Camille (16 page)

He laughed. “You remind me of my late Uncle
Albert in that stretched out topper.”

I peered up at him from under the drooping
brim. “That’s what a girl likes to be compared to, a dead
uncle.”

“Mind you, I was quite fond of the man.”

“That’s comforting to know.”

“And you definitely smell better than
him.”

“Again, comforting to know.”

Bethlem hospital loomed in the distance
crowned by the pasty leftover storm clouds. The steps to the
hospital were close to deserted since this was not officially a
visiting day.

“Somehow I expected more people milling about
the place,” Strider said.

I shook my head. “Only on visitor days.
Sadly, I think most people avoid the place when given the excuse
and opportunity. The chocolate is our ticket into the ward. They
are Sarah’s favorite.”

“Don’t you mean chocolates? You brought three
pieces, did you not?”

“Nothing escapes you.” I pulled one of the
confections from my coat. It had softened in the heat of my pocket.
“Only one is for Sarah. Emily has a sweet tooth as well.” I
unwrapped the candy, broke it in half, and handed Strider his
portion before pushing the creamy treat into my mouth.

“More fortification?” he asked.

“Indeed. I must warn you that Emily’s mood
can change drastically from day to day. Some days she’s cheery, and
other days, she’s plagued with a melancholy that keeps her in
bed.”

Strider did not seem to know how to react to
what I’d told him. He nodded and opened the front door before
issuing me inside.

“Now, Miss Camille, you know it’s not
visiting …” Sarah’s reminder was cut short by the shiny wrapped
confection on the palm of my hand. She plucked it off and was about
to unwrap it when my companion caught her attention more than the
chocolate. “Who’s this? We can’t allow no lads in the female ward.
Maybe he should stay out here with me.”

I glanced sideways at Strider. He was using
his greatest weapon, his smile, on the defenseless girl. “That’s
quite a sacrifice, Sarah,” I said. “But this is our cousin,
Nathaniel. He has not seen Emily for five years.”

She continued gawking at him. He didn’t have
to say a word. The heart-stopping grin plastered across his face
spoke for him.

“I suppose this one time would be fine,”
Sarah said not taking her eyes off Strider.

I pulled his arm and headed to Emily’s ward
before Sarah changed her mind or worse, proposed marriage to him.
Fortunately, most of the other patients were outside in the wake of
yesterday’s storm, and the workers had finished their morning
routines.

My knock was answered hesitantly, and Emily’s
voice sounded weak. Not a good sign but we went inside. Every bone
in Emily’s backbone jutted prominently through the thin material of
her linen day dress and blue shawl. Shoulders hunched, her long
pale hair lay in a tangled mess down her back. She continued to
stare out the closed window, even after we entered. Her population
of fairies and forest creatures dangled lifelessly on their
strings, only stirring as we shut the door.

“Emmie, I have your red paper,” I said
quietly, “and I’ve brought a visitor.” Now I regretted having come
at all. Her mood would give me little chance to ask for father’
journal. And now, I‘d brought a stranger into her room on top of it
all. Admittedly, I felt ashamed of my sister in this detached state
of mind.

A few moments of silence followed before
Emily turned her face away from the courtyard to look at us. Her
eyes focused on Strider. Even with her face drawn in sadness, her
beauty softened the stark, white walls of the room. Strider walked
forward and bowed politely.

“Nathaniel Strider. Pleased to meet you,
Miss.”

My sister rubbed the scar beneath her sleeve.
Her dark gold lashes blinked several times as she surveyed her
visitor. Then she looked past him to me.

“This would explain your mood on your last
visit.” She returned her gaze to the window. “I will not forgive
John for his recklessness.” Emily’s words were quiet but sharp.
Strider did not seem to understand her cryptic comment, and I was
glad. She stood and walked toward the side table near her bed.
“Forgive me.” She poured some tea. “I should offer my guests some
refreshment.”

Strider shook his head. “No, thank you.” She
handed the cup to me and I accepted, not because I wanted it, but
because in this mood, she became easily irritated. Emily lowered
the teapot and continued rubbing her scar, the movement and
intensity growing with each passing moment.

Strider walked to the paper sculptures and
inspected them closely. “These are unbelievable. How can this be
done with mere paper?” He winked at Emily. “Only someone with the
magic of a fairy could do this.”

Emily smiled. Delicate dimples creased her
cheeks. He’d done it. Winning Emily’s favor was difficult and few
had done it quickly, but Strider with his own magical powers of
knowing precisely what to say, had won her over, even in her black
mood.

“I nearly forgot.” I handed her the sheets of
paper and the chocolate.

“No letter from John?” I was surprised she’d
asked when normally his letters seemed to hold no interest for
her.

“No letter today. The idea to visit you was
unplanned.”

Emily folded the red sheets and slid them
into a drawer along with the candy. “So I was an afterthought.”
Bravo. With one comment I’d undone what Strider had accomplished.
Her mood darkened again, and my hopes of seeing father’s journal
fell with it.

“Why don’t you open the window so Nathaniel
can see them awake?”

For a moment, it seemed she might take my
suggestion. She walked to the window but sat down in the chair and
continued with her infernal scratching. “Not today.”

“Perhaps, they can bring you something for
your arm,” Strider suggested. “It seems to irritate you
terribly.”

Emily peered up at me, a faint, wicked smile
on her lips. She looked at him. “’Tis only an old scar. It will
stop soon,” she said.

Suddenly, my own irritation grew. I did not
want to stay any longer watching the theatrics of my sister.
Strider shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

I flew to my sister’s feet, kneeled in front
of her, and grabbed her hand before she scratched herself raw. It
felt icy cold. I rubbed it between my own hands. “Emily, the
journal, we must have the journal.” Face to face, we exchanged a
look that could only be transferred between two sisters with many
bonds between them. Emily’s eyes were a glassy blue. “Please,” I
mouthed to her.

She placed her free, equally chilled hand on
my cheek. Her expression was pure pity, and I pulled my face
away.

“Do not look at me like that. You’ve given up
on life but I haven’t. Give me the damn journal, Emily. He was my
father too.”

A slightly hysterical sound escaped her lips.
“There is nothing in there that will help you. I’ve read the entire
book.”

I shot to my feet. “You know nothing of
science. You can’t possibly understand what it says.”

A knock at the door startled us all. “Go
away, Virginia. I want no more of your wretched tonics.” It was the
loudest I’d heard my sister speak in years.

The door opened anyway. Emily stood with
closed fists. Dr. Bennett stepped inside and removed his hat.

“John, what on earth brought you here?” I
asked.

Nervously running his fingers around the brim
of his gray top hat, he nodded to Strider and to me then looked at
Emily. “Hello, Emily.”

Emily did not say a word but sat back down
and faced out the window.

“Don’t be so impolite, Emily. You forget,
John is your guardian.” She had never angered me so much as this
morning. Still, it was an extremely unexpected visit. Dr. Bennett
had not visited Emily in over a year.

“Camille, please do not fret about it. I’d
like to talk to Emily privately. Why don’t you say your farewells
and head home.”

The visit had started badly and beside the
one bright moment when Strider had made Emily smile, it
deteriorated quickly. I walked over and kissed Emily on the cheek.
She did not acknowledge me. Strider and I left the room and the
hospital and nearly sprinted to the bridge.

“John never visits Emily. They’ve barely
spoken in three years.”

Strider took hold of my arm to slow my
frenetic pace. “Your sister didn’t look pleased to see him. Were
they close at one time?”

“We were a family. The night my father died,
Emily and I clung to each other in the dark for several hours, my
father’s lifeless body blocking the stairs from the kitchen. The
front door burst open, and we could hear Dr. Bennett shouting my
father’s name as he raced through the house. We heard others with
him. We were too frightened to scream. A young policeman with a
lantern found my father’s body and the two terrified girls huddled
under the table with a pistol.”

I stopped for a moment and stared down the
cloudy stretch of water that snaked through the city. Heavy boat
traffic and yesterday’s rain storm swirled the silt from the bottom
to the turbulent surface.

“Dr. Bennett knew what had happened. My
father had written him that morning pleading for him to come. But
he’d been lecturing all day and had not read the message until it
was too late. The authorities would never have believed the truth.
So John concocted a story about the years of abuse we’d suffered at
the hand of my father, and how, in the end, we’d had to defend
ourselves with a gun. Emily and I had no choice but to go along
with the tale.”

We continued over the bridge to home. “We
would not have survived without Dr. Bennett. Then without
explanation, Emily pulled away from us, both John and me. It was
not long after that that she moved into Bethlem.” I’d never told
anyone even a part of the story, but now Strider had heard it all.
I’d known him such a short while, and we were from such different
worlds. Yet, I felt a connection with him that was so solid that
once broken, I would surely break with it. “I hope I have not bored
you with all the tawdry details of my life.”

“Not at all.” He picked up my hand and
secured it around his arm. I tightened my fingers. “Do you think
Dr. Bennett went to your sister for the journal?”

“I suppose but if Emily won’t give it up to
me, she certainly won’t give it to him.” I stopped. “But we’ll move
on without it. There’s time.” How ridiculous that phrase was
starting to sound knowing how quickly the month raced by.

The walk and the strange morning had tired
me, and I was pleased to reach the front steps of the
townhouse.

“My stomach is as empty as a church in the
middle of Sodom.” Strider held the door for me, and I swept past
him.

I laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard
that saying before.”

“I’m sure you ‘aven’t since I just invented
it.”

I removed my coat and hung it on the hook. He
removed his, something he always did reluctantly as if removing the
garment might wash away any memories he had of his brother.

“To the kitchen, then. I think there is some
bread and cheese in the larder.”

I read a paper on smallpox inoculations Dr.
Bennett had left on the sitting room table while Strider tore off
chunks of bread and cheese and ate. For the first several days,
he’d eaten slowly, like a small child with a small stomach. But now
he was hungry all the time. A quiet surrounded us but it was a
comfortable, satisfied silence.

“It says here that in ancient times to make
people immune to smallpox, they would powder up smallpox scabs and
blow them up people’s noses.”

Strider cleared his throat loudly. I peered
up from the paper. He held up a piece of the cheese.

“Forgive me. I forgot you were still eating.”
I returned to the paper. “In India they took the actual infectious
material from the lesions and inoculated people.” A large piece of
bread landed on the paper.

I picked it up and plopped it into my mouth.
“I think I will have a piece of that cheese, after all.”

A piece of cheese followed the same arc
though the air and onto the paper in front of me. It was saltier
than I liked. “Now, I’ll have to make tea to wash the taste from my
mouth.”

The front door closed. “John’s home. He’ll
want some as well.” I stood. Dr. Bennett met me in the doorway. His
face was pale, and his eyes were flat with anguish. “My God, John,
are you not well? Come in and sit.” I reached for his hand and saw
what he held. Father’s journal.

“Camille, I need to speak with you.” Tiny
hairs stood up on the back of my neck as he spoke, and my mind
raced to the journal. What could he have found inside? Was there no
hope for a cure?

Dr. Bennett glanced politely at Strider who
took the hint and left the room. Deep down I wanted him to stay. My
gaze followed him out the door.

“Sit, Camille.” Dr. Bennett pulled out a
chair for me. His mouth was stretched tightly, and it seemed he
might retch right there on the table in front of us.

I leaned forward. “John, what is it? Is it
Emily? The journal?” My mind was racing with the dreadful
possibilities of what he might tell me, but never did I see what
was coming.

Dr. Bennett’s long, white fingers drummed the
textured brown leather cover of Father’s journal as he placed it on
the table and laid his hand atop it. The book looked as new as the
day Father bought it. Emily and I had sucked on the hard sugar
candies he’d given us and watched as he’d removed it from the brown
paper. Even though it had been six years, it looked as sleek as it
did on that day when he’d placed it in Emily’s care and the pistol
in mine.

My hand covered Dr. Bennett’s. It was
trembling. “Please, John, tell me, what is the matter?”