City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (37 page)

“Emma dear,” he ventured, in what he
hoped was a pleasant tone of voice, for his head roared with the effort of
speech and his tongue felt like cotton.  “You should be up in your bed.  May I
help you?” She made no sign of having heard him, her eyes still unnervingly
fixed.  “Emma,” he tried again wincing with the effort of pushing his body away
from the chair and stretching it to its full height.  “You should be upstairs.”

“No,” she said.  “I’m tired of that
room.”

“Then sit here,” he said, knowing it
was best not to argue with someone whose system was withdrawing from powerful
doses of morphine.  “Sit here in the armchair, and we’ll talk, you and I. 
Perhaps,” he added heroically, for the thought of entering the kitchen was
comparable to the idea of scaling Everest, “I could get you something to eat.”

“No,” she said again, her small chin
jutting and her arms folded corpse-like around her chest.

Think of her, not yourself, Tom’s
fevered brain implored.  She’s a patient and this is a test of your skills.  A
doctor must function even when tired.  Even when sick himself.  Yes, even when
drunk on his feet.

Tom walked toward the small form, one
hand outstretched.  “You worry me sitting here alone, Emma.”

“I’m not alone.  You’re here.”

“I suppose I am, in a way,” he
admitted.  “So shall we talk?”

“No!  I’m talked out.  Leanna thought
I should talk and Doctor John and Geraldine and even Gage brought up my tea
this afternoon and said ‘Let it out, Miss Emma, tell Gage about your burden.’
I’ve talked all I intend to talk.”

“Very well, so that wasn’t a good
idea.  You won’t talk, you won’t eat or sleep.  What will you do?”

She looked at him with piercing blue
eyes.  “I want you to hold me.”

He was a bit taken aback, wondering
for a minute if he had managed to hear her correctly.  But she had been through
an unimaginable blow, so perhaps a bit of old-fashioned comfort was in order. 
Would a good doctor agree to such a request?  Would John?  Tom glanced at the
clock.  The main thing was to get her back upstairs before Leanna returned. 

“Of course,” he said.  “But we should
go upstairs.  This room is so gloomy, don’t you think?”

She frowned, tilted her head a bit
questioningly.  Perhaps she’s coming round, Tom thought, because she’s caught
me in my little lie.  Everyone knew the parlor was the warmest and most
pleasant room in Gerry’s house.  But she allowed him to take both of her hands
in his and lead her to the stairs.  They ascended them like a train, with his
arms around her waist, standing behind her on the step below and steadily,
gently pushing.  Just getting to the first landing in this ridiculous position
was a struggle, but when he released her for a second, she swayed so wildly he
was afraid she’d spill down the stairs. 

“Better carry you,” he said, and she
did not resist.

He flexed his knees and scooped her
up.  She was a small girl so lifting her did not disturb his fragile balance as
much as he feared it would.  “There, there,” he said, or something very like
it, the sort of thing he imagined a real doctor would say.   Her gown was thin,
nearly wispy, and he had the uneasy thought that in better light the white muslin
would be totally transparent.  He cradled her gingerly, taking care not to let
too much flesh touch flesh, but his efforts at restraint were pointless for,
with a tremulous sigh, Emma suddenly sagged against him, her whole torso sinking
into his and her head rolling back on his shoulder.  It was an alarmingly good
fit.

And precisely what would John do now,
Tom wondered, his heart involuntarily beating a bit faster.  Ironically his
first thought upon leaving Trevor’s office had been to seek solace in the arms
of one of the Whitechapel girls.  A mad impulse under the circumstances, and
yet he had stood in the street outside of Scotland Yard and debated what
direction to go, east or west.  He’d wondered if the bars were full or empty and
he’d imagined just this – that frightened bodies were clinging to other frightened
bodies all over London.  Anxiety and despair were stimulants in their own
right, as apt to make people seek company as any other emotions.  But his feet
had turned west, home to Mayfair, with the familiar old ache so enormous in his
chest that it had taken almost two bottles of brandy to quiet it.

Now here was Emma, Emma whom he had
always liked.  No… cherished, really cherished, in a way, which was all the
more reason he should wrest her arms from around his neck and leave her alone
in her room.  He nudged open the door with his foot, carried her to the tousled
bed.   She murmured something indistinct, let her head fall back a bit further
and their eyes met, both misting and slow to focus, and before Tom could muster
another thought he was kissing her, falling over her with a mixture of relief
and grief he could not begin to understand.  Who was to comfort whom?  Tom
could hear, as from far away, the sound of someone crying, and when he pulled
away just enough to gaze at Emma’s face he found it damp and salty.  He was so
overcome with tenderness that he utterly failed to notice the tears were his
own.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

November 12

7:05 AM

Leanna was up early the next
morning.   Tiptoeing into the hall, she saw that both Emma’s and Gerry’s doors
were still closed and, at the top of the stairs, Gage’s was likewise sealed. 
Tom’s was slightly ajar, as she’d noticed with approval the night before.  He
had gone to bed before they’d returned from Tess’s house, which was not
terribly surprising considering the condition he’d been in when she left, but
at least he’d shown enough responsibility to keep his door cracked so he could
hear Emma if she called.

No telling what shape he’d be in this
morning, Leanna thought.  Her father had required a strange potion to bring him
back from the brink of a bender.  Raw eggs shaken up with Worcestershire sauce,
if she recalled correctly.  She crept quietly to Tom’s door and knocked.

The door swung open, revealing a
disheveled bed.  Leanna frowned.  The household had gone to bits without Emma’s
guidance, and for the last few mornings everyone had made their own bed.  None
of them had the experience to be really up to the task, but Tom’s efforts had
been especially inept.  The only laughter the household had heard in days was
the gentle chuckle she and Tom had shared when he’d invited her into his room
the morning before to show off his housekeeping skills.

The bed looked exactly the same now
as it had then.  There were two possible explanations. Tom had either risen
before anyone else, once again made his bed badly and departed on an early errand,
or….he hadn’t slept in the bed at all.

Leanna felt a growing sense of
alarm.   When they had come in the night before they had found the empty glass
on the parlor table, the open medical book, the small plate with the crusts of
toast.  Leanna had carried the glass and plate to the kitchen, a little ashamed
that she had been so snappish with her brother earlier.  He’d come the moment
she asked him, had he not?  He had spent weeks fighting for her, had he not?  A
drunken afternoon was not exactly unheard of in a man of his age.  As she had
wiped the dishes and put them away she had vowed to be kinder to him in the
morning,

But here it was morning and there was
no Tom to be kind to.  Was it possible he could have slipped out in the night? 
Would he really have been so completely irresponsible as to leave Emma alone?

Emma.  Now Leanna’s dread was
growing.  What if something had happened to Emma?   Running lightly, still
reluctant to frighten Aunt Gerry if it turned out all was well, Leanna ascended
the stairs two at a time and, without knocking, threw open Emma’s door, where she
was greeted with the sight of Tom and Emma sprawled across the bed as if they’d
both been dropped there, naked, from a great height.

“Mother of God,” she exhaled, sinking
back against the doorframe and involuntarily averting her eyes.  The sight of
the human body did not upset Leanna unduly; she had seen enough of Leonard
Bainbridge’s anatomy books and models to know how it was constructed.  But this
particular scene was so without modesty or indeed, even consciousness, that she
was momentarily ashamed.

It’s just Tom and Emma, she said to
herself, partly to give herself courage, partly because in the dim recesses of
her mind she recognized the ludicrousness of the situation.  She had to have
them up and dressed before Gerry and Gage awakened, so she gamely ventured
toward her brother and dropped a nearby pillow over his hips. 

“Tom,” she said sharply, bending low
and shaking him.  “Tom, I don’t care how badly you feel, you simply must get
up.” He remained immobile, his arm a dead weight when she tried to lift it.

Perhaps she would have better luck
with Emma, who at least, in the worst case, she could probably lift.  “Emma,”
she said pleadingly, crawling over Tom in an undignified manner and slapping
Emma smartly on the face.  “Emma, do you hear me?” She was rewarded with a
slight stirring.  Spying a water glass on the bedside table, Leanna picked it
up and splashed it in Emma’s face.  To her great relief, Emma’s eyes began to
blink.

“Darling,” Leanna said, helping the girl
sit up.  “Try to focus.  Do you know where you are?”

Emma shook sleep from her eyes and
pulled herself into an Indian position.  Her eyes grazed across Tom, then to
the overturned hassock at the foot of her bed and finally to her muslin gown,
discarded in a corner and - not too surprisingly, Leanna noticed - smeared with
a faint trace of blood.

“Oh my God,” she said, nearly sinking
down again, but Leanna caught her behind the shoulders. 

“You’re going to have to put your
gown on help me get Tom back to his room.”

“What….?”

“You don’t remember?”

Emma looked vaguely around the room
and then at Leanna.  “I remember.”

“Perhaps it’s not what it looks
like?”

“It’s just what it looks like.”

“I’m sure Aunt Gerry would under –“

“No,” Emma cried out, with such
ferocity and such clarity that Leanna jerked back.  “We must get him back to
his room.  What time is it?”

“Just past seven,” Leanna said.

“Gage will be up any minute,” Emma
said, and the girls sprung into action, Leanna moving quickly to gather up the
strewn articles of Tom’s clothing and Emma behind her, far less steady on her
feet but just as systematic.  She pulled on her gown and, grabbing Tom’s shirt,
began to push one of his hands through the sleeve.

Leanna shook her head.  “No time for
that,” she said.  “My mother always said it’s impossible to dress a drunk.  If
we can just get him through the door of his room it won’t matter that he wakes
up naked.”  She piled Tom’s clothes on his chest and took his hands in hers. 
“The top half of a body is the heaviest,” she said.  “If I can carry this end,
can you carry the other?”

“I suppose,” Emma said, too surprised
by Leanna’s rapid-fire barrage of information to argue.  She grabbed one of
Tom’s ankles in each hand and with the deep exhalation of a dockworker, started
to pull him off the bed.  When his body came to the edge of the mattress and
dropped the girls nearly lost their grips but they readjusted their hand holds
and managed to lug him to the door. 

Leanna opened the door and peeked
out.  Gage’s room was directly opposite Emma’s and she could only hope that the
thud caused by Tom’s fall to the floor had not been audible in Gage’s room or,
far worse, awakened Gerry sleeping below.  But Gage’s door remained shut and
Leanna turned back to face Emma. 

With a nod, Leanna reached down again
for her brother’s hands and Emma took up the feet.  They moved awkwardly out
the bedroom door and toward the stairs.  Leanna started down first but it was
immediately apparent that if she preceded Emma, Tom’s head would hit each step
during their descent.  Which served him right, as far as she was concerned, but
Emma had immediately frozen and indicated through a jerk of her chin that they
should switch positions, allowing her to go first.  Leanna leaned against the
railing to let Emma pass her, which Emma could only do by pulling Tom’s legs
around her waist and bringing her pelvis up against his own.  Leanna shut her
eyes and tried to persuade herself that she would laugh about this someday.  That
someday she would be an old lady and the memory of this morning would be
amusing indeed.  But for now all she could do was press into the railing,
looking first up at Gage’s closed door and then down at Gerry’s, praying that
neither would open while Emma inched her way around her.  The clothes piled on
Tom’s chest fell off during the transfer of positions, but there was nothing to
be done about that.  Both girls simply looked down at his nude body with dismay
and Leanna kicked the garments aside.  Then, with Emma moving backward and
Leanna forward, they managed to turn on the landing and make it down the final
flight of stairs.  Leanna’s arms felt like they were breaking by the time they
reached Tom’s door and dragged him through.  The bed was impossibly high so
they abandoned him on the rug.  Emma sprinted out, presumably to fetch his
clothes from the stairwell and Leanna stood gazing down at her brother.