Albion fell out into the hallway, hitting the opposite wall in an effort to stay upright. He began to slide down the mahogany paneling, his shaky hand shooting out to grab a side-table, and though hedidmanage to stay on his two feet, all the lightness of earlier had turned leaden. His legs were two pillars of granite, and his knees were buckling under the weight.
I should swim,he mused, his head swirling.I should ask Matilda to swim, then tell her that I love her, then… tell her why I can’t have children with her.
“Your Grace, are you well?” Laurence appeared in front of him, wearing a startled expression. “You are very pale, Your Grace. Are you in need of a physician?”
Albion squinted at the man, his face drifting in and out of solidity. “Where is… my wife?” he wheezed, his chest suddenly joining his legs in turning to stone. Each lung weighed a crushing ton, each breath an effort. “I must… see my wife. I wish to… swim.”
“If I may, I think you need to return to your study,” Laurence replied, moving to take hold of Albion’s arm. “You do not look well at all.”
Albion could feel the man tugging on his arm, but it was like it was happening to someone else. A distant sensation, akin to a dream. Still, he tried to obey that faint pull, stepping away from the only thing that was keeping him upright.
His legs gave way, sending him crashing to the ground. There was no pain; there was nothing at all. He fought to move his hands and feet, in a vain attempt to hoist himself up, but his limbs no longer seemed to be attached to his body. They refused to budge.
All the while, his stone lungs battled for breath, the weight crushing as though a horse had decided to sit on his chest.
He stared up, black spots dancing in the thick, greasy film that covered his eyes.
Laurence crouched in front of him. “You need a physician,” he urged. “I will send for one right away.”
Albion wanted to implore him not to leave, but when he tried to move his mouth, to speak as he had done every day for three decades, his lips and throat and tongue all refused to comply. Indeed, his throat felt like it was closing while his tongue must have swollen, for it felt several sizes too big in his mouth, making each breath ever harder to take.
He thought he heard Laurence calling for help… and then darkness took over. Utter nothingness, dragging him down into a terrifying slumber that, for the last second of his consciousness, he feared he might never awaken from.
* * *
“This is pure medicine.” Matilda sighed, sipping a cool glass of blackberry cordial in the small ornamental garden of Anna’s home.
Koi carp twisted and turned in the circular pond underneath them, a small red and green bridge, mimicking the style of the Orient, crossing from one side of the pond to the other. The two ladies sat there, right in the middle of the bridge, their legs dangling down, their bare feet grazing the water.
“You look… calmer,” Anna replied, smiling. “Tired but calmer.”
Matilda laughed. “Tired? I look positively haggard. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror earlier and shrieked in fright, thinking a ghoul had taken my place.”
“No, you just look tired. An ordinary amount of tired,” Anna insisted.
It had been almost two days since Matilda fled Whitecliff, the journey long and their arrival coming just before dawn that morning, so she had slept until luncheon. This was her first afternoon enjoying the freedom of Anna’s residence. As such, it seemed desperately unfair that she should look exhausted. If she could make her overwrought brain sleep, perhaps she would have looked fresher.
“Catching our dinner, are you?” a low, masculine voice called from the gate of the ornamental garden—the younger of Anna’s two brothers, Richard.
A second figure appeared at the gate, peering around the sandstone wall—the eldest of Anna’s two brothers, Maximilian. “Max” to those who knew him. “We are going shooting if you would care to join us? You shall trounce us, Tilly! I am certain it will rid you of your woes and shake off the last drag of fatigue from your journey here.”
The two young men did not know what ailed Matilda exactly and were gentlemanly enough not to pry, but it did not take a genius to guess that there was trouble in paradise. Matilda had always been fond of Anna’s brothers, who treated her as one of them, but she was not in the mood to shoot anything.
“Tomorrow, perhaps,” Matilda said politely.
Richard shrugged. “We do not have to shoot, Tils. We could do something else. Blackberry picking, perhaps?”
“I think she is quite happy as she is,” Max said, nudging his brother. “We shall leave you to your cordial and carp!”
Matilda smiled. “I hope the pheasants are particularly evasive today!”
“Now, why would you say a mean thing like that? Have fun, ladies! Tilly, make sure Anna eats something!” Max flashed a wink and pushed away from the gate, his brother following after like a loyal hound.
Matilda cast her friend a sideways glance. “I said you were skinnier than before.”
“I am not!” Anna protested, kicking her legs back and forth.
Matilda noted her friend’s thin ankles and sunken cheeks but held her tongue. “If you say so. I shall not mention it again.”
