You bit into them so deep and so hard to the bone, she required threading through all four fingers.”
A shaky breath escaped him as Ridley momentarily closed his eyes. Her hand. It hadn’t been glass. She had endured the wrath of his seizure in his name to save him from death.
Something no woman had ever done for him.
How could she let his soul soak into hers and then let him go? How could she?
Thudding the side of the bed, Dr. Watkins sighed. “One would think she had swallowed the Bhagirathi-Hooghly river in an attempt to pour it all back out in your name. Sobbing the way she did isn’t something she does for anyone. Not like that.”
Ridley gripped the linen draped around his broken body. My little raven. “Did she cry?”
“You appear to take pleasure in that.”
That was what the demon in him. He wanted tears for proof.
Dr. Watkins shoved his remaining instruments into his satchel. “Love is all that girl ever wanted and if you cannot offer her that, let her go as she has already let you go. ‘Tis fairly obvious you prefer to bring her harm.”
Selfish though it was of him, given that he now lived, and knowing what she had done for him, he refused to do it. Why would he let her go? Why would he let go of the one who had entrusted her life into his hands with a smile? Why would he let go of the one who had kept him from falling into the arms of his greatest enemy: death? Why would he let go of the one who still knew how to laugh despite the world trying to make her cry?
That was the beacon of an unbreakable mind that refused to bend.
Like his.
Sitting up, Ridley winced against the stabbing, shooting pain seizing his legs. Jesus. He breathed in and out, in and out through nostrils in a shaky attempt to control the writhing. “Is it possible I could walk if I…strengthen my leg?” he hissed out.
Dr. Watkins lingered. “That I do not know. Most likely not. You sustained quite a bit of damage. It’s nothing short of miraculous that it didn’t have to be amputated.”
Ridley almost took a fist to his own skull knowing it was his own doing. “I have to walk. I have to.” To get to her. “Even if it means I’ll stretch every bone and muscle, I have to—”
“I suggest easing the torture and rest. For rest is something you have denied yourself and your body for far too long under the guise of coca. Heed the warning and rest.”
Dr. Watkins held out an old book, tilting its thick spine toward him. “Given your mind appears to be like mine and is anguished whenever it is sentenced to the death known as rest, take this time to learn her ways and reconsider offering her what she deserves: more. Take comfort in knowing the independence you graciously encouraged her to embrace is now hers. Let her cradle it without either of us becoming what she no longer needs: a parent. What she will need in time is a husband. She may deny it, but she only ever talks about how one day her children will learn the art of botany alongside her.”
Children.
It was inevitable that in time, such a wild spirit as hers would look for a man to fill her womb with exactly that. A choice outside of him. A life outside his reach. A man who would possess her and treat her like a pet. Stroking. Caging. Hiding her behind the glass windows of a house.
Never. “I have found marriage does not create a bond between men and women, Dr. Watkins. In fact, it erases it. For a man is given a mere piece of paper that states a woman belongs to him, when in fact, there are never guarantees in that. I prefer my guarantees to be written in blood.”
The blood she poured for him.
That was their contract.
Ridley eyed the book bearing the gold lettering India.
Only he and he alone was strong enough to ensure her skies were never darkened by any permanent night. Only he and he alone was strong enough to guzzle poison in her name. Only he and he alone could find the strength to walk on a leg that was unwalkable.
What other man would do that for her?
For she deserved to be carried over far more than a muddy road to ensure her slippers didn’t get soiled. She deserved to be worshiped and given an altar. One made of rope.
She would get that.
Whether she married another or not.
Whether she loved another or not.
They were bound and he would rip down every wall to ensure she knew it.
Like she had first wanted.
Regardless of what that letter said, he wasn’t letting her go.
Dr. Watkins set the book on India beside him. “I found it amongst your father’s collection. There was a total of thirty-two books on one shelf, all of it on India.”
Ridley’s gaze lifted to Dr. Watkins. There were so many in the house, even he, who had tried to organize them and go through them, had been unable to touch a fraction. He paused. “Did you say thirty-two?”
“Yes. I hope you don’t mind, but given the amount of hours I’ve spent in the house while tending to you, I’ve been rummaging through what is without a doubt the most impressive collection of antiquities I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. You actually have medical books of Celtic origin. And the ones on India are equally marvelous.”
It was a sign from his father.
India. It was where he was supposed to go. It was where he was supposed to be. With her. Thirty-two books on India and he, Ridley, was the age of thirty-two. His father had once told him that if there was ever another side, he would arrange the books with a sign.
This was that sign. Protecting her and seizing her for his own was his right. His. Right. “Take them. Take any.” Leaning over to the side table and with quaking limbs, he dragged her letter and the small bottle and set both onto his lap. Still leaning over, he opened the drawer, biting back a pain-ridden wince. “There should be…a thousand in bank notes. Take it.”
“I prefer not to—”
Ridley rattled the night stand. “She mentioned you no longer have your
inheritance. Permit me to thank you for overseeing my recovery. Take it.”
Dr. Watkins hesitated, then slowly gathered the bank notes and folded them into his pocket. “I appreciate your generosity and will send it to my elderly mother.”
Ridley leaned toward him. “Do you require more?”
“No. God has blessed me with a position in India I will have to return to soon.” Dr. Watkins took up his satchel and walked to the door. He opened it and glanced back at him. “A certain Mrs. Berkley is waiting downstairs in your parlor. Your former wife, I believe. She has been visiting almost every day and has been waiting for you to regain consciousness. Shall I sent her in?”
Ridley hissed out a breath. “I’d rather you break all two hundred and six of my bones.”
“I doubt it would help. That one refuses to leave.”
“Oh, I know it. Once married, always married. Even after a divorce.”
“So much for that piece of paper you complained about, Mr. Ridley.”
“It’s not the paper I ever complained about.”
A breath escaped Dr. Watkins. “Are you wanting me to send her away?”
Ridley lowered his gaze to his hand and to the wedding ring he still wore and with the grit of teeth, wedged it off. He was done insulting himself. He hadn’t failed her. She had failed him.
Jemdanee was proof of what a woman should be. “No. Have her come up.”
“I will. Rest and I will call on you again in the morning. The servants know to peer in on you on the hour without the pull of the bell.” Dr. Watkins closed the door.
Barely breathing against the haze that still gripped him and the deep, deep throbbing within his muscles and bones, Ridley gripped Jemdanee’s letter and rotated the wedding ring between pulsing fingers, letting it bite into his skin one last time.
He stared at the door, numb.
Any moment.
Any moment.
Any moment.
Mr. Ridley: A Whipping Society Novel Page 24
