He loves Valancy more than life itself.
Valancy is dying.
Those two truths keep relentlessly hammering in Barney's head, leaving no space for any other thought or reflection. Valancy can't die – this is unacceptable, unbearable – yet she is going to. He can't stand to lose her, now that he knows exactly how much she's come to mean for him, yet this is exactly what is going to happen.
He will lose her. He will lose her soon.
He feels like he's going to tear his hair out.
Barney doesn't know how long he's been sitting on this bench without a word or coherent thought, but it finally occurs to him that they should stir themselves to go home, unless they want to spend the night here as well. The sun is reaching the warm glow of the golden hour; the sunset will be soon to follow.
"I suppose we'd better be hiking back. Sun's getting low. Are you good for the rest of the road?" he asks, straining for casual and failing miserably. He nearly winces at the false note in his voice.
"I think so," says Valancy miserably and Barney barely restrains a flinch. He doesn't believe she is truly well – she neither sounds nor looks well, pale and silent as she is, her face expressionless and tired – but he can't imagine staying by that thrice cursed tracks for a moment longer, never mind the whole night. So he goes across the clearing and picks up the parcel he has dropped—the parcel containing her new shoes. He brings it to her and lets her take out the shoes and put them on without any assistance, while he stands with his back to her and looks out over the pines. He feels a right ass, no question about it, but he doesn't think he can look at her now without bursting into sobs.
Valancy doesn't call him out on his ungentlemanly conduct. She doesn't speak at all.
They walk in silence down the shadowy trail to the lake. In silence Barney steers his boat into the sunset miracle that is Mistawis. In silence they go around feathery headlands and across coral bays and silver rivers where canoes are slipping up and down in the afterglow. In silence they go past cottages echoing with music and laughter. In silence drow up at the landing-place below the Blue Castle.
Valancy goes up the rock steps and into the house first, leaving Barney behind to secure the boat. He comes in a few minutes later and finds her sitting on Banjo's chair, staring through the oriel, oblivious of Good Luck's frantic purrs of joy and Banjo's savage glares of protest at her occupancy of his seat. He does not come near her – he can't – but he stands behind her and asks gently if she feels any the worse for her experience.
"No," she says flatly, not looking at him, and his hands curl into fists in despair and helplessness. It's all he can do to stop himself from howling.
He feels like a trapped animal, desperate for an escape. He must run, he must hide; he can't stand to look at Valancy now, not without falling apart in some surely spectacular way, and he doesn't want to freak her out, that's the very last thing he wants to do. He doesn't know whether he would fall on his knees begging her absurdly to live, to not leave him behind – as if she had any control over that! – or overwhelm her with maudlin, desperate love confessions, but whatever shape his likely outburst would take, he's not willing to risk it. She's been through enough today without him dumping his own hysterics on her.
So he locks himself in Bluebeard's Chamber – is he ever going to think of it simply as his office or the lean-to anymore? – and allows himself to fall apart.
Valancy… so dear, so darling, so absolutely perfect for him in every way… A companion he never even suspected might exist. With her warm laugh, and her whimsical imagination, and her biting wit, and her fierce appreciation of everything beautiful. With her courage and kindness and compassion, with integrity he long considered impossible in his misanthropy.
With the way she looked at him and saw something worthy of love.
How is he going to live without her? How?!
He paces, way too frantic to stand sitting down. The lean-to is not big, it doesn't take long to cross, six long, hurried steps one way and eight to the other. Yet he goes round and round and round, his thoughts repeating themselves in tact with his feet; the futility of both only aggravating him further. What use are his histrionics in facing the unbearable truth of his feelings and Valancy's looming death? Will acting like a character from Lord Byron's poems help either him or Valancy in any way? But however meanly he thinks of his actions, however he derides them, he's not able to sit down and be rational, he's not even able to slow down. Six steps, eight steps, six steps, eight steps again, repeat, repeat, repeat in an endless, furious, desperate circle. He wonders if he's going to wear a path in the wooden floor before he either calms himself down or falls on his face from exhaustion, whichever comes first.
He can't lose Valancy. He can't, he can't, he can't!
But he inevitably will.
Oh God.
He stops his pacing briefly to drop his head into his hands in gnawing despair.
His Moonlight. Dying. But she's always been, hasn't she? It's him who has been a wilfully blind idiot, refusing to acknowledge either the reality behind her illness or his own growing feelings for her. Way to deceive yourself, Snaith, bravo! Seems you haven't grown any wiser since Bernie Redfern's days after all, for all your smug pretensions.
The silence behind the doors finally distracts him from his spiralling thoughts, the dread creeping in their stead. Why is it so quiet? He hasn't heard Valancy moving at all; she's not exactly loud normally, but he tends to hear her footsteps, playful jabs at Banjo or cooing over Lucky, a tap of the wooden spoon against the tin pot or the cheerful whistle of the kettle. Yet now – nothing.
What if he's going to open the door to the living room only to find her slumped and still in Banjo's chair, death having claimed her stealthily while his back was turned?
Impatient to know the truth, dread choking his throat and curling in his stomach, Barney wrenches the door open only to find the living room dark and empty except for Banjo, who reclaimed his chair and is glaring at him now, guarding it possessively. The dread doesn't dissipate by the lack of its object; he must see that Valancy is alright after that horrid day, he must feel it. He crosses the short distance to the bedroom in a few hurried steps and freezes when he sees Valancy's unmoving form on the bed.
He's only able to breathe when he sees the slight rise and fall of her chest.
Thank God. Again.
He undresses himself quietly, not wanting to disturb her, even though he can see perfectly that she's no more asleep than he is. She doesn't say anything, even when he lies down next to her, and her silence is tying his tongue too. What is there to say? Well, plenty – so damn much – but Barney's thoughts are such a tangled mess inside his head that he's not able to translate even one of them into words.
Some wordsmith he is.
So he's lying there, like a fool, listening to her soft breaths and thanking God for every one, trying desperately not to think that soon they will necessarily cease and the loneliness which Valancy dispelled will claw into him again, all the worse for the knowledge how it is to live without it. He's trying to figure out instead how to tell her that he's fallen in love with her, but what should be a joyful declaration turns to ashes in his mouth too. It's too tied with death, with the terrible countdown he can't stop being constantly aware of anymore. How is he supposed to make love to her without blurting out the howling, desperate pleas to the universe to not take her from him? He prays fiercely for just a bit more time – another year, or at least a half – knowing full well that it wouldn't be enough, it couldn't possibly be enough. Yet he craves every damn second with her like a miser.
Valancy falls asleep finally, still without a word to him, and he wonders what demons she is fighting herself. He should have asked, he reflects with no small amount of guilt, he should have checked how she is, but he was too buried in his own suddenly acknowledged feelings to do so. A selfish bastard to the end, Snaith, as usual. Why break the habit of a lifetime?
He looks at her dear, delicate features in the moonlight reflected off the lake and feels an iron band of terror squeezing his lungs again. How can he survive without her by his side? How can he ever be happy after losing her?
He's afraid to close his eyes lest he opens them only to find her stiff and cold next to him, but he does at last, his stubbornness worn down by the shocks of the day. The sleep brings no relief; the nightmares are plaguing it, and he wakes up much too soon with a strangled cry on his lips and the feeling that he can't breathe.
It's just before dawn, the first hint of light peeking over the treetops, and Valancy is asleep by his side. He looks at her, tenderness and terror still squeezing his chest like a vice, and he knows he needs to get away, he needs to get out of here, before he completely falls apart.
He gets rapidly out of bed, forcing himself to be quiet as he blindly pulls on some clothes. He doesn't pause on his way even to feed the cats, unaware of their offended glares, he's in too much of a hurry to run, as fast and as far as he possibly can. He nearly trips over his untied shoelaces on the steps leading to the jetty but by some miracle he manages to jump into the canoe without falling into the lake or dropping the paddle. His muscles burn as he paddles, the canoe sprinting fast and silent over the still waters of Mistawis, hardly giving a thought to his destination except the fierce, raw desire to be anywhere but here. He only stops when his canoe hits a sandy stretch on the far side of the lake, and wastes no time in securing the boat and disappearing into the woods, breathing easier among their familiar, soothing green. This is his place, this is where he can be calm as his feet gradually slow down from a frantic run to their usual measured, purposeful walk.
He finally makes an attempt to consider everything rationally.
The first thing, as obvious as it is now that he stopped willfully hiding from it, is that he's in love with Valancy. He might have realised it at the eleventh hour, but it's glaringly obvious that he's been feeling like this for a very long time – most of their marriage, probably. How in hell did he manage to prevent himself from realising that is anybody's guess, but he supposes it's been due to the damn debacle with his first engagement. He knew that his love for Ethel, idiotic as it had turned out to be, had been very real, and as a result he could not recognise something so pure, so joyful, so calm as he felt for Valancy as anything close to the same. And it isn't, he thinks viciously, it isn't the same at all. His love for Ethel had been real, but it was the first love of a lonely young boy; it's like a candle against the sun when compared to what he feels for Valancy. It's a different love, a love of a mature if still desperately lonely man, and the relationship he shares with Valancy – the companionship, the joy, the desire, the deep understanding of each other – it's not even comparable. He survived the shattering of the illusion of Ethel's love for him, he can't imagine surviving losing Valancy's very real one.
He won't allow it.
That sudden, determined thought startles him enough to make him pause. What can he do to prevent the inevitable? The doctors have pronounced Valancy's illness incurable; there isn't anything that can be done, however much he hates to acknowledge it.
Not the doctors, plural, he thinks suddenly, with a small but fierce hope alighting in his chest. One doctor. Valancy hasn't seen anyone besides Dr Trent who, granted, is a renowned specialist on heart diseases, but still only one man.
And all men make mistakes sometimes.
The pessimistic part of him reminds him how futile searching for treatments for Cissy turned out to be, but he disregards it with his usual stubbornness and refusal to give up. He will take Valancy to another doctor – a dozen doctors, if necessary. Toronto or Montreal first, for proximity, but if it's not enough, there is always Boston or New York or Philadelphia where medicine progresses by leaps and bounds every year. And if not there – there is Europe, too, with famous clinics in England, Switzerland or Germany. Somewhere, in the whole vast world, there must be a place, a doctor, who can help Valancy. A solution, a cure, must exist. She still lives, even after that terrible scare at the train tracks; she can't be as bad off as Dr Trent pronounced her to be. He must have made a mistake and Barney is going to prove it.
He turns rapidly on his heel, fully intent to go straight home and tell Valancy to pack her things when another realisation stops him.
The first question Valancy, his practical wife, is going to ask will be of course how in hell they're going to afford anything like that. She never, ever pries into his business or his finances, but travelling the world in search of top cardiologists must break even her patience with Barney's secrets. He will be forced to tell her something.
He turns yet again and starts walking again at a punishing pace, hardly aware of where he's going as he's mulling it in his head. He doesn't need to tell her everything, he thinks – admitting to being John Foster would be enough to explain the money. Or, alternatively, he can tell her of Red Pills' dirty money without betraying that he's the author she admires so much. To be honest, he's not sure what terrifies him more in the moment – that she's going to be as disgusted by his patent medicine background as everybody else, or that the reveal of his nom de plume is going to alter their relationship in some unpredictable, horrid way. He's never intended to confess any of it to her; everything in him still twists and churns at the prospect. But the fact remains that Valancy will not go along with his plan to save her if he doesn't give her some explanation for possessing the means to attempt it. He must tell her something.
The shadows grow long and there are rain clouds coming over Mistawis before he can make any kind of decision. His brain, addled with exhaustion and shocks of the last twenty four hours, might just as well be mush for all the use he gets out of it now. He curses it, the weather and himself, for good measure, but he turns back towards the place where he left his boat. There's no point staying here anymore, he needs to go home and face the music.
He gets soaking wet, of course. He curses himself again when he realises how far he's gotten without paying the slightest attention to his surroundings; it's going to take him half the night to get back, especially with the rain and the darkness making it hard to see a hand in front of his face, nevermind navigating a huge lake safely. The growing guilt and concern for Valancy are not helping his mood either. He left her at the strike of dawn, all alone and without even telling her where he planned to go. At the very least she may be worried for him, he knows, and at worst… At worst the consequences of yesterday's fright might have caught up with her, might have made her ill, or even…
He shakes his head, refusing to dwell on the terror choking him at the thought, and paddles faster. He needs to get home, he needs to see that she's alright. Then tomorrow they're going to drop the cats with Abel and board the first train to civilisation. Valancy is going to be alright, he's going to make damn sure she is.
Anything else is unacceptable.
The rain peters off into a drizzle by the time he reaches home. It's close to midnight, so the dark windows shouldn't be surprising – it's only to be expected that Valancy has gone to bed by now – but Barney can't help feeling uneasy. He jumps the stone steps from the jetty two at a time and curses, his unease growing, when he finds the door locked. Why would Valancy lock it? Has she felt unsafe, alone at night? She never has before, but God only knows what state of mind she's been in. Barney thinks again of the way she was lying by his side stiffly last night, without a word to him, and his stomach twists with another kind of anxiety. What was bothering her like that, making her unable to sleep? Why in heavens didn't he ask, getting absorbed in his own fears and thoughts instead?
No way to find out but by going in, so Barney fishes out his own key from the pocket of his overalls and opens the door only to be swarmed by two hungry cats, meowing pitifully.
"I know Valancy must have fed you," he says chidingly, but the anxiety is morphing into true fear in his chest. It is too quiet in the house, too dark. Other than Banjo and Good Luck it seems empty and devoid of life, and Barney wastes no time on feeding the cats, he practically jogs the short distance to the bedroom.
Which is completely empty too.
For a long moment he freezes in the doorway, staring at the neatly made bed. It's Banjo's angry meow which calls him back to life.
"Seems I owe you an apology, you two," he says with a nervous laugh, walking over to the kitchen corner to fill their bowls while he figures where the hell his wife can possibly be at such an hour. "I suppose it had to happen one day."
It's when he rises from his crouch over the cat bowls when he notices that the door leading to Bluebeard's Chamber is ajar.
Has Valancy decided to go there, after all that time? He didn't lock the door – it has been months since he bothered with locking it – but why now, of all times? He remembers the galleys and letters on his desk and his heart jumps into his throat again in sudden fear. What if a discovery of his hidden identity has been too much of a shock for her? What if he's going to find her in his ridiculous secret room, killed by his own pathological need to hide?
He practically flies to the door and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds it as empty as the rest of the house.
He stands there haplessly like a fool, the momentary relief turning rapidly into despair. As happy as he is that he didn't stumble over Valancy's corpse, the question remains – where the hell is she? It's after midnight already and it's been raining cats and dogs all evening, where could she have gone and why? Did she go for a walk or to town and something terrible happened to her on the way? He can't imagine any good reason for her to disappear like that; it had to be some ill fate or other. He needs to find her, he needs to find her yesterday, but he has no clue where to start searching.
He closes his eyes, overcome, and when he opens them he notices a glimpse of the moonlight, peeking finally through a break in the clouds, on a string of pearls resting on his desk.
Under them is a letter.
Barney doesn't even know that he crossed the room until he has the letter in his hands, tearing it apart in his haste. It's Valancy's neat, familiar script and he wastes no time in reading her message.
"Dear Barney:—
I went to Dr. Trent this morning and found out he had sent me the wrong letter by mistake. There never was anything serious the matter with my heart and I am quite well now.
I did not mean to trick you. Please believe that. I could not bear it if you did not believe that. I am very sorry for the mistake. But surely you can get a divorce if I leave you. Is desertion a ground for divorce in Canada? Of course if there is anything I can do to help or hasten it I will do it gladly, if your lawyer will let me know.
I thank you for all your kindness to me. I shall never forget it. Think as kindly of me as you can, because I did not mean to trap you. Good-bye.
Yours gratefully,
VALANCY
Your father was here today. He is coming back tomorrow. He told me everything. I think you should go back to him. He is very lonely for you."
The letter falls out of Barney's suddenly numb fingers and flutters gently to the surface of his desk.