Not Quite Darcy (14 page)

Nights were the worst. Insomnia plagued him. His perpetual sleeplessness had nothing to do with the comfort of his mattress and everything to do with the condition of his conscience.

After another miserable night, he hiked up to the sanatorium at mid-morning. He knew the routines well enough to schedule his arrival after breakfast. By the time he arrived at his mother's room, the nurse was taking away the breakfast tray. William glanced at the surface of the tray. It appeared untouched.

“Good morning, Mother.” He settled into his usual chair beside her bed. “I see you didn't eat anything again.” He hated to bring up the topic, but he was growing genuinely concerned. At home, her appetite had been poor, but in this place, it seemed nonexistent.

She folded her hands together on top of her covers. Though she'd complained bitterly about the treatments and the food all week, he had to admit that she looked marginally better than she had six days ago. She was still deathly pale, however, but her breathing came easier and she no longer had to gasp for breath while conversing.

“I would eat something if Mrs. McLaughlin cooked it.” She drew her lips up in pucker.

“I don't believe Dr. Crellweather has cleared you for dismissal yet.”

“What do I care about Dr. Crellweather's opinion?” She drew an angry breath, then coughed a little bit.

“Well, he is a doctor.”

“You know me better than he does. You know I'd do better in my own home, amongst my own things.”

He supposed she had a point. Her days at the sanatorium were unhappy ones. What benefit was there to her breathing better if she lost more weight? She was so terribly thin already. Caring for her was such a balancing act and he never could gauge which way to lean.

“Not another day. Please, son.” She looked at him with tear-filled eyes and his weary conscience twisted his stomach into a tight knot. “I want to go home. To have Mrs. McLaughlin's chicken soup and to have Bessie reading to me.”

Bessie.
Just when he thought his conscience had no more pain to shower on him, it surprised him yet again.

“If you're truly unhappy, Mother, of course I should bring you home.”

“That's my dear boy.”

“I would need to arrange things. Bring the carriage up from Hampstead, have your room cleaned.”

“But nothing that couldn't be managed today. I shall be quite fine without you for a few hours.”

“Very well, Mother.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek and was relieved that it held no fever. “I shall return with the carriage this afternoon.”

“Thank you, dear.” She closed her eyes and lay back against her pillow, wearing a slight smile, but a very satisfied one.

William turned and walked down the hall, dread settling around him. He wasn't returning home. He was returning to the scene of a crime.

After checking out of his room at the inn, he walked to the station and took a very uneventful train journey to Finchley Road Station. As he walked the familiar route to his house, his legs felt as if they were made of lead and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Eliza is gone. You've done your dirty business and banished her. The worst of it is over.

He paused, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. He had to get on with it. There was nothing else to be done now. Return to his Elizaless house and face what his actions had brought about. He had to arrange things for Mother, at any rate. He didn't have the luxury of regret.

When he reached home, he opened the door and walked upstairs to his room as quietly as when he'd stolen away nearly a week ago. He opened his bedroom door and slipped inside.

His room should have felt like a kind of refuge, but as this was the place he'd committed the act, it held no comfort. For one thing, though he'd left his room in a terribly jumble, it was now well ordered. Clothes neatly put away, books sorted in a tidy stack. He glanced at his bedside table to see that his whiskey glass had also been taken away. He almost looked away before noticing that there was now something else in its place. He stepped closer.

A neatly folded five-pound note lay where his glass had been.

Oh no.
Eliza hadn't even taken his offering? What could it mean? That she'd found another place so easily that she didn't require it? Or, perhaps, that she despised him so much that she refused his money on principle? He couldn't blame her for it.

He'd have to broach the topic of Eliza with Mrs. McLaughlin. She would be able to give him some idea. He quickly changed into a fresh shirt, then set off downstairs in search of the housekeeper. Since the main floor was silent, he headed for the rear of the house. Mrs. McLaughlin was just coming up the back stairs from the kitchen when he ran into her.

“Oh, Mr. Brown!” Mrs. McLaughlin stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing him.

“Mrs. McLaughlin,” he said with a nod.

“It is so good to see you again, sir.” Her expression was awash in concern. It held a trace of softness he'd never seen before. “Is everything quite all right? We were ever so worried about the missus…and you.”

“Everything is quite all right.” Of course, she was worried about his mother. “Did you receive my note?”

“Yes sir.” She twisted her hands in her apron. “It's just that when she went to that place before, you'd come home nearly every night. When we didn't see you for the better part of the week, and well, the whole staff was greatly concerned.”

“Nothing wrong, Mrs. McLaughlin.” He longed to bring up the topic of Eliza, but his cowardly tongue couldn't quite find a way to form the words.

Silence spun out and Mrs. McLaughlin shot him another concerned look. “If you're quite sure, Mr. Brown.”

He forced a smile onto his lips. “In fact, I came by with good news. Mother is to be discharged later this afternoon.”

“Ah, that's such a weight off my mind, sir. She's better, then?”

“Her condition is somewhat improved, yes. Truth be told, she's quite had her fill of the sanatorium. She misses your cucumber sandwiches terribly.”

Mrs. McLaughlin broke into a smile at that. The expression was so foreign to her face that it startled William for an instant.

“I'll have Dora and Bessie set her room to rights,” she said.

Upon hearing her name, William's heart did a most peculiar thing, somehow managing to leap and fall in the same motion. Eliza was still here, then. That bright spark still illuminated the halls of his home. And that wasn't the only thing that remained. His shame lingered as well.

“Sir? You have a right queer look about you. Are you sure you're all right?” Mrs. McLaughlin's smile dropped in an instant, possibly lost forever.

“Yes. I'm fine. It's just been a terribly long week. I'm sure you understand.”

“That I do, sir.” She reached over to give him a reassuring pat on the arm. Her touch was tentative and surprisingly gentle. After a few pats, she pulled her arm back and looked at the floor uncomfortably.

“Thank you, then. I shall see you later tonight.” He inclined his head toward her and made his way toward the front door.

Eliza had not left. Despite his vile behavior, despite having a perfectly good way to leave, she remained. He couldn't begin to fathom why any more than he could decide if her actions were punishment or undeserved reward. The one thing he did know was that she still lived under his roof, and not merely under his roof, but under his protection.

He was going to behave like a gentleman if it killed him. And he knew just how to go about it.

Chapter Fifteen

“Fuck my life,” Eliza muttered as she carried the bucket across the dining room.

Despite the fact that it had been a long six days since she'd read William's formal, cringing letter, she carried the events of the night everywhere she went—her hairshirt of regret.

Even if she had the foggiest idea about how to straighten things out with William, there was no William around to straighten things out with. After he dropped the letter by her door, he hadn't returned home the entire day. Then the next day followed and the next—still with no sign of William. Before long nearly a week had gone by. As each day passed, it seemed to add to the crushing weight of her failure.

Not only had she royally screwed up her mission, she'd driven the poor man from his home during a time of trauma.

The rest of the household seemed worried about “the mister” as well. Previously, when Beatrix Brown had spent time at the sanatorium, William had spent his days with her and nights at the Browns' home. By the time his absence hit the five-day mark, the rest of the staff speculated wildly while Eliza remained silent in her guilt.

Without a patient, her nursing duties vanished entirely. Unfortunately, Mrs. MacLaughlin had decided that the best outlet for general anxiety over the situation was a grueling work schedule for all.

“Rocks are never gonna shine, crazy-lady.” She scowled at the hearth she'd been tasked with cleaning. The layer of soot and ash that covered her made her feel especially Cinderella-like. The
schritch
of brush bristles against stone nearly drowned out the sounds of voices in the hallway. When Eliza heard Mrs. MacLaughlin say, “Mr. Brown,” she jumped up, smacking the back of her head on the fireplace.

She walked to the closed door that led to the hall as silently as possible.

She could hear two voices raised in conversation. Mrs. MacLaughlin's booming tones were easy to distinguish. The muffled voice of the other speaker was more difficult to place, but it had a distinctive William-ness to it, quiet and serious.

Her heart thundered in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was relief at the possibility of his return or terror at the thought of seeing him again.

Eliza pressed her ear to the door, but could not make out the conversation. They spoke briefly, only two or three minutes—before she heard two sets of footsteps walking down the hall toward her. She scooted quickly away. Lurking near doorways had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Lesson learned. She watched the door, waiting to see if the pair would enter the dining room. Again, the strange cocktail of fear and hope rose in her mind. When the footsteps passed by, her breath whooshed out and her wobbly knees demanded she take a seat in a dining chair.

She heard the front door close, then clompy footsteps walked toward the dining room where Eliza lurked. She made a dash for the fireplace, but not quite quickly enough. Mrs. McLaughlin opened the door before Eliza was halfway there.

“Bessie,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am.” Eliza tried to compose herself, but since her emotions were a hot mess of confusion, she knew it had to show on her face.

Mrs. McLaughlin shook her head in disgust. “The missus is returning by evening. You and Dora will need to give her bedroom a thorough scrub. Since you won't know how to go about this, I expect you to follow Dora's instructions.”

“Yes ma'am. It'll be spit-spot.” Surely, the sour woman would have to love Mary Poppins cleanliness jargon.

Mrs. McLaughlin only dialed up her scowl. “Finish here and meet Dora upstairs.”

Eliza nodded and turned back to the fireplace, feeling a little steadier about how events were unfolding.

William was coming back to his home at last. She could begin to untangle the thread she'd managed to knot so horribly.

As evening fell, the Brown residence was more than ready for the return of the missus. Eliza and Dora had spent an exhausting afternoon preparing the sickroom. Bedding, curtains, rugs had all been beaten or washed. The floors and all the other surfaces had been thoroughly scrubbed.

The one saving grace in the afternoon was Dora kept Eliza's mind far from the troubling puzzle of William. She was busy crushing on the mysterious and monosyllabic Davy. The lad's hands were large and firm, Dora declared, and that was a terribly good sign. His knowledge of horses was overwhelming and likely outshone any other expert in the whole of England. When the morning sun caught Davy's hair in just the right light, it was breathtaking.

At precisely six o'clock, the Browns' carriage pulled up in front of the house and interrupted the litany of The Wonders of Davy. Dora flew to the front door while Eliza put the finishing touches to Mrs. Brown's room.

Mrs. MacLaughlin led the small entourage through the doorway, closely followed by William, with Beatrix Brown cradled in his arms. Davy and Dora brought up the rear, carrying the satchel and a basket that contained a collection of medications.

William looked unwell. His eyes looked sorrowful and empty, and they had purple shadows beneath them. He didn't look at Eliza, nor did he speak. He trained his eyes on his mother, his mouth a grim line. He didn't even look over long enough to give her that stiff, formal nod she had grown so accustomed to. Even that minimal acknowledgement would be welcome now. But no. No nods for Eliza. Not even a glance.

William carefully placed his mother in her bed.

Mrs. Brown's appearance was startling. In just a week, she appeared to have aged a year or more. The lines on her face were deeper, and her skin had taken on a strange gray tint.

Eliza tucked the cover around her thin frame and held a glass of water to her lips.

“No, thank you.” Mrs. Brown's voice was weak. “I believe sleep is the best thing for me at present.”

“We're so glad to have you home with us again, Mrs. Brown.” Eliza had practiced this. She was determined to say it without a tremor in her voice.

William had already left the room. She wasn't surprised. She stepped into the hall but could see no lights on in either his room or in the library.

The day had been too exhausting, and she felt overwhelmed by failure. Whatever her mission was in this time, it had to be considered a clusterfuck of epic proportions, even by the kindly Mr. York. Unless she'd been sent back in time to make a mess of William's self-esteem and fill him with a sense of shame. In that case, spectacular job.

She walked down the hall toward the back stairs, past a giggling Dora and a stoic Davy. They were talking about horses, no doubt, or his hair. Feeling hopeless, she plodded down the steps to receive marching orders from General MacLaughlin.

The next few days she saw nothing at all of the elusive William.

Through very careful timing, he managed to avoid being alone with her, even in coming and going when tending to his mother. As the days passed, her determination grew. Yes, she might have handled things stupidly, might have seemed a bit of a Peeping Thomasina, but it truly had been accidental. There had to be a way back to the easy comfort he was beginning to show around her. There had to be a way back to her mission, whatever it was.

If only she could get him alone, talk to him, she could repair the damage. Trouble was that William was a lot sneakier than Eliza had given him credit. It was five long days until she finally had her chance.

She was leaving Mrs. Brown's room a bit before her scheduled time and was happily surprised to see a very rushed William walking up the hall toward her. He was distracted: frowning and fidgeting with a small brown package.

“Hello, Mr. Brown.” She went with something nice and friendly.
See? Nothing to be ashamed of, William.

“Gah!” He jumped, dropping the parcel with a soft thud. He immediately rushed to scoop it back up, then placed it inside his suit jacket. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Bessie,” he mumbled as he swept past. Hearing him call her by her old name stung painfully. She stopped, trying to catch his eye, but he would not meet her gaze. Gone were the wide blue eyes and teasing grin. He'd replaced them with a stiff upper lip and a curt nod—his Repressed Englishman's Mask firmly in place now. And good luck to her prying it off again.

Her curiosity didn't start to get the better of her for a full hour after that. Just what was in that little brown package that William had tucked away into his jacket? There was only one way to find out. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that. It was time to get things back on track. It was time for a little reconnaissance mission. Operation De-prudify William was a go.

Armed with fresh sheets and even fresher excuses , she made her way to William's room to “change the linens.” True, Dora had done it the day before, but William didn't know that.

As she passed Mrs. Brown's room, she could hear the soft tones of his voice reading to his mother. Eliza would have to be quiet and quick in her snooping. Stealth mode: on.

She eased the door open and looked around his tidy monk's cell. Was it her imagination, or had it somehow gotten even more boring? His few belongings were now tucked away, as if to accommodate his desperate longing to return to his former propriety.

She searched around the table near the window, where he had placed her underwear oh-so-long-ago. No empty glass of whiskey. He'd even replaced the poetry books with a bible.
Good god.
She supposed she was lucky he'd stopped short of sewing a scarlet
M
onto his shirt pocket.

Her stealthy operation was going down in flames until she noticed that one of his pillows was slightly untucked. Just an inch, but enough to notice. Well, enough for a snoopy, stalker maid to notice.

When she lifted the pillow, she expected to find more nothing, but there it was. The package that he'd dropped: about eight inches in length, wrapped in brown paper.

“Why hide it, William? Why not place your new purchase right out in the room? Might look nice next to the bible.”

She lifted it and began to carefully remove the wrapping, memorizing the exact way that the paper had covered the package. Recon experts such as herself were very careful in the details.

The wrapping revealed a simple box made of wood, devoid of writing. Clearly, she had no choice but to open the box.

Inside, nestled in white linen material, was a most puzzling device. It was tubelike and appeared to have been carved from wood, then coated with several layers of black lacquer. It had a distinctly phallic shape too. Curious, she gently lifted it from the box to find that it was attached to a long leather strap, much like a belt.

Now that she was holding the item, it became even more perplexing. It was shaped like a penis, curving gently downward, but had the ability to be opened: a phallic clamshell. It was hollow in the middle and had a moderately sized slot at the tip, presumably for urination. Apparently, it was intended to hold a man's cock. Directly on the front of the device, where the halves of the “clamshell” met, was a small silver padlock, meant to hold the halves together.

Operation De-prudify had taken a definite turn for the weird.

She looked into the box to see two more items. One was a bit of paper, which appeared to be a set of instructions. The other was a small key, which presumably fit the padlock.

Eliza snatched up the paper and began to read.

Male Chastity Device: The Cure for Self-Pollution
was printed in bold across the top of the small sheet of paper. Below that was a list of instructions for the use of the device. Eliza read through the confusing euphemisms wishing desperately for a “Victorian-To-English” dictionary.

This marvelous invention is one hundred percent guaranteed to cure the young gentleman who is unable to refrain from his baser nature. Should the young man be tempted to fetch mettle, this device, when properly worn, will prevent access to his Nebuchadnezzar, thereby preventing the vile sin of Onanism.

It was intended, she shook her head in wonder, to stop a man from masturbating. Her spying had driven William to buy a penis prison.

She was absolutely gob-smacked. She needed a moment, or ten, to process it, to decide what to do. Time wasn't a luxury she had, however. She swallowed, then carefully replaced the brown wrapping and topped it off with a pillow, exactly and precisely askew.

She stepped to the doorway and listened to ensure she was alone, then slipped out of the room.

The next day seemed to drag by. Eliza performed her nursing duties and slogged through chores, but her mind was on the strange item hidden in William's room. Though she hadn't made much progress on the question of how to undo the damage the device represented, the contraption had her imagination in its grip. So many questions wouldn't leave her alone. How exactly did it attach to him? How was the lock accessed?
How were his balls accommodated?

It wasn't until the dinner hour, when William and his mother were dining in her bedroom, that she felt safe enough to venture a second trip to his room.

This time she didn't even have a flimsy excuse to be there, so she had to be especially quick. Really, the best thing to do would be to stay away. She knew that. She wasn't entirely stupid, recent events notwithstanding.

Since William was a creature of habit, she looked under his pillow first. Sure enough, there was the wooden box, though it was now without its wrappings.

She quickly opened the lid to find…nothing. Well, almost nothing. The instructions were there, as was the key. The mechanism itself, however, was not to be found.

It came to her in an instant. The device wasn't in the box because it was busy serving its intended purpose. It was wrapped around his cock.

He was wearing it.

Oh, poor William.

Just then, she heard the soft click of Mrs. Brown's door opening and she knew she was flat out of time. Hurriedly, she began to stash the box back under his pillow when her fingers, evil fingers that they were, slid inside and retrieved the small key.