Chapter 6

"Betty, I do believe you are killing me," Dr. Cromwell decided firmly. "You're putting yourself in a dangerous position. A position I hate to see you in." The good Doctor settled back in his chair after reading the very hasty report composed by the nurse for the day. "You wrote . . . you wrote that he made a confirmation of love to you? But how?"

"He kissed me," Jennifer replied, already regretting her decision to record a note of the morning's activities. She was very pink, and very flustered.

"Once? Twice? On the hand? On the cheek?"

"For a while . . . a good while, I suppose, and on the lips." She flushed gingerly.

Dr. Cromwell put his head in his hands. "My dear, he's a patient."

"I know that, doctor."

A burning rose to her face, and she realized her real lapse of responsibility shaming her. Dr. Cromwell continued to mutter to himself, then lifted his head. With an air of finality, he declared: "I can't let him take advantage of you like that, Betty. It's not decent and it's not right. I would not be a Christian man if I allowed it."

Jennifer felt her forehead crease. She had not felt 'taken advantage of', per se . . . t then she realized, Dr. Cromwell did not understand her mutual feelings for Mr. Robinson.

"Oh, but, well, out of it, I found out his first name," Jennifer gabbed, not sure whether it was better to tell him or not. "Severus."

"What?"

"Severus."

Dr. Cromwell thought a moment. "Oh. Like the old Roman emperors. There was a whole dynasty of them." Jennifer was interested, but the Doctor did not elaborate. "I'm fairly certain that is not really his name, a fabrication of his disturbed mind," the Doctor decided irritably. "What person names their kid something like that these days?"

"It could be true," Jennifer proposed meekly.

"It's possible, but not probable," replied the Doctor concisely. Then he looked intensely at her. "Betty, I officially forbid you to take the patient into the yard alone again. I would also like to limit the time you spend attending to his needs in the evening. Desmonda and I can manage his trivial progress reports. You will stay in open, unconfined spaces with this man."

"What about cooking?" asked Jennifer, but was ignored, to her great relief.

"I really do not want anything to happen to you, my dear." At this, the Doctor stood and took her hand, gentler than she had ever seen him. "I've never said anything before, but I suppose the time is right. I love you, Betty, and there's no denying it. I see you and me, sometime in the near future, enjoined by the holy bond of matrimony."

He grasped her hand tighter, and went on, "I see you as the perfect wife, my dear. Docile, uncomplaining, a good listener, not too intelligent to the point where you do not disagree with anything I say, meek, mild, and subservient. You would do anything I told you, and we would have a very satisfactory and decidedly good life under God."

Comfortably, and a bit more closely than she liked, he put his arm over her shoulder. She could smell his excess of cologne, feel the stiffness of his starched lab coat, and hear the smacking of his tongue against the top of his mouth as he thought of how to phrase his words. "Betty, I value these traits in you, but I don't want you spoiled by a madman. Please."

Jennifer's hair stood on end, and, carefully, she replied: "I'll be careful."

Then nodding, she left, her mind reeling with the new developments. She did not like the Doctor in that way, but he would be the more reasonable choice, from her standpoint. Not that I really want to get married too soon, but it is funny how things have worked out. This really is turning into an Austen novel.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Severus was asleep in his room when she went to wake him for preparing dinner. He seemed happy, curled up in the fetal position on top of the coverlet, his pale face smoother and more relaxed than she had ever seen of it. Jennifer wondered if it would be miss to follow her current impulse and take him into her arms, or follow the Doctor's orders and stay away from him. It somehow seemed more romantic to disregard the stern recommendation of the professional caretaker, seemed more like what Elizabeth Bennet might do. Settling to a compromise, she simply seated herself on the bed alongside him, just barely letting her fingertips stroke his long hair.

His eyes fluttered open, and his mouth opened with automatic protest, but then he recognized her and—joyously!--he smiled!

The jubilation she felt was too much to withhold, and Jennifer leaned in to kiss him. Oh, but the day before she would have barely dared to dream of this! He responded in kind, fully awake now as the full figure of the nurse ensconced his stick figure in a warm, loving embrace.

"Hello, ducky," Jennifer said, almost trembling with excitement. She had been half afraid that the events of the morning might have been forgotten, or a dream. He obviously had not.

"Hullo, Jennifer." With a great manly effort, he sat up, even with her practically on top of him. "Ah. What time is it?"

He brushed his slightly askew hair out of his face, drawing a sigh of exhilaration from Jennifer. He is too beautiful.

Replying to his amused glance of askance, Jennifer said, "You thrill me."

"That's a new one," he replied, his lips twitching with a half smile.

"Oh, smile again," she begged, desiring to see the innocuous benign expression of delight. He raised an eyebrow instead, but complied—overly so; he bore his teeth like a Cheshire cat and looked positively evil.

"Not like that, really!" exclaimed Jennifer, giggling. Severus shook his head—he would not seriously smile upon request. He took her hand, then descended from the bed to the floor.

"Come now, though, what time is it?" He had a one-track mind, of course.

"Time to start dinner."

"As I supposed," he remarked dully, then opened the door for her with a flourishing bow. "After you, mademoiselle," he insisted, and Jennifer got off the bed to approach the door. Just as she passed him, brushing against his arm, he suddenly grabbed her around the middle and literally swept her off her feet. With only a half-hearted gasp of protest, Jennifer succumbed to giggling.

Unfortunately, he overestimated his strength, for in a moment they were both on the floor, his knees having given way with the surprise of her weight in his arms. They laughed at it. Goodness. We've only been in love since this morning, and it feels like forever. I can't say how much I enjoy his touch!

"Merlin, you're a walrus," he declared, but she now knew he was only teasing. "But that's not to say I mind," he went on, noticing the sad look that came to her eyes unwittingly. "I prefer a woman of substance. " She still seemed a little depressed at that, and he frowned. "Merlin, stop looking so pathetic every time I say something like that; I'm one of the few men who appreciate the aesthetic value of a voluptuous woman."

She smiled as she felt his arms drape around her. Suddenly, on an impulse, she decided to ask . . .

"Severus, do you think I'm subservient?"

He was so surprised he almost dropped his arms and her along with them. "What? That certainly came from out of the blue!"

"Well, someone told me today that I was subservient. I'm not really sure what that means. They said it like it was a good thing."

"I can tell you," he said, a hard-edged forcefulness coming to his voice, "That whoever told you subservience was a 'good thing' is decidedly off his onion. That's 'communist' theology. Or, as in many cases it is, pseudo-communist theology. That's how dictators like . . . oh, Stalin, for instance . . . get so many people to follow them for virtually no reason." He gave her a strange look. "You know what subservience is, right?"

She loved when he got so enthusiastic about explaining things to her that even when she did understand the concept—like, they had a similar discussion on capitalism, once, and the industrial revolution another time—she would listen intently. He was a masterful teacher, and she wondered if, perhaps, that had been his profession before he came here.

"Well, I would like it if you explained it," she asked kindly.

Sighing, Severus slipped out from underneath her and stood. "All right. So, consider this. A man in the 1800s named Karl Marx wrote a book called The Communist Manifesto, which told about the bloke's idea that there should be a major revolution. Truly major. The working class taking over the rich and even some of the middle class. Only the middle class members who supported their cause would be spared." He cleared his throat, and began to pace back and forth in front of her.

"This book became highly popular and well-read, but also dreadfully misinterpreted by so many people. Some of these misinterpretations were accidental, many on purpose. Entire political movements occurred, embodying the misinterpreted 'communistic' ideals. Like in the case of . . . oh, the bloke in charge of Korea, Castro in Cuba, and for a long time the Soviet Union. However, they just call themselves 'communist', since their misinterpretation is purely intentional, and nobody does anything about it! Somewhat like people calling themselves a 'democratic republic' or 'people's democracy' or something absurd like that, when there is no real republic or democracy anywhere in the government whatsoever. It just sounds respectable."

Now he was on a rant, and Jennifer was at full attention.

"But going back to someone calling you 'subservient' . . . why, that, I believe, is the worst compliment a person in a free country like Britain can give another." He snorted with contempt. "Tell an American that, and they'll be all over you in a second; I've seen it done. In any case, it intimates that you . . . that you can't think on your own. That the person who said that does not even think of you as a human individual . . . just a sheep." He paused.

"You've called me a sheep before, Severus," reminded Jennifer gently, wondering what he would say to that.

"Now wait, that's . . ." Severus began to protest, but then a thought struck him like lightening. He rounded upon her, crouching down to her level on the floor. "It was Cromwell who told you that, right? Don't tell me I'm wrong; I know it was."

"It was Doctor Cromwell," insisted Jennifer stoutly.

"He doesn't deserve the title; as I've said before, he's definitely not qualified." Seeing her sad, stubborn look of reproach, he sat down next to her again and took her into his arms. "I apologize; I know you respect him. But I would advise you to be careful of him . . . I've never liked his modus operandi, and I believe that there's something suspicious about his whole game."

Jennifer laughed at this. "Do you know, he said exactly the same thing to me about you in our conversation earlier?"

"Because you had to tell him that I kissed you, right?" He shook his head. "I expected you would; my dear, you really need to learn some discretion. Not everybody should be told everything. But it does not matter. Sometime I need to teach you that honesty is not always the best policy. Lying can save your hide—and there's nothing that better can get you out of a tight situation than a good bluff. Of course, with your conscience, you'd end up telling only a half-lie no matter what, but even that's better than the whole truth, very often."

He sighed again, nestling his head on her shoulder. "I really wish I had done that sooner," he stated miserably, obviously referring to their exploits of the morning. "Things are so much better now. But Jennifer, listen to me," he stated seriously, "I've been knocked about the globe a good many years, and I'm the worse for wear to prove it. But I've also gained a certain knowledge about humankind . . . and I can tell you one thing—watch out for Dr. Cromwell. He doesn't even call you by your real name, for Merlin's sake! And I know that I must seem insane, sometimes . . . that's why I haven't been kicked out of this place yet, I guess . . . and, granted, I was a little disturbed when I came here . . . but I'm not now. And I know you've known him for years, and me for only . . . well, the better part of one . . . but I've grown accustomed to your face, my dear, and I don't want it hurt. So, just use your better judgment."

He turned his head up and whispered in her ear these last words. "You are an individual, Jennifer. Not a sheep. Never forget that."

At this, he quickly stood up, helping her as well, and a second later Jennifer heard footsteps coming down the hallway. In a flash, Severus tucked himself in the bed, and donned a sour expression on his face. "As I said before," he said loudly, "I feel ill, Jennifer! I don't care if we're supposed to-"

Jennifer was bewildered. What did he mean by suddenly yelling at her? Then she saw, she realized—he was covering for them. He was interrupted as Dr. Cromwell came into the room.

"-Mr. Robinson?" The foxy face of the Doctor disturbed them, and both Jennifer and Severus looked to the doorjamb where he stood. "Is there anything the matter, Betty?"

"No, no problem," Jennifer hastily said, looking at Severus. "Well . . . well, are you coming with me or not?"

"Fine," spat the patient, practically throwing the covers up and rising. "But let me say, crème brulee is not going to be easy while you're in such a mood, Jennifer."

With this Sherlockian move of ostensibly blaming his own behavior on his Watson, Severus stormed out of the room at a considerably fast pace. Not fast enough to evade the keen eyes of the Doctor however, who asked him as he stomped out the door:

"I say, Mr. Robinson, why do you wear shoes to bed?"

Severus stopped, looked down at his feet, and then looked the Doctor straight in the eye. "In case the fire alarm goes off." He proceeded to stomp down the hallway, dragging Jennifer by the arm. "What did you tell him? He looked at me like I was going to murder him!" he declared savagely, rather louder than she expected.

"What are you talking about?" She was completely confused at this point.

"You told him I . . . why the bloody hell?" he said very loudly, as though she had responded with 'That you kissed me'. "That I kissed you? Of all the cover stories I've ever heard, that's the most idiotic! At that rate I wouldn't care if he knew I was arachnaphobic! The idea that now he thinks I imposed so much as to . . . that, Jennifer, was too much." They turned the corner at that point, and he stopped to listen. "Good. He's out of earshot now," he said softly, looking behind them. A lighthearted spark bounced in his dark eyes, and he was shaking with mirth. "That was a close one with the shoes, though. I was hoping he would not notice . . . my dear Jennifer, are you all right?"

"I . . . I believe so. I'm just . . . well . . . adrenaline rush, I think . . ." He laughed and patted her shoulder fondly. "Are we really making crème brulee?"

"Yes. Have you ever tried it?"

"No, but I've heard of it . . ."

"It's absolutely divine. You'll adore it."

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .