Never a Road Without a Turning (10 page)

“Forgive me, Phillip. Beautiful Phillip,” the major slurred, searching Pip’s face intently in the lamplight. “Stubbs is such an ugly name for someone so beautiful.”

If Pip was surprised by his words, he was stunned into immobility when the major fisted a hand in his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. The lips that touched Pip’s were soft and warm at first, gently coaxing. Pip opened his mouth to object, but anything he might have said was cut off when the major’s tongue invaded his mouth. He tasted of the rosemary and garlic from his dinner but mostly of whisky, and Pip felt himself melting into the warmth and wetness of his kiss. Pip’s body responded, heat pooling in his belly, as an unexpected surge of desire threatened to overcome any rational thought he possessed.

He didn’t know how far he might have gone if the major’s kisses had remained gentle. But when the man’s lips became hard and demanding, and a strong hand circled his neck, forcing him closer, something evil, buried deep inside Pip’s memories, writhed and tried to break free of its bonds.

Pip fancied he actually heard the crack form in the walls he’d placed around that darkness. The sound was terrible, like the splitting of the ice on the Thames the spring he’d been released from Newgate, after that long terrible winter. He was eleven years old again, cowering in the cold and the dark of his cell as heavy footfalls and the jingle of keys drew nearer.

Suddenly, the unaccustomed scrape of stubble across his chin and the strength of that vise around his neck became unbearable. It awoke a fear he hadn’t felt in more than a decade, and he panicked.

Choking off a cry, Pip threw up his arms, breaking the major’s hold on him. When the man reached for him again, Pip shoved back hard, knocking the major to the side in his desperation to get away. He heard a crash behind him, followed by a cry of pain, but Pip didn’t stop to look. He flew from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door into the storm. He was a fool to run blindly into the darkness and the ice and wind, but Pip was fleeing from memories of far worse, and he feared if he stopped, even for a moment, they would catch him.

Pip ran until his lungs burned, slipping on icy rocks and tripping over unseen hazards in the dark. He didn’t know where he was going, but by the time he reached Agnes’s father’s farm, he was frozen with cold, his clothes soaked through, and his pretty house slippers ruined beyond repair. When Pip reached the shelter of their barn, he finally stopped, taking in great lungfuls of air and shivering so hard his teeth clacked together like some ghastly wooden puppet in a street player’s show.

With a shaking hand, Pip wiped the water from his eyes and stared at the looming shadow of the farmhouse through the sheets of sleet and rain, but he didn’t go to it. He’d regained some of his reason now that he’d stopped, and the panic had ebbed into exhaustion. What would he say when they asked him why he was there? How would he explain his mad dash across the fells in the middle of the night, during the worst storm in years?

He shivered hard and retreated farther into the barn as a great gust of wind buffeted him. His feet and hands were numb with cold, and his mind was going numb as well. The dairy cows were all huddled together against the chill, as near as they could get to the stone wall of the barn that afforded them the most protection. Pip pushed his way between them until he found a small pile of straw to fall onto. Pressed against that wall, surrounded by what warmth the animals could provide, Pip surrendered to darkness and oblivion.

A
N
EAR
splitting shriek woke him the following morning. When he cracked open one eye, a shaft of sunlight pierced his skull, and he quickly shut it again, groaning. He tried to move, but he was weak as a kitten, and every part of him ached. He desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but when he heard the voices of several people surrounding him with concerned murmurs, Pip thought perhaps he should do something to let them know he wasn’t dead—at least he didn’t think he was.

He lifted his head and pried open both eyes to find Agnes, her sisters, and three men Pip assumed were her father and brothers staring down at him.

“Oi, lad, are ye injured?” the man Pip assumed was Agnes’s father asked.

Pip steeled himself against what was certain to be a significantly unpleasant experience and forced his body to sit up. His head throbbed fiercely, but he managed to stay upright. “I don’ think so, sir.”

“Lads, help ’im up.”

Agnes’s brothers each took an arm and pulled Pip to his feet, where he swayed for a moment and might have fallen again if they hadn’t rushed to support him. They mostly carried him into the farmhouse and set him down by the fire, where he finally began to shiver as blood flowed painfully back into his frozen limbs.

An older version of Agnes draped a blanket across his shoulders and fussed over him until Pip had a steaming cup of broth warming his hands and his bare feet were resting in a tub of hot water. At first, it felt as if a thousand needles were piercing the soles of his feet, and he had to stifle a whimper of pain, but soon the warmth was soothing on his battered flesh, and he began to doze off.

When he woke for the second time that day, he was alone in the kitchen except for Agnes and the woman he assumed was her mother.

Agnes rushed over to him as soon as she saw he was awake. She handed him another cup of broth. “’Ere, drink this.”

Her mother looked up from her cooking and gave Pip an encouraging smile, but she must have thought he was sufficiently seen to, because she returned to her work.

When the older woman had turned away, Agnes leaned in close to him and hissed, “What on earth were ye’ doin’, ye damned fool? Ye scared the wits out o’ Mary this morn.”

When Pip didn’t answer right away, she pinched him on the arm,
hard
, and Pip yelped.

“Are ye all right, lad?” Agnes’s mother called from her place by the table.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave Agnes a wounded look. “Ye didn’t ’ave to pinch me,” he whispered sullenly, rubbing his arm.

“Me father’ll be back soon, so if ye ’ave summat to say, ye should say it now,” Agnes hissed under her breath as she reached for the kettle on the hook by the fire and poured more hot water into the tub at his feet.

Pip could only shake his head. He was exhausted and feeling a little light-headed. The fire, the blanket, the mug of broth in his hands, and the steaming tub were almost too warm now.

“I should go ’ome,” he managed weakly.

“Muther,” Agnes called worriedly.

A moment later, a cool hand touched his brow, and the woman said, “’E ’as a fever. Go and get yer father.”

Pip remembered only snippets from then on, worried voices that sounded as if they were underwater, a blast of cool air, being bumped about in a cart, and then nothing until he woke to find himself in his own bed at the cottage. The sun was high in the sky outside his window. He was tucked tightly beneath a mound of blankets, and his head felt as if it were full of goose feathers.

Pip was trying to determine whether or not his limbs would support him enough to sit up in bed when his door opened and Mrs. Applethwaite came in with a tray. He braced himself for the tongue-lashing he would receive, but the woman surprised him with what seemed like a genuinely relieved smile. “You’re awake at last. How are you feeling?”

The first word that came to mind was “puzzled,” but he assumed she meant his health, so he said, “Better. I think.”

She nodded. “Good. I shall run and tell the master after you’ve had a bit of this.”

She set the tray by the bed, and to Pip’s utter shock actually helped him to sit upright so he could drink broth from the bowl she handed him. The woman was being far too solicitous, and Pip was finding the change in her rather alarming.

“How long were I asleep?” he asked in between sips of broth.

“Three days! We were all terribly frightened you wouldn’t wake up again. The master stayed with you every night until I feared for his health as well and convinced him to go to his bed.”

Pip nearly choked on his broth. “The master… was here? Why?” he gasped in between coughing fits.

Mrs. Applethwaite took the bowl from him and handed him a linen to wipe his face. “We were all in such a state when that farmer brought you here in his cart. We were going to send for the doctor, but we feared the roads after the storm would make it impossible. The master took charge at once, and we didn’t need the doctor after all. Did you know he studied for
two years
at Guy’s Hospital in London?”

Pip shook his head and regretted it immediately as his temples began to throb.

“Oh yes, he was studying to become a physician before he bought a commission and went off to the wars as a surgeon instead. According to his brother’s housekeeper in London—she’s an old school friend and the one who recommended me for this position—no one knew why he chose to go, brave man, but
everyone
expected him to return to the school when he came home. Then… well, with his injury and all, I suppose things changed. But he certainly knew what to do with you.”

Pip was having enough trouble trying to absorb the fact that Mrs. Applethwaite was actually sharing gossip with him, so the rest didn’t sink in straight away.

She fussed with Pip’s blankets until she seemed to remember herself and frowned at him. “You should be properly grateful to him when he comes to check on you. I don’t know what you were thinking going out in the storm like that, but we’ve had enough trouble out of you for a lifetime. Mr. Applethwaite is like to catch a fever himself with all the extra work he’s had to do since you’ve been ill. And the master has actually been looking after the horse in your stead. Can you imagine? Such a kind man.”

When Pip simply stared blankly at her, she harrumphed and bustled out of the room, leaving him to try and make some sense of all she’d said with a head that seemed determined to remain muddled. Try as he might, Pip kept coming back to what she’d said about the master staying with him, watching over him, and caring for him while he slept.

Pip wanted to be angry for what had happened in the man’s bedchamber. He wanted to be disgusted. But he couldn’t seem to manage it. He searched his mind for the fear that had taken over him, but it was gone too. The evil memories had slithered back beneath the rock he’d buried them under. He was strangely numb, bereft of any feeling at all other than confusion. He felt lost. And not for the first time in recent weeks, he wished Maud were there to comfort him. She was the only person in his life whose presence brought nothing but peace and joy. He longed for the simplicity of that connection when everything else seemed so complicated and unsettling.

Pip set his bowl of broth aside and closed his eyes, then pulled his blankets over his head and snuggled down into the mattress. He couldn’t think. He didn’t
want
to think. Perhaps after he’d slept, things would be clearer or he’d wake to find the past few days had been a dream.

W
HEN
P
IP
woke for the second time, Mrs. Applethwaite was standing over him again with another tray and the sun was disappearing behind the fells. This time the tray held a meat pie instead of a bowl of weak broth, and Pip’s stomach growled in appreciation. He was suddenly famished. After a brief word of thanks to the housekeeper, Pip dug in to the pie with relish and did not stop until he had licked his plate clean.

When he was finished, Mrs. Applethwaite took the plate and nodded her approval. “You must be feeling better, now your appetite has returned. I spoke to the master and told him you were awake, but he was too tired to come himself. He said to let you eat your fill, now that the fever has passed, and to order you to stay in bed for a couple days more, until your strength has returned. We’ll hire a boy from the village to come and look after Molly and the horse until you’re well enough to venture out again, if need be.”

Pip shook his head and tried to rise. The very last thing he wanted was to be stuck in bed for days with only his thoughts for company. He’d go mad. “A few more pies like that and I’ll be right as rain, Missus.”

The housekeeper pushed him back down with one boney hand, her strength an embarrassingly easy match for him in his current state. “You’ll do as the master says. I won’t have him think I haven’t done my duty by you. If he says you need your rest, then abed you will stay. He’s even offered you your choice of books from his library to pass the time, though I’m not sure you deserve such generosity. You will not insult the man by refusing his instructions.”

Pip sighed and dropped his head in defeat. It appeared he had no choice.

“You haven’t yet told anyone what you were doing out in that storm in the first place,” she said as she fussed with his blankets and collected his plate.

His wince was purely internal, but her eyes narrowed on him just the same. “Don’t remember, Missus. The fever an’ all. Perhaps I ’ad the fever afore I left, or I ’eard summat or walked in me sleep. I don’t know.”