Dear Readers,
After five long months, I have resolved the conflicts that have taunted me by means of plot, and finally have the third installment of this story ready. Hopefully, the next will not take nearly so long!
Once again, my greatest thanks are extended to bookfaerie, who is very much responsible for this story's continuation. I hope this next piece does not disappoint!
To everyone who stops by, I do hope you too attain some enjoyment and find this satisfactory!
Always,
Margo
By the time Inspector Bucket arrived at the victim's own abode, a full twenty-four hours had passed since the eminent investigator's identification of Concordia Bottomley. His appearance upon Bond Street resulted from the premise that - despite the improvisatorial hospitalization of the mistress of Terminus Pointe - the home was not as vacant as one would generally expect the residence of the feme sole to be. That is to say that through his own devices, and aided most efficaciously by several anxious inquiries made to the station by a disconcerted young lady within the past day, Inspector Bucket collected the information that one Miss Saffney Jain, ward to Miss Concordia Bottomley, had resided on Bond Street for the whole of a single evening before her mistress disappeared into the night and was not to be seen since. The nature of Inspector Bucket's employment being rather undulant, grasping a moment to share with Miss Jain had been nearly impossible, but the genteel examiner that morning had waded out of his charybdis in an attempt to ease the girl's mind - and collect a bit of information in the process.
Within a quarter of an hour of this arrival, the inspector took no shame in conceding to himself that the residence of Concordia Bottomley was perhaps one of the most bizarre he had ever encountered. Indubitably, Mr. Bucket could attest to having seen the most erratic and abominable residents of London, and by proxy the shocking environments that had produced them, and while Miss Bottomley's polished gentility suffered no relation with the behaviorisms of such characters, Mr. Bucket remained steadfast in his evaluation, for what the gentleman expected and what he was in fact met with were two very different scenarios, indeed, and that was his sole consideration in providing the definition.
The townhouse's imposing exterior, styled in brick during what Inspector Bucket safely imagined to be the eighteenth century and adorned with a row of white cornice line dormers was perhaps not so varied from the detective's initial presumption. However, once the grand ebony door that stood beside a sharply contrasting alabaster window frame swung open in admission, once a fragile young girl seemingly incapable of uttering a sound accompanied him into the parlor, the rest of Inspector Bucket's notions were shattered. Truly the investigator, conscious of his advanced age, considered himself preposterous for having formed such intricacies in his head at all, but the thought of the saccharine Concordia Bottomley's residence had produced for him the images of softly flushed walls adorned with shelves of bathetic baubles and religious articles, of fresh flowers and a jacket of lace upon all surfaces possibly receptive of such.
Instead, the room the inspector observed was tinted a hue of rich green, suggestive very much of a great sheet of baize. Dark paneling rose smartly halfway up the walls from the floor, interrupted only by the inexorable iron frame of a fireplace over the surface of which scurried an array of acanthuses in perpetual bloom. Strewn upon tables large and small were richly-fashioned books in various stages of completion, and upon a handsome sideboard was a most propitious array of decorations and tableware. Seats upholstered in a balmy cream skirted about the perimeter of the room methodically, with two being drawn centrally, and in close proximity of each other. Within one was seated the young and turbulent Saffney Jain, from whom radiated the composedness and finery of an aged lady.
Completely taken aback by his comely host, Inspector Bucket proffered the same warmth of reception upon Miss Jain as she offered him before reposing in the vacant seat beside her own.
"I do apologize for being so very elusive, Miss Jain," he intimated, gesticulating polite denial of the girl's silent offer of the array of comestibles behind them, "but I 'ope to make amends by having a bit of a chat with you now." Inspector Bucket studied the pair of bright eyes opposite him, the vibrant color of which made the young lady's appearance in the room all the more natural. "Just to keep things as even-keeled as is 'umanly possible in this situation, I'd like to start by reiterating the message that has 'opefully been passed onto you. Your mistress, Miss Concordia Bottomley, 'as indeed been found. I offer you the utmost assurance, 'aving seen as much with my own eyes, that she is being attended upon by friends and is receiving the best care possible. She is in a state, I do admit, and I've been able to gather a bit of evidence as to 'ow she landed herself in such a position. I should be very much obliged, however, if you'd be willing to give me whatever information regarding the events leading up to this fateful incident you can expend."
Upon ending his recitation, Inspector Bucket was quite relieved to discover that Miss Jain's courage was more than a facade, and that despite encroaching upon the perfectly frightful truth, the young girl would continue to maintain her bravery. His eye undetectably ran from his hostess' dark skirts ruffling upon the floor to her tresses of the same hue. What a very unique character she was, he thought, as her eyes glimmered more fiercely in the light of what information the inspector had provided.
"I shall of course be very willing to do so, Inspector, but do let me first express how grateful I am that you took the time to seek me. I do not think I could ever manage to locate you on my own accord. You see, it was only two afternoons ago that I arrived here, in London. I have never been here - at Terminus Pointe, that is - before. Miss Bottomley, so recently arriving herself once again, summoned me on the completion of my studies in Paris. That evening of our renewed jointure, after some conversation, I retired for the evening on Madame's suggestion. She herself would retire, she insisted, after she had taken a stroll. It was raining, you see, and Miss Bottomley is in the habit of walking in such conditions."
Throughout this brief disclosure, Mr. Bucket remained very attentive to Saffney, and from her few sentences sprung a web of possibility in his head. He examined it with his mind's eye as he rubbed a forefinger along his jaw, running over the statement once again from backwards to forwards. "You are indeed welcome, Miss Jain, but I wonder if you would mind my asking why exactly Miss Bottomley traverses in the rain?"
Saffney idly ran a hand over the fabric of her dress as she replied. "Mind you, sir, that my mistress has never disclosed as much to me in exact words, but I believe she takes solace in the rain. It is her way of fleeing persecution, I suppose."
Here, the inspector could sense the girl's reluctance to accidentally insult her caretaker, and so gently pressed her in the correct direction.
"'ave you any inkling as to why Miss Bottomley would feel persecuted? You shan't scorn her with your words, my dear, the only thing you can possibly do is 'elp her, and that's all I would ever want to do."
The girl readjusted her eyes from the backs of her amber hands to Inspector Bucket's benevolent face. "It is not right of me to make such judgements, sir, and certainly Miss Bottomley seeks no pity from me or anyone else for that matter, but I feel as though madame's lifestyle, her kindness, has suffered much rejection over the years. Her social peers in England, before she relocated abroad, scorned her beneficence, from the little I have heard. It gives me cause to believe she lost satisfaction overseas, too, after all this time. I know not the specifics, but I can say she has gone through great lengths to complete very purposeful works, sir. I daresay I embody one of her most trying endeavors. I believe she was very excited to be returned to London. In the light of so many changes to this place, she has been all but lost to the populous."
Mr. Bucket nodded, his lips pursed as he processed this unusual scrap of information.
"Very well then, Miss Jain, to be fair I can now enlighten you with what information I've collected externally. Much later in the evening you described, a poor but very kind vagrant woman that I've met before 'appened to find a lady lying in the street, obviously assaulted. I know you are unfamiliar with locations, but she was discovered not so very far from 'ere a'tol. After a bit of quick thinking, this woman aroused a doctor she knew of to assist her, who just 'appened to have met your mistress overseas. The doctor and 'is excellent wife attended to Miss Bottomley until the early morning, without realizing her identity. That same morning, I was called in to investigate, and provided her name, and now a full day later, 'ere we are - all much enlightened, though still rather mystified."
Inspector Bucket stopped to examine the fretful look that coiled around the girl's pretty face.
Saffney, being very bright, sat slightly awestruck at the power of the detective's information. Terrific enough was it to realize that her dear mistress had been the victim of some terrible crime, but a multitude of questions sprung too from this realization. Who was the culprit? What was the motive? Was the damage done to her person so gruesome that she had not been recognized?
This final question Saffney could not help but voice, though meekness almost overtook her effort. Leaning closer to the compassionate detective, she managed, "Is she doing very poorly, sir? She is stable, is she not?"
Inspector Bucket had stood face to face with more heart wrenching situations than he ever cared to relive, but having the beautiful girl's innocence rain upon him was almost enough to break his heart. "My dear Miss Jain, you are a very refined and stoic young lady, more so than I dared imagine. Being such, I will treat you like the a-dult that you truly are." Here, he placed a supportive hand on the girl's arm. "Miss Bottomley remains unconscious, largely supposed to be due to fever. Her ankle was very badly injured and infected. Her throat was severed, to say the least. How she will ultimately fare remains to be seen. It is our greatest suspicion that a late-night marauder was in pursuit of a necklace she was wearin', a heavy, odd, sort of piece, but couldn't make off with it as easily as perhaps was anticipated."
A whimper rose within the girl's throat, though she masked it by declaring, "I know exactly the one to which you refer, sir. Utterly worthless it was - that is, to anyone save her." Biting at her lower lip momentarily as she ruminated, Saffney Jain formulated one final question. "Would it be possible, do you think, for me to see her?"
The mahogany chair creaked as Inspector Bucket shifted his weight cumbersomely. "It is my 'ope, my dear, to return to the very place this evening. Should I be admitted unhindered, I shall indeed send for you. Normally, I must say that I'd advise against it, but 'aving spent this bit of time with you, I realize 'ow stalwart you are on behalf of our dear Miss Bottomley."
The kindly inspector indulged himself for a moment with a view of Miss Jain's artful simper before rising to take his leave.
"Now, it's a firm principle of mine that business and pleasure should never exist jointly, and while it's none of my business, it would be the greatest of pleasures if you would allow me to assist you in any endeavors you might find yourself in need of acting within in this trying interim. I beg of you not to go about on your own, and should you require anything at all, do not 'esitate to ask me." Here, Inspector Bucket proffered his card to Saffney in exchange for his hat that the girl personally retrieved for him. With that, the newly acquainted pair exchanged their farewells, with the detective's being characterized by great avuncularity and the young lady's by commensurate affection. Momentarily lost in such mirth, it was not until Saffney Jane pranced up the staircase and shut her chamber door that she raised her palms to her heart, marveling as it threatened to splinter under the great force that smote upon it.
"You don't belong here," Concordia Bottomley insisted, addressing the silhouette that faced opposite her in the dimly lit room. "You've died."
"Of course I have," the shade replied. "I've as much right to be here now as you do. Never quite sure whether I had a heart or not, were you? Now you may be certain."
With that, the figure advanced into the faint irradiation, producing a sight that made the woman gasp.
"Miss Bottomley," a voice called, interrupting that woman's rhythmic strains for breath. Unwillingly did Concordia at first open her eyes to again bear witness to that vile light perceptible through their lids but, the woman's eyelashes having fluttered apart, she at once became both very pleased and very addled. From beside her shone cerulean orbs framed by a blemished face so hauntingly familiar that it too might have been borne of a dream. The visage cautiously studied Miss Bottomley's as she became reacquainted with reality, the process being most noticeable through the expression of pain that slowly washed over her.
"Do you know who I am?" She asked. An unexpressible sort of mirth filled Esther's heart as the ailing woman focused not upon any of the vague marks that begrimed her face, but instead sought her hand and pressed between two fingers Mrs. Woodcourt's golden wedding band. The inquiry had relinquished Concordia Bottomley from the limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness, and clarity hurried to recover itself. Esther remained a patient witness.
"I am sure you are confounded, Miss Bottomley, but it shall be all right. The story is rather lengthy, but you will understand everything in time. For the present, you are safe with friends and there is nothing you need worry yourself with."
Impelled by Mrs. Woodcourt's amity, Concordia Bottomley parted her lips to speak. Within seconds of the attempt, however, the towheaded woman's skull engrafted itself back upon its pillow, as if the throat was secured in this position by knives.
Instantly, Esther fell upon her knees, grasping Miss Bottomley's wrist in one hand and clutching her arm with the other. "Be still," she soothed. "You shall recover yourself in a moment, there. I shall return, I promise." The hapless sight of the afflicted woman provoked Esther to plant a kiss upon the woman's forehead as she rose. Leaving the door ajar, she glided out of sight into the blackness of the hall.
Soon a great pattering echoed in the distance before Esther emerged into the room once again, followed by her husband and her guardian with the light of several more candles.
"Miss Bottomley," Mr. Woodcourt rejoiced, assuming Esther's old place by the woman's side. "Rest easy there. I know the pain is tremendous, but can you breathe? Is it becoming harder?" Here, Miss Bottomley shook her head 'no' reassuringly.
The doctor smiled. "You know who we are, then?"
Even Miss Bottomley mustered a smile at this and grasped his hand with grateful reverence.
"Is there anything we can get for you Miss Bottomley? Anything to put you at ease?"
She signaled 'yes,' and beckoned to Mrs. Woodcourt, who rejoined her at her side. Cumbersomely, Concordia pointed a finger at herself before taking one of the woman's hands in her own, turning the palm upward. The two gentlemen looked on curiously. With her forefinger, Miss Bottomley traced the letters onto Mrs. Woodcourt's soft flesh: S-P-E-L-L.
Esther caught on immediately. "You will spell it, then, Miss Bottomley? Of course, do go on."
All eyes were upon the frail woman's unsteady finger as it traced its path carefully upon Esther's hand, and after a few painstaking moments the translator announced, "Lawyer? Is that it, Miss Bottomley?" The woman nodded once more before tilting her spinning head back upon its support. "Whoever could it be, do you think?" Esther inquired of Mr. Jarndyce. He could not even conjecture, however, before Mr. Bucket called the answer out from the doorway.
"That, dear Mrs. Woodcourt, would be Mr. William Guppy. I'll see to him directly."
All the members of Jarndyce's household, having located themselves in the more luminant parlor to allow Miss Bottomley a few minutes' peace, witnessed the grand expulsion of Inspector Bucket and young Mr. Guppy from the night air, into the foyer of their home.
"A thousand apologies," began the elegant barrister, discarding his hat and gloves but clutching his leather case to his form with all of the strength in him.
Mr. Jarndyce sensed the uneasiness that rose from his young companions like smoke upon his entrance and so saving them the anxiety stepped up to meet him.
"Mr. Guppy, so good of you to come like this," Mr. Jarndyce insisted, shaking the young man's hand heartily. "I am certain Mr. Bucket has explained the situation.
"Indeed, sir, he has," the lawyer replied with an air of possessing confidential knowledge. "Bygones being bygones," he began again, preceding a nervous cough, "I have made it my very first priority to facilitate Miss Bottomley's final needs at this terrible time, and I believe I alone fully understand why I have been summoned here."
Leading Mr. Guppy past the lethal glares of Ada, Esther, and Alan that had been evoked by his connotation to their acquaintance's demise, Mr. Jarndyce indicated the room in which Miss Bottomley was to be found. He shut the door behind him as he returned to the sullen group of ponderers.
It was Mrs. Woodcourt who broke the silence. "Alan, do you suppose Miss Bottomley will die in the near future?"
The doctor shifted his weight uncomfortably in his seat. "Impossible to say, my dear. Her coming-to tonight was remarkable, to be sure. She seems to be fully aware of her surroundings. Nonetheless, she seems to have been startled by something."
"She is such a dear lady," Ada chimed in, much to everyone's surprise. "I wonder if she has anyone else in the world who cares for her."
Mr. Bucket blinked thoughtfully. "I can assure you of that, Miss C." All eyes turned upon him. "She's got a very pretty little ward, brought 'er back from India some years ago, I suppose. Sent her all over the world to be educated and what have you. Reunited with 'er 'ere in London the day she was attacked. I spoke to her this very day."
The party was stunned.
"Do you think, perhaps, she too should be summoned for?" Mr. Jarndyce wondered.
"With your sanction, good fellows," Mr. Bucket insisted, "I will do just that - as soon as Mr. Guppy is through."
In truth, it was not long until Mr. Guppy reappeared amidst them all in his typical fashion, looking rather more woebegone and ink-stained than he had when last he journeyed through the door. He ran a hand across his forehead.
"A rather hard site, isn't it, Mr. Guppy?" Inquired the inspector.
"The fiends!" He quipped in reply, with such a degree of compassion that even Esther softened her heart to him at the sound of it.
Clearing his throat, the lawyer resumed. "Miss Bottomley 'as asked me here this evening to make a revision to 'er will. If two of you, gentlemen, would be so kind"-here he looked rather pointedly toward the location of Mr. Jarndyce and Mr. Bucket-"as to serve as witnesses to Miss Bottomley's signature, her business can be completed forthwith."
"Of course, Mr. Guppy," Mr. Woodcourt volunteered, causing Mr. Guppy to cringe before wheeling around upon him.
"My good man," Guppy began, patting the doctor's shoulder several times. "I'd rather that you didn't."
Mr. Woodcourt stopped short. Esther and Ada held their breath. "And why is that, Mr. Guppy?"
A triumphant gleam lit in the lawyers eyes. "Because you sir, not unlike myself, are an interested party."
"Five hundred pounds," Mr. Woodcourt murmured in his state of shock, soon after Miss Bottomley's revised will had been settled and Mr. Guppy had vacated the premises.
"Out of an estate of thirty-five thousand pounds, old friend," Inspector Bucket reminded him. "Generous soul, ain't she? She's even allotted a hunnerd-fifty to the executor of her will. Would you ever suppose her to have it? I'd never believe it!"
Esther stole a glance at Mr. Jarndyce before responding, "And is there something particularly wrong with her placidness coexisting with her wealth, Mr. Bucket?"
He chucked. "Not in the least, my dear. It merely adds a very interesting facet to this case. I doubt my original hypothesis all the more the longer this day wears on, you see, and I realize how invaluable it will be to speak with Miss Bottomley myself."
Ada however, with her interest being sparked a bit earlier in the evening, wondered aloud, "Perhaps her ward would want to see her now."
In due time, Saffney Jain came to visit Mr. Jarndyce's London residence regularly. When Mr. Woodcourt suggested that Miss Bottomley might do best to remain in the care of he and his wife until her health was stabilized and her progress more certain, it was Saffney's steadfast agreement that ultimately kept her mistress within the home's propitious spare room. Saffney felt the greatest possible relief in knowing that such genuine friends of Miss Bottomley's existed as to attend so lovingly upon her. It provided her with the strength needed to carry on her mistress's affairs back on Bond Street, and even to decline a most generous offer from dear Mr. Jarndyce to remain as well.
Saffney was treated unequivocally as if she were the younger sibling of Ada and Esther at every visit, though certainly she never refrained from offering Miss Carstone or Mrs. Woodcourt her greatest respect. The young lady would bring along with her what things Miss Bottomley might request, though a great majority of the time this was nothing more than the admirable girl's presence.
The time Concordia spent with Saffney - and truly, with all of the residents of the townhouse - assisted the woman in regaining her strength and abilities. Mr. Bucket had provided her with a slate for the first trying weeks of her recovery. Across that surface Concordia Bottomley's bonds with Ada and Esther were first drawn, as well as her understanding of what had happened that fateful night. In time, Miss Bottomley began to speak again, albeit very softly and hoarsely and with a great deal of agitation to her throat needing to be ignored in order to converse with anyone.
Thus, on a day some three weeks after her attack, Miss Bottomley was finally considered strong enough by her esteemed physician to be questioned by her old acquaintance Mr. Bucket whom as luck would have it, she learned some time ago, was one of London's best inspectors. Always feeling herself a terrible imposition upon the family, Miss Bottomley insisted that all be present to witness her inquisition, so that they might learn more information as to why she had fallen to her present condition.
"It is very good to see you so improved, my dear," Mr. Bucket declared to Miss Bottomley, who with the assistance of a cane and Mrs. Woodcourt had begun to hobble about on her injured ankle and was presently ensconced in an armchair near the window. "Are you sure 'at I won't be dampenin' yer spirits with all of this?"
"Not at all," Concordia Bottomley replied. "I've had a good long time to recall what has happened, and I feel very capable of speaking of the events of that night."
"Very good, very good." With this assertion, Inspector Bucket began pacing the floorboards. "The day after you were discovered by the auspices of up above, I had the pleasure of conversing with Miss Saffney Jain, who told me she had witnessed you leave your abode for a stroll, but never had the good fortune to see you return. Does that sound right to you?"
"Yes, perfectly, Mr. Bucket. I do enjoy the emptiness of the streets during the rain whenever I can."
He considered her statement. "But the streets weren't quite so vacant as you believed 'em to be, were they, Miss Bottomley?"
She stopped and considered. "No, sir. I believe I was still on Bond Street, I can't remember where. But yes, I suppose I can. Some sort of building with a deep blue facade and perhaps iron railing. It was quite wide. Across from it was a gaslight, under which stood a gentleman. I was apprehensive, but that is my nature, and so I passed by anyway. A few strides later, he was upon me."
"And then?" The inspector urged quietly.
Concordia Bottomley closed her eyes for a moment, reviewing the memories that swirled about her head. "I believe he grasped me about the waist with an arm. He never seemed to me to be a very large man, but very strong. I struggled for a moment, and then attempted to kick back at him. I missed the first time, but the second time I believe the heel of my boot caught his kneecap. He was caught off guard, and I ran away."
"Ho, ho!" Mr. Bucket cried. "Had no idea what he was dealin' wif. But then what?"
"I recall escaping to the next street block, but the walks had become rather slippery with the rain. My ankle twisted badly, and I fell. He caught up to me again before I could rise. I might have escaped somehow once more, but his force made me apply more weight to my ankle, and then he grabbed at my necklace. He must have choked me with it, trying to wrench it off. But the thing would never budge, and everything went dark."
Concordia's hosts grew very thoughtful with all of this information, though Mr. Bucket seemed puzzled, as if some piece of information did not complete his portrayal correctly.
"Yes, yes, that Necklace of Harmonia you 'ave over there. Poetically fitting, really. But what was it worth to someone, anyway?"
The inspector watched as the pools of her eyes waned with tiredness. He knew there was not much time left to maneuver through all he had anticipated speaking.
"Nothing," she eventually replied. "Nothing but sentiment."
"You'd never suspect anyone of doing something like this, would you Miss Bottomley?"
For one moment, her eyes grew wide before retracting pensively once again. "Who am I to suspect anything?" She asked.
With an odd feeling of both satisfaction and voidness did Inspector Bucket behold the figure of Concordia Bottomley. Despite all she had said there were aspects of the woman, he was confident that not even she realized existed. Certainly at the least, he had yet to uncover them. With time he knew he would.
A couple of days after this interview, a mesage arrived from Alan Woodcourt's hospital beckoning him back to Yorkshire to help manage a recent incursion of patients. The Michaelmas holiday swiftly approaching, and with it a brief suspension of the studies of the medical students, Mr. Woodcourt was not quite so sorry to return to the north as he might have been without as much order in his agenda.
Learning of this development, Concordia Bottomley hastened to vacate her stay with Mr. Jarndyce's party, so much did she desire that the remainder of the Woodcourts' stay entertain a certain degree of intimacy not possible - or so she imagined - with her presence.
The candles glowered tranquilly on the night before Mr. Woodcourt's pet patient departed from his care. The golden light softened the room, exposing how devoid it already appeared without most of Miss Bottomley's personal articles. The form of the woman herself, however, squelched these presentiments and cast a shadow over those fixtures on a slant beside her, namely Mrs. Woodcourt, who knelt beside Miss Bottomley's armchair as she applied a new bandage to her wounded ankle with a dexterous series of twists.
Concordia Bottomley broke her thoughtful meditation to address the young brunette.
"Will Mr. Jarndyce have retired by this time, Mrs. Woodcourt?"
Esther, completing her task, looked up. "I believe not. With his head aches taunting him so badly as of late, he tends to keep late hours tucked away in the dark silence of the library."
She smiled remorsefully. "Then I suppose I shall wait until a more opportune time to inform him of what an absolutely beautiful daughter he has in you, though I am certain he already knows." The remorsefulness parted ways from Concordia's smile as she planted a most affectionate kiss atop Mrs. Woodcourt's head.
Mrs. Woodcourt simpered, clasping Miss Bottomley's hand.
"It pains me so," Miss Bottomley continued, "to know how terribly I've inconvenienced you all, turning the sanctity of your home into a burdensome chore."
Esther's blue eyes flashed. "Why, not at all, Miss Bottomley. These weeks have brought me such a very dear friend, and the others as well. Only now that you've recovered from something so severe do I realize what a void there would have been if we had lost you."
Concordia Bottomley squeezed her eyes shut, chuckling at Mrs. Woodcourt's touching comment. It was true that beautiful relations were developed over the duaration of her stay, especially concerning Mrs. Woodcourt and Miss Carstone. Two lovelier young women of their place in society she had never met, and Miss Bottomley had a very difficult time of it containing the sentiment in their presence.
Mrs. Woodcourt had risen to leave when Concordia requested, "Would you be so kind, if he is not presently engaged, to send your husband in for a moment, Mrs. Woodcourt? There is something I should like to speak with him about."
She complied, and by the time Miss Bottomley finished rooting through a little chest that remained beside her, the good doctor had entered. Concordia left him no opportunity to begin the conversation.
"Dear Mr. Woodcourt, at the risk of sounding overemotional, I simply must speak of my undying gratitude for all you have done for me. You have altered so very much to make accommodations for me - I can't ever imagine doing you credit enough to deserve it." Attempting to obliterate the tone that might appear theatrical, she added in jest, "You'd have saved yourself so much aggravation had you shipped me to a hospital."
He laughed. "I just might have done it, too, had you not proved so agreeable to Esther and Ada, or if Mr. Jarndyce would ever permit such a thing to happen to you while you were positioned so complacently here. Never speak of it, Miss Bottomley, it was truly a pleasure to have you."
But Miss Bottomley only rubbed the contents of her palm with greater zeal. "It is hard for me to believe that, Mr. Woodcourt. Should you take this, it might become less difficult." Here she surreptitiously transferred her hidden possession into his own hand. Without even counting the money, his features tightened in consternation.
"Miss Bottomley, this is not necessary! I'd never expect you to - we are friends, are we not?"
"Of course," she enlightened the doctor, "and that is all the more reason you should take it. Pounds could never repay my debt to you, Mr. Woodcourt. And if you will not take it for your troubles, or for the troubles of your lovely wife, then please put it toward funding another you find in such a sorry state as mine was not so long ago."
Utterly lost for words, Alan reverently clasped one of Miss Bottomley's hands. He had not lied when he expressed the joy she had brought to him over those weeks. It seemed as if every time she spoke to him, Miss Bottomley produced a comment that renewed his perception of her as the perfect matriarch. She had not failed at this meeting.
"You are such an excellent woman, Miss Bottomley," he admitted.
Concordia shook her head. "No, no. Money cannot purchase that sentiment. Allow me to earn the esteem more fully from you, Mr. Woodcourt. Money has nothing to do with it at all."
"As you wish," he insisted. But in truth Mr. Woodcourt needed no further proof to fortify his belief.
Nine chimes had stricken the cold air. For two hours then had John Jarndyce sat at his desk with his head resting bewilderedly upon his hands. In those two hours, it had not become any easier for Mr. Jarndyce's sagacity to support the idea that his dear Esther would be departing from his life once again within a few days, with this unalterable way of life then continuing on forever. Of course he was simultaneously thrilled for his dear girl. How she radiated with the intensified bliss the name of Mrs. Woodcourt had brought her. How perfectly she fit this new role, the one that was designed for her alone. How absolutely senseless he was to despair so. He had alternated between the two positions for the entirety of the evening, and might have continued to do so had not his aching head perceived tapping upon the great mahogany door.
"Miss Bottomley," he called to her, trying to recover what sense of cordiality he could, but somehow he recognized that he need not pretend with her.
"I know you are feeling ill, sir, and I am so sorry to disturb you," rang her deep and whispy intonations. The soft staccato of her cane ceased as she reached the patch of moonlight in front of his desk. It was then that Mr. Jarndyce realized something occupied her other hand.
"I am also quite aware," she began with a smile, "that Mr. Woodcourt is the resident physician. But I have in my possession of something that I am sure he does not, and I believe it might could bestow a great deal of relief upon you if it were administered."
His dark eyes appeared nonplused. All the same he responded, "I would be much obliged."
Here, Concordia Bottomley removed the lid from the small tin in her hand, and gracefully managing her cane besides, dipped her index finger into the fragrant balm. Precariously did she lean forward to draw a line with it across Mr. Jarndyce's forehead between his ebony brows and argent locks, with the concentration and understanding - he noted - of a master painter with a horsehair brush.
"Close your eyes for a few minutes. You shall soon feel the relief." Quietly Miss Bottomley slipped out of the room, though not before Mr. Jarndyce felt his humor improve dramatically.
Ten chimes had stricken the cold air when a faint rapping fell upon Miss Bottomley's chamber door. Setting her ledger upon the table beside her armchair, she smiled to witness Mr. Jarndyce linger in the doorway.
"Are you feeling better, Mr. Jarndyce?" She questioned with genuine concern.
"Unspeakably, Miss Bottomley, to be sure," her host insisted, shaking his head effectually. "What sort of magic is that? Wherever did you obtain it from?"
"India, sir," Concordia Bottomley informed him. "But unfortunately it is no magic - just something antiquated that was at once respected and again discarded, only to be discovered once again. But then, perhaps that is all magic is."
"Perhaps," Mr. Jarndyce ruminated for a moment. "Good night, Miss Bottomley," he saluted. She returned the sentiment, and could only smile once he had shut the door behind him.
It was with the greatest of forbearance that Mr. Clamb had brought himself to the business place of Mr. Smallweed and consequently endured the verbal bereavement of his dignity that passed for a salutation in Krook's old bottle warehouse. His business would not take long, however, and perhaps he might never have to return again.
"I merely came to say, Mr. Smallweed," he began once the cripple had given him an opportunity to speak, "that you needn't worry about any interference on the part of my employer's client, Miss Concordia Bottomley. She was attacked one night in the street some time ago, and I believe more pressing matters are upon her mind presently."
Joshua Smallweed snickered through his yellowed teeth. "What goes around comes around after all, then. That'll teach the fiendish wench to mettle. Whoever's responsible forrit, I owe 'em a favor!"
Mr. Smallweed and his granddaughter shared a laugh at the thought, but unfortunately, Mr. Clamb explained, that was one piece of information he was unable to impart with.
"It is so very good to be home, Saffney. Now your company may properly be enjoyed." The setting of the two ladies was eerily similar to the one they had shared before fortune had viciously spun her wheel, but both remained as peaceful as they had been before any inkling of wrong-doing had ever tainted their hearts.
The amber-skinned girl could not help but embrace her mistress. "I was so fretfully worried before Mr. Bucket informed me of the situation, madame. But hearing of how you had been delivered to the benefices of Dr. Woodcourt, I became much more relieved."
"Yes, what a miracle it was that he found me," Concordia Bottomley imparted from over her teacup. She watched her young ward's emerald orbs slant in confusion at the words. "What's the matter, Saffney?"
"Pardon me, madame," the girl began, "but were you not found in the street by another woman? It is possible that I am mistaken, but I thought that was how Mr. Bucket had explained it."
Concordia's saucer chimed against the wooden surface as it was set down. It was true the doctor and his family had described for her the circumstances surrounding that fated evening, and she had believed the details to be rather thorough. Thinking back to the point of time which Saffney spoke of, however, Concordia Bottomley could not help but feel a haze fog her organization of thoughts.
"Perhaps he would be willing to explain it again," Concordia pondered, feeling an acute agitation slip into her person. "I have never known you to be wrong, Saffney. I do not believe you would surprise me now." At that moment, however, the notion supplied no relief to her. Only discovering the identity of this woman could.