Chapter 5
Edwina’s words haunted James for the rest of the night, and he found himself leaning even more heavily on the bottle of laudanum than he ordinarily might have. Why had she told him that he would have no further access to it starting the next day? What could she have possibly meant by that?
He was torn between giving this question the careful thought it deserved and blotting out his faculties as quickly and thoroughly as possible to dismiss it entirely.
Thinking hurt. It had, ever since his injury.
For once he began to think, then those thoughts would inevitably roll in the direction of how useless and hopeless his life had become.
And once they started tumbling that way, there was no stopping them or hauling them back, like being trapped and crushed under some ghastly avalanche.
Better to not think at all. Better to chase all thoughts away with the opiate—stomp them out like rats, exterminate them before they had a chance to breed and gnaw his mind and soul to tatters.
Better to float on the familiar and comforting fog and to hope (as he did each time) that it might carry him away forever.
But no. Her words kept nagging at him. Drop after drop after numbing drop on his tongue, and still they echoed in his brain, even when his entire mouth had begun to feel like an oozing pit of bitter black medicine and he could no longer feel his own teeth.
Still, he reached for another drop. And another.
For the life of him, he still couldn’t begin to understand why his brother and his sister-in-law thought that some silly woman he barely knew would have any impact on his outlook or behavior.
He and Edwina had only met once before, briefly, during one of the Wallaces’ visits to McDougal Keep.
They hadn’t had much to say to each other.
They’d exchanged a word or two of bland small talk, and then Edwina (clearly bored) had wandered off to her own devices.
He hadn’t thought anything of her in particular, except that she was a comely lass and might be worth courting if her tongue weren’t quite so sharp and spiteful.
Then again, he’d been a much different person back then, hadn’t he?
He’d been able to stand tall and proud and strong.
He’d been able to look people in the eye when they spoke to him and exist for days, weeks, months—even years—at a time without feeling as though the pain in his body would drive him mad.
He’d been able to mount his horse and charge into battle at a moment’s notice.
He’d been able to court lovely women as he pleased and enjoy a goblet or two of wine without guzzling enough of it to consign himself to the haze of oblivion.
He’d never tasted laudanum then. Had never even wondered what its effects might feel like.
If only he had known enough to truly appreciate those times while he was living in them.
If only he’d had any idea of what was ahead of him, how much of all that he would lose someday soon.
Might he have had ample opportunity to savor it then?
Might he have done all he could to take advantage of it all so that he would not feel quite so cheated when it was cruelly snatched away from him?
Maybe. Maybe not. He didn’t know anymore.
The worst part of it all was that he did feel some creeping shame at the state he had been in when Edwina had so rudely entered his room unannounced.
Yes, she should have knocked first (though if she had, he’d have certainly told her to go away), but the things she’d said about him had made him self-conscious in a way he hadn’t felt in quite some time.
He’d grown accustomed, he supposed, to looking like a mess whenever his brother or Darina came to chide him. Such occurrences were so frequent that he barely even noticed them anymore. But having some relatively unfamiliar woman standing in his room, knowing that he was living in dirt and misery?
It seemed to underline the fact of how pathetic he had become. It broke through the clouds of his inebriation and made him acutely aware of how he looked and smelled.
He briefly entertained the notion of calling for a tub and water to wash himself in, but as he reached for the bell to summon Alvin, he thought better of it.
He’d already taken quite a bit of the laudanum, and even though he possessed something of a death wish, he was still hesitant to climb into a tub where he might nod off and drown.
That was not the demise he would have preferred for himself.
Still, what if he made some small effort to make himself presentable for the next time she charged in?
That might make her think twice about calling him pathetic or unable to function.
If he could display even the merest shadow of his former self, that might command some respect from her, he decided.
James shed his soiled clothes, and as he did, the reek of himself hit him.
Dear Lord, had he truly smelled so ghastly without realizing it?
No wonder others were expressing so much concern about him.
He made a deal with himself then and there that he would bathe more regularly as a compromise to continue his use of opium.
Just because he had lost all hope for himself didn’t mean he had to look and smell like a vagrant who’d slept in a pig pen.
Yes, these positive steps would make all the difference; he was sure of it.
He’d summon the will to make a better presentation of himself, and people would believe he was in a better state and leave him alone.
Perhaps he would even work to be more sociable, to venture forth from his bedchamber a bit more frequently, so others would not think he was merely rotting alone in his room.
As he stood naked in front of his open wardrobe, rummaging through his garments, he suddenly laughed to himself, wondering whether the lass might change her mind and choose to visit him again before the next day.
She’d be in for quite a surprise then, wouldn’t she?
And the sight of his nude form would serve her right and hopefully make her think twice about intruding on him again.
Unless it entices her, he thought. But there was nothing truly lascivious in the notion for him. The contemplation of it was merely a reflex of sorts. The truth was that he hadn’t felt much in terms of desire for women since he’d been injured.
No, not just that. Since he’d started taking large quantities of laudanum.
The substance had dulled his appetites in more ways than one, and he wasn’t sure he’d even entirely realized it until that moment. His passions had simply atrophied, just as his leg had, from lack of use.
One more thing about me that’s become failed and useless, he thought miserably.
He selected an outfit he hadn’t worn in quite some time, but as he fumbled with the clasps on it, he saw that his hands were shaking far too much for him to succeed with them.
Another drop or two of laudanum. That was what was required for him to finish the task at hand.
He limped over to his bedside table, deposited the drops on his tongue, and felt his nerves begin to steady even as his consciousness drifted up and out of him—until he felt that he could view himself remotely from above, with a kind of detached curiosity.
What had he been in the middle of doing? And for what purpose?
The question befuddled him. He had the vague sense that whatever he’d been doing had been somewhat important, but he couldn’t begin to imagine how. He only knew that his leg was throbbing again, and so he would need to lie down and perhaps close his eyes and succumb to unconsciousness.
No. Wait. There was something important. Something he had to do first.
He clung to the thought as tightly as he could so it would not slip out of his mind.
She had threatened his bottle. She’d said something about this being the last night he’d have it.
Clearly, she meant to take it away from him, and replenishing it would be no easy matter, requiring him to pay Alvin to run the errand for him again.
He had to protect that bottle. He had to keep it out of her hands at all costs.
James greedily took two more drops on his tongue, then blearily scanned the room, looking for someplace safe to put it.
He finally decided on the farthest back corner of the wardrobe and draped several garments over it loosely, hoping it would simply look like he’d left a messy pile of clothes rather than attempting to hide anything.
Why shouldn’t she assume it was just another sign of his filthy habits instead of looking any closer at it?
He felt absurdly proud of himself for coming up with this idea, though by that point, his thoughts had begun to slide out of his reach. He stumbled toward the bed and fell facedown upon it, closing his eyes.
Within moments, he was insensate.