Thomas

Our trip to London took two whole days and part of a third. Not an ideal situation, especially when Emmeline was now just over six months pregnant. She could feel the baby kicking almost constantly, and was always rubbing her back or her feet.

It was no better on the roads: They were clogged with snow and ice, and I found myself clambering down from the coach constantly to help clear an obstruction in our path. Finally, when we disembarked at the same Leicester Square address as last time, I took proper notice of her state. She appeared pale, and stumbled slightly as she climbed from the carriage.

"Are you all right my love?" I asked as I caught her and steadied her.

"A bit faint is all," she said, with a fleeting smile. "It's probably nothing."

Still, she held tightly to my elbow as we ascended the front steps, and the door whipped open before we reached the top. Ray was there, looking both relieved and harried at the same time.

"Thank goodness you're here, Tom," he said, when we'd stepped inside and he'd given both of us a proper greeting. "Heard about those beatings...had me imagining horrid things."

"I've been thinking the same myself." The reports unsettled me more than I was willing to let on, for Emmeline's sake. Even so, I felt her hand tighten on my arm. Safe passage was nothing short of a miracle these days.

"We'll have some tea then, shall we?" He motioned us into the sitting room, and then, after a look up and down the corridor, he closed the doors behind us. "I'm sorry Lady Violet was unable to join us, milady, but it seems our little Georgie has the colic."

"Has she tried bouncing her?" Emmeline said, as she eased herself down onto the gold-brocade settee close to the roaring fire. "It gets the gas moving."

"I hadn't thought of it," he said, giving me a perplexed glance as he passed me on the way to the tea service. "Does it work?"

"Eddie had it once. That was what the doctor said to do." Emmeline fanned her face with her hat, and now her face was flushed and covered in a fine layer of sweat. In fact, she looked too overheated for my liking.

I offered to take her tea to her, and as I sat next to her, I pressed the backs of my fingers to her cheek. It was scalding hot to the touch.

"Dear God, Emmeline, you're burning up."

"Am I? It feels a bit chilly to me."

I cursed. She must have picked it up from our stable boy, who I'd caught sneezing into his hand as he'd prepared the carriage. The house had been increasingly drafty as well, because of the repairs I was still unable to make. As a result, the rooms were cold and damp except for the place right in front of the fire. I was used to it. She, however, was not. "We must get you to bed."

"Now?" Her brow furrowed, and her tone was indignant. "But we've only just arrived."

"You've got a fever, Emmeline. You're in no state to do anything at the moment."

She said nothing, only sneezed in reply. In that moment, I could have thrashed that boy and felt absolutely nothing.

||

By suppertime, when a few of the men from Elemental Advancement — including Charles Ashbury — were arriving, one of the maids came down to tell me Emmeline's fever had risen. I excused myself from their company and followed her upstairs. The door was already cracked when we arrived, and as we entered I could barely see anything, it was so dark. Only a single candle, on the small table by the bed, lit a small circle around it.

"Wants to keep it dark, milord. Says the light hurts her eyes, it does."

"I understand," I said, without looking at her. "Could I have a moment alone with my wife, please?"

"Contagious she is, milord..." the maid began, but I cut her off mid-sentence.

"I am perfectly aware, thank you. I won't be long."

When she'd finally backed out and closed the door, I lowered myself to the edge of the mattress. Emmeline's hand laid pale and limp atop the sheet, palm up and fingers curled. I took it, holding it tightly. There was no response, although I half expected one.

"Fight this, my love," I said, kissing her fingers gently. "Fight it."

She stirred and murmured something incoherent, but didn't seem to know I was there. I gave her hand another kiss, but eventually I had to leave her. Gruffly I ordered the maid to stay by her side, and to notify me immediately if anything changed, regardless of what I was in the middle of.

"How is she?" Ray asked when I arrived back downstairs, his voice low.

"Unresponsive. And her fever's risen."

"I'll send someone for the doctor, when I get a chance." He grasped my shoulder. "She's a strong woman, Tom. I've no doubt she'll pull through."

Despite his reassurance, I was distracted all throughout supper. The older men from Elemental Advancement were asking complicated logistical questions we had not had the chance to work out. As it stood now, the Order was nothing more than a loose collection of men with varying levels of military experience. My urge to bark at them was harder to suppress by the second.

"I hear, Captain Haywood, that your wife has accompanied you," Charles Ashbury said, leaning towards me across the table. "Where is she this evening?"

"Indisposed," I said shortly, hoping to cut off his line of questioning.

But it had the opposite effect. The older man next to me, a Mr Platt, must have overheard, because he spoke next.

"You've married, Thomas?" He seemed surprised, which was even more maddening. "Never struck me as the marrying kind. Lone wolf, and all of that."

"People can surprise you, Mr Platt," I said, wondering what gave him that impression.

"I should like to meet this lovely lady. Countess now, isn't she?"

"Yes. And you will, when she is able." I felt a surge of protectiveness well up inside. She was my wife. No one else's.

"Need a bit of feminine charm for all these old codgers, if you take my meaning," he said, nudging me and winking.

Ray came to my rescue, distracting Mr Platt with a question about pheasants and effectively keeping me from saying something I might regret later. I was left to myself after that. Even Ashbury seemed to know I was not in the mood and left me alone.

Supper finished with some of Ray's well-aged brandy, and another report from the maid. Emmeline's fever had broken, but was now wracked with a wet cough that rasped in her chest when she tried to breathe. I passed the message on to Ray, and then we both excused ourselves. Once again I went to her bedside, finding her propped up by pillows and her eyes glassy. Unlike last time, she startled when I sat down, sitting up slightly.

"Tom..." she managed hoarsely before she was hit with a coughing fit, one that made her weaker than before.

"The doctor is on his way, my love," I said, smoothing some of her hair behind her ear. It was damp with sweat, and as my hand brushed her skin, I felt its warmth. Her fever was climbing again. I knew this was partly my fault – I should not have made her travel as much as we had, in a coach that was hardly warmer inside than outside. It was no small wonder why she'd been feeling poorly the last few days.

Gently she caught my hand, her grip weak. "Tom...I'm cold..."

I stood partway, pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed and draping it around her shoulders. She secured it, right before another wave of coughing stopped her. When she finished and slumped back into her pillows, I took her hand again, holding it tight. I was well aware that the doctor would have nothing but bad news, but I would not leave her alone. I had promised her the same before, and now it seemed I was about to do it again.

||

The doctor's news boded as much ill as I expected. Emmeline's sickness could be disastrous for her and the baby, and there was a chance it could even terminate the pregnancy. Not to mention her fever could cause hallucinations, and the rattle in her chest when she breathed was a precursor to pneumonia. That had already started, by his assessment, and would only progress over the next day or so.

That night was one of the worst I'd passed in a long time. I stayed by Emmeline's bedside, holding her hand as her head tossed feverishly on the pillows. She alternated between groaning — a high-pitched whimper of pain — and murmuring incoherently. I kept a cold compress on her forehead, as the doctor instructed, the light low, and rubbed eucalyptus oil on her chest. It was a little-known cure — the native Australians had already been using it for some time. But he assured me he had good connections that knew its powers.

Sometime around three in the morning, her fever broke again and she stilled. I gave her hand a squeeze and kissed it, and at that her eyes cracked open.

"Tom..." she rasped, through dry parched lips. "Is that you?"

"Yes, my love." I stood and smoothed her hair back from her forehead, kissing it gently.

"Am I..." She bent forward, with coughs ripped right from her. "Am I dying?"

That question opened up a black hole in my chest. I wouldn't lose her. I couldn't. She was my light, my love, my hope. "No, my dear, no. I know you can fight this, and win."

"Water..." she said, grasping my hand tightly. "I need water..."

I got up, poured her a glass, and gave it to her. She drank it down in less than a minute and then collapsed back into her pillows. One of her hands rounded over the swell of the child, and rested there. For a moment, I thought she'd fallen asleep, but then she spoke again.

"I only wish...this child..."

"What is it?" I folded my hands around hers. "What about him?"

"I wish he did not have to experience this with me..."

"I believe he is strong, just like his mother," I said.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, but that only lasted for a moment before she was wracked by more coughs. They were thick and phlegmy, and sounded so painful I was surprised there was no blood. She sank deeper into her pillows when she was finished, clutching at a handful of sheets and then releasing.

"This is Josiah's fault," I said, scowling at the thought. It wasn't all his, of course, but I needed someone else to blame at the moment. "He was ill and still decided to be around you."

"Don't..." She swallowed hard, and visibly, I saw the effort it took for her to speak. "Don't blame him, Tom. No one's been right since...since Lucian's death..."

I sighed. She was right. Everyone had been out of sorts since that news. I, for one, had a hard time making my mind wrap around the thought. He had watched Francis and I grow up, being present for us when our father was not. To have him taken from us so abruptly pushed my emotions to the very brink of control. I knew it was the reason I snapped at her about Dr Braithwaite. I should have known how he felt all along, given the amount of time they'd been spending together and the way he seemed to watch her only when he knew she wouldn't notice.

"You should sleep, Tom." She touched my hand, brushing my fingers with hers.

"Not until I know you're on the mend, Emmeline."

"I will be...soon enough..." Her voice was weak. "Go sleep...I hear there are...important things happening tomorrow."

"Yes, but Emmeline..."

"Go, Tom..." Her eyes cracked open, just barely. They were rimmed with raw skin, red and sore. "Send in a maid...to take over."

Reluctantly, I stood and did as she asked. She seemed past the point of needing reassurance, now just wanting sleep. Just in case, I told the maid to come fetch me if she took a turn for the worse, and then sought out an empty bedroom. There seemed to be plenty to choose from, and the moment I did I fell facedown on the spread without undressing or removing my shoes. Within seconds, I was out.

||

When I was not working on the draft of the Order constitution, I was by Emmeline's bedside. Out of everyone recruited to work on it, Ray understood the most and stood in for me when I declined to attend. After that first night, two more followed. Emmeline had hallucinations on the second night, and as a result the maid and I had to hold her down while she wailed through her delirium and fought against us. There was one phrase I caught as they died away into whimpers, one she repeated numerous times.

Don't hurt me.

We finally emerged from what the doctor had dubbed the danger period after four days, when Emmeline's temperature stayed more or less constant for six consecutive hours. She was weak and exhausted, and remembered absolutely nothing from her fevered state. But I was relieved to see her sitting up and more alert than before. Now that she was no longer contagious, I could pull her into my arms and hold her against me, thanking God she'd been spared. She clung to me, her relief as evident as mine.

"For a while, I thought...it was going to claim me," she said that evening, leaning against me for support. She still sounded weak, her voice strained and scratchy.

"For a while, so did I," I replied honestly. When I had watched her, caught in bouts of fever and not knowing where she was or who we were, I nearly gave it up for lost. I'd begun to think of that life I had before she arrived, but this time with an infant son to care for.

"Deep down, I knew I couldn't let it." Her hand tightened in mine, and then released. "I have a son and a husband...and a life."

"And another coming." I laid my palm over the child.

"Yes....And that." She took my chin in three fingers and kissed me gently, her lips soft and dry. "I love you, Tom."

"And I love you." I caught her face and deepened our kiss, now that I knew I wouldn't lose it. Not this time around, anyway.

||

The signing, when it happened a few days afterward, was a momentous occasion. All the members of the Elemental Advancement board were there, as were Ray and I. And although she was still frail and only three days recovered from the fever, Emmeline. She sat in the very front row, the only woman in attendance. But the other men did not seem to mind, and as we queued up to sign, I noticed them casting her glances. And as I did, she smiled faintly at me.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her when the gathering began to break up. No one would have guessed that she had been ill, dressed in her best coat and hat over a dark blue gown. It was simple yet elegant, and befitted a lady of her standing.

"Much better, all things considered," she said, sliding her hand through my elbow as we walked. "And it seems I have a very accomplished husband."

"Resorting to flattery now, are we?" I gave her a sidelong glance, winking. She blushed, adding some much-needed colour to her cheeks.

"Thomas Haywood!" boomed a voice from behind, stopping me in my tracks. I groaned. It was Mr Platt, and no doubt he hadn't forgotten his vow to meet Emmeline. "Thought you could escape without my notice?"

The both of us turned, seeing him wheezing up the aisle between the benches. He was much like Sir William in build and in girth, face red and shiny with sweat.

"In truth, Mr Platt, no," I said. "But since it seems you were the one to push this through..."

"Tom Senior would have wanted it, son, it was no trouble at all." He clapped my arm quite hard, and then turned his full attention on Emmeline. "M'lady."

"Mr Platt, my wife Emmeline, the Lady Dorchester."

"How do you do, milady." Mr Platt gave her what he must have thought a gallant bow, kissing her hand for what seemed a bit too long. "Mr Jarrett Platt, at your service."

"A pleasure, sir." Emmeline's curtsey was ladylike as always. I was constantly in awe of how cordial she could be to people, as crude as they might be to her.

"You've chosen the right aristocrat to marry." He gave me a wink, and I felt my neck flush under my collar. "I've known Thomas since he was knee-high."

"What it is to be married to such a man," Emmeline answered, just as quickly. It seemed Charles Ashbury was right yet again: she could match wits with practically anyone.

"Coming tonight, Thomas?" he said, eyes flicking to me again. "Daresay all of these men'll want to dance a waltz with your wife."

"Perhaps," I said curtly. I bristled at the thought, since it seemed every man was indeed smitten with her to the point of boorishness. "We've not had time for parties lately."

"You'll have time for this one, I expect," he said, emphasising those words with a wink. "A day of celebration for Elementals all over, is it not?"

"Since you insisted, then, yes." It was all true, that we had very little time for parties anymore, and that Emmeline was not restored to full health quite yet. I doubted she would be doing much of anything except sitting and resting.

"Perseveres, doesn't he?" Emmeline said as we watched him go, stopping to catch his breath a few times. "Fancies himself suave with women as well."

I only nodded. "No doubt it was that quality that brought us here. As much as I hesitate to admit it."

"It is a good thing you did, Tom." She leaned against me, head on my arm. "Elementals everywhere will thank you for it."

"It is not the recognition I want, my love." I kissed her hand and rubbed it. "It is safety."

||

Even so, progress was quite slow. So slow, in fact, that there was no news of anything Elemental-related until early June, when our second child was born. It was raining the night Emmeline went into labour, beginning when she closed the book she was reading with a thump and pressing her hand against her swollen middle. The other clenched on the arm of her chair. I noticed instantly, looking up from my snowdrift of papers.

"Are you all right, Emmeline?"

"It's the baby, he's..." She inhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "He's coming."

I was up and out of my chair in seconds, hurrying to the door. "Mrs Shute! Come quickly!"

She came running from the dining room, and before she could stop I told her to help Emmeline upstairs.

"Is it the child, milord?" she panted.

"What else could it be?" I said over my shoulder as I rushed about for my hat and coat, ducking out into the storm.

Thor, for his part, galloped as if he had wings on his feet. I could barely see, with the wind and rain slashing at my face, but I hardly cared. Not when there was another child coming to us. When I reached Dr Braithwaite's gate, I practically leaped from Thor's back and hammered on his front door. He answered in practically no time, and I was barely able to get the words out. By some miracle, he was able to suss out the meaning without a complete sentence, and immediately slid into the physician's role. No doubt he was recalling what had happened the last time he treated my wife.

He sent me on ahead, with instructions for boiling water and rags to be prepared, while he would bring his tools. I pushed Thor so hard his body stretched and bunched as he ran, spattering the both of us with mud and grass. And I was already barking out orders as I dismounted, tracking water across the floor.

Unlike last time, when I had Lucian to keep me company, I prowled the halls alone. Dr Braithwaite arrived minutes after I did, but we only exchanged a few words before he too disappeared upstairs. One hour passed, and then two, and the storm raged on outside with no sign of stopping. Thunder rolled across the sky above us, making the candle flames shiver.

I was passing the front doors when I heard the knocking. For all the noise outside, whoever was there could have been trying to get in for a long time. I pulled one open, just wide enough to see out.

"Cap'n 'Aywood, sir?" said a voice. I couldn't see its owner very well, because he was wrapped in a cloak and had a hat pulled down low over his face.

"Yes," I answered. "What is it?"

"For you, sir. Just came." He pulled something flat and square from under his cloak, passing it through the crack. "'Ave a good evenin', sir."

Then he was gone, swallowed up by the storm. I nudged the door closed and looked down at the object. It was a box, wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, and completely dry. That was the miracle of all miracles.

I took it into the dining room, setting it down and unwrapping it carefully. A folded letter was on top, with my name written in a thin spidery script on the front. I opened it and began to read.

To my Master Thomas, I write this so that in the event of my death, the secret of Francis's demise will no longer be kept from you. He entrusted this to me a month before he died, telling me that I could not disclose it to anyone, especially not you, his brother. The first thing I will tell you is that he was of a perfectly sound mind. He did not suffer from visions, delusions, or conjurings of his own imagining. Rather it was what he had seen that drove him to his fate. I did not even realise he had been serious until he gave this to me. You must proceed with caution, however. Some of the images I could not even explain myself. I am sorry, Thomas, that this did not reach you sooner. Then perhaps you would have found peace. With sincerity and my deepest apologies, Lucian.

I swallowed hard and set the letter aside. Lucian was right — Francis's death was one of the mysteries that had dogged me ever since the news reached me. I kept pushing it away when it threatened to break in, throwing myself into other tasks to remain occupied. Now, here was the truth, before me for the first time.

Except what was inside made little sense. There were ink sketches, hundreds of them, on pieces of parchment. Most of them were faces, leering men with one empty eye. One of them, near the bottom of the stack, was familiar. Eye patch, a beard, a tall bi-corn hat with a feather in it.

Then it hit me. Francis had encountered the very men we were trying to pin down. He'd even come across Captain Blanchard. But how? That was the real question.

I went back through the sketches. I didn't hear the noises from outside, or the chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I wasn't even aware of how much time had passed.

"Captain Haywood?" Dr Braithwaite's voice came from the dining room door.

I looked up. The storm had passed, and the windows were lightening by degrees. "Is it...?"

He smiled, and it reached his eyes. "You have another son."

"Thank you, Dr Braithwaite, thank you." I clapped his shoulder and shook his hand before taking the stairs two at a time. When I reached the bedroom, Peggy was just emerging, with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. I clasped her arms, giving them a squeeze. "How is she?"

"Just fine, milord." She dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "An' the little boy too."

Then I passed her and pushed the bedroom door open. Mrs Shute, beside the bed, and Emmeline, propped up with pillows and a little white-swaddled bundle in her arms, both looked up when I entered.

"Tom." Emmeline smiled as I approached. "Come greet your son."

I sat down next to her, and she let me take the baby from her arms. He was so tiny, his eyes closed and his fists waving in the air. I lifted him up, and they bumped against my chin a couple times before I could get a kiss in, right on top of his head. His hair, unlike Eddie's when he was first born, was reddish like his mother's.

"I believe he may look like you," I said, as Emmeline leaned against me and dropped her head to my shoulder.

"You think so?" She reached out, wiggling two fingers in front of his face. Blindly he caught one, putting it into his mouth and beginning to suck on it.

"Well, my hair is certainly not that colour." I leaned back against the pillows.

I felt her smile as she nestled herself closer to me. I almost mentioned the parcel when Mrs Shute left us alone, but decided against it for the moment. This was a time for us, and for our newborn son. The rest of the world could wait.