Jet watched as the all-consuming flames licked the rungs of the ruined bassinet. The voluminous lace trim turning bright red, then black by turns before crumbling away into ash. Underneath lay the lovingly stitched blankets, the shoes and clothing in miniature, the fluff-filled animals, the tiny furniture, and finally the splintered sleigh - all smoldering in the intense heat. He turned away walking a few paces in the snow away from the pyre, eyes stinging from the acrid smoke, he pinched the bridge of his nose to press away the moisture which had gathered in the corners of his eyes. A shadow blackened the snow ground in front of him. Jet looked up at the house to see that striking silhouette of Arthur standing, observing the scene from the second story window. Arthur's face was scarcely visible from light behind him. It seemed there was a blankness to his affect, a remarkable impassivity, excepting about his eyes the set of which was so hard and so cold that Jet involuntarily shuddered despite the oppressive heat of the fire. Arthur turned from the window and strode from sight leaving Jet staring at the warm luminescence emanating from that empty portal.
Jet saw little of Arthur in the week following the accident. They spoke less. It was as if a cloud had descended upon the house choking out the joy that had once inhabited it. Arthur spent his days cocooned behind the heavy oaken door of the Master Bedroom or else roaming about the grounds at all hours. When he slept or ate was unknown to Jet. For himself, he initially found himself without appetite - consuming only a few sips of tea and the meagerest morsel of a biscuit - but the passage of days left him more amenable to the concept of a full gullet and by the third day he was quite back to normal patterns. He facilitated the sale of the horses, Bells and Dover, as well as the two carriage bobtails to a northern town on the coast; remote enough so that they should never likely pass before the sight of their former owner again. It was a sorry business for they were fine horses the lot of them but the reminder of the loss the represented was far too deep a wound to be borne. At the close of the week Elizabeth was able to return home under orders that she not exert herself in any way for at least the following month. The doctor needn't have worried for Elizabeth did little beyond lying in bed. She saw Arthur even less than Jet; (if such a thing were possible) both residing entirely in separate rooms. Worried by her lethargy; Jet was able to persuade her, through much wheedling and cajoling, to join him in the sitting room - even then she only sat and stared out the window into the bleak landscape of the melting March snows on the fields. Her depressed mood was contagious amongst the members of the household. The only good news seemed to be from London. The vaccine had proven effective and though Ingrid had initially fallen ill her fever was soon broke and her health improved but it would still be some months before she was able to return. Jet found himself frequently relegated to spend his evenings reading in the sitting room alone. He now clearly understood Arthur's criticism of the Smith's tattered novel - it was fundamentally offensive to him in all points. Characters he had once seen shades of himself in were unjustly villianized while piety and women's rights seemed to win the day. It was quite clear this was the source where Bertie must have drawn her first lessons on the matter from. She had written him faithfully though as of late he had found he lacked the words to form any semblance of a passable epistle. But then how was one to convey such heartrending news? Many nights he spent agonizing over a blank sheet of paper which held only the small drops of ink which had loosed themselves from the overhanging pen. It was on one of these listless afternoons that Elizabeth, in order to satisfy his constant entreaties for company, left her self-imposed solitude to join Jet in the Library where he sat attempting to formulate a response to Bertie's most recent missal. The two sat in silence for some time with only the creak of Elizabeth's rocking chair and the scratch of the pen daring to disrupt it until, rather abruptly, Jet took the paper he had been scrawling upon, tore it in two, and crumpled it into a ball with a frustrated growl. He replaced it roughly with another milk white sheet and dipped his pen to write but stalled, the pen inches above the parchment, his brow creased. "Gah!" he cried out, plunging the pen into the inkwell with an audible 'plop'. Elizabeth turned her face to him and spoke in tones barely audible with a voice hoarse from disuse,
"What are you writing, Jet?" He sighed heavily; far too vexed by his inability to create even a simple salutation to note the momentousness of these words.
"I am less writing than attempting to write - and failing miserably at it I might add. In its ideal form it is supposed to be a letter but as it stands it is an uncohesive collection of words that, at best, might qualify as nonsense."
"You have never been one to struggle long in taming language. I am certain they will soon obey you." Elizabeth's encouragement did little to abate his chagrin.
"Then that makes one of us." Jet said leaning back against the chair. "They have eluded my pen for a fortnight now with no end to this torment in sight."
"To whom are you writing? Perhaps I may be able to assist you in finding those elusive creatures and setting them aright." she offered. Jet leaned forward, his head resting upon a hand.
"Only Bertie. You would think after so many letters this process would be easier but the longer I go without writing the more difficult it becomes as I then feel the need not only to give an account of my doings but also an explanation for the ever lengthening delay in responding." Elizabeth tilted her head quizzically,
"Pardon me brother, but who is Bertie?" Jet clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes set wide in his reddening face. In his solitude he had become so accustomed to thinking of Bertie's existence as though it were universally known to all that he had neglected to check himself before he spoke.
"She's... she's..." he searched for an explanation that would neither detract from the woman he loved nor reveal more than he wanted before it was time. Suddenly his face broke into a grin as his brain finally grasped the significance of the conversation.
"Elizabeth! You're talking!"
"Yes. It was cruel of me to cause you greater worry by my silence." she responded primly. Jet's elation faded instantly into that somber tenderness reserved only for his younger sister.
"You are allowed to be cruel to me, I am your brother. I would gladly tolerate your cruelty for the remainder of my days if it would bring you comfort. But, all the same, I am glad to hear your voice. Will you be up to taking dinner with us then?" Elizabeth cast her gaze to her hands which knit the air nervously.
"With you perhaps, but not Arthur." her voice caught at her husband's name. She fought for control but the words burst from her in great sobs, "I just cannot face him!" She covered her face with her hands in an attempt to conceal the tears streaming down her cheeks. Jet stood from his perch and walked over to her, placing an arm about her shoulders. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist as she had done when a child, her face pressed into his shirt. He could feel the water of her tears prickling on his skin as it seeped through the fabric.
"Now, now it's alright, we don't have to invite Arthur just yet." Jet murmured, stroking her back. Her body shook.
"It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I hadn't wanted to go on a sleigh ride-" her voice broke to be replaced by wrenching sobs.
"Elizabeth, you cannot blame yourself - you could not have known what would happen." She looked up to him, her red-rimmed eyes ablaze.
"Then who is to blame?! I am the one who suggested it!" her ferocity shook Jet. "Our baby is dead and it's all my fault! How shall I ever be able to face him again? He must hate me." she hid her face in his shirt again.
"He does not hate you." Jet assured her soothingly.
"I dream of our baby, out there in the cold, swaddled in snow smiling with plump rosy cheeks and chubby hands reaching out for me - I try to run to him but I keep falling and then the dog comes and... and... takes him away..." her voice trailed off. Jet knelt down and enveloped her in his arms while she wept.
The supper table was set late for the siblings. Both, spent from the cathartic process of grieving, approached the meal as though the hunger of the world were upon them. Jet was much gratified to watch Elizabeth tuck in to a leg of chicken. While chewing it seemed a thought occurred to her and her jaw slowed as she attempted to process it. "What are you thinking, Elizabeth?" Jet teased.
"I have not heard from Ingrid for some time. I wonder how she is getting on?"
"The last I heard she was surpassing the wildest dreams of the doctors with her recovery." Jet allowed a smile.
"Does she say when she anticipates returning?" Elizabeth probed.
"Were it in her power to decide I imagine she would have returned weeks ago, but she still has to endure a few more rounds of treatment and Lord Danvers will not hear of her being put through the strain of travel until her bones have fully healed. At earliest I believe it will be at least another two months before she is able to grace us with her presence."
"That is a pity for a do miss her terribly."
"She has said the same of you a number of times, she sends all her love." Elizabeth looked seriously at Jet for a moment,
"Jet, why do you continue to stay with us? Why not just go home? This cannot be a pleasant place for you."
"Do you want me to go home?"
"No." Elizabeth answered honestly. Jet leaned back against his chair,
"Then I believe therein lies your answer."
"Jet! You cannot stay here soley for my benefit!"
"Why not? It seems a fine enough reason to me."
"What of your work?" Elizabeth entreated.
"What of it? I sent for my books ages ago and I guarantee business has suffered nothing from my absence."
"Well what of Father and Mother and Avery - certainly they must miss you!" Jet eyed her suspiciously.
"Surely you know that not to be true. Avery has Freddy to keep company with and as for Mother and Father... I should find a barren January field warmer company. What is this truly about?" Elizabeth found herself caught, she looked down onto her plate.
"But, Jet - I hate to burden you with my troubles." she murmured.
"Elizabeth," Jet leveled his eyes to her seriously. "You and Arthur are no burden to me - you are my beloved sister and brother. I should never wish to be apart from you in your time of need regardless of whether I found the circumstances pleasant or unpleasant. That is all that there is to it." He took a long draught from his glass. The two ate in silence for a time. Jet caught Elizabeth watching him slyly from across the table. "What is the matter, Elizabeth?"
"Only this: you never answered my question from earlier."
"And what question was that?" Jet replied absently before scooping a helping of potatoes into his mouth.
"Who is Bertie? You never told me." Elizabeth's eyes shined mischievously in a way that hadn't for weeks.
"Bertie... Bertie is the name of that woman I helped in London - you recall her."
"Oh yes! Father was so very furious when he found out. I thought you had agreed not to have anything further to do with her?"
"I had, and I did fully intend to make good on my word but circumstances placed us together and... well, I've grown rather fond of her." Jet answered; Elizabeth looked at him with some surprise.
"She is a religious woman, is she not?"
"Yes, she is painfully devout."
"Does that bother you?" Elizabeth asked. Jet smiled wryly,
"I cannot lie and say it does not, but it irks me less than I would have believed. She, at least, has considered the matter a great deal - a fact which I can find respectable even if I don't find her conclusions such." Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, the steam misting over her face.
"Will I ever have the opportunity to meet this lady?" she asked, replacing the teacup on its saucer.
"If you wish, I imagine you will. I daresay you would find her quite companionable." Elizabeth stirred her tea dreamily, considering the idea.
"It would be nice to have another woman about the house and I dearly need a companion. Jet - do you think it might be possible to send for her? I know it is terribly selfish of me-"
"Elizabeth, you can afford to be a little selfish now and again. In truth, I would dearly like you to meet her and I should certainly enjoy her company - so perhaps I am the selfish one." Jet said with a wink. "I will write to her tonight and invite her to stay with us."
"Oh thank you, Jet!" Elizabeth almost managed to beam through the pallor of her longsuffering.
"Don't thank me, thank Arthur, for it's his hospitality we will be taking advantage of." Elizabeth started at her husband's name. "Well, not just yet, I suppose." Jet added. Elizabeth smiled gratefully.
The stars had progressed far in their courses by the time Jet finished his invitation. He stretched his stiff form far beyond the boundaries of the chair, yawning loudly in the silence of the darkened library. He walked over to the window - only starshine greeted him on this moonless night. He yawned a second time, covering his mouth - the lateness of the night was making its effects known. Folding the letter into its envelope he sealed it carefully and, taking both the candle and the letter, made his way down the dark hall to the foyer to drop the letter in with the morning's mailings. From the main hall he noticed a strange glow on the floor, a bar of warm, yellow light filled the gap between the floor and the Parlor door. Pocket the letter, Jet quietly turned the knob and slowly opened the door just enough to peek in. The whole room was lit: from the chandelier to the fireplace! At the very end of the room, his form standing in stark relief against the darkness of the window before him, stood Arthur: his weight shifted to his left side, his hands perched on his hips. Even at this late hour he was dressed in buff trousers and waistcoat. The door creaked in objection as Jet shifted to obtain a better view - Arthur's head snapped toward the sound. No longer able to conceal his presence and not desirous to be discovered spying, Jet cast the door open revealing himself,
"Artie, I did not expect to see you awake so late." Arthur smiled wearily at his friend.
"I could say the same of you, mate. What could possibly entice you to keep such hours? Well, come in, come in." Arthur waved him in, not the slightest bit interested in the answer to his own question. Jet took his usual seat on the couch opposite the fire. Taking the iron in his hand he prodded at the glowing red logs, turning over the topmost one he watched a shower of sparks explode from within. He turned to see Arthur had resumed his earlier posture, staring out over the muddy hollows of the estate grounds as though he were the weary stone sentinel Colossus standing amid the ashes of Rome.
"I failed her." Arthur spoke, less to Jet than to the air. "I failed in my duties as a husband and father." He spun on his heel to face his friend, "How shall I ever face her again?"
"The same as I do and as Ingrid will, I'm sure. Do you think either of us does not feel guilt over that night? What if Ingrid hadn't agreed to that sleigh ride? What if I had opted to be less anti-social and accepted the invitation to a game of Whist? We could have whiled away the evening playing cards, warm and safe! We cannot change what is done."
"But I should have known there was something amiss! They were gone for far too long - I should have gone after them so much sooner."
"How should you have known? And what would that have accomplished? The die was cast the moment that cur appeared. Even had we rode a minute behind them it should not have altered the result."
"Still, it should have been I who protected her from the beast, to carry her to safety - not drug through the snow on a cloak by a woman." he spat out the last few words as though they were vile to his taste. "What kind of husband allows his child to die in a snowbank?" Jet took a deep breath,
"Artie, please understand that I say this as your friend and Elizabeth's brother, there was nothing you could do to change what happened, and ruminating over it will not alter any part of it. You could not fail for there was no test - the test is here and now with that poor woman hidden away in the guest bedroom. And I assure you, you are failing her now. When did you see her last? When she arrived home? In the hospital bed? She blames herself, you know, she believes you must hate her for what she's done." Arthur looked at Jet, astonished.
"Hate her? What could she ever do to make me hate her?"
"Let your child die." Jet's answer was harsh, cutting to the heart of the matter.
"But it wasn't her fault!" Arthur protested.
"She believes it was. She was the one who suggested the sleigh ride." Jet countered.
"She could not have known!" the other man argued, slamming his hand on the mantle. Jet raised his eyebrows to indicate his point had been made. Arthur collapsed in the seat adjacent his friend. "How shall I ever make it up to her?"
"Go to her. She needs you now more than she ever has."
"I suppose I may tomorrow."
"Or tonight, just as easily, for her sleeping habits are as poor as your own." Jet suggested.
"Then tonight. Thank you, Jet. I can't imagine how long I should have left her bearing alone the burden of both her loss and her own self-accusation." Arthur made to stand.
"There is just one more thing." Jet interjected.
"Yes?" Arthur regarded his friend quizzically.
"Elizabeth has asked that Bertie be invited to stay with us. I believe she feels a bit lonesome for a female companion with Ingrid in London. Would it be too much of an imposition on you to send for her?"
"No," Arthur replied. "No, I think I should be glad of the distraction. Besides, I am eager to meet this incendiary evangelical who seems to have stolen your heart." Jet grinned.
"Behave." he admonished Arthur.
"Always." Arthur replied.