Clarkson POV
The research into Spratt has been placed onto the back burner for another matter. Ms. Baxter the ladies' maid for Lady Cora has arrived to tell me a patient is on his way. When she tells me it's Mr. Barrow I wonder if his hand is bothering him? The last time I treated him was when he was attacked, when I asked Isobel to marry me.
Seeing Barrow has me standing from my desk. He is the epitome of febrile. The dark circles under his eyes highlight that his eyes have sunken a bit into his head. This man is ill. I motion him back behind a screen and direct Ms. Baxter to leave.
Abscess, I never liked the term. There are so many medical terms that I find unpleasing but this this term combined with what I am seeing. The dorsal surface is inflamed just above the iliac crest. Abscesses can be formed by bacteria, parasites or foreign substances. From the box it might be all three. I can examine them later, right now I need to drain this abscess. I take up the syringe and inject the local anaesthetic. I know it has taken hold when the white knuckle grip of Thomas's hands relaxes. A nurse nudges a wheeled tray towards me and I nod, she then removes the drape revealing a line of surgical tools. I pick up the scalpel and begin the process of draining this nasty eruption. The wound begins to drain and I pack the area with gauze. "That's it" I mutter and Mr. Barrow stands straight up and begins to put back his clothes. I make my way to the washing basin and begin to wash my hands.
I can hear the door creak open and announce, "All done"
"And it won't trouble him further?" Ms. Baxter's voice is apprehensive. I try to reassure her and also give Mr. Barrow another dose of medicine, "Not as long as he stops poisoning himself."
Baxter's shoulders sag in relief and I'm glad to see that her color is improving, I would not like to have caught a fainting ladies maid. She gestures to my desk, "You've had a look at the things he brought then?"
That box haunts me. In my career I've seen too many individuals with boxes like it. Soldiers who have taken to morphine. Even my fellow physicians have turned their arms into pincushions injected opiates. However, upon inspection I noted that none of the vials had the telltale tip of morphine. This vial was far too large. It smells like saline, I'm sure if I were map the solution with an ebullioscope it would verify my suspicions. "You've been injecting yourself with a solution of saline"
Baxter seems puzzled, "That's not harmful though? Is it?"
"It was if it wasn't sterilized." I say gently before shrugging out of my white coat. Who knows if the syringe he using over and over again wasn't contaminated with something. I grab my suit jacket and continue, "Repeated injections would cause fever, and abscess at the site. I assume this is a course of treatment you've spent money on?"
Barrow's eyes are on the ceiling, "Yes, a lot of money. I went to London for what they call electrotherapy and the pills and injections were supposed to continue the process."
His words have alarm bells ringing and I find my words leave me in a rush, "The purpose of which was?"
Once again Mr. Barrow's eyes are anywhere but on me, "To change me. To make me more like other people...other men."
Realization flares and I fiddle with my cuff, "Well I'll not be coy and pretend I don't understand, nor do I blame you. But there is no drug, no electric shock that will achieve what you want."
He seems disappointed and at the same time angry, "You mean I've been taken for a mug?"
"My advice to you Thomas, would be to accept the burden that chance has seen fit to lay upon you and fashion as a good life as you're able. Remember, harsh reality is always better than false hope." As I speak these words I find myself feeling a touch of fear.
In the evening as I prepare to leave I find I can't shake this feeling. Isobel asked me to wait and I will. Nonetheless I need to see her.
Crawley House looms, I don't even have the chance to knock for the door opens. "I saw you at the window" she tells me with a smile and invites me in.
I find my hands clumsy as I put down my bag and hang up my hat. She sees it, of course she does. Her small hands work under my overcoat to remove it before she hangs it up. Her touch is soothing yet I must know the reality no matter how harsh it is. I let this slip away once, not knowing how to say what I wanted to say. Hoping that my intent would be clear and that things would just magically fall into place. I have to say it, I have to say it now
"I love you."
She turns toward me, the look on her face is unreadable and I find myself unable to stop talking, "I'll wait, I can wait. I said we would sink or swim together...we can tread water too."
Her eyes are glassy now, and she moves closer towards me. I can smell her the last vestiges of the perfume she applied this morning. A subtle floral hint mixed with what I can only describe as worn leather and age...she must have been reading.
Her lips meet mine and I groan. Her touch is so welcome and so inflaming at the same time. I want to tear myself away and yet hold her closer to me. I don't want a vial and syringe in a battered metal box...I want this!
Reluctantly I do pull myself away, I said I would wait. One of her hands drifts to my cheek while the other trails down my shoulder. Her fingers then ghost across my elbow, down towards my wrist to finally land in my hand. Fingers grip mine and she tugs, I will follow her anywhere. If she led me to hell I would go. Her direction is clear as I am led to the stairs. One by one we climb them until we are at the top. Her free hand pushes on her bedroom door and she leads me inside.
She turns to face me, we are so close that our breaths are mingling.
"I love you too" She whispers back. At her declaration my eyes close and I lean my head forward to kiss her blindly. Her hands are at my neck, nimble fingers working loose my tie. I raise my own hands and together we remove suit and gown. At last we revealed to one another, adorned only in skin. We can see all the imperfections of one another, all the marks of time, and hopefully she can see that I want her desperately.
Her hand takes mine once more and I feel the bed against my knees. Moving to lie down I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. As I gently stroke a hand down her flank to her hip I hear her sigh in pleasure. I want to hear more.
I lean in and kiss her. My hand is on her hip and I use it to pull her to me. Our chests meet and we both exhale sharply. The feel of skin is so unique, nothing else can match it. Isobel is warm against me. My hips snap forward brushing up against her and she emits a low moan. At this I lose myself in the desire to hear that sound again. Her arms are around me, encouraging me, securing me. My knee is between her thighs, I give a nudge and they part.
This time when my hips move forward I'm rewarded with a breathy 'oh' and I feel a sharp sensation as I realize she has gouged her fingernails into my shoulder.
I stop, she notices and then pulls me closer letting me know she's alright. She kisses me and I move. Every sigh of happiness, every moan of her joy makes my head swim. My lungs start to burn yet I still move. My back is beginning to twinge and I ignore that too. What I can't ignore is the tingling at the base of my spine. I cry out in frustration but she is there. She whispers in my ear and I'm lost.