Chapter Twelve
When William awoke the following morning, he was elated to find Elizabeth nestled into his side. To think that this would be how he would wake up every morning from then on was amazing.
A glance out the window showed that the weather was no better; it was still raining and the sky was overcast and gloomy. He would have a few errands to run before planning the next leg of their journey. He wanted his staff back in the house to make it ready for his and Elizabeth’s return as man and wife, and he needed to take out some more money at the bank. Not to mention finding some food for them both.
A quick look at the clock showed him that it was almost midday, and he sat up suddenly. The movement made his head pound, a low ache just above his neck, and he frowned, wondering if it was a side effect of sleeping so late. How had they managed to sleep half the day away? A mental flash of the night before brought a blush to his cheeks and he realised just how it had happened.
Elizabeth whimpered when he slipped out of the bed and away from her, but William couldn’t bring himself to wake her, late though it was. Perhaps they could delay their plans by a day. He tucked the sheets back up around her shoulders and smoothed the hair back off her forehead.
Moving to the desk, he found a piece of paper and his ink and scribbled a quick note to let her know where he had gone, before heading into the bathroom for his morning ablutions and to dress.
One brisk walk later and he’d withdrawn enough money from the bank for the trip to Scotland. William then decided to kill two birds with one stone—he’d visit his cook and reenlist her services and hopefully get something to eat in the process. Then, he’d bring her back to the house to make some food for Elizabeth.
He was sure Mary would be able to send one of her sons to find Stephen and inform him he was needed back at the house.
The rain still fell heavily outside, and William knew it was bitterly cold, but when the carriage came to a stop outside Mary’s tiny terraced house, he found himself unwinding his scarf and stuffing it into his pocket—he was far too hot.
“Wait here for twenty minutes and I’ll pay double,” William said, striking a bargain with the coach driver. The man nodded, and William climbed down, careful not to slip on the wet pavement.
He hadn’t had cause to visit his cook’s household very often; and it was rundown yet homely, as he remembered it being. Her daughter, Catherine—one of William’s maids, in fact—answered the door and gasped. “Mr. Pratt! Oh, you look terrible. Come in, come in. Ma! Look who it is: Mr. Pratt!”
William felt slightly offended—terrible? But he followed Catherine through to the kitchen where he saw Mary hovering over the stove.
“Mr. Pratt!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here? Thought you were off getting well at that posh hospital? Don’t look like it worked. Look like death warmed up, you do.” She handed him a swiftly-poured cup of tea.
“Ah, thank you, Mary.” William said, with a frown. Did he really look that bad? Perhaps he should have taken the time to look in the mirror before he left. He tugged ineffectually at the collar of his shirt. It really was much too hot. “I have returned to London, actually. To stay, so I find myself in need of your services again. I was rather hoping you’d start today.”
Mary smiled and began to reply, but William could barely hear her. The room was swimming and, damn it, it was simply too warm! He stood up, intending to go towards the window to open it, but he had taken no more than two steps when he swayed on his feet and the room spun away.
***
William knew what was happening from the moment he woke up. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and his bones ached in a way that only indicated illness. He’d caught a chill then, from being out in the rain the day before. He swallowed against the roughness in his throat, hoping that it was only a chill and not anything more serious.
He could hear shouting from outside his room, and it was then that he realised he was in fact back in his own house when, what seemed like moments before, he had been in Mary’s kitchen.
He heard the shouting again and, this time, he could make out words and recognise the voice: Elizabeth. “Let me go! Unhand me at once!”
William jumped up off the bed, stumbling a little as another wave of dizziness overcame him. Hurrying to the door, he opened it to see Elizabeth, her arms held on either side by Mary and Stephen, her expression angry, and eyes furious as his cook and butler frogmarched her down the hallway.
“Stop whatever you are doing!” he called out, leaning against the doorframe for support. He’d intended for his voice to be strong and commanding, but it came out weak and feeble. His words had the desired effect however, for his staff stopped and turned, bringing Elizabeth with them.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked, speaking at the same time as the cook.
“Mr. Pratt!” Mary said. “You should be in bed.”
“William!” It was Elizabeth’s voice he focused on, turning his worried eyes to her. She was barely dressed; she stood in her shift and corset, a robe draped awkwardly around her shoulders. “They think I’m a thief! A—a whore. They took my ring, William, and said I’d stolen it.”
Fury like he had never felt before descended and he set his mouth in a hard line. “You’d do well to let my wife go now, Stephen. Mary.”
Eyes wide, they released Elizabeth, and she ran to him and buried her head in his neck. He brought his arms around her and took pleasure in the scent of her skin and the beating of her heart against his own.
“Stephen, I’m feeling a little unwell. Send for a doctor, please. Mary, find us something to eat.” When neither of his staff moved, William barked, “Now, if you want to keep your jobs!”
Mary nodded and curtsied awkwardly before running off, but Stephen stayed, looking a little shell-shocked at seeing this commanding side to his employer. “I’ve already sent for Dr. Harding,” Stephen said. “But his wife said he’s all the way over in Cockfosters, so he may be a while.”
“Very well. Have Mary bring our food up when it’s ready.”
Bobbing his head, Stephen retreated down the corridor and left William and Elizabeth alone. William brought his hand up to cup his fiancée’s cheek. She was shaking. “Come on,” he said, drawing her back into the bedroom with him. “Let’s sit down.”
“I woke up and you were gone,” Elizabeth said, when they had settled themselves on the bed. “I thought perhaps you’d gone out for food, so I didn’t worry too much. And then, halfway through dressing, those people brought you in—oh, you looked terrible, William! So pale and poorly. I don’t think they saw me at first, but when they did they accused me of breaking in to steal from you.” She paused and a blush filled her cheeks. “I think I may have kicked Stephen in his, um, his…”
“Privates?” William suggested, biting his lip to keep from laughing when she nodded. He hugged her into his side and smiled. “Oh, Elizabeth. I do love you.”
“You should have seen his face!” she said. “I don’t think he knew quite what to do, a tiny girl like me besting him even just for a moment.”
“I’m sure it was a sight,” William replied, finally allowing the laughter to escape. He chuckled, imagining how Mary and Stephen must have felt to find a half-dressed woman in their master’s room. The man he had been before leaving for the hospital would never have even contemplated bringing a woman to his bed.
He laughed until his chest protested, a sharp pain hitting him behind his ribs and making him cough. He pulled away from Elizabeth’s embrace and turned away, covering his mouth with both hands as his coughing turned his throat raw and made his head pound.
Suddenly sober, he felt Elizabeth’s hands on his forehead. “You’re far too hot,” she said. He felt her hands pushing him backwards into the mattress, the coolness of her palms feeling wonderful against his burning skin.
“I don’t suppose we’re going to Scotland, then,” he said, when the coughing fit had passed.
“Not until you’re better,” she replied. “Until then, we’ll have to continue our dastardly deception of your staff.”
“Dastardly indeed,” William said, smiling. “To want to pretend that we’re already married.” He tutted and shook his head. “Dastardly.”
“I hope it’s not your consumption returned,” Elizabeth said worriedly, bringing her knees up onto the bed and lying down next to William. She laced her hand in his. “The last time I read your notes at the hospital, you were almost well. I knew it! We should never have left. What if—”
“No.” William rolled onto his side to face her, so he could look into her eyes. “Don’t think like that. I wouldn’t give up the last few days with you for the world.”
“I can’t believe how little time has passed since we left the island,” she commented. “I feel so changed.”
“For the better?”
“Yes.” Closing her eyes, she frowned. “Tomorrow’s Friday. They’ll find out that I’ve run away. William, I’m worried that Ethan will come after us, if he finds out. My disappearance coinciding with yours will look a little suspicious, won’t it?”
“I have faith in Sister Maclay,” William replied. “I’m sorry, love. If I hadn’t fallen ill, we could be on our way to Scotland by now.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, quietly. Plucking at the sheet, she continued. “If only I were a few months older! We won’t find anyone to marry us without my parents’ consent in England, will we?”
“No.” William sighed and turned onto his back. “I knew something would go wrong! Maybe we should head up to Scotland anyway. I don’t feel too bad.” He sat up and made to move from the bed, only to be overcome by that damned dizziness again.
Elizabeth helped him lie down and smoothed his hair back. “You concentrate on getting better,” she said. “Rest now. I’ll see what’s keeping Mary with our food.”
Nodding, William let his eyes drift shut, listening contentedly to the sounds of Elizabeth moving around the room.
***
Getting better seemed to be a gigantic feat that he would never overcome. William didn’t know whether hours had passed since he’d woken up feeling like death warmed over, or if it had been days. He drifted in and out of consciousness, one time waking to see Dr. Harding standing over his bed.
“…pneumonia. Exacerbated by the consumption. Keep him warm and make sure he drinks plenty of water… a few days…”
Elizabeth was a constant presence and he always seemed to know when she was near. She sat by his bed and held his hand or lay down next to him with her cheek nestled into the crook of his neck. There were times when he was sure he felt tears falling from her face onto his skin, others when he heard her cursing her ineptitude as a nurse.
When he woke up it was dark, and he felt more alert than he had in a while. Elizabeth was dozing next to him on the bed, and he sat up slowly, trying not to wake her. He managed to make his way out of the room and down the hallway to the top of the stairs, where he had to pause for lack of breath. A sound from behind startled him, and he turned to see Stephen, a candle in his hand.
The other man took William by the arm and helped him down the stairs and into the front parlour, where William collapsed into the armchair by the hearth and tried to catch his breath, whilst Stephen stoked the fire.
“What day is it?” William asked when the fire was lit and roaring, and Stephen had seated himself in the chair opposite.
“Saturday evening, Sir.”
William nodded but remained silent for several moments, before levelling his gaze at the other man. “Tell me truthfully, Stephen. What are my chances?”
Stephen had been with the household too long to mince his words, and his reply was frank. “It’s bad, Sir. Dr. Harding said it would be a miracle if you survived the week.”
William sucked in a breath, the sudden expansion of his lungs making his chest hurt. He had expected the answer, had known it was coming, but it was still a shock to hear it put so plainly. “Does Elizabeth know?”
“I made sure Dr. Harding did not speak his diagnosis in her presence,” Stephen said. “But she’s not stupid and she’s a nurse. She knows.”
William closed his eyes and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt shivery, but sweat pricked his brow, and his breath came in rapid pants. The quietness of the room felt oppressive, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back upstairs in bed with Elizabeth, but there were things that needed to be sorted out. “She’s not really my wife,” he said eventually.
“I did wonder,” Stephen replied. “Who is she then?”
“The woman I love. We’re going to be married.” He paused and felt tears fill his eyes. “Were going to be married. It’ll never happen now. Paper dreams, blown away on the breeze.”
“Still a poet, I see.” Stephen smiled.
“I haven’t changed that much,” William replied. He sighed and settled back into the chair. “Fetch a ledger and some ink. There are things we need to discuss...”
***
His solicitor came to the house the following morning and made it all official. Elizabeth hovered at the edge of the room as the papers leaving her William’s house and all his worth were signed, and when the man had left, she came to sit next to him on the hard-backed sofa, her eyes wide and full of sorrow.
Neither spoke but William took her hand and held it as tight as he could. She hadn’t wanted to be his beneficiary, protesting that she only wanted him and not his possessions, but William insisted. “It had to be done,” he said after a while.
She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning downwards as she tried not to cry. “We can’t give up; we have to keep fighting. Once one resigns oneself to something, it is inevitable. We can beat this, William. We can. You’ll be well again, I know it.”
Shuffling backwards until he was half-lying down, he drew Elizabeth with him and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me how our future happens.”
“After we’re married,” she began in a halting voice, “we return to London for a few days. We lock ourselves in our room and make love over and over until we tire each other out. And then, when we’re too sore to move, we make love again, and it’s wonderful. You show me the sights of London, as promised. Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament! The river Thames on a bright, sunny day. Christmas shopping in Harrods. We have such fun, William!”
“It sounds magnificent,” William said, feeling drowsy. “Tell me more.”
“We live in London for one year and we’re so happy. You take me dancing and to parties and the opera, and we have the time of our lives. But nothing makes us happier than when we discover I’m expecting a baby. You tell me that London isn’t the place to bring up a child, so we decide that it’s time to return to the island.”
She was speaking through tears now, wetting the material of his shirt but it didn’t matter, because he was crying too as they imagined the future they’d never share.
“We buy a house in Bembridge, so we’re near to my parents. They’ve forgiven us for all that happened, and they’re thrilled at the idea of a grandchild. Our house is big and beautiful and overlooks the sea, and every morning we wake up and make love, the sun shining through the window, even when I’m as big as the house itself.”
“You’re lovely,” William said, seeing everything she said as a bright, vivid image in his mind’s eye. “I love you.”
“I love you too. More than anything. Please don’t—” She broke off, biting back a sob.
William slowly shook his head. “Shh. Shh.” He managed to lift his head enough to reach her lips for a kiss. It was slow and languid, and he tried to pour everything he felt for her into it. “I love you,” he said again when they broke apart.
The dam broke, and she fell against his chest, crying uncontrollably. William’s heart ached that he was the cause of this pain, but he could do nothing but hold her hand. “Shh,” he repeated. “You didn’t finish the story.”
When she spoke, her words were muffled because she kept her head pressed into his chest, one hand resting above his heart. “Our baby is a gorgeous little girl, and we think the world of her. You spoil her, and she’s a definite daddy’s girl. I bring back shells from the beach, and she likes to line them up…”
William listened, content to imagine this future she had dreamed up for them. He could feel the pounding of the waves on the shore, smell and taste the salt on the breeze. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the happy laughter of their child as she played in the sand.
And there, in the distance, he could see himself and Elizabeth standing together with their hands linked, watching as the sun set and the day’s light died.
***
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Author's Chapter Notes:
In case anyone missed it, the previous chapter was posted as a separate one shot - The Night of the Storm. Thank you to those who read and reviewed! Hope you enjoy this update. :)
Chapter End Notes:
So... thoughts?