Chapter XX

The gown was all lace, and softness, and delicate rosettes, and she felt like a queen gazing into the looking glass Erik unveiled for her use, even though she had to stand quite a ways back and stoop a bit to get a proper look. She tried not to compare her situation to the last time she'd donned a wedding gown, but it was impossible to put it from her mind altogether. She hadn't bothered lacing her stays very tight this time; her chest still hurt from the inflammation in her lungs, and there was no austere mother-in-law with demands on her attire. Although the persistent cough pained her greatly, she felt more calm and at ease than ever before.

She was to be Erik's wife.

It took her no persuading, no counting the costs, or weighing of questions in her heart. Her mind and heart were in harmony, and it was a rare and sweet thing for her.

They would not elope after all. As wonderful as escaping to some hidden corner of the world with Erik sounded, Christine could not cause him to abandon the helpless patients he was responsible for. Especially now that she was aware of how terrible conditions could be for all of them if Erik did not supervise the hospital. Every day she was more and more grateful for his compassion and care, and she loved him all the more for his desire to be so for others that were in need. She was disappointed to put aside her dreams of a quaint country cottage with a little rose garden, but she well understood Erik's desire to marry her immediately and would be perfectly content to hide away in his room forever if it came to it.

It was quite the cosy room, after all.

She traced a finger around a lonely rose in the lace pattern, marvelling at the detail. Erik commissioned the gown at the same time he replaced the worn and shabby pink one that had once been so grand. It seemed from a different time altogether, now. The gown she now wore was too fine to give her for use within the hospital, he'd said, and so he kept it, hoping against hope that she might have the chance to wear it for him someday. Her finger next touched her lips, blushing as she recalled the kiss he gifted her as he said so.

Now was his someday.

She cleared her throat to indicate it was safe for him to turn his head. He was quite dashing in his dinner jacket; the only formal wear he owned, and derived precious little use from. He was a doctor, not a socialite, and found no pleasure in the prattling banter that passed from man to man when thrown together in a room full of differing specialists with vastly differing opinions. Such functions bore the true meaning of a madhouse, and his first participation had been his last.

This was a far better use for it.

Erik had lost all ability to move. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as her head turned and the teardrop earrings the shopkeeper had insisted he purchase caught the low light over the desk. He recovered his breath, just enough to whisper softly how perfectly angelic she looked.

She blushed sweetly and took his arm as they crept out of the hospital.

The streets were all but abandoned as they made their walk to the chapel where a minister always presided. He was the same minister Erik would go to for a dying patient with a last wish of speaking to a man of God, and he turned no one away regardless of the late or early hour. Before making his acquaintance, Erik had never known someone to require even less sleep than himself.

Christine wore her silk veil to remain anonymous. Despite the streetlights not producing enough illumination to put her in danger, she knew they would be exchanging vows very near to the minister, and she did not want to be known by him, either.

There was no mention of names, no announcing of her taking a new surname. They were simply a man and a woman, making a union before God and His minister.

There were no expectations upon their return. They repeated their dressing ritual as before, with backs turned, but in the same room in the event that Christine needed help with her stays or buttons.

More than anyone, Erik knew of her past; of the things she'd endured and the pain she had suffered, both in mind and body. He would never ask for more than the honour of sleeping at her side and holding her through the night. Any more would come from her petition, and only hers.

Thus, he found himself settling comfortably beside a fully night-clothed Christine, trembling not with anticipation or anxiousness, but a true concern that she be nothing but cosy and secure. She seemed naturally to melt into his side without ceremony, and it allowed him to relax, if only momentarily.

Someone was at the door. Christine clung to him, wide-eyed and quivering.

"Don't worry, my love. I'm here; you're safe. No one can harm you now."

"Did someone see us coming home from the chapel? Did they recognise me?"

Though he knew he was forced to answer the insistent sound, he allowed himself to hold her close just a moment longer. "If they did, I cannot imagine they'd be so stupid as to confront me about it at this hour. It's most likely an attempted escape, or perhaps a nurse was not told that you were sent to another hospital and is in a panic that you've vanished." He kissed her forehead before slipping out of bed. "I shall return just as soon as I've sent them away."

Christine shimmied under the covers. She couldn't be seen from the doorway, but just the same felt safer with nothing but her face outside the covers. She felt a twisting in her chest, and prayed that her cough would not rear its ugly head at such a time.

Erik's and the nurse's voices were too low for her to catch the exchange, but it was brief, and Erik was soon standing by her side. Standing, though, she noted, and not readying to climb back into bed with her.

"I'm afraid I have to go see to a tragic matter, my dear."

"What is it? Did someone escape?"

"I only wish it were so. Lily Mason is dead."