The Fall (29 page)

— day 152 —
 

‘H
ow are you feeling?’ James asked. I opened my eyes. The morning sky was milky grey.
 

‘Weak,’ I whispered. Despair crawled into my heart. No blood wet my thighs. My uterus seemed to cramp only ineffectually. ‘How is my temperature?’

He placed his palm to my forehead. ‘Still high, but not as bad as yesterday.’

‘Could you help me to the vanity?’ I said, pushing myself up, fighting the urge to vomit. He helped me out of the bed and to the chair. I gazed into the looking glass and opened my mouth as though to examine it.

‘No lesions.’ I took his hand and he led me back to my bed. ‘Yesterday I feared it could be intestinal anthrax. What did Dr Blincoe say?’

‘He said you might have been poisoned.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Or that you poisoned yourself to abort the child,’ he added in a cold whisper.

‘You believe what you fear to be true. You said that to me one day.’

‘We will see,’ he said and stalked out of the room.

Soon, Cecile entered. She brought tea, helped me to wash and dress in a fresh nightgown. Exhausted and aching, I lay back down on my bed.

‘Cecile, I need your help.’

She sat down next to me. ‘What is it, Miss?’

‘Do you think you are brave enough to do something behind the back of your master?’ Her eyes widened, but then she must have remembered the secret messages between her and the coachman. She blushed, smiled, and nodded.

‘Cecile, I need to be ill for a few days and for that I need tops of the juniper bush down in the yard. Pick a few and hide them in your bosom. Take utmost care no one sees you. Don’t walk down directly now and don’t come straight to me after you have picked them. Do you understand?’

‘Is it because you are with child and you don’t want it?’

I was thunderstruck. ‘Did you overhear Dr Blincoe and your master?’

She smirked.
 

‘What else did they talk about?’

‘Nothing much. The doctor said that it could be the flu or a poisoning. The master said he suspects the latter and Blincoe answered that under these circumstances you should be forbidden to leave your room. So as not to give you the opportunity to poison yourself again.’

‘Would you help me, Cecile?’

‘Will you not kill yourself, Miss?’

‘That was never my intention.’

She swallowed and said, ‘I will help you then, Miss.’

Grateful, I pressed her hands. ‘Cecile, I will hide the carbon tablets under my mattress. Ignore them when you put fresh sheets on my bed.’

She lowered her head, her posture tense with anxiety. ‘Cecile, I am a medical doctor. I will not harm myself beyond repair.’

Around noon, after I had refused a light lunch, Cecile came to stoke the fire. Before she tended to the fireplace, she slipped her hand into her dress and extracted a small bundle of slender green twigs.
 

‘Thank you Cecile,’ I said, hoping my face would show the gratitude I felt.

Her expression betrayed her anxiety. ‘Please, Cecile, do not fear discovery. In that case I will tell him I forced you and you bear no guilt.’

‘I fear for you, Miss,’ she pressed out, staring down at her apron.
 

‘You are very sweet,’ I said, wondering how I could possibly make up for her imminent unemployment. She and her lover would have to leave this house, as would all of James’s servants as soon as their master was either dead or arrested. New employment was hard to come by.

Cecile left and I started the same procedure of mushing twigs, stirring them into the tea, drinking it all, and removing telltale signs.

Everything contracted at once. My stomach expelled its contents, my guts, too. My lower abdomen cramped so bad that I couldn’t help but cry out. Soon, my room seemed crowded with people. Durham and Blincoe held me down while the latter pushed a tube down my throat. The resulting pain melted into yet another contraction. But all that did not matter. As Blincoe said, ‘She is bleeding,’ I could have sobbed with relief.

‘Miss?’ Cecile’s voice. I liked that lilt, although her fear made it a little squeaky.

‘Is she unconscious?’ James, a little bored, a little exasperated, and cold. How curious, no one seemed to have taught him compassion.

A hand on my forehead. My abdomen cramped. I was already rolled up in a ball, but tried to compact myself just a little more. The contraction slowly subsided.

‘Drink this,’ Blincoe commanded, lifting my head and pressing a cup to my lips. I obeyed, too exhausted to protest.

— day 160 —
 

I
had spent my days in bed, guarded by the doctor’s watchful eyes. Occasionally, James came in to ask how I was doing. ‘Recovering,’ was Blincoe’s answer.

I recall Cecile having brought me sanitary towels, and I still felt them between my legs. I pushed my hand under my sheet, palpated my lower abdomen and probed for blood on the towels.
 

‘You are not bleeding anymore,’ said Blincoe quietly. I looked across the room. His expression was soft. He misinterpreted my anxiousness and said, ‘Do not worry yourself, you did not have a miscarriage. Your child should be alive.’

The room began to swim, I clapped my hand over my face and wept. Close to hysteria, I managed to squeeze out, ‘Thank God!’
 

Blincoe grew uncomfortable and rose to his feet ‘I will find your husband.’

‘No! Please, don’t. Let me collect myself first. I don’t want him to be too worried about me.’

He sank back into his chair. ‘You did not use an abortifacient?’

‘No I did not. I confess, I considered it. But then I thought that this might be my only chance to be a mother.’ I rubbed my wet face with the bed sheet and was shocked how much control I was able to haul out of the depths of exhaustion. ‘You can get him now.’

Blincoe left and a long moment later, James stepped in.

‘You convinced Blincoe, but you cannot convince me. I know you attempted to kill my child.’

‘I planned to. But I couldn’t…’

He placed his hands on the bed, his face close to mine. ‘You called me a cold-blooded bastard. And here you are, unable to distinguish your truths from your lies. I have found vegetable matter in your vomit. You collected toxic plants from my yard, yew perhaps, and took it just before you fell ill.’

‘I collected oregano, James. The same plant I picked for my father who had contracted tonsillitis and bronchitis in that hole you locked him up in. I felt my tonsils beginning to swell and grow sore. I used oregano for its mild antibacterial qualities.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Get out of my room then.’ I glared up at him. A blink of his eyes and he turned away and left. The sound of the bolt sliding in place shouldn’t have surprised me.

I lay perfectly still, with only my mind moving about. Escape was the only solution. I would have to get my strength back, eat better, walk about, use my weakened muscles. Then I would destroy everything James and I had created. The first anthrax trial should be completed, and—
 

The sensation of butterfly wings softly brushing the inside of my lower abdomen brought my thoughts to a full stop. What a force this little touch had! I placed my hand there, eyes widened in terror, shoulders trembling. Moriarty’s child was moving.

A timid knock and Cecile entered. She rushed up to my bed. ‘How are you doing, Miss?’

‘I am fine, thank you Cecile. How is your master?’

Her head tipped forward. ‘He is…furious. Everyone is walking on tiptoe, the slightest noise upsets him. But I think he will be calmer soon.’

‘Is he smoking opium?’

She nodded.

‘Cecile, would you bring me tea and a sandwich, please? I’d also like to wash.’

‘Yes, Miss,’ she said quietly and left as though the slightest noise would send me into raving madness, too.
 

She helped me wash and get dressed and sat at my side while I caught my feeble breath. Surprisingly, the sandwich made me feel a little stronger, although I had to force it in. The tea helped to wash it down my dry throat. I was ready for a forward flight.

‘I will go down to see your master,’ I said and rose to my feet. My knees were weak and I had to hold on to the bed frame.

‘I will help you, Miss.’

Slowly, we made our way down to the study. I knocked and stepped in. James lay on the ottoman, eyes directed at the ceiling.

‘May I come in?’

‘I am tired of your lies,’ he answered.

‘Me, too.’

His head turned towards me, his face unable to conceal the surprise.

‘Thank you, Cecile,’ I said and closed the door.

The few steps towards him seemed very far. It took a moment for him to realise that I wouldn’t be able to walk all the way by myself. He caught my arms and walked me to the ottoman.

‘Just let me lie down next to you for a while. I’m quite out of breath.’ There wasn’t even a need to feign my weakness.

‘James, our relationship was based on control and manipulation. Neither of us relinquished even a fraction of power.’ I looked at him. ‘Can we agree on that fact?’

He nodded once.

‘Learning that I am with child tipped that balance. Suddenly, I saw myself being forced to give up every ounce of control. I felt I had no power at all, not even over my own life. Can you understand?’

His eyes scrutinised my face. Gradually, he lost his cold expression.
 

‘I took juniper to abort our child.’

‘I should have killed you the first time we met.’

‘Yes, that would have spared us a lot of pain,’ I whispered.

He did not react. Exhausted, I placed my head on his shoulder. ‘Your child is moving.’ He stiffened. ‘The fact that I will be a mother soon changed my view dramatically, James. I will not take part in your germ warfare project anymore. I will only develop vaccines. I want to save lives, not take them.’

His ribcage heaved, as though it were constricted. Suddenly, his arm shot out and wrapped around my back. He pressed me to his chest and his face into my hair. I began to shake and promised myself that he needed a fair chance to become human again.