Chapter 18
The doctor came and went, leaving behind nothing but the acrid bite of camphor and the hollow shell of his reassurances.
My prognosis, he’d murmured to Sylum, was favorable.
A mild concussion, nothing more.
Rest was all I needed.
Rest.
Everyone always wanted me to rest. As though stillness could soothe the roiling unease inside my skull. As though sleep could quiet the clamor behind my eyes.
I remained silent for most of his examination, feeling Sylum’s gaze on me the entire time. He said very little, though his silence was a language unto itself—the tight set of his jaw, the furrow between his brows, the careful distance in his voice when he finally asked, “She’ll recover fully?”
The doctor assured him I would.
I wasn’t so certain.
The following days blurred together in shades of gray and candlelight.
Sylum came to me in the evenings, his presence like a soft shadow at the edge of my consciousness.
His touch was gentle when he brushed my hair back, his lips even gentler when they pressed to my brow.
But his eyes, those deep, kind eyes, were full of something I couldn’t bear to see.
Not guilt.
Pity.
He looked at me now as one might look upon a wounded bird. As if I were something fragile and half-broken.
I hated it.
Meals were brought to my room, each one growing colder before I could stomach more than a few bites. Nelly stayed constantly by my side, hovering like a watchful nurse, though I suspected she was there on his orders. Even her kindness began to feel like confinement.
Tea was delivered twice a day, its scent cloying and sweet. The doctor had left Laudanum as well, a cruel mercy that clouded my mind and softened my edges until I barely knew myself. I slept endlessly, dreamless, empty sleep, and woke each time feeling more ghost than woman.
By the third morning, I could stand again, though the remnants of the Laudanum left my limbs shaky. Sylum insisted I remain in my room, claiming it was for my safety, though it felt more like a cage.
At least I was granted one small mercy.
Poe.
After much pleading, Sylum allowed the raven to stay with me on the condition that I rest.
He became my only true companion, a small, macabre sentinel perched near the window, muttering to himself in dark verses.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Nelly’s voice was chipper, as she entered my room, balancing a tray with one hand. It clinked as she set it down on the small table beside the bed—bread, cheeses, fruit and a pot of tea steaming fragrantly beside a small brown bottle.
Laudanum.
I frowned.
“I don’t need that anymore,” I said with a reassuring smile. “I’m completely recovered.”
Nelly turned, her hands folding before her apron. “His Grace said you’re still to take it, just to be safe.”
I smiled through gritted teeth. “Did he?”
She hesitated, glancing down. “Yes, Your Grace.”
My fingers clenched the coverlet. “And where is His Grace right now?”
“I—” Nelly stammered, visibly flustered. “He left about an hour ago. I’m not sure where.”
“Wonderful.” My tone was calm, too calm. The heat behind my ribs burned hotter with every measured word. “And the Dowager?”
“She’s gone out riding, Your Grace.”
Nelly busied herself with the teapot, pouring carefully, but her hand trembled enough that the liquid rippled against the rim. She turned with a cautious smile, offering me the cup.
“Here you are, Your Grace.”
I didn’t move to take it. My gaze flicked to the cup, then to her face.
“Is that the normal tea,” I asked softly, “or has Laudanum already been added?”
The cup dipped a little, her eyes widening. “There is Laudanum, Your Grace,” she stammered.
A hollow laugh escaped me as I rose from the bed, the sheet slipping from my shoulders. “Nelly,” I said, voice smooth and low, “I would like normal tea. In the solarium. I want a normal lunch. In the solarium.”
I stepped toward her slowly, my bare feet silent against the rug. “And if anyone—anyone—offers me Laudanum again,” I swore, each word sharp as glass, “they will be dismissed at once. Is that understood?”
Her throat bobbed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Good.” I turned toward the window, staring into the garden below without another word.
Behind me, Nelly gathered the tray, moving quickly toward the door.
It shut softly, and for the first time in days, I felt something dangerous shudder beneath my ribs.
Not madness.
Not fear.
Resolve.
An hour later, I entered the solarium quietly, the soft rustle of my skirts the only sound as I stepped into the glass-walled room. For the first time in what felt like weeks, my body hummed with something other than fatigue. The fog that had dulled my mind had finally lifted.
But any sense of peace shattered the instant I saw her.
Isolde sat at the round table, the sunlight glinting off the pearls at her throat like a line of armor. A ledger lay open before her, and Mrs. Ashby stood dutifully at her shoulder, hands folded, head slightly bowed.
“I don’t care for duck,” the Dowager said crisply, tapping a manicured finger upon the parchment. “Perhaps a roast. Something simple. Peasant fare, but palatable.”
My steps slowed.
Mrs. Ashby murmured something in response, but the Dowager waved her off with imperious disinterest. She hadn’t even looked up.
I drew a slow, deliberate breath, steadying the tremor in my hands. “Good afternoon,” I said, my voice cool, controlled, and far too polite for the venom stirring in my chest.
Isolde glanced at me only long enough to assess my gown, my posture, my insolence. Then she snapped the ledger shut and handed it to Mrs. Ashby.
“Ah. Look who’s finally awake.”
I forced a smile, thin and sharp. “Is that the menu you’re approving?” I asked. “For my house?”
She gave a languid shrug, as though my outrage were a buzzing fly in her ear. “Someone must see to things while you laze about in a stupor. I should think you’d be grateful.”
The heat rose in my cheeks. “Laze about?”
“On Laudanum, no less,” she added with a sniff. “It’s a wonder you can stand.”
My composure cracked. “Mrs. Ashby,” I demanded, turning to the housekeeper, my voice clipped and clear. “Will you please escort Lady Havenshire to her room? Once there, you may help her pack. She is leaving at once.”
Mrs. Ashby froze, the ledger still in her hands. Her eyes darted between us, wide and uncertain.
Isolde shot to her feet, color blotching her pale cheeks. “I most certainly am not leaving,” she hissed. “If anyone departs this house, it shall be you!”
Our voices rose together, hers sharp as shattered glass, mine trembling with long suppressed fury. The air between us grew taut, humming with animosity.
I stepped toward her, my mouth opening, only to be cut off abruptly before words could leave my tongue.
“Enough!”
The word thundered through the room.
I turned, heart lurching, to see Sylum standing in the doorway.
The sunlight haloed him, though his expression was anything but angelic.
His dark eyes cut between us, his jaw clenched, his coat still dusted with travel.
Behind him stood Lydia, her gaze cast dutifully to the floor, her hands clasped like a penitent nun.
“Someone,” Sylum said, voice low and commanding, “explain to me, immediately, what this is.”
Isolde found her composure first, straightening her skirts and lifting her chin. I was still focused on the maid standing daringly close to my husband.
“Your wife,” she began with venomous poise, “has lost her senses. She’s ordered me to leave this house… my brother’s house!”
Sylum’s eyes turned to me. For a moment, they were molten, ready to strike, but then I saw it, the softening, the familiar gentleness reserved only for me. “Lucy,” he probed. “Tell me what happened.”
My pulse thrummed painfully. I held my head high. “I want her gone,” I said simply. “This is my home now, and I will not be mocked or managed like a wayward child in it.”
“Mocked?” the Dowager snapped. “She’s mad! Did you know she refused her Laudanum this morning?
I stiffened.
Sylum’s gaze shifted between us, the silence stretching taut as a bowstring. Then, finally, he exhaled, the sound ragged with exhaustion.
“Everyone out!” he demanded.
Mrs. Ashby hesitated. “Your Grace—”
“Out,” he repeated, louder this time.
The Dowager’s face purpled with outrage. She started to protest, but his voice silenced her before she could speak again.
“I will speak to my wife,” he seethed, turning the full weight of his authority on the room. “Alone.”
One by one, they filed out—the Dowager’s skirts rustling like storm clouds, Mrs. Ashby’s heels clicking softly behind her, and Lydia casting a weary glance at me before she followed them.
When the door shut, Sylum’s gaze returned to me. The quiet that followed was heavier than any scream.
“Lucy,” he began gently, his voice low and careful. “Tell me why you refused the medicine.”
I laughed, a brittle sound. “Why is everyone in this house so intent on sedating me? Since the day I arrived, it’s been one thing after another. Special teas and now Laudanum. What’s next, Sylum? A locked door?”
He exhaled through his nose, the tenderness draining from his face. His brow furrowed as he crossed the room, stopping a few feet from me. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said quietly, the edge of irritation threading through the calm. “There’s nothing sinister about the Laudanum… or the tea.”
“There’s everything sinister about it!” I snapped, the anger I’d swallowed for days bursting forth. “She’s been drugging it! I can feel it! The way it dulls my mind, makes me see things that can’t possibly be real!”
Sylum’s expression darkened. “That’s enough.” His voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. “There’s nothing in that tea except lavender and chamomile. Mrs. Ashby has made it the same way since my youth.”
My breath caught. For a moment, doubt slithered through the cracks in my anger. My heart began to race, confusion warring with fury. “You… you drink it?” I whispered.
He nodded once, eyes locked on mine. “Every night.”
The floor seemed to sway beneath me. I pressed a trembling hand to my temple, the edges of the room blurring. No… no, he was lying. He had to be. My pulse hammered, loud and heavy in my ears.
“No,” I said weakly, shaking my head. “No, you’ve been giving me Laudanum too. To make me sleep. To make me think I’m losing my mind.”
His eyes widened, his jaw tightening with disbelief. For the briefest moment, I saw something flicker across his face—hurt, confusion, then pity.
“Lucy,” he assured carefully, approaching me as one might a frightened child. “The doctor prescribed Laudanum for your concussion. I was only following his orders.” He paused, lowering his voice. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to. I would never force you.”
His maddeningly gentle calm only fueled my panic. The room was spinning now, the air thick with the scent of roses and earth. My vision tilted, the edges of Sylum’s form bending and breaking in the haze.
I stumbled backward, gripping the edge of a table for balance. “Don’t,” I breathed, though I wasn’t even sure what I meant anymore.
He took another step forward, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. “Lucy, you’re not well.”
“Don’t say that!” I screamed, the sound sharp enough to make Poe cry out from the rafters above. “Don’t call me that!”
My breath came fast and shallow. The air itself seemed to pulse, the shadows in the corners moving, whispering. I pressed my palms to my eyes, willing them to stop.
When I lowered my hands, Sylum was suddenly closer, his face pale, stricken.
“Lucy, please,” he murmured, reaching for me.
But I recoiled from his touch as though burned. “You’re all trying to make me like her,” I hissed, my voice breaking. “You want to send me away like my mother!”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The hurt in his eyes was unbearable.
Then the dizziness crested, black waves swallowing the light, and the room fell away.
I felt his arms catch me before I hit the floor, his voice desperate when he called my name as everything else slipped into shadow.