A Hole in the River
Chapter Two: Lethe
Henry nervously tread back and forth in his mother's sitting room, awaiting news on Eliza. Pickering was still trying his hand at the home office, but appeared to be more interested in getting back in touch with old friends than locating Eliza, and the Hill boy had yet to return.
"That boy is probably wandering around London like a lost child," Henry grumbled.
Henry had spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon scouring the surrounding parks between he and his mother's residence. Eliza had always taken a fancy to a stroll in the park, with the occasional picnic luncheon. When that had proven fruitless, he had attempted to badger nearby inns and hotels, going so far as explaining to them that Eliza was an errant wife. No sign.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Freddy showed up. Henry began to berate the boy for taking so long, not taking any notice of Freddy's stricken appearance. After a somewhat lengthy tirade, a newspaper was shoved unceremoniously into his hands.
"Read!" The boy insisted, pointing to a specific article.
Oh god. The description of the woman fit Eliza almost exactly, down to the traveling suit Henry recalled purchasing for her with Pickering. The paper was calling it a botched suicide, and not an accident, deduced thusly because she had removed her boots before jumping. Jumping, not falling. Henry felt his stomach twist into knots, and a bitter metallic taste rose to his throat. A myriad of emotions flowed through him. Guilt, for possibly being the catalyst in Eliza's decision to jump; anger, over the fact that his Eliza, his masterpiece had taken such a cowardly action; relief, that he was not reading her obituary; fear, that she was listed as in 'critical condition'. The heady concoction of those emotions were enough to stagger Henry, forcing him to sit down on the sofa, with a blank expression on his face.
"Were it not for the fact that I thought it utterly urgent to have her guardian informed, I would have gone to St. Thomas straightaway. Is Colonel Pickering about?"
"Someone will have to call him," Henry replied numbly, clutching the newspaper to his chest with an iron fist. Henry looked up at the boy. "Have Mother ring up my house for you."
Henry waited until the boy had left the room to search for the phone, before rising to his feet and heading for the front door, ran outside and hailed a taxi to take him to St. Thomas. Pickering and the boy would just have to catch up, for he was not going to wait another moment to be by her side. Heavens! What if she died?
"Foolish girl." Henry's usual venom was gone from his voice entirely, making the disparaging remark sound more like a tragic statement.
Henry spent the next half hour, urging the cabbie to pick up the pace. "Honestly, man, I could have walked in this amount of time!"
The cabbie grunted, and muttered what sounded like a threat to stop the car and throw Henry out so he could test his theory.
Finally, the journey was at an end. Henry threw the cab fare into the front seat, flung open the door, and ran to the hospital at a speed he had not attempted since he was a schoolboy. After presenting the skeptical staff with the picture of Eliza he had been carrying all day, he was ushered to her room, oblivious to the disapproving looks the nurses were exchanging with one another.
"We've stabilized her condition since the reports in the paper. Somehow, the girl has been able to avoid infection. A miracle, considering the gash on her forehead and the state of the river. Unfortunately, we've still been unable to revive her."
Wordlessly, Henry pulled a chair next to her bed and sat, his gaze fixed on her face. Eliza's forehead was heavily bandaged, although he could make out a bit of ugly purple bruising rising from the edge of the gauze, near her hairline. Her face was completely bloodless, but for that bit of purple, and the soft pink flush of her lips. If it hadn't been for the faint sign of life, clinging to those lips, Henry would have been convinced that she was, indeed, dead.
"Have you done all that you can for her for the time being?" Henry inquired?
"Yes."
"Then leave us."
Henry waited for the footsteps to recede into the distance before he reached for Eliza's cold hand.
"I expect a formal apology when you wake up, Eliza." God, her little hand was so very cold! Henry proceeded to rub the appendage between his own, gently trying to generate heat within her thin, clammy fingers. "I believe you've only done this to spite me, you know. Such a wicked, heartless, brainless thing to do, damn it all!" The last sentence was spoken with vehemence, drawing attention into her room.
Henry lowered his voice. "I am sorry, Eliza. I know the way we regarded your triumph last night was beastly; I can admit to that now." He choked back a groan of despair when she remained unhearing. "Won't you please, please wake up now? I know you were waiting for me to come crawling to your bedside, so you could have the pleasure of listening to your lofty teacher, spouting sentimental nonsense." Nothing. "Well, weren't you? Here I am, Eliza, now wake up."
Henry sat back, astonished that his theory had been debunked. She really wasn't waking up. Drawing up his famous determination, Henry resolved to sit there until she was revived. He would stand guard until the two of them gathered dust, if need be.
It was not long after Henry's resolution, when The Boy and Pickering entered the room. The Boy was immediately at Eliza's other side, exclaiming despairingly at her condition. Pickering just stood there, looking very pale and stricken. Henry motioned for his old friend to sit down, was ignored, and then found himself fighting a strong urge to box The Boy's ears when he caught the younger man ardently kissing Eliza's other hand.
"My darling…"
"For Heavens sake, you've only met her the one time; how can she possibly be your darling?"
"The heart knows-"
"Oh, spare me! I've just had lunch you know."
"Higgins, let the boy be. He admires Miss Doolittle, and is clearly upset." Pickering found his voice, using it to gently scold. Henry was not mollified.
"Who the devil in this room isn't upset? I'm upset, aren't you? " Henry crossed his arms tightly over his chest and sat back, with a stormy look. "No one takes into consideration that I might be terribly fond of the stupid little girl."
"Miss Doolittle is not a stupid little girl!" the Boy protested. "How can you be so fond of her, and disparage her so?"
"Feelings weren't meant to be flown out in the open like a kite."
"Yours, perhaps, were not," the Boy fired back.
It only took a full minute of bickering for a solemn-looking Doctor to intrude. "Gentlemen, we are all aware that this young lady's condition is upsetting, but I won't have you risking the recovery of every patient on this wing with your petty disputes. Kindly conduct yourselves like gentlemen, or leave this place at once."
The warning was enough even for Henry to hold his peace. The three men waited quietly for Eliza to exhibit some signs of life…
She was swimming upwards in a pool of inky black, and everything was cold. Had she fallen under the ice? Was she truly swimming up, or had her mind tricked her, forcing her to recede backwards? No, it couldn't be. The voices were becoming stronger, so her journey had to be coming to a head. The water was clearing, going from pitch to cloudy, from cloudy to clear. The downside to obtaining her objective was the feeling that slammed into her body like a bat to the head. Everything about her hurt, and the pain was acute.
It occurred to her that she was not underwater, and that there were three unfamiliar, distinctly male faces above her. They gave no notice that she could see them, perhaps it was because her eyelids were dreadfully heavy, and therefore only opened very slightly.
"Aooow…" She moaned softly. Three pairs of eyes were on her face, wide and imploring. She certainly had their attention now. "Wot're you chaps doin', 'overin' over me bed? I'm a good girl, I am, and this ain't decent," she protested. She couldn't recall if she had ever seen a grown man faint, but she was sure, for some reason, that all three of her admirers were dreadfully close.