Chapter 47
THE POISONER
The sheets stuck to my clammy skin as I returned to consciousness. Not often was I anything less than freezing.
I flexed my toes, the motion causing a sharp pain in my leg that squeezed a groan from my heavy chest. My fingers still worked, but one stung more than usual. I couldn’t move it.
I cracked open my eyes, the light glassy as I adjusted.
I was in my room again, the balcony doors letting in a soft light, bright as it reflected off the snow on the rooftops and into my flat.
My eyes narrowed at my hand, though I was surprised to find that not only was it wrapped in a bandage, but there was someone else’s hand as well.
Silas was on his knees, his head resting in his crossed arms with my hand in one of them, pressed against his cheek. Silas was beautiful when he was asleep, more so because he was silent.
Had he been like this all night? He was still in his day clothes. I realized I was cocooned in his trench coat. No wonder I was sweating.
The sharp pain in my leg shot up my limb as I sat up. The blurry memories seeped to the front of my mind as I emerged from the brain fog. I dug through the sheets to pull my leg out carefully, inspecting the bandages around my calf, then the bandage on my hand.
What a mess.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping lion as I reclaimed my hand.
I limped out of the room and headed downstairs. My hands gripped the railings tightly as I carefully took one step at a time, cautious of the weight I was putting on my leg.
The girls were gathered in the parlor areas. Some swapped journal subscriptions, others practiced handheld hobbies or were still waking up along with their morning brews. It seemed as if nothing even happened, or they didn’t care.
My foot landed on the creaky step, alerting everyone to my descent.
I expected greetings, but all I got were gasps before silence.
Judging them for not caring may have been harsh; I was starting to suspect they didn’t know.
“Alina! What are you doing up?” Phoebe tore herself from the group she was conversing with to fuss over me with a nervous laugh that didn’t lighten her furrowed brow.
“I was claustrophobic.” I looked around at the girls, who shot cautious glances toward me. “Is something the matter?”
“No! No, they hadn’t heard what happened quite yet.”
I glanced down at myself. The hospital gown was stained red from my leg, and the palm of my hand was in need of a new bandage.
“They don’t need to know; it was a freak incident. It was just one.”
“Do you really think omitting information is the best thing for the group?”
I glared in response to the insinuation. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but I didn’t appreciate her tone. “Fine. I need help packing for Buffalo. I would like to gather my things before Silas wakes.”
“You are not going alone.”
“I am.”
“I will wake Silas myself if you don’t agree to take at least one person. You are injured and not in your right mind.”
“I’m perfectly within my average mind, now come and help me dress.” Before she could respond, I was already limping up the steps, which was a greater task than going downward.
Now that I was past my waking daze, the pain was settling in. Like roots burying deep in my legs, a pulse gripping down to the bone.
Phoebe was close behind, though her expression looked more reluctant to help, with shifting eyes and uncertain steps as she followed.
When we reached the top floor again, Silas was already awake, lounging in the chair with his coffee.
“Going somewhere?” He cocked his head at me.
“Brief excursion.” I glared at Phoebe as if she were conspiring against me, though he could easily do that on his own.
“My bag is packed already. Would you like to go horseback or wagon?” Silas replied.
“Horseback for myself, and you stay here with the Nest.”
“I will meet you in the middle and say wagon. I don’t think you can ride with that leg. I will bring my bag to the first floor.” He straightened up from his seat and rolled his sleeves.
“Neither of you listens,” I grumbled.
“You would be dead if we did listen to you.” Phoebe followed me to the bedroom.
“I will meet you downstairs,” Silas chirped. He was more awake than I expected him to be after how tired he had looked. “We should leave as soon as we can. There is an inn halfway to the town.”
I chose a small bag. I had low expectations for packing.
“Can you grab four blouses and skirts? I will change into one now and pack the other. Oh, and wool stockings, four of them. I’ll layer.” I talked through my packing list as I removed my clothing.
“You don’t want to wait? Or send Luka and Silas on their own?” Phoebe handed me my corset and wool stockings.
“What kind of diplomat would I be if I can’t attend myself?” I sat down on the edge of the bed, putting on layers of wool socks over my legs, taking special care with the injured one. “Besides, I wouldn’t trust those fools to empty water from a bucket with a hole in it on their own.”
“Part of being an affluent figurehead is sending other people to do things as small as investigate disturbances.” She sat behind me, clasping the corset in front and then tightening the laces in the back.
“I think that would make me look weak. I do not wish to hide from conflict.” I stood, putting on my petticoat and corset cover.
“You need to choose what battles are worth it. There may be worse to come.” She handed me the blouse and skirt.
“I’m picking this one.” I dressed myself, finishing before closing the small traveling case with only essentials in it. “Help me downstairs, please.”
Even with the pressure on my leg, the wool stockings held a steady compression, warm and secure. My boots were mid-calf, supporting my ankle a bit more. The only thing that would make this better would be some numbing.
When we reached the bottom floor again, Silas and Luka were already by the front door talking. Their conversation stopped abruptly as we approached.
“I’m ready.” I placed my bag down.
“No, you aren’t.” Luka frowned. “Where is your coat?” He threw his hands up as if I should have thought of that as he retreated to the coat closet. The truth was that I was already feverish in what I was wearing. “Here.” He made me put on a fur-lined jacket.
“It is like my mother never died, and she is here to pester me through you all,” I grumbled, gesturing to the lot of them.
“Save your complaints for the long journey; the talking will keep you warm,” Luka laughed, resting his elbow on Phoebe’s shoulder, though she shot him an unsavory look.
“Let us go, we can get to the inn with plenty of daylight if we leave now.” Silas glanced at his timepiece impatiently. He picked up my bag and took it outside.
I glanced at Phoebe. “You will be fine for a few days?”
“We can handle it, right?” Luka wrapped his arm around Phoebe playfully. “A few days is nothing.”
I shot him a glare, hesitating before pushing open the front door.
It was a clear day, perfect weather for travel. The only issue regarding travel was that it would have to be with Silas attached to my side like a leech. He was already fastening the wagon to my horse.
A sharp breath pushed through my nose as I tilted my head back to stare upward.
Keep it together. We only have to do two hours at a time. It will be fine. Get it done.
I approached. Silas offered a hand, which was promptly ignored as I organized the reins in my taut fingers.
He stepped up and took his seat next to me. I flinched when he disturbed my leg again.
Some of the girls crowded in the shadow of the door, Phoebe in full light, waving gingerly.
It was not often I left my girls alone, and it admittedly filled me with dread, enough to make me feel lightheaded. It gave me some solace knowing Phoebe was there, but not as much as I would like.
The draft lunged forward, unsticking the wheels from the rigid snow.
I was really doing this, leaving them.
I wouldn’t make it fifteen minutes without becoming nauseous if I let the thought settle.
Over my shoulder, I saw Phoebe. The small, receding image of a pink figure standing on the doorstep, watching wistfully like a widow on her peak.
They will be fine, I preached inside my head, they all will be fine.
As we made our way out of town, the buildings and houses became fewer and fewer before they were replaced by trees and an endless path. While the journey started off silent, I didn’t find it as awkward—I would rather he not talk, anyway.
The morning air was fresh and clean. The cold worked some magic that numbed the throbbing in my leg and hand, though the reins rubbing between my fingers would be unpleasant after a while.
“Will you ignore me for the next hour and a half or will you grace me with conversation?” Silas spoke in my ear, his words hot as he spoke against my neck.
“I am not in the mood.”
“What about a quid pro quo?”
“Ah, yes. Your favorite.”
“Our favorite.”
“Fine, shoot.”
“Why did you poison your father?” Silas’s words rang in my ears like tinnitus.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Is it not true?”
“It was an accident.”
“I thought poisoning his assistant was the accident.”
“It was the same accident.” My voice wavered; I was grateful he couldn’t fully see my face. “I didn’t know they would drink together. I should have poured the wine myself, offered it while he was separated from my father. Lured him somewhere . . .”
Based on Silas’s lack of a retort, I sensed he almost regretted his question.
“What about your parents?” I cleared my throat. “Last time I saw your father, I must have been but sixteen,” I changed the subject.
Silas became rigid at the mention, adjusting in his seat beside me. “You have to be more specific.”
“What was your mother like?”
“I wouldn’t know.” His voice was stoic, entirely too steady to shield himself from any emotional labor. “She was a blonde.”
“Very insightful,” I muttered. “What about your father?”
“Also blond,” he said flatly.
“All right,” I sighed. “What can you tell me about your family?”
He paused. “I have twelve sisters, including Phoebe.”
“That’s a start.” I looked over to him, but he was focused on the path ahead, arms crossed. “Do you remember any of them?”
“I remember the first five; the rest are a mystery to me. I wasn’t there.
” He dug in his pockets for cigarettes. “I have visited Phoebe almost every year since she was born. I will never forget that carrot top when I first saw her.” He paused for a minute.
“Phoebe and I spent a normal amount of time together, more than I did with any other siblings. They had been married off in what seemed like the blink of an eye, so I learned to never get attached. I just happened to visit London when Phoebe’s arrival was announced. ”
“And then you became attached?”
“How can you not? When something so small, so innocent and washed of any blame is thrust into this world like that, and for it to be in the palm of your hand, something changes in you when you realize she will end up like all the others.”
“All the others?”
He waved his hand, “I didn’t want to see her disappear like the rest of them, that is all.
” He offered out his cigarettes to me, but I declined.
“I had a rather nasty fallout with my father when she turned sixteen, and I didn’t visit for a while.
We disagreed on certain practices that my father treated as tradition. ”
“What were those?”
“It wasn’t important. I wish I had continued to see her, then maybe she wouldn’t have been as angry when I showed up those years ago.”
“Why did you come back?”
“I told her I returned for the city life and crashing her parties,” he laughed, “she was so cross with me. She says it was because I eat her guests, but I know some of that anger is from my time away.” I could see the leather of his gloves tauten as he clenched his fists.
“I came back because I got word that my father planned on shipping her away. Marrying her off to wash his hands of her.”
“She was betrothed?” I shot him a look over my shoulder.
“Not yet,” he said with a shrug, “but you solved that issue for me, taking her here.”
“Oh.” I frowned, turning to face forward again. “It seems I really knew nothing about her.”
“Nobody really knows anyone,” he said solemnly. “People are too complex to be understood in a single lifetime.”
Somehow his words made me feel better, but only a little.
“What is your real name? You and Phoebe have different last names.”
“We take our mother’s last names. Silas is my birth name. It is all real.” He gave a tired smile.
“So what is your father’s real name? I called him Mr. Astor.”
“Astor is the last surname he took.”
I nodded in understanding, not wanting to push it any further.
“What about your mother?” he asked, draping his arm over the back of the seat bench to play with a piece of untucked hair. The gesture was so simple, yet it still made me blush.
“Passed in childbirth,” I explained, leaning back against his arm.
“I suppose you don’t have much to tell me about your family either.”
“I like to pretend that I knew her. That she had my eyes and my black hair. I at least knew those two things were true. I imagine she was kind and decorated the house with dried flowers. Sometimes I try to imagine her voice. As a child, I desperately wished I could know her voice, to know the comfort of a mother.”
“We have more in common than you would like to admit.” His arm tightened slightly around me as I spoke, a small, comforting gesture.
“I don’t think I want to know how much we share.” I rolled my eyes, but it accompanied a laugh, and he couldn’t help a suppressed smile.