Chapter 25 #2
With the way he slightly emphasises the word share, I’m pretty sure I’m picking up what he’s putting down, if what he’s putting down is a Virginia Woolf novel.
“As far as the outside world is concerned, Ichabod is my valet.”
We both nod as Ichabod re-enters the room carrying two neatly folded—I don’t know, they look like tablecloths, but I think they’re supposed to be towels.
I guess one of the first things I’m going to miss is my Egyptian cotton super-pile towels from John Lewis, but I at least have access to a mostly functional bathroom, so I can’t complain.
Ichabod sets the flat towels on the edge of one bed and lights the small coal fire, laid ready in the bedroom fireplace’s grate.
“I’ll bring you both some appropriate clothing in the morning.” Ichabod’s gaze sweeps over us, pausing once again at our bare feet. “Please do wash up before you retire.”
I can hear the unspoken don’t get your dirty feet all over the clean sheets and almost smile. Once he gets past his justified suspicion of us, he and I will get on extremely well.
“We’ll bid you goodnight,” Cornelius says.
“Goodnight,” Sam says politely, “and thank you.”
Cornelius nods and they exit the room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.
I sway slightly from the exhaustion that seeps down to my bones.
“Come on, Prickles,” Sam says, removing his overcoat and helping me with mine. He picks up what apparently passes for towels in this place. “You need rest. You’re still suffering the effects of being stabbed.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, not wanting him to worry.
“You’re not fine.” He frowns. “And we need to be careful. We don’t have access to modern medical facilities if you develop a complication from your injury.”
“I know.” His obvious concern warms my stomach and makes me hopeful that although I fucked up, we can somehow get past it. “I just need rest. Olivia did a good job. I don’t feel any pain, at least, not anywhere but my toes. I’m just really tired.”
“Let’s check out the bathroom, then.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “Water closet.”
“I guess I should get used to calling it that,” he grumbles. “Come on.” He takes my hand again. “You’ll feel better once you clean up, then we can get some sleep. We’ll figure out this mess tomorrow.”
“Maybe we’ll wake up and find it’s just another one of those super vivid dreams, like the ones of Cordelia.”
“We can always hope.” Sam sighs. “But I doubt we’re that lucky.”
We head to the bathroom and I run a shallow bath, just enough to cover our feet. Rolling up the hem of my pyjama pants, I climb into the bath and sit on the edge, where Sam joins me after finding a bar of soap.
I let out a deep breath as I submerge my feet.
Although the water’s cold, my feet are colder, so it doesn’t feel so bad.
At least we won’t end up with chilblains this way.
I scrub the dirt away, and Sam’s right, I do feel better.
Well, I feel better about them being clean, but as I climb out of the bath and rub them with a towel to warm them up, they start prickling with pain.
We wordlessly tidy up the bathroom, both because that’s my default setting and because we don’t want to upset Ichabod further. He strikes me as someone who needs familiarity and routine. I can’t judge him for it because I’m very much the same.
When we return to our assigned room, it takes a moment to figure out how to turn off the light, which then leaves the room bathed in a soft glow from the small fireplace. Sam folds back the covers on one of the narrow beds.
“Get in, you’ll soon warm up.”
I do as he suggests, then glance at the other bed barely two feet away.
I know it’s selfish, but I grasp his wrist before he can move and can’t stop the words from leaving my lips in a low, pleading whisper.
“Stay with me.”
He searches my face, and I think he’s going to shake his head and take the other bed, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls the covers up once more and carefully slides in next to me.
It takes a bit of manoeuvring since the space is so narrow, but we eventually end up twined in each other’s arms, our legs slotted together like pieces of a puzzle.
As he holds me, for the first time in hours, I feel like I can finally breathe.
“Sam.” My voice breaks on his name.
“Ssh.” He massages my scalp absently. “Go to sleep, Prickles. We’ll deal with it tomorrow, okay?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
My throat is burning from a hot, hard ball of emotion that has settled there, making it impossible to even swallow, let alone make sounds. Instead, I nod against his chest, and his arms tighten around me. It feels like he’s holding all the pieces of me together.
Eventually, his breathing evens out and I know he’s slipped into an exhausted sleep. It comes harder for me, and when it does, it’s fitful and in broken stretches.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I come more fully awake again, but I must wake Sam with my restlessness because he murmurs something. Then he lifts my chin so I’m looking into his dark, sleepy eyes.
I didn’t think I could feel any guiltier for not being honest with him, but now he’s stranded in time and it’s all my fault.
Now I’ve dragged Sam into this mess that’s beginning to feel like a curse.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” We’re pressed together so tightly that his chest vibrates against me when he talks.
“Sam,” I choke out, “I’m so sorry.”
His fingers trace my cheekbone and then my jaw. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”
“It is,” I say miserably. “It’s my legacy, my family. I should have told you the truth, all of it from the beginning.”
“Prickles, let’s not keep flogging this horse. I understand why you didn’t, and yes, I was hurt, but I get it, more than you realise.”
“But if—” I swallow hard. “If I had dealt with the music box, if I hadn’t made you?—”
“If I hadn’t come back to London, if I hadn’t met you. We can all play that game, Harrison, but the simple truth is, I think we were meant to be.”
“What?”
He holds my face tenderly. “Fucking hell, Harrison, how can you not know how I feel about you?”
I blink rapidly at the wetness filling my eyes. “Sam.”
“I’m in love with you, Prickles. And yes, being trapped in a time period where the people would love to see us in jail for what we are isn’t ideal.”
“Actually, they’ll probably burn me at the stake for what I am,” I mutter, fighting the urge to just bury my face in his neck and cry until there’s not a drop of moisture left in my body.
“Prickles,” he says softly, “there isn’t anywhere else I’d want to be other than by your side, wherever that is.
It’s not going to be easy, I think we both know that, and not just because we may be stuck here for good.
More than anything, we need to learn how to communicate, how to trust each other above everyone else.
I want to be your person because you’re already mine.
You’re my whole world, Harrison. Granted, it’s a bit of a fucked-up world, and I don’t mean just right now.
I don’t think our lives will ever be normal, but there isn’t anyone I’d rather do this with than you. ”
I drag in a shaky breath as he brushes away my falling tears. “I love you so much,” I whisper. “I do trust you, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. And I promise I’ll never keep anything from you again.”
A small smile tugs at that sinful mouth of his. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I mean it.”
“I don’t need you to tell me every little thing, as I’m sure you don’t expect the same from me. But the big stuff? We need to be honest with each other. Now more than ever.”
I nod in agreement. “Okay,” I say quietly.
“It’s you and me, Prickles. Us against the world—or at least, us against Victorian London.”
“I feel incredibly selfish”—I grasp his face and press my forehead to his—“but I’m so glad you’re right here with me.”
“I won’t ever be anywhere else.” He presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “That’s my promise to you. I’ll always have your back.”
“I love you, Sam,” I whisper again.
His smile lights me up. “And I love you.”
We lean in, closing the fraction of a distance between us so our lips meet. The kiss is slow and deep, filled with promises and love and comfort, and something deep inside me settles.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, why we’re here, and more importantly, how we’re getting back. But I can handle all of it if Sam’s with me.
There must be a reason we were brought to this exact moment in time, thrown directly into the path of Cornelius Crawshanks and his lover.
Somehow, it’s all connected, the building, the time, the dreams…
The dreams.
They stopped right before I found out what happened to Cordelia, and I can’t just come straight out and ask Cornelius, but I’m sure it matters in all this. I just need to earn his trust first.
Sam presses his fingers into my scalp the way he does to relax me, and I absently run my fingertips over his chest hair, which I know relaxes him in turn.
“Go to sleep, Prickles,” Sam murmurs. “Like I said, we’ll figure it all out tomorrow. We have plenty of time.”
Do we though?
I’m sure there’s something we’re supposed to do here, something specific, and an uneasy feeling gnaws deep in my gut. But as I drift into an uneasy sleep there’s only one thought in my mind…
We’re not going to be allowed home until we’ve figured it out.