Page 37 of The Phoenix Bride
“The river?”
“The Thames, David. I have heard it passes through London, although perhaps that was mere rumor?”
I sigh. “If we see the river,” I say, “we must be quick. And then we ought to return. If your sister calls the constables…”
“I know. We will be quick, I swear.”
I surrender. I lead her south, until we reach the Thames. At this time of night, the riverbanks are largely deserted, but boats still pass through, sporadic points of light dancing across the horizon like fireflies. Cecilia turns so the breeze catches her hair, and she tips her head toward the stars. Dimly illuminated by a streetlamp, light pooling on her cheeks, she looks like a painting by a Dutch master.
Bringing her back to the townhouse will feel like imprisoning her. But what other choice do I have? She is Lord Eden’s sister-in-law. She has no money nor prospects. The constables will come for her, and if I am found complicit in her disappearance, I could see the noose. I have no choice but to ensure her return.
“The moon is full,” she says. “Like a pearl.”
I glance up. It does look something like a pearl, stars stranded at either side: a brooch pinned to the night. “I treated a pearl merchant last year,” I say. “He does trade in Virginia. He said there are so many pearls there men pluck them from rivers like grapes from a vine.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“Cramping of the stomach.”
“How did you treat it?”
“Foxglove.”
“Foxglove? I thought that was poisonous.”
I reply, “It is, in certain doses. Brewed correctly, it can stop a man’s heart in one swallow.”
“A dangerous cure,” she says.
“For both doctor and patient. No doubt some physicians have administered too much and made themselves a poisoner.”
“Does that happen often? Treatments causing more harm than the sickness itself?”
“It is a constant risk,” I say. I don’t wish to explain further. There are some medicines I prescribe only out of desperation, knowing that death is already a certainty. I gave Manuel foxglove, also. And henbane, eventually, to lessen the pain.
Cecilia inches slightly closer, her arm pressing against mine. “What sort of pearls did he trade, your patient?” she asks. “Did he show you any?”
“He had manybarrocos. Pardon, I don’t know the English name. Pearls that are not round, but irregularly shaped. He said that they often sell for more than those that are perfect. He showed me a little chest full of them.”
“Were they beautiful?”
“Yes. They were tiny, like seeds to be planted, in a thousand different colors.”
“Barrocos,” Cecilia murmurs. Her pronunciation is atrocious; I resist the urge to laugh. Still, she knows I am amused, because her eyes meet mine, and her lips twitch. The backs of our hands brush.
If only we could stay here always, you and I, and pretend the earth is no longer turning.
Cecilia glances to the sky, then turns to look at me directly. “I apologize, David,” she says, “if I have forced you to keep me company today.”
“I wanted to.”
She glances down at the water in a movement that might have seemed bashful, if bashfulness weren’t so contrary to her nature. “Would you see me again, if I wished it?”
“As your doctor, you mean?”
She doesn’t reply for some time, staring at me with a faint frown, as if considering something. Then she says, “No. I don’t want you to be my doctor. I want to see you again as I have today, without expectation nor objective.”
“I…” Shocked, I look back to the Thames, uncertain how to respond. “Why?”
