Chapter 15- Life and Death

Nathaniel drives the horses hard through the evening and into the night, Lizzie alert beside him. She does not dare to sleep. The ride to Carlisle seems to take even longer than usual as she goes over the words from the letter over and over again. She has not yet read what he wrote in her notebook, even thought she is curious. She took his request to wait to heart. But it is hard, on this long trip over a very cold night, not to wonder what he had to say to her. And to wonder what his life could have been had he left Crimson Peak permanently before anyone else had to die. She wonders how his sister slamming a cleaver into their mother's head hadn't been a warning sign that the future with her would be violent, but at the same time, she has some understanding as to why he did not leave. She read the confessions. She thinks about the conversation she heard in the carriage, and Brother Morton, who has only just been allowed to return to his own home, and the knife wound Thomas is still recovering from.

She does not know that he has already decided to die and that he is only waiting for the moment when he can somehow distract the guards long enough to use his belt to hang himself. That he sits in his cell in Carlisle hoping that she will forgive him, but also knowing she will no longer have to wonder when he will die. It will be over.

In the morning, Thomas eats breakfast and reads for a few hours. Lunch is as disappointing as usual. And then there is a ruckus from elsewhere in the jail and his guards both run towards the noise as they hear shouts for help. It is his opportunity. He slips the belt from his waist, makes the loop, and ties the end to the bars on the ground-level window. He stretches it over to the cot and takes a few breaths, hesitating, knowing that this will be a long and difficult strangulation, but it will still be a shorter death than that to which he subjected three of his brides. He places the leather around his neck.

Nathaniel and Lizzie spend their morning settling into their rooms in Mr Hayes' house. They take their breakfast and wait for word from the governor. At lunch, it comes. A visit has been granted and, given the letter from Mr York, it will not be the only one. Mr York has friends in many places.

Mr Hayes gets word of trouble in the prison shortly after the letter arrives and advises them to stay put until he sends for them. He is not gone long and they head to the prison to see Thomas.

Thomas still stands on his cot, contemplating the noose, when he hears footsteps and Gerry's voice, "Glad that wasn't much serious. Boys tend to get a bit rowdy this time of year- been pent up for too long in the cold and dark. Come spring, the sun will come through the windows, give a bit of relief." It is now or never. He only hopes he can jump with enough force to cause damage that will kill him even after they cut him down.

Then he hears another voice, one he recognizes as well, "This time of year gets to us all, doesn't it, gov? Even out where we're from. Too long in the grey!"

He stops. There is silence, then Gerry chuckles, "Aye, Miss, you're right about that."

She's here, Thomas thinks. And then they round the corner and everyone freezes.

Nathaniel breaks the uncomfortable silence as they see into his cell, "Well this is a bit different than how we expected to find you. Hallo, Thomas."

Thomas bows his head, ashamed of being caught, dreading trying to explain himself, and also blaming himself for cowardice in his hesitation, "Hello, Nathaniel. Lizzie."

She steps forward first, but Gerry tries to stop her, "Miss, technically I'm not supposed to let you go ahead."

She pushes his hand back and shakes her head, intense worry mixed with anger in her expression. She continues toward the cell. Thomas removes the noose and steps down, leaving the end of the belt to dangle from the window. He drops onto the cot, his head in his hands.

"Lizzie, I..."

"Don't. Be still." He listens. Her voice is a gift he takes very seriously, especially after seeing what its use does to her.

Gerry unlocks the cell, "Now, we aren't supposed to really do this, but the governor granted full visits to you two- your father must be something special, Miss York. I've never had those orders."

The moment the door is open, Lizzie pushes her way past Gerry and sits beside Thomas, wrapping her arms around him. Nathaniel steps inside and leans against the wall, watching.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie. I just...I want this to be over with. Death should not take this long."

Gerry sighs, "I don't know if he wants me to tell you folks this, but he's tried once before, too. Wasn't successful in scratching himself, even- we stopped him. But you should know."

Thomas' face burns with shame and he pulls away from her, trying to make himself small, tucking himself against the wall. She stops him, gently turns his cheek toward her, even as he resists, and kisses it, resting her forehead against his temple after. She lets the moment linger, hoping that she is providing at least a little comfort or reassurance, even without words.

"Why did you come?"

Nathaniel answers so Lizzie does not have to move to retrieve her notebook, "You see, it was Mr York who said it best- you shouldn't have to die alone. That's just cruel. If the Crown takes you, it'll be fast, and you won't be by yourself. But there's something especially harsh about a long, difficult death alone." He pauses, "And Lizzie here said she wanted to come, so we did."

Thomas nods, "Thank you."

"You don't really know if you mean that."

"No...but yes. I do. It means something that you would."

Lizzie does not move for her notebook and Nathaniel doesn't know what more to say, "Well, shall I give you two a moment by yourselves?"

Lizzie nods. Thomas doesn't know if this is a good idea or not, but he does not protest.

Gerry, still outside the cell, addresses Nathaniel as he leaves, "You sure he won't hurt her?"

"Absolutely. Man's got enough on his head already. And Lizzie's...well, Lizzie. He knows how we all watch out for her. And what any man among us would do to him if he ever harmed even a hair. And nobody'd bat a lash if we did." Gerry takes the hint and nods, "You see, our Lizzie, she's a right special girl. Been through hell and back. And she's tough when she has to be. But she also needs the people in her life who treat her like a thinking girl and he does. Give them a little space, gov. She'll be fine."

"And him?"

"He can't really be any worse now, can he?"

Gerry shrugs, "You've got a point." They step farther back in the hallway, far enough that they are out of earshot if Thomas whispers, but close enough that they can clearly see what is happening in the cell.

Lizzie, still leaning her forehead against his temple, her breath against his cheek, wraps her arms around him, and waits for him to respond. After a few long moments alone, Thomas sighs and she feels him relax. He turns to face her and she pulls him close, gently encouraging him to rest against her shoulder. He does not resist this.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie. I didn't want you to see this."

She rubs his back.

"I...I hoped you would be able to forget. To move on, take a lover, marry, have children, and never think of me so long as your life was happy. You have known me for such a short time, it should not take long."

She sits up and retrieves her notebook, carefully choosing her words before showing him her reply, "I do not want to forget. You are dear to me, Thomas. More-so than you know or than you will allow yourself to understand. And I am fine with that. It is your death that is coming, not mine, and however you must make your peace with this, I accept. But do not cut me out entirely and do not dismiss that I might not want to forget you. Allow me this one grace- that I might remember my friend however suits me."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you come close. I did not want my death to be felt by anyone else but me."

"But it always will be. Did you never read John Donne? 'No Man is an Iland' and all that?"

"Donne was not in my father's library."

She turns back to the first page in her notebook, flips to the inside of the cover, and points to the words she has written there,

"'No man is an iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee...' Meditation 17, John Donne."

"A beautiful sentiment, but I assure you, there are many who die alone in this world for whom no one mourns."

She flips back to her current page, "That isn't the point- the point is that it always has a ripple, whether that is for the one who finds the dead or the old friend who some day asks whatever happened to so-and-so. We all matter because we all are. We cannot go through life entirely without the contact of any other person, no matter how hard we try."

"But what of us? Who would have ever felt any sort of effect if Lucille and I had starved to death in that godforsaken hall, alone and unknown to anyone but ourselves? We had no friends, we had no family. We would have rotted away, buried under the collapse of the house, never thought of, never found."

"But some day, in the distant future, someone would have stumbled on the wreckage and found bones and wondered who it was who died in that lonely place. The earth never remains undisturbed, not anymore. And where there is clay, there will be mines, for clay will hold up the great cities and there will always be a need for those. Someone would ask. And besides, mankind would be the less with the loss of you because you have so much potential to be so much greater than you are or have been."

"And when I die, what will you do?"

"Grieve deeply. Dream of what might have been. Cry. And work, as I have always done."

"You will not marry?"

"Who? Every man who has courted me has wanted a shell of a woman, not me. Marriage has never been a goal. Not since I lost my voice."

"Certainly there are other good men in the world, even here in Carlisle? Or you could travel to London."

"In my experience, that would only mean there were a proportionally larger number of wicked and stupid ones as well."

Thomas laughs, "My dear, that may be true, but you will never find your match if you do not sift through them."

She sighs and once again puts pen to paper, "I never did intentionally sift, Thomas, and yet here you are- I think I have found my match. I do not mean to be so forward...no, actually, I do. You fell into my life and that is how all good things seem to come. I do not seek out anyone. I do my work and where it takes me, I will follow. And what that means in the future, I do not know, for who would hire on a young woman with no voice? I will likely work my father's jail until it is mine and then I am no more."

"But what of Nathaniel? Is he not a good man? And you both seem to get along well."

"And I thought I was too bold." She smiles and shows him the paper, shaking her head, holding up a finger before he protests, "I cannot marry Nathaniel- we share a mother. So we are siblings, even though we did not know it until only a few years ago."

This news is startling and Thomas cannot think of what to say other than to ask something he thinks is probably entirely inappropriate. His facial expression gives away his thoughts and she places a finger on his lips, raising her eyebrows, tilting her head inquisitively.

"Just ask?"

She nods.

"Who is his father?"

She writes, "Yours."

When he sees the word, he cannot think of something else to say, but he glances in the hall toward the young man with bright blue eyes and strawberry hair, "He must look like your mother."

"Very much, he does. More, even, than I do. Your father has a few other children in the village."

"Why did he never say anything?"

"He did not know if you want to know- or if you knew that your father was sleeping with other women."

"It would have been hard not to, given how many times he held it over my mother's head."

"It has made courting interesting for our village youth- they have always had to ask if they are the bastard children of Lord Sharpe or if they are truly their father's. Otherwise a match would be between half siblings."

"But not you. You are free to find whomever you wish."

"I know. And I am quite enamoured by you. But I will stop reminding you of this. I apologize- you did not want to have anyone attached to you in these final months. I will do better to approach only as your friend from here forward- though you will have to forgive me if I forget myself and kiss you at our final meeting."

"Thank you, Lizzie." But they are sitting close and he understands that this conversation is a rejection of the only person that might love him. It hurts, no matter how distant he tries to hold himself. And they sit close, very close. She hugs him, he squeezes back, letting the hold linger just a little longer than what is polite between friends. They sit back slowly and stop when their lips are close. He moves to kiss her, her lips waiting, but stops and instead kisses her forehead, "I'm so sorry. Only one more time before the end."

"And if they grant you mercy, will you do so for me and go back on your word?"

He laughs quietly, "Of course. If that miracle happens, we will certainly have time to consider such things."

Nathaniel calls from the hall, "Lizzie- the man here says we ought be going soon- they'll be moving prisoners around and don't want us here when they do."

Lizzie takes Thomas' hand, pats it, and bows her goodbye. Thomas bows back.

"Goodbye, Nathaniel. Take good care of her."

"I always do, mate."

After they are gone, Gerry lingers in his cell before locking him up, "They seemed like nice folks. She's got connections, to get a letter sent to let her in whenever she asks. Her father's made some powerful friends."

"Mr York is a good man. I'm sure with his work in the village he has made allies in higher places."

"The governor himself wrote her letter of introduction."

"I know nothing of the governor, but I appreciate what he has done for her."

"For her? What about for you?"

"I am trying to keep my distance so her heart does not break when I die."

Gerry scoffs, "You've done a piss poor job of that, boy. She's fond of you. The young man seems to think you'd all be good friends, had everything gone differently."

"Lizzie told me he is my half brother."

"Well then I would hope you'd be friends."

"As would I. But I do not want to forge that bond if I am only to hang."

Gerry sighs, "I suppose that's so." There is an awkward pause, "I don't want to have to have a man in here with you all the time, every minute of every day, to make sure you don't kill yourself. The Crown wants to make sure it's quick and humane. And I don't need to be the one to break it to those two that you've gone and killed yourself. Trust me. It'll be better for them to take you home after the long drop."

Thomas cannot think of anything else to say. He swallows hard, thinking about the death that is likely to come sooner, rather than later, and tries to keep his composure. He has done remarkably well by simply refusing to think about it. Gerry locks up and takes up his post. The other guard joins him soon and they resume their quiet watch. Thomas picks up a book. He tires to read, but his mind is racing and he can't focus on the page. He stares at it and pretends so that he can avoid their questions. The belt still hangs from the window. He does not want to take it down.