The Speckled Band – What Happened Next
Chapter 1: It's ALIVE!
Dr. Grimsby Roylott lay in the empty sitting room, alone save the dead snake. His breathing was all but gone – faint, yes, but not gone entirely. He was a strong man, strong enough to cling to life after a normal man would have passed.
A shape sped into the room, with a syringe and a cold cloth. The seconds it took the youth – no more than 15 at the oldest – to uncap the carefully safe-guarded syringe and inject the dying man with anti-venom felt like an eternity.
With a startled, ragged breathe, Roylott sprung back to life on the carpet. His breathe was normal again, but his face was still pail. The youth heaved a sigh herself and quickly checked his temperature. She was much smarted than she let on.
Bessie had found Roylott's anti-venom when cleaning once, many weeks ago. She did not know what it was used for, but the word Venom gave her some idea. So she started researching it. The venom, snakes in general, anything that she could find, though actually finding information was almost impossible. She had to resort to reading over some notes of the Doctor's she had found in his room while she was supposed to be cleaning. This 'absence' from her duties got her many a tongue lashing from the Doctor but she knew he would be thankful in the end.
Not like he'd actually thank her or anything. No, definitely not. He was not that sort of man. Bessie had found out on her own how to use the anti-venom if necessary, which was saying something compared to how she normally acted. She was always 'dimwitted girl' or on one occasion, 'stupid brat' – she didn't blame the man for that one though, since he had come back from a card game later than usual and stunk of brandy.
Bessie may have been smart, but she was not one to plan ahead. Which was why she was sitting in the sitting room, with a man who should be dead, who was running a fever, and had no clue what to do next. This situation was delicate, so to say. His only remaining stepdaughter, Helen, would have a fit if she knew her stepfather – who had just tried to kill her, mind you, and had killed her sister – was alive. Alive and getting a little better, really.
Now Bessie really wished the Doctor was not the one of the floor right now. She could use his help. She couldn't go get the only other Doctor she knew, for Doctor Watson was one of the people who believed Roylott to have killed his stepdaughter and a gypsy named Morgana. Ok, so he probably did, but there was a slim chance he didn't and that was what Bessie hoped the rest of the village would believe.
Bessie suddenly found herself staring at the half-dead man on the floor and silently berated herself for losing track of time. Darn, where was that hall clock when she needed it! She could hear the faint clip-clop of hooves on grave road – and then it hit her. Dr. Watson had called the police!
Bessie looked quickly from Roylott to the door and back again. She could call Ms. Waverly and get her to help. Wait, no she couldn't. Ms. Waverly had a temperature. And everyone else was either asleep or useless.
Roylott stirred slightly as the sound of bare feet on carpet echoed through the old house. Bessie prayed that was NOT Helen coming down the hall and it was someone of use to her. Like Mrs. Waverly, for instance. Just anyone but Helen.
To Bessie's relief, it was in fact Ms. Waverly who stepped into the room. Bessie ran over and shushed her before she could cry out, at the same time making sure she had the candle secure in her hand. The last thing they needed right now was a fire.
"Ms. Waverly!" Bessie spoke in a hushed whisper, her cockney accent making her words thick and terribly hard to understand. "Roylott ain't dead. But we need to get him out of here. Help me take him to my chambers; I'll explain everything later." Bessie was panicked for time. She had to get Roylott to her chambers. He could stay there until he was better. Then she could testify in court that he was innocent and that the death of Julia Stoner was an accident. Otherwise, he had no point in saving this man – he would go to death for his crimes.
Bessie and Ms. Waverly, who had jumped to help without any questions, managed to hoist Roylott's arm over their shoulders'; even though Bessie was almost 6 inches shorter than both of them and could barely support Roylott's weight. Then came the process of walking him out of there. Both women had to walk in unison, at the same speed, and with a dead weight on their shoulders. That alone seemed daunting enough, but it got worse. Not only that, but they had to walk down two flights of stairs and past Helen's room without making any noise at all.
It took a good ten minutes for both women to get their steps together, by then that had reached the stairs. They were doing quite well for such circumstances; they only tripped once and that was all Bessie's fault. But then the stairs proved another challenge all together.
Another twenty minutes later, Bessie found herself at the bottom of the stairs with a limp Roylott and an angry Ms. Waverly. She had tripped, fallen down half the stairs and left the poor housekeeper with Roylott's dead weight. Which did not result in anything good.
Ms. Waverly might have had a yelling fit, if they weren't a few feet from Ms. Helen's room. Helen could not know of the fact that Roylott was living; if they wanted Roylott to STAY living that is.
Bessie helped the older woman to hoist the dead weight and they silently began to walk him to Bessie's chambers. The floor was loose and creaked with every step, but they eventually made it to the room. Her room was a light blue color with a simple white bed, made for one, and a small white sofa and small white table. Bessie sat Roylott on the floor while she pulled the bedspread over her newly washed sheets, for Roylott had some blood on his shirt and looked really dirty in the pristine room.
Finally, all was quiet. Roylott was asleep in the bed, and Bessie was exhausted and on the couch. Ms. Waverly had gone to get some tea, one for each of them and one for Roylott if he decided to wake.
Bessie cast a glance over at the snoozing madman and halfheartedly smiled. He looked so… kind, if such a word could describe Roylott, when he was asleep. He looked content, even happy. Such happiness had not been seen on Roylott's face since… since they left India, since his wife died.
The door burst open and Helen stormed in, Ms. Waverly and the tea in tow. Helen was absolutely furious and headed straight for the bed. Bessie stood in her way and stopped her, getting defensive.
"Don't hurt him, Helen!" Her cry was louder than intended; Roylott stirred slightly and she knew that everyone else in the house had heard her.
"Why not?" Helen was on the verge of tears. "He killed my sister!"
"Ms Helen, look at him! He's your only family you have left!" Bessie's voice of reason earned a nod from Ms. Waverly, who decided to stay out of it and drink her tea.
"I don't care! I'll be getting married to Louis soon and he will no longer matter to me!"
"Helen!" Bessie had raised her voice to a level that was almost as loud as Roylott's when he was angry; she was having none of that. "Captain Armitage is in the military! He's going off to a military outpost, and when you do see him, it'll only be for a short while! He may die in battle for all you know, and then not having Roylott left will only leave you lonelier! Kill him now and you'll regret it later, trust me!"
"What would you know, Bessie?" Helen's voice was harsh and mean sounding. She did not like being yelled at by a girl who, to her knowledge, knew nothing about that topic. "You still have your parents taking care of you. You might be the most loved girl in the world for all I know! You don't know anything of losing a loved one!"
"THAT'S A LIE!" Bessie was crying. "I don't have any family anymore! Even if they're alive out there, they'd never love me! It's why they left in the first place!" Bessie stopped, tense and sobbing. Helen was aghast at this new information.
Bessie… an orphan? Such a happy young girl taking care of herself in this world? Without parents? Such a thought had never crossed Helen's mind. Bessie was too happy, too neat, too… content with her life to be alone like that.
"What…?" Was all Helen managed to say.
"My mom and dad left before I could know them. My older brother took care of me for a while and was then drafted into the army and died. I was alone since I was still a baby. My brother knew Doctor Roylott, which is why he left me to his care in his will." Bessie bit her lip to keep from sobbing again. "I lived with the Doctor in India, and when we came back lived in my old house, since Stoke Moran needed repair in the spare rooms they had left. The Doctor loaned me out this room for if I got stuck here at night, because of the cheetah…" Bessie couldn't talk anymore, she was crying too hard.
"Ms. Helen, we'd better go." Ms. Waverly took her tea and left, Helen following after. She stole one last glance into the room, and with a muttered 'I'm sorry…', left. Bessie sat down and tried to sip at her tea, but found it was hard when she was crying that hard. She rarely ever mentioned her parents to anyone; Roylott was the only one that knew of them, but vaguely.
Suddenly, she felt a large arm wrap around her shoulders; Roylott had sat next to her. He had a stone cold expression on his face, but his arm was comforting.
"I heard the whole thing." He muttered. "I never knew your parents might still be alive…" He had planned to say something nasty but it didn't feel right to be insulting to the poor child. Not after she had defended him. "I'm sorry… and…thanks for saving my life and defending me." He really had to force himself to thank her but she deserved it. Bessie looked up at him, startled. A smile split her face in half and Roylott looked away before all this 'happy' made him want to smile too.
Before he could blink she had grabbed hold of him and started sobbing into his front. He was startled; he never expected that, not in a million years. Upon realizing Bessie would not let go any time soon he placed a tentative hand on her back and looked over at the door with a heavy sigh. Women…
