Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
South Clipton Manor
Theodore bit down hard on the strap of leather between his teeth, mouth filling with the earthy, bitter taste of the material. His jaw froze in anguish, molars gritting together and making his face ache.
The trouble with his face paled in comparison to the hot searing pain of his open back after the latest round of lashings from Collings.
It was not the first time the former medic had come to the house to administer his ‘experimental’ treatments. So far, the object of their experiments had yet to be subdued.
But the nightmares, the visions of that violent day must be brought to extinction within me, Theodore thought, squeezing his hands into fists on his knees.
He could feel blood trickling down his back.
He pushed the sensation out of his mind immediately.
That is what Collings said. That is what I know to be true, even in my fractured and untrustworthy state.
No man can subsist in this half-awakened state.
Dazed, he heard a scuffle somewhere behind him through the fog of his thoughts. A door opening, an argument, stomping on the parquet like boots on the battlefield. Another memory awakened and stayed at the border of his consciousness. No lash came this time. Theodore’s face seized harder.
Dear God. Dear God, not now. Not—
“Cease this madness!” someone yelled, slicing through his prayers and scaring off another violent, unbidden reminiscence. It must have been Morris—who else had the authority to barge into the ducal suite? “Can’t you see what you’re doing to him? That’s enough! I won’t stand by and—Argh!”
A tussle ensued. Something or someone fell on the floor. Theodore raised his head limply, reaching to remove the strap from his mouth with some difficulty. His fingers came away wet with drool.
He glanced over his shoulder as the struggle concluded with a bang. The surgeon’s tools clattered to the ground as Collings stumbled backward. Theodore winced at the high-pitched cacophony of sound, feeling suddenly sick and unable to move.
“Leave the man be,” he breathed, batting vainly at the empty space behind him for the floor and trying to rise from his knees.
Morris was at his side immediately, helping him straighten.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Morris said to him in a rasped voice.
His face and ears turned red, and his grip on Theodore intensified as he tried and failed to lift him.
“This cannot be the way forward, Your Grace. The man is a charlatan, a sadist through to the core. See reason, I beg of you. Send him away and bid him never to return to Blackthorne House. He is only increasing your anguish, can’t you see? ”
The surgeon crouched to collect his fallen apparatuses. A recently used whip hung limply from the edge of the table beside him. The throng was wet with something dark and sticky, waving slowly back and forth in what seemed like a goodbye gesture.
“It is you who must see reason, you old fool, and quickly at that before I... No, that’s it, Your Grace! I refuse to work under these conditions! You need not send me away, for I shall never return here, no sir!” Collings shouted, moving to pack the rest of his instruments hastily.
He pointed a scalpel toward Morris when the butler shifted. Theodore blinked, slowly regaining his bearings. Collings had been struck, a fresh red welt forming on his cheek below his eye.
“Come no closer, you goblin. Manhandled, attacked... And for what? My bill will come by mail, and rest assured, that shall be the last either of you ever hear of me!”
The door slammed behind him some moments later.
Theodore’s body was a wreck. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, breathing steadily, a lonely blade of sun had slipped unbidden through the drawn curtains and blinded him. He could not recall the last time it had shone so brightly on him. For a blissful moment, everything was quiet.
“Good riddance to the monster who maimed you,” Morris murmured, still kneeling on the floor beside his master. “Come now, rise. There you are, Your Grace, steady...”
With help from Morris, Theodore limped over to the washbasin. Every movement aggravated the raw wounds on his back. He stared fearfully down into the rippling water of the white ceramic bowl. The pain of the aftermath, he knew, would be worse than the treatment.
“I ordered you not to interrupt,” Theodore muttered, bracing his hands on the rim of the bowl, knuckles perpetually cracked from the cold of early spring. “What we are doing here... is necessary.”
“We will agree to disagree, as usual. For now, the man is gone.”
“I will not suffer... such subordination again.”
Morris pressed his lips together in response.
Theodore looked down into the water but could not see his reflection and was grateful. He could no longer stomach the sight of his own face, looking so much older than thirty.
His bathing did not need to be described, an agonizing and embarrassing ordeal overall. Some time later, he sat with his elbows on his knees before the fire, hair dripping before his eyes. Drops of water collected by his bare feet while Morris bandaged the fresh lacerations carefully.
A bottle of laudanum had been brought up with the bandages. Theodore stared at it from the corner of his eye, counting down the seconds until he could uncork the bottle and find relief from his injuries. His wounds stung abominably. He would take the laudanum once he was alone.
“You punish yourself without just cause,” the butler murmured.
“This is not punishment,” Theodore argued.
“Flagellation? Your Grace, I know the Good Book cover to cover, the gospels...”
Theodore laughed darkly. “First violence and now blasphemy. What an eventful day this has been for you.”
“Begging your pardon?”
“You would compare me to Christ at the Column.”
“Never! I meant only to say... I scarcely know what I meant to say. That seems often to be the case with me these days. Maybe it is my age.” Morris paused, defeated. A moment passed. “He called me a goblin.”
“I heard. You struck him.”
The old butler grinned. “I did. And I would do it again.”
Quiet settled between them. Theodore moved toward the fire.
“What shall I do when Lord Sessay calls?” Morris asked, tidying up. “Will you wish his Lordship sent up to you?”
Theodore had forgotten his appointment with Keaton.
He would not be able to sit comfortably in a chair for days.
“He is here for the Thatcher ball, no doubt.” He looked at the bloody rags left behind by Collings.
“Tell him I shall attend and see him then.” His mouth twisted.
“It is nearly time for my biannual foray into society—I should not wish to disappoint my admirers by missing it.”