Note: The song for this chapter is Save Yourself by My Darkest Days.
Chapter 2 - Save Yourself
November 22, 1901
The first thing Thomas noticed was the ambient noise of humans speaking and mulling about. Allerdale Hall was not silent by any means, but its noises consisted of the wind whistling through the rafters, Lucille's silvery piano sonnets, and the sounds of an old structure creaking and groaning under its own ponderous weight. The sounds of voices and footsteps were uncustomary, and Thomas felt a thrill of panic as he fought to open his eyes. Where was he?
"Take it easy, lad," a voice said in a deep Scottish brogue. Thomas finally got one eye open, and blinked blearily up at the form of an older, matronly looking woman dressed in a nurse's uniform sitting at his bedside.
"Where…" Thomas started to say, but his voice croaked and his throat felt too thick to form words properly.
"Here, drink," the woman said, and brought a cup of blessedly cool water to Thomas's lips. He took a sip, swallowed painfully, then took several more dregs before the cup was moved away.
"Not too much now, or you'll make yourself sick," the nurse stated. "You're in hospital, lad. The Mary Hewetson, in Keswick. Can you remember what happened?"
For a few, precious moments, he didn't. His mind whirled through possibilities - an accident with the clay harvester, perhaps? An illness? Where was Lucille - surely she would be by his side to nurse him, as she'd always been when he was injured or sick?
And then, suddenly, he remembered everything.
Edith. Alan McMichael. Lucille, stabbing him. Oh, Edith! Surely she was not dead, she could not be!
Thomas's breath hitched excruciatingly, and suddenly he was aware of how much pain he was in. His face, his shoulder, his chest. However, none of that seemed to matter as he desperately blurted out, "Edith! My wife, please, is she all right?"
"Calm yourself!" the nurse said firmly, pushing him back into the bed as he tried to rise. "You'll do yourself harm if you tear your stitches! Your wife is here as well, and the doctor expects her to make a full recovery. She's sat by your bedside many times these past few days, though she's not yet healed herself."
Thomas closed his unbandaged eye and slumped back in relief - that meant Lucille had not succeeded! For a moment, he reveled in the bliss of knowing that Edith was safe, at last. The feeling did not last long, however, as a suspicion occurred to him - if Edith was alive, what had happened to Lucille?
You already know the answer, Thomas thought to himself, but he had to hear it out loud - had to know for sure. Swallowing, Thomas opened his eye again and inquired, "And…my sister?"
The grim look on the nurse's face told him all he needed to know, even before she replied, "Sir Thomas…I'm sorry. Miss Sharpe is dead."
Hearing it spoken out loud with such finality filled Thomas with a sense of profound relief mixed with sick, deep heartache and grief, and he felt silent tears well up and spill out of his good eye. He dimly remembered the nurse leaving after murmuring something else, but was so lost in his own mind that he shut everything else out. The moments of consciousness stretched out agonizingly as his mind whirled, replaying the events of the last several weeks over and over again, disgust and self-hatred featuring prominently in his thoughts.
How could he have let things get so out of control? Why had he been so cowardly, so willing to go along with Lucille's mad schemes? What kind of husband was he? Also, how was he still alive? He'd been sure Lucille had killed him - the last thing he remembered was her fading form cradling his bleeding body. Had Edith come back for him? How, why had she possibly done that, after everything he'd done? Was it some sick sense of obligation? Or, worse still…did she just want to see him strung up publicly? Oh, why couldn't she have just let him die!
Strangely, he seemed to have vague, dream-like recollection of watching Edith and Lucille face off among his machinery, the snow swirling around - his sister gaining the upper hand until she somehow caught sight of him, allowing his beautiful, brave wife the moment she needed to bash Lucille's head in and end her madness once and for all. Thomas wasn't certain how he had that memory, but he felt with certainty that it's exactly what had happened.
And yet...he loved Lucille still. She'd been the one constant in his life ever since he could remember - the only one who had loved him, at least until Edith, and any tenderness she had for me is surely long gone, Thomas told himself. Even though he realized how twisted their love had been, how Lucille had used him to further her own demented plots, Thomas couldn't help but mourn her loss.
And yet, Lucille hadn't succeeded with her final scheme - Edith was alive! The thought filled him both with rapturous joy and deep dread. After everything he'd done, there was no possibility she'd want to stay married to him. What could he possibly do now? Even if he escaped the gallows - and the fearful possibility loomed heavy in his mind - what remained for him except a long, slow death, alone, unloved, and destitute?
Unaware of the passing of time, Thomas's despairing ruminations were interrupted by a voice exclaiming from the doorway: "You're a very fortunate man, Sir Thomas!"
Thomas jerked his gaze up to see an unfamiliar man striding toward him with a grin. "I'm Doctor Adams," the man continued, "and it's good to see you awake at last!"
The doctor's words and demeanor were so contradictory to his current thoughts and moods that Thomas couldn't help but reply disparagingly, "I wouldn't say so."
The doctor's eyebrows rose, but the man kept up his jovial rapport. "Why, yes indeed, Sir Thomas! You may just be one of the luckiest patients I've ever worked on. Although you were stabbed three times, each wound missed a critical organ that would have ended your life on the spot. As it was, I thought we would lose you from blood loss alone for a while there...but look at you now! Awake and on the mend, only three days later!"
"Why," Thomas replied, his voice flat.
"Why?" The doctor echoed.
"Yes, why," Thomas stated again, trying unsuccessfully to keep his suddenly rising rage from coloring his voice. "Why would you save me? I was already dying, couldn't you just leave me be?" His voice rose, but instead of ending the sentence with a shout, he ended up with a coughing fit that caused his right lung to burn.
The doctor wordlessly brought the water cup to his lips, and Thomas gulped down a mouthful. He glanced up at the physician, and all traces of cheerfulness were gone from the man's face - instead, the doctor now appeared stern and unforgiving.
"Young man," the doctor started, "I've heard the story - your wife found you after your attack and was desperately trying to staunch the bloodflow from your wounds. She begged me to save your life, and though the odds were greatly stacked against you, despite everything you pulled through! She is a formidable woman, Lady Sharpe, and I wouldn't want to get on her bad side. She has been here by your side every day - against my wishes, I should add - praying for your recovery. Don't you dare spurn that, sir!"
Thomas blinked, somewhat mollified. Had Edith truly been so distraught at the thought of his death? He couldn't fathom why that would be, after everything he'd done. But still, unbidden, a sliver of that traitorous hope clawed its way into his heart. Could she still care for him, even now?
"In any case," the physician continued, "she was discharged herself this morning, but promised to be back to visit you this evening. You can talk with her then. For now, continue to rest. I'll have Nurse MacGill bring you some broth and porridge soon - you need to eat something and regain your strength." He swept out of the room, leaving Thomas to his brooding.
A gentle knock sounded at the door, pulling Thomas from his contemplation. He'd been drifting in and out of sleep for the past several hours, and every waking moment his thoughts had grown increasingly dark. He'd gone through countless "what if" scenarios in his mind, recalling the events of the past days and weeks and berating himself for not having changed one thing or another to avoid the tragedies that had come to pass.
He'd also thought of the future, of what Edith would want to do with him now - pushing all thoughts out of his mind that involved her staying with him. Surely she couldn't want that, not knowing what kind of person he truly was.
The knock sounded again, and he heard Edith's soft voice: "Thomas? Are you awake?"
Thomas stared mutely at the door with his one unbandaged eye, simultaneously longing to see Edith and hoping she'd go away so he wouldn't have to face her.
The door cracked open, and Edith's blonde-haired visage peeked in. Upon seeing he was awake and staring at her, she hobbled in using crutches, closing the door behind her. Thomas watched silently as she shuffled over to the chair placed at his bedside, and felt a fresh surge of guilt - Edith's ankle was in a splint, and that horrible moment when Lucille had pushed her over the banister replayed in his mind. She also had a reddened slash across her right cheek, and Thomas knew Lucille was likely also responsible for that.
"Thomas," Edith breathed, giving him that gentle smile of hers that made his heart flutter unbidden. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied after a short silence, untruthfully. Then, unable to contain his vitriol any longer, he snapped, "Why?"
To Edith's credit, she took his meaning right away, and the smile slipped off her face. "I - I'm not entirely sure," she replied. "I just knew I couldn't let you die, not if there was anything to be done."
Thomas's eye closed, and he steadied himself before answering. "It would have been better that way."
"No, it wouldn't!" Edith replied sharply. "Don't ever think that! Despite all you've done, Thomas, your life is still valuable."
"Is it?" Thomas retorted. "I'm quite certain my previous wives would disagree."
Edith tried to disguise it, but Thomas saw her wince at his blunt statement. "Yes, I'm sure they would. But they aren't here - I am. Besides," she continued, "I rather think Lucille murdered those women. Not you."
Thomas let out a self-deprecating snort. "Lucille may have been the one who dealt the final blows, but I'm just as guilty. I let it all happen. I knew what Lucille was. I could have stopped her at any time, but I didn't. You were right Edith, what you said in the hall - I'm a monster! You should hand me over to the authorities and be rid of me."
"You're right, I should," Edith replied calmly. "It'd be what you deserve. But I'm not going to. It wouldn't bring them back, and even though I know you were also responsible for their deaths, I'm pretty sure there were...extenuating circumstances. I don't believe you would have murdered anyone if it had been only your choice. Besides, I didn't save your life just for you to swing now!"
Thomas should have felt relief at this declaration, but a dull throb of anger pulsed through him instead. He'd lost everything - Lucille, surely Edith, and consequently Allerdale Hall and the mine as well; the work couldn't go on without Edith's money to sustain it. He had no other friends, no family, nothing to his name but an old rotting mansion atop a useless mire of clay. How dare she save him to condemn him to a half-life, a useless lonely existence?
Sneering, Thomas spat out, "Thank you for your pity, I suppose, but it's not needed any longer. If you're not going to turn me in, then leave me be! Go now. Go home. If you wish to petition for divorce, I'll give you all the evidence you need. Otherwise, you may tell them in America you are a widow, and none will be the wiser. You've completed your obligation to me - I'm alive, I'm recovering." He hissed the last word sarcastically. "Now please, just - just go." His voice broke, and Thomas turned his body away from Edith as best he could with the voluminous bandages and stabbing pains he felt as he moved.
Edith placed one of her small hands on his unbandaged arm. "Thomas, please. We need to talk." But he resolutely kept his gaze away from her, tears welling in his good eye.
"Please go," he whispered again.
Thomas felt Edith remove her hand. She stood and walked away, but before she opened the door she turned back to him and said, "Goodnight, Thomas. I'll be back tomorrow."
He heard her sigh, and then an almost imperceptible whisper reached his ears, so soft that Thomas was almost certain he'd imagined it. "I love you."
That night, in the cottage she'd rented on the outskirts of Keswick, Edith's thoughts churned furiously. She felt like pacing, but unfortunately her still-healing ankle disagreed with that suggestion, so she was forced to do all her thinking in a camp bed she'd had set up in the parlor with her leg propped up on a mountain of pillows. Edith had insisted on being discharged from the hospital that morning against the doctor's recommendation; he'd reluctantly let her leave with strict instructions to rest and keep her ankle elevated as much as possible.
She'd had plenty of time to think over the past few days - both as she lay in her hospital bed recovering, and as she kept vigil over Thomas's still body. Yet, even with that time afforded to her, Edith was still undecided as to her course of action going forward.
She could see two options before her: she could return to America and pick up her old life, leaving the nightmare of the past few months fully behind, or she could remain here as Thomas's wife - this time choosing to stay with full knowledge of his depravity.
Edith knew that, if she wished, she could sue for divorce without judgment from anyone - after all, infidelity by itself was a perfectly legal reason for divorce, let alone all the rest. Thomas had offered to provide the evidence she'd need to get the matter over with quickly.
Over the past few days Alan had all but begged her to accompany him back to Buffalo once he was well enough, encouraging her to leave all this behind and forget the horrors she'd experienced. It was a tempting prospect - Edith often woke with nightmares reliving the past several weeks, and shivers raced down her spine when she thought of the gruesome spirits she'd encountered and how those poor souls had met their end.
And, after all, she'd only been married to Thomas for three months - and it had hardly been a real marriage at all, she mentally added. When many years had passed, perhaps this short period of time would fade into a distant memory, a brief but painful episode that wouldn't affect the course of her life.
However, if she were being honest with herself - and she always strove to be - Edith knew these idealistic notions were just wishful thinking. What happened at Allerdale Hall could not be so easily forgotten, and even if she returned to the States she knew that the events of the past several weeks had changed her life irrevocably.
The possibility of simply returning to America and leaving Allerdale - and Thomas - behind was enticing because it would be so easy. Edith had no doubt that she could use the remainder of her inheritance and her father's connections to set herself up nicely back in Buffalo. And, of course, there was Alan - dear Alan, who had come all this way to save her like a knight in shining armor. Alan, who had been a good friend to her since childhood, and whom she knew felt something much deeper for her than she did for him. If she was amenable, Edith knew that Alan would marry her, love her, and give her a good life. Could that be enough?
Returning home was also certainly the path that every reasonable person - Alan, all her friends back home, and my father, she thought - would expect her to take. The other option - remaining here, with her murderous, incestuous, deceptive husband - would be unconscionable to all of them.
Swallowing, Edith turned her thoughts toward her husband, Sir Thomas Sharpe. Would she even be able to stomach living with him again, knowing the wickedness he was capable of? Could she ever trust him again, if she stayed?
Thomas had poisoned her, had led her into a situation he knew must end with her death - and had stood by as three women before her had perished and he'd done nothing to stop it. Edith knew Thomas could not be called honorable in any sense of the word - even if he personally hadn't committed the murders, he'd knowingly let them happen, which was arguably just as bad. He had also willingly slept with his sister for God knows how many years, had had a child with her.
Could she forgive him for all of that?
But Edith also remembered Thomas's sweet smile, the one reserved only for her. Remembered them making love, the joy and almost desperation he had shown to her that night. Remembered him plucking the teacup out of her hand, telling her to never drink it again. Remembered their tortuous words by the elevator: "You said you loved me!" "I do!" Remembered his bleeding body on the floor, proving that he chose the right path in the end and almost died because of it.
The worst thing, Edith realized, is that despite everything, I still love him. Throughout their short marriage she'd seen glimpses of his better nature, underneath all the lies; though his betrayal had cut her to the core, she suspected that, just maybe, once out from under Lucille's malevolent domination he could grow to become a decent man. But am I willing to risk my future for that chance?
Edith knew that staying with Thomas would be far more difficult than fleeing. In the immediate future there would be the legalities of Lucille's death to work through, the outcome of which was far from certain. But even that aside, in the long term Thomas would have many issues to overcome - he was a broken man in so many ways, and Edith's brief conversation with him earlier had shown that he may be unwilling to attempt change. Edith would also have to face a lifetime living with a murderer by her side. Could she commit to staying, knowing what he was? Would he even consent to give her a chance to stay with him? Would he still want her to, after she'd killed his sister?
There was also the matter of Thomas and Lucille's incest to confront. Edith couldn't deny that finding them together still haunted her - would she ever be able to be intimate with him again without imagining him in those same acts with his sister? Would he?
Edith wasn't a religious woman, but her mother had been; as she turned the problem over and over in her mind, she suddenly recalled her mother reading the Bible to her as a child, and the themes of forgiveness and redemption in those stories. God forgiving the ancient Israelites for turning away from him again and again, and sending his own son to die for sinners. Even murderers like Paul and adulterers like David had been forgiven for their evils. Surely Thomas could not be worse than any of those biblical figures who had been redeemed? If even God could forgive such acts, surely she could find it in herself to do the same?
Eventually Edith closed her eyes, then opened them, resolute. She would have to talk with Thomas again, to determine if he was even willing to try to be the man she believed he could become. She knew Thomas had been deliberately cruel earlier in order to drive her away - it was the same tactic he'd employed when he'd insulted her writing, after all. She was almost certain of his thinking: he was so sure of her rejection that he'd rejected her first, thinking to stave off the heartache.
Edith prayed that next time they conversed, Thomas would listen to her words and not cut her off again, for she wouldn't give him another opportunity.
She would give Thomas one chance to win her trust again. A chance to come clean, to tell her everything, to promise her there would be no secrets between them anymore. If he did so, sincerely, she was willing to stay and make their marriage work.
For Edith - God help her - loved Thomas enough to be willing to forgive him and remain with him, even knowing he was a liar, an adulterer, a murderer. However, she couldn't - wouldn't - do that if he wasn't willing to confide in her completely. Despite what all the stories she'd read would have her believe, Edith knew that love alone couldn't be enough to sustain a real-life marriage. There had to be trust, commitment, and respect between both parties, or the relationship would falter and perish.
If Thomas refused to make these vows, she'd start making plans to return to America. In her heart of hearts, Edith fervently believed that Thomas could change - the question was, would he even be willing to try?