Chapter 1 #7
Likewise regular as clockwork, before and after every promenade, Ephraim gently laid his silk-crepe fingertips against Hullvardr’s wrist to take his pulse, cross-comparing the result with his pocket-watch and noting it down in his memorandum-book.
Grytha had not asked him to do this. Nonetheless he had taken it upon himself to keep track of any potential changes in Hullvardr’s pulse.
Perhaps Dr Hitchingham had put the notion in his head.
Or perhaps he merely wished to assuage his own concerns.
Whatever its source, Hullvardr felt touched by his evident devotion.
Part of Hullvardr—the larger part—was beyond grateful for the dedication shown by his mortal lover. It was a far greater thing than he’d dared to anticipate, and he did not take it lightly. Part of him savoured it, indulging in the simple yet exquisite pleasure of a loved one looking after him.
Another part of him, small but growing louder by the hour, felt guilty.
As dearly as he loved Ephraim and appreciated his efforts, it nonetheless seemed a reversal of all that ought to be.
Hullvardr was older, stronger, nimbler, and in every accountable way the one better suited to look after Ephraim.
He had entered into his clerkship assuring the Holly King that he would do his utmost to protect and nurture the frail mortal lawyer.
And when he’d dared to deepen his clerkship into companionship, he’d made the same vow to himself.
Ephraim would want for nothing so long as Hullvardr lived.
And yet here Hullvardr was, laid up and useless whilst his mortal beloved fretted over him.
It wasn’t that Hullvardr had never experienced failure before. One could hardly escape seven centuries without a single mistake. But he’d never felt so much a failure as he did now.
Still, it was hardly Ephraim’s fault that his fae protector had failed him, and so Hullvardr swallowed down his pride and wore smiles for his dear mortal.
All the while, his hunger grew.
On the second evening after Hull’s injury, Dr Hitchingham expressed his profound relief at Hull’s absence, that he and his old friend might at last speak freely without curtailing their conversation lest a mere clerk hear more than he ought.
As the ensuing conversation deviated not a whit from its usual track, regardless of Hull’s presence or absence, Ephraim set the comment aside on the little shelf in his mind that he reserved for his oldest friend’s oddest remarks.
On the third evening after Hull’s injury, Dr Hitchingham began their dinner in much the same vein, but as the minutes wore on towards the hour mark, he lapsed into a brooding silence more oft than not.
Ephraim, concerned for his friend, discreetly-yet-earnestly enquired after what might trouble him, but Dr Hitchingham merely sighed and blamed the fog for aggravating his rheumatism.
As Ephraim could do very little about the fog or the rheumatism, he endeavoured to brighten the mood with his own chatter, which seemed to alleviate at least a part of his friend’s unease.
On the fourth evening after Hull’s injury, Dr Hitchingham appeared downright gloomy.
Ephraim gently enquired whether the rheumatism were to blame again.
Dr Hitchingham mulled over his answer for some time. At length he heaved a great sigh and replied, to Ephraim’s astonishment, “Have you any word from Mr Hull?”
“None,” Ephraim lied. “But then again, he can only have just arrived in his homeland, and writing to his employer can hardly be his first priority when he has gone to look after a wounded friend.”
Dr Hitchingham conceded the point with an inarticulate grumble before adding, “You oughtn’t have permitted him to take such a long and sudden holiday.”
“How could I have prevented him?” Ephraim wondered, baffled. Another gentleman might’ve spoken rhetorically. He, however, wished to hear his friend’s answer in earnest, and Dr Hitchingham knew him well enough after their decades together to give a sincere reply.
“By threatening to sack him if he should go,” Dr Hitchingham said decisively. “And by following through on the threat if he still went.”
“My dear fellow, how would that make me any better off? If the threat worked, I would then have a clerk in my employ under duress—and, on top of worrying over his friend, I can scarcely imagine that would improve his performance. If the threat failed, I would permanently lose a most satisfactory assistant; a circumstance which I think we may agree is far worse than merely losing him temporarily by permitting him to go.”
Dr Hitchingham grumbled again.
“I won’t deny his presence is missed,” Ephraim admitted. “But I would hope my more long-standing record has proved to you that I’m capable of looking after myself for a few weeks. I was quite alone for months between Mr Lofthouse and Mr Hull, you recall.”
Dr Hitchingham gave a non-committal hum.
Ephraim endeavoured to interpret it charitably.
“Still,” said Dr Hitchingham, his eyes on the roast he was carving rather than on Ephraim. “Perhaps the hour has arrived to hire an office boy. If only to tide you over.”
“I can scarcely contrive work enough to keep Mr Hull busy,” Ephraim replied, honestly enough. “I cannot imagine I could find enough to occupy a third pair of hands.”
Privately, he had no wish for more prying eyes into the queer household he and Hull had built together. It certainly wasn’t clerking that kept Hull occupied most evenings. But he could hardly admit as much to Dr Hitchingham, his old friend’s tolerance for confirmed bachelors notwithstanding.
“Fair enough,” said Dr Hitchingham, further adding, to Ephraim’s surprise, “An office boy wouldn’t keep such good company over dinner.”
Ephraim blinked at his friend. On the surface it was a simple remark, easily spoken and just as easily cast aside. Any gentleman might say it of any one of his fellows.
And yet.
While Ephraim knew Hull possessed an effervescent and ebullient quality to his presence that brightened even the most dour evening, a subtle art of conversation that amplified and reflected his fellow guests rather than dominating centre stage himself, and any party no matter how small or large was thus benefited by his presence—he had in part credited his opinion to his own (not inconsiderable) bias in the man’s favour.
Dr Hitchingham could have no such bias. He had, indeed, often groused that his hitherto private dinners with his friend had been intruded on by the clerk. Just two evenings hence he had expressed his relief at Hull’s absence.
And yet… such good company over dinner.
Ephraim could only conclude, to his own bewilderment, that the physician missed the clerk.
His surprise did not by any means vanish. But it ignited a certain warm glow beneath his breast-bone, to know that his oldest friend sympathised with his own plight.
The end of the se’en-night brought the bone-setter’s return.
To Ephraim’s mind, her arrival heralded immense relief. Despite his tender ministrations, Hull had not improved.
Dr Hitchingham had declared six weeks must pass before one could expect the break to heal, but Ephraim had hoped to notice some positive change by now. However, he had noticed nothing of the kind.
If anything, Hull’s condition seemed to worsen.
Ephraim told himself he was imagining things, his anxieties obscuring his memories of the recent past and conjuring the appearance of a decline when reality drew an even path.
Yet the colour had not returned to Hull’s countenance since the dreadful day of the accident, and while he smiled through his agonies, his pallor remained an ashen grey.
Ephraim, intimately familiar with the form of Hull’s flesh, likewise fancied that the circumference of his limbs had suffered, and his beloved had withered, fading away before his very eyes.
He had forcibly laid his concerns aside until the bone-setter’s return.
After all, she would know better than he what warranted worry and what did not.
And if his worries were well-placed, she alone could set Hull to rights.
Therefore to wring his hands over any of it for more than a minute before her arrival would prove ineffectual at best.
Still, it was with quiet rejoicing that Ephraim heard the door-bell ring and hastened downstairs to let her in. He thanked her profusely for coming, which seemed to bewilder her, but she accepted his gratitude with stoicism and followed him up to her patient.
Ephraim had braced for the possibility that he might be sent away for the examination.
But once again to his great relief, Hull bid him remain.
More likely to spare Ephraim’s nerves than for any possible comfort his presence could grant his beloved, but even so, Ephraim greatly appreciated it, and perched on a chair with breath abated to await the bone-setter’s verdict.
The examination proceeded normally, as far as Ephraim could tell (which admittedly was not very far).
Grytha unwrapped the splint and examined the break.
Possibly she frowned; possibly that was merely the natural cast of her severe features.
She splinted his leg anew and wrapped it tight again, nonetheless.
Then she turned to Hull with a gravity of expression that would do any magistrate proud.
“Have you fed?” asked Grytha.
Ephraim, who’d brought Hull black pudding, a boiled egg, and toasted muffins with sloe preserves and plenty of butter for breakfast that very morning and watched to make sure he ate every crumb, expected to hear an affirmative reply to the bone-setter’s simple enquiry.
Instead, an awkward silence arose.
And Hull looked unaccountably abashed as he admitted with evident reluctance, “No.”
Ephraim, bewildered, glanced between his beloved and the bone-setter.
Grytha appeared nowhere near as confused as Ephraim felt. Rather, she looked annoyed. “And why not?”