Page 59 of The Book of Lost Stories
Nat got up. ‘We are agreed that we don’t talk about what we do at the Temple. In fact, how sure are you that any of this really happened? Might you not have dreamed the whole thing while in a drugged stupor?’
George looked at him with a desperate hope. ‘Did it not then happen? Might it all have been some kind of hallucination? But the bodies they found in the river—’
‘Many dark things happen in a city’s poorer areas. Best not to think too deeply, George. Look where that got Stavely.’
‘Poor Ger! He was always melancholy, from a boy, but ten times worse once he fell in love and began to think that what he had done made him unfit to marry an innocent girl … and perhaps it did.’
‘Nonsense, women are not such pure and fragile creatures as you seem to think. You married.’
‘Yes, but I meant never to be part of the Brethren again. I swore to Nell when I proposed that I would reform my way of life, although she did not know what it had entailed. Then, somehow, I was drawn back.’
‘We are bound by our pasts, by our oaths, and by what we have done –together.’
‘But you said—’
Nat got up, shrugging. ‘It was a bad dream? But we all return over and over to the Brethren, for we cannot resist dark pleasures, just as you, it seems cannot resist laudanum. But take care. And, George …’
His haggard face was raised, yet now more smoothed out and peaceful.
‘Your visitor, my cousin Miss Weston, she is always writing at something. When I walked in on them earlier, she was hastily hiding a whole bundle of papers in that shabby little writing desk of hers. I am curious: take a look inside when the coast is clear, and tell me what she is scribbling, for even if it is only her impressions of her London season it may be of use to me.’
*
Nell found some comfort in the idea that the change in her husband was due not to some fault in herself, but in his over-consumption of laudanum, and hoped that he would listen to his friends and give it up.
So it was that she was in a more cheerful frame of mind when she and Alys returned from paying a visit to her Aunt Becky, who had just returned to Town.
Going up to change for dinner, Alys found a little box of sugared fruits in her room, prettily tied with ribbons and bearing a card signed merely with a large and sprawling initial that she thought might be an R … or perhaps, she admitted to herself, hoped might be one. She had not seen Lord Rayven since he confronted her with the discovery of her authorship, although he had sent her a brief note saying he must go out of Town.
She popped her head out of the door, and asked Nell’s maid if she knew anything of it.
‘No, but I will enquire, miss.’
She came back to say that it had been found on the tray in the hall and no one seemed to know when it came. ‘Perhaps the second footman took it in, but he’s off duty and can’t be found, Miss Alys.’
‘It does not matter, thank you.’
Alys opened the box and regarded the pretty-looking fruits nestling in their paper cases, but she was not tempted in the least, for they reminded her too much of Lady Basset. The familiar rustling and sweet scent also seemed to stir up Pug’s recollections for, sitting up, he begged with bulging eyes and drooling jaws for one of the sweetmeats.
‘Oh, I supposeonecannot hurt,’ she said, giving in, ‘but no more, mind! The cook is already spoiling your figure. And, sir, your snoring at night is becoming almost unbearable.’
The sugarplum vanished in one gulp … only for Pug to vomit it back up on the rug almost instantly.
‘There, it is too rich for your digestion, so let that be a lesson to you, Mr Greedy, and to me, not to indulge you with unsuitable food.’
A maid brought hot water and Alys directed her to clear up after Pug while she began to change her dress, for they were to go out to Lady Mersham’s to dine and then on to the theatre, and she knew Lord Rayven had been invited to be one of the party.
She was almost ready, with Jane having come in to put the finishing touches to her hair and dress, when Pug began to be quite ill.
‘I believe it must be the sugarplum I gave him earlier.Perhaps it was not good. Poor little Pug! Pray, Jane, will you have water fetched, and perhaps a hot brick might comfort him?’
Nell came in to see what the fuss was about, to find Pug clutched in Alys’s arms like a baby, making little moaning noises and looking very unwell.
‘He ate a bad sweetmeat, and although he brought it straight back up again, I worry that a little of the poison has got into his system. But he has been sick repeatedly and cannot have anything left in his stomach. He was very thirsty, but now is merely sleepy, so hopefully he will be right as rain in the morning.’
‘Oh, poor little thing!’ cried Nell, gently stroking his domed head.
‘I cannot leave him. I am afraid I must stay here, for I am much attached to him.’
