It was dark in the garden where Jet stood. The air felt warm and moist as after a summer rain. He swatted a fly that buzzed at his ear. All about him were great flowering bushes and trees perfuming the air. Before him a house, a lit window shone light on an elegantly carved stone balcony. Behind the curtains he could distinguish the silhouette of a slender woman moving about the room. He heard a rustling in the bushes to his right. Not wishing to be discovered in this place he at once concealed himself behind a tree. From the bushes emerged Lord Danvers! And yet his appearance was greatly altered, his nose seemed to be magnified, engulfing a fair portion of his face in its girth and the shadow it cast. Lord Danvers was careless of his surroundings, his only attentions were to that window. "Oh my fair Madeleine, my cousin! Must I surrender you to another? Yet who am I to make claim to your affections - I, who have been made to envy a pauper at times. Oh yes, I am clever and quick of wit - my mind would make thee a suitable companion - but my form is inferior in all ways. They will stare at you my Madeleine! You who are my Robin heralding the springtime that has melted the snow upon my heart! Such warmth is not right for one such as myself to hold. It is for another harbor that I must guide thy ship. For a man more properly suited to a wonder such as thou. Hark! She comes!" The curtain stirred, then divided to reveal the Madeleine of Lord Danver's soliloquy - framed by the light of the house stood Ingrid! She approached the balustrade.
"My love speak to me, for it is your voice I long to hear above all!"
"You are fairest above all others!" a third voice, one of singular familiarity, called out from nearby. Jet looked to where Danvers had only just stood alone. Now, it seemed he had been joined by another man. This other was well-formed and youthful in face with sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Were Jet to prognosticate on the appearance of his brother, Avery, at that age; he was certain the result would be markedly similar. Lord Danvers crouched beside the young man so as to conceal himself from the woman.
"You are as a dove among the crows." Lord Danvers whispered to the youth.
"You are as a dove among crows!" the young man repeated.
"When you appear even the moon hides its face in shame for your glory outshines it." came the raspy whisper.
"When you appear even the moon hides its face in shame for your glory outshines it!" the youth recited obediently.
"My dear Christian!" Madeleine who was Ingrid cried out. "Speak to me more words of love."
Jet continued to observe the scene, he felt warm. No, not just warm; exceedingly hot. He loosened his collar in the sticky heat. Sweat poured down his body, drenching his clothing and pooling in his shoes. He struggled to tear off his coat, ripped at the buttons of his shirt. He fought to breathe. He tried to run towards a nearby fountain but it felt as though he were swimming through the air. And suddenly he was swimming. He was in a river. The balcony and Miss Mason were gone, a heavy stone bridge and woman bedecked in dark reds and blacks stood in their stead. Her arms were lashed to the bridge and she strained her body back and forth against them. On either side of her great flames burned. Her maniacal laughter echoed above the bridge and under it bouncing about the trellis's traveling down the river as a wave. Miss Foxham's shrewd eyes stared down on him cold and shining as ice yet burning with hate.
"It is you who murdered me Lord Moore! Upon you I lay my accusation! It is because of you my soul burns in the fire!" she howled.
"You are wrong! I did nothing more than defend my brother! I am innocent! You cannot lay the blame for your own choices upon me! It is not my fault!" he screamed, desperately trying to keep his head above the black water. He could feel his legs kicking at branches below. It seemed there were many passing all about him. He grabbed at one to aid in his efforts. It felt odd, like two thin, parallel running sticks. He lifted it and saw, to his horror, the bones of a human arm! A skeletal hand dangled from one end. He let out a cry of shock and threw the arm from him. All around him he saw bloated corpses floating. He felt skeletal fingers tearing at his trouser legs and shirt. Terrified, Jet kicked at them ferociously, beating them back with his hands and yet they continued pulling, pulling him down. He felt a sharp nailed hand grab his wrist and yank him hard. He turned to face the bloated visage of Miss Foxham only inches from is own, her body floating freely on the river.
"Oh but it is your fault! Because of you my soul burns for all eternity with his!" Her other arm stabbed through the air laying a line to a shadowed man who stood on the edge of the bridge. He was tall and slender. From his body it was clear he was unperturbed by the nightmarish scene.
"Who is he?"
"He is my lover. He is the Devil, himself." Jet watched as the man lit a pipe and brought the warm glow to his face. Looking down at Jet with as little concern about his predicament as if he had been a piece of driftwood, was Arthur. He took a few puffs from the pipe and smiled smugly at his struggling friend. Jet screamed.
The river bottom seemed to open beneath him. He felt it sucking him down into its depths as he screamed. Miss Foxham was cackling at him. He grabbed for her. "Jet!" there, where Miss Foxham's twisted visage had been was Bertie's concerned face.
"Bertie! Help me!" he cried. Bertie's face contorted in a terrible grin.
"Why would I help you?" she cackled in Miss Foxham's voice. It was a deception! Miss Foxham laughed as she released Jet to the swirling vortex below. He clawed at the void as it took him deep into the earth.
He sat bolt upright in a strange room. The walls were covered in stripped blue paper, the sparse furniture cheap and rough. He shivered in the chill of early evening. The room was empty, without candle or lit hearth. Or was it lit? It seemed the fire had suddenly ignited itself. As if by magic, he was lying down with a crowd of people around him.
"Jet? Oh praise the Lord you're awake!" Bertie was sitting next to him.
"Where am I? What happened?" Jet stuttered sleepily.
"You're..." her words continued but her voice sounded as though it were muted under water. From her dress sleeve a plump rat scurried onto the bed. Jet cried out in surprise and swatted it away. It fell from the side of the bed, only to emerge a moment later at the edge, its whiskers twitching as it examined Jet with bright, beady eyes.
"Away with you!" Jet kicked at the area where the rat was. It only moved to the side and continued to look. "I said get away!" Jet swatted at it again. It seemed to duck his hand. It crawled up into the bed. "Get away!" Jet struggled to throw it but it crawled right into his lap and onto his stomach. "Get off me! Get off!" Jet tossed in the bed and shook the blankets to get it off, yet it remained.
"Jet! What's wrong?" a faraway voice asked.
"It's a rat! There's a rat in the bed!" The blanket was torn from the bed by an unseen force.
"Jet, there's no rat in the bed." the voice said. Jet stared at the creature snuggled on his chest which stared back, nose twitching.
"It's right on me! Get it off me!" He flailed his arms try to tear it from him. Then he felt those small claws, that slight weight on his leg. He looked down to see another rat was crawling up him. And another on his hand. He began thrashing about, tearing at the rats covering him, crawling all over his body. "Rats! Rats everywhere! Help me!"
"Hold him down!" a man's voice ordered. He felt the hard grip of hands pressing him to the bed. This would not do at all! Were they holding him down to be devoured? What sort of monstrous place was this? He thrust his body forward with all his might. He felt their hold on him break. He saw the window and ran for it intending to escape this torture chamber through it. "Grab him!" Jet was in mid-leap when his legs caught. His chin hit the floor hard.
"Jim! Don't kill him." a woman cried out.
"He has a better chance of doing that all on his own." a male voice murmured in reply. Jet felt rough, strong hands dragging him back to the bed. He looked towards his destination and saw a large, writhing pile of shiny-eyed black rats. He shouted and struggled against those hands in vain for they forced him on top of the living mass. He could feel it moving under him! Noses and whiskers and claws and writhing furry bodies. He tried to scream but his mouth was full of foamy liquid. He felt it trickle down the side of his jaw.
"He's having a fit! Doctor! Help him!"
"Hold him steady!" Jet felt something slightly moist cover his mouth and nose. He tried to scream but the air was strange. The room melted away around him.
He felt far away. He was looking down on the earth from above. He could see all of England below him. There was his house and Elizabeth strolling along the garden path with Arthur. And there was Ingrid playing with little Freddy by the pond while Lord Danvers surveyed them proudly, at a distance.
"Arthur!" He called out from his perch above. "Elizabeth!" The two did not seem to hear him. He called out louder "Arthur! Elizabeth!" Still they walked on. "Miss Mason!" he hollered to the lady at the lake. But she, to, failed to acknowledge him. He looked around himself. There was only the black of the night sky sprinkled with bright stars which faded into the bright daylight sky of England before reaching his dear ones. At his feet the pale faded yellow surface of the moon. "This is impossible! Arthur! Elizabeth! Ingrid!" he called their names repeatedly, desperately. He fell to the ground sobbing. "Somebody..." he whimpered as a lost child might, "please hear me."
"I hear you." a strange voice replied. Jet looked to the house. Standing at the window was a long faced, auburn haired woman with somewhat severe yet languid features. It was Philomena! "I hear you. Are you lonely?"
"Philomena! How do I get home from here?"
"You can't get home, at least not that way." Philomena laughed.
"What way then?"
"Somebody must care enough for you to come to you." She supplied. Jet gestured to the Earth.
"But they cannot hear me!" Jet was exasperated.
"Oh they can, they just choose not to. If they were to acknowledge your plight they would then have to do something. And they do not wish to admit that you are in trouble."
"I am in no more trouble then they!" Jet protested. "Arthur and I are the same in practically all ways and habits! And certainly my sister and Miss Mason would not leave me in distress."
"On their own, perhaps not. But they are not alone, they are tethered to the earth by their companions, only you are all alone."
"But what about you, Philomena! You can hear me, why don't you help me?"
"Oh, it's simple." She answered plainly. "I just can't bring myself to leave the baby. And it would be far too dangerous to bring a baby along on such a mission. But I can talk to you, if you like, for a while - until he needs me."
"Just go, then! Half a companion is almost worse than none at all." Jet sat back down, dejected.
"Good night then." His sister waved. Jet ignored her, preferring to draw small pictures in the dust. He sat alone for some time shifting the dust around. Finally he stood, stretched, and placed his hands of his waist. Jet surveyed the void about him. He walked the surface for a time. There were no trees, no plants, no structures of any sort to occupy himself with. He resisted the urge to look down upon the people capering on the planet below who cared not a whit for his absence. It was a miserable state his mind was in: to have it openly acknowledged that those he counted most dear would not rush to his aide when he found himself most in need; preferring, instead, to pretend no need existed. And he was guilty as the rest if not more so. He had so blatantly disregarded the troubles of those around him, ignored and minimized them so as not to have to face them. He had justified his lack of action so many times; he should not wonder to see it turned on him. Yet, he hated them for it, Arthur most of all, and his anger burned more for his own guilt. He kicked at the dust. "Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man!" he cursed. He folded himself down to the dirt, his elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging freely between. A wind gust passed across the moon throwing dust about. He felt it sweep against his face, fine and course as the lace from his mother's dress he used to press his face against when he was small and the tempest threw its full force against the house rattling the windows and doors.
"Are you ready to come home?" a voice from behind him asked. He tilted his head back to look. Above him, staring upside down, was Bertha's plump face. He twisted to get himself up.
"It would be you, wouldn't it? Of all people in the world it is always you." he quipped with a sigh. She ignored him.
"The pony's ready, we can leave whenever you wish." she indicated behind him. Turning he saw the fluffy white pony from the estate. He couldn't help but crack a smile.
"I fear between the two of us we might be the end of him."
"Nonsense! He's stronger than he looks. Climb on back and we'll go for a ride." she answered adjusting the saddle.
"My lady." Jet made an exaggerated gesture towards the saddle. Bertie hopped up and situated herself sidesaddle.
"Are you coming?" she asked. Jet hesitated.
"Wouldn't that um... be somewhat crude?" he asked turning lightly red at the thought.
"It will be fine. It is the only way to get you home. Come now, hop on." Jet considered the situation for another moment. "Unless you plan on staying here for the remainder of you days." she slyly smiled.
"Fine!" he finally surrendered lacking any better option. He mounted the flank of the horse behind the saddle, careful not to get to close.
"You may need to hold on to me." Bertie advised.
"Don't worry, I'm quite stable."
"Suit yourself." Bertie answered. She hit the reins and the white pony took off with a jolt. Jet grabbed Bertie's shoulders instinctively. Even without seeing her face he knew there was a knowing smile upon it.
"Don't you say anything." he warned.
"About what?" she answered innocently. "Come on pony!" she hit the reins again. The pony ran faster and faster across the surface of the planet. "Hold on!" Bertie called back. Jet tightened his grip on her shoulders. "Let's go!" The pony leapt into the air. Jet felt himself jolted backward. He wrapped his arms tightly around Bertie's shoulders as the little pony broke from the surface of the planet into the dark night sky leaping and bounding on the dark field before him. Bertie was as steadfast as a rock, guiding the pony this way and that between the stars and planets, racing with a comet and hopping on an asteroid. Jet found, after the initial shock, he was quite enjoying himself.
"Do we have to go home just yet?" he asked.
"Soon, but what do you have in mind?"
"If it's not too much trouble can we see the rings of Saturn?"
"I think we can manage that." she turned the pony towards the bright yellow dot. The little pony easily covered the distance and soon they were sliding along the rings in large circles around the planet.
"This is remarkable!" Jet shouted. Bertie took out a large gold pocket watch and looked at it.
"We're going to be late if we don't head back now."
"Late? Late for what?" Jet asked but Bertie did not answer, only urged the pony on. They broke from the night into the morning sky. It was so bright Jet found himself momentarily blinded. His hands groped forward - he felt another hand and wrapped his own around it.
"Ah, so you've decided to come back to the world of the living." he heard a familiar man's voice say. It took him a moment to realize he was no longer riding a horse, likely he had never been, but was lying in a bed. He put his free hand to his forehead, rubbing it though the action did little to quell the dull aching within.
"Is he really back this time?" asked a woman - the voice he knew as Bertie's instantly.
"Yes, I believe so." the man answered. Jet blinked his eyes open. The sun streaming onto his bed from the window seemed less painful now than a moment before but still it stung. He covered his eyes with his arm.
"Well he'd better be this time - I'll not be dragging him back from the window again. Or the fireplace." Jim Reed stated.
"Now Jim, don't start." a woman Jet knew to be Bertie's Aunt scolded.
"And why shouldn't I? It's only because she fancies him that we're stuck mollycoddling him." he pointed his words directly at Bertie. "He has more than enough money to have servants watch over him."
"Jim Reed!" the woman was scandalized. "We would help any man rich or poor. Regardless of personal favor or debt." She emphasized the last word.
"Well it's true! I never was one to avoid the plain truth when it should be spoken-"
"You do realize I can hear you." Jet interrupted. The hand tightened around his own.
"I've had enough of this! I'm going out." the sound of heavy footsteps and the slam of the door announced Jim Reed's departure.
Jet slid his arm back to reveal a ring of faces encircling him. He sought out Bertie's which was pink with embarrassment from Jim Reed's accusation. He gave her a weak half smile causing her to redden to an even darker hue. The hand tightened.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Lang asked.
"In a word: dreadful."
"I would imagine." the doctor replied.
"What happened?" Jet groaned.
"Your body could not stand the shock of the cold water or the strain of the swim - your heart nearly failed. We brought you here to convalesce but you failed to regain consciousness until the third day when the Delerium Tremens began. Since then I have had to keep you sedated for your own safety." Jet recalled Jim Reed's words. He looked at Bertie.
"Really? The fireplace?" he asked. She nodded.
"Twice."
"I don't recall it at all."
"That is likely for the best."
"Not my proudest moments, then?"
"No." Bertie shook her head.
"Is Miss Foxham all right?" Bertie looked at him sadly as she took his hand in both of hers. She looked to the doctor.
"I regret to inform you that Miss Foxham did not survive." Dr. Lang's somber tones ripped through Jet like the blade of a knife. "There was nothing you could have done, I'm afraid. She made no attempt to preserve her life." Jet looked at Bertie desperately.
"It's not my fault. There was nothing I could have done. It's not my fault." Bertie looked to those surrounding Jet.
"If you would please leave us?" she requested of the party. Each member shuffled out quietly.
"Do you wish for me to remain Miss Smith?" Dr. Lang asked.
"Not for the moment. Thank you." she nodded.
"I will be in the hall should you require assistance."
"We are most grateful for all you've done for us Dr. Lang. I will call for you if the need arises." Dr. Lang looked to Jet and then to Bertie,
"Don't be too hard on him." He silently shut the door.
"How long have I been insensate?" Jet asked after Dr. Lang's departure.
"Nine days." Bertie answered.
"Nine! Nine days?" Jet was stunned. "I need to contact my family! They must be worried." He made to throw off his blanket when Bertie stopped him, her face sad. "What is it?"
"There is no need to worry, we have already contacted your parents."
"Are they here? Or at the hotel?" Jet asked anxiously.
"I'm afraid they were unable to make the journey to town. But they asked that I keep them advised of any significant change in your condition." Jet was deflated. "I'm sorry." Bertie attempted. Jet stared at the blanket, downcast. He shook his head.
"He couldn't even be bothered to come." he muttered. "I suppose I should have expected as much. Did you tell them what happened?"
"Only that there had been an accident. We had to maintain to all that Jerry did not... We wished to give her a proper burial - she deserves at least that much."
"Couldn't her family have done as much regardless?"
"Jerry has- had no family to speak of."
"What do you mean?"
"Jerry, Miss Foxham as you know her, lost both her parents. It seems her father invested the majority of their fortune on a ship bound from Africa that was wrecked in a storm off the coast. Finding himself on the cusp of bankruptcy he opted to attempt to regain his losses through games of chance. He was cheated out of not only their remaining fortune but also their property. Jerry and her mother were made aware of this situation by a note he left in the study of their estate when he took his life. It was Jerry's mother who found her husband - a blow to her constitution she was unable to recover from. For a month Jerry tended to her before she followed her husband to the grave. Her friends disavowed her. Destitute, Jerry was sent to live with her Uncle, once removed. From what she told me he was initially agreeable but when she rejected his lecherous advances he became hard and cruel. He used a horsewhip on her for punishment and every move she made was offense enough to warrant its use. Finally, he sold her to a man who owned a brothel to cure her of her "uppity ways", he told her. The man forced her into service, beating and starving her when she did not behave. Two months ago Sarah brought her to us - she was more bones than skin and deeply bruised. We've been working to help her get away from that life since. She was a good soul. She was doing so well! Everyone was fond of her. She always tried to be so strong, she couldn't stand to show weakness. I suppose it was just too much to bear on her own and it broke her. But we wanted to help her so very much, we would have found her a home with the baby. She had so much potential. Its all gone now. All of it." Bertie sat silently for a moment, collecting herself. "She recognized you on the bridge. You knew her?"
"Only for the briefest of moments, but yes."
"She said something about a Duke - did she mean your friend, Arthur? What happened?" These were the questions Jet wished most to never answer. If only Miss Foxham had lived she might have been able to explain and Bertie should have despised him without his own implication to damn him. He let out a heavy sigh.
"Miss Foxham and Arthur were involved in an affair. I cannot guess to the length of it, only that it had ended by the summer season. He did not do anything criminal to persuade her, nor did he use any force; but I cannot say that he was in any way honorable in his behavior. I was introduced to her at a Ball where she attempted to enlist my aide in exposing him. I- the things I said to her, no gentleman should say." He rubbed his forehead with his hand in an attempt to erase the memory.
"Then what she said..."
"Was an accurate recitation of my castigation." Bertie withdrew her hands from his and looked pensively at the window.
"Bertie, you have to know I never meant... How could I have known? They were only words! It's not my fault." He grabbed for those warm, comforting hands but Bertie denied him, jumping from the chair and backing away as if those arms seeking her were vipers.
"The blame is not solely yours - there is plenty enough of that to go around. But that does not, in any way, absolve you of your part. Words may be intangible things to the flesh but to the mind and heart they may be as real a balm or dagger as any made by man. I cannot even imagine how countless the times those words must have wounded her, plunging their poison into her. How they must've lived as her constant companion through those times - always and forever reminding her. The last words she ever said were yours. Her last thoughts of her disgrace."
"Bertie, please! Forgive me."
"I cannot forgive you. Only God can forgive sins." she backed toward the door. "I need to get some air."
"Will you return?" Jet asked.
"I- I don't know." she turned he knob. "Doctor, could you please watch over him?"
"Yes Miss Smith." Dr. Lang replied switching places with her at the door.
Jet sat in the bed utterly defeated as Dr. Lang took his seat at Jet's bedside.
"I suppose she must hate me now." he mumbled. The doctor removed a stethoscope from the black bag that occupied the bedside table.
"Breath deeply." he requested, placing the instrument on Jet's chest and back, listening closely. "No, I don't believe she could ever hate you. She cares for you very much; almost as much as you do for her." He raised Jet's arms to examine them.
"I don't care for her! I can barely tolerate her as it is." Jet protested.
"I have one question for you then: if you did not care for her than why should it matter how she regarded you?"
"I suppose I would prefer not to be hated by anyone."
"Well, you have one commonality - you are both terrible liars." Jet made to contradict this statement but the doctor stopped him. "She has known whatever answer you would give would be difficult for her to hear. There is no easy way to phrase it: she watched as a woman she cared for took her life upon seeing you. She did not know what to expect but the worst. Still, she has sat here every day, at your side, praying for your recovery. Just as I saw you keep vigil over her some months ago. She will return, when she's had some time. As for you: your heart is still far too weak for travel. Mr. Moore, far be it for me to levy judgement on another man, but you must avoid laudanum, opium, and alcohol from this point forward if you wish to preserve your life. The damage on your body has been far too great."
"And if I don't wish to preserve my wretched life?" The doctor gave him a knowing look. "It is really as bad as all that then?"
"I'm afraid so." the pair were silent for some time as Dr. Lang packed his bag. "You'll have to remain in bed for a few more days." Jet made to speak but the doctor, as if reading his mind, anticipated the question with his answer. "There is no need, to worry. The Reed family is willing to keep you here as long as you wish to stay."
"I cannot imagine Jim Reed is in accord with this." Jet replied, recalling the previous argument.
"I will not pretend he was an enthusiastic supporter of the idea but he is a better man than I think you give him credit for."
"I suppose I shall have ample time to become acquainted with his virtues." Jet said turning over to face the opposite wall. "Thank you, Dr. Lang. I believe I will rest now, if you don't mind."
"Goodnight, Mr. Moore." Jet heard as the door quietly shut.