Madness (8 page)

He paused to consider that,
 
then shrugged one shoulder.

"Maybe."

"We'll do whatever we can to convince them."

He reached for the hand she had rested on the side of the tub. “You don’t know what this means to me. Your faith, your help. I mean, we’ve never even met, and yet you seem so familiar. But that’s what happens before I get the seizures. Something will trigger them. A familiar smell or sound, and the next thing I know I’m, well, raving.”

Antony overheard the last part of the conversation. “There are different kinds of seizures. I know some render you completely unconscious. But you spoke to Gabrielle, heard her questions. Just try to remain calm. Agitation is not good for you,” he advised.

“Well, I usually have a fairly quiet time of it. But seeing that huge savage nearly rape your cousins was enough to upset any decent man,” he rejoined dryly.

“I’m truly grateful for all your help,” the young doctor said in a tone which rang with sincerity. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you. In the meantime, you need to tell me, have you always had fits like that?”

“No. Only since they put me in here.” He began to wince again. “And before. In Fr-”

“Oh, God, he’s seizing again. Antony!”

“Keep his head above the water. Talk to him, soothe him. Rub some of your lavender on his chest, and the rosewater on his temples.”

“How is Lucinda?”

“Still bleeding heavily. Hell and damnation. If only I had come five minutes sooner.”

“If you had you might have been killed yourself. Only a man as large as Simon could have handled him.”

“T-t-thank you for the vote of confidence,” he said between chattering teeth.

“Is the water warm enough?”

“Yes. It’s just the seizure.”

“Hold him so he doesn’t slip under.”

Without hesitation she grasped him around the torso. His arms came up around her in a damp embrace. He rested his head against her bosom. Even clad in the cotton apron the contact was electrifying. She could feel her nipples puckering, almost longing for the caress of his lips.

What madness was this?
she thought with a shudder of icy-hot desire. His every touch set her afire, made herself more conscious than she had ever been of her womanly body.

Even under her thick gown and yards of petticoats she could feel herself tingling in the pit of her belly and between her legs as if he had touched her intimately.

Yet he had been more in control of the wildfire that had sprung up between them, for all he was supposed to be insane. He had lashed out from the fit, but he had been frightened, not angry or deliberately aggressive.

She raised one hand to stroke his long, lank hair back from his forehead. “It’s all right, it’ll pass in a minute. Then we can tidy up your hair and beard and we can even shave you if you like.”

She ran one finger experimentally along the bristles and was surprised to discover how soft they were.

He sighed. “No point. When it grows back it itches like mad. But thank you for the offer,” he said, opening one eye to look at her now that the pain had eased.

“We can trim it down at any rate, so you don’t look like a hedgehog.”

Simon gave her a small smile, and she wondered again who he reminded her of. Very few of the men she knew sported such heavy facial hair. If Simon were clean-shaven…

Then their quiet world exploded.

Chapter Four

All their heads shot up in alarm as the sounds of crashing and splintering seemed to come from just outside the door.

Antony leapt to the cabinet and flattened himself against it. Simon grabbed for a towel, poised to leap out of the tub, while Gabrielle wildly looked around the large tiled bathing chamber for the chair legs and anything they could use a weapon.

Fortunately the sound died down a moment later, causing everyone to collapse with sheer relief.

“They must have hurled something down the corridor. Where the hell are the authorities?” Antony wondered aloud, shaking his head as he returned to Lucinda's side.

Gabrielle shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like they’ve all gone mad in unison. I know the word lunatic derives from the Latin for moon, but it can’t be just that.” She considered for a moment as she stroked his hair. “Simon, did you eat this morning?”

“A tiny mouthful. Why?”

“And do you feel different?”

“Well, yes. I’ve never had so many seizures before.”

“Describe them.”

He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me what happened the first time, after you saved me. If you can’t recall, tell me about this one.”

He settled himself back down in the tub again. “Usually it’s smell or sound, and I get the feeling of
déjà vu.
”

“I don’t speak French very well. What does it mean?”

“As if I’ve been here, done this before. As if I’ve met you in the past. I looked at you, touched your hand, and I was sure we knew each other. A long time ago, to be sure." He paused, stared at her and Lucinda for a moment, and then blinked.

"I have it now. You lived in Dorset, when you and your sister were young. You used to love going riding along the undercliff, taking tea at Lyme Regis with your nanny and groom, then going back home.”

She stared at him. “How on earth can you know that, remember it, and not even know your own name?”

“They don’t want me to remember
me
. That doesn’t mean I can’t recall you. You’re certainly worth recollecting.”

His golden eyes seem to pierce through her very soul. She did know him! But who
was
he? She had had a happy childhood with many people coming and going in the district when she had been growing up. Who was he?

But his eyes has already closed once more, so she had him lean back and washed and rinsed his hair until it gleamed.

Simon had ceased his shuddering, and time was pressing on. She needed to get him dry, decently clad. She was determined to groom him if only for his own peace of mind.

She had seen often enough in the clinic how even a bit of soap and water and a change of clothes could make a huge difference to someone who was unwell. Making him look more like his old self, even if he didn’t have a mirror, would help Simon too, she was sure.

When she was sure he was fully soaped and rinsed, she helped him out of the tub and made him sit on a towel as she helped to dry him, fearing he might fall and hit his head.

As she worked and he blushed at his bareness and cupped his hands over his loins, she said, “Tell me about your deja whatever you said.”

“
Déjà vu.
We’ve met before. I knew you were going to help me. Then there were all sorts of sparkling lights, a man with a candle. Then a, well, a dragon. Huge, green, blowing fire. The second time there was a huge bear with nasty fangs and claws. Just now I saw the floor shake and buckle. All sorts of colours. Things that looked like ghosts. Everything was very vivid.”

“Are these things different from what you usually see?”

“Yes. I don’t usually see things from a Gothic novel.”

She looked over at her cousin. “Is it possible they put something in the food?”

“Yes, but why? They're dangerous enough as-”

“The quacks here have a captive audience,” Simon sighed. “They can do as they like. And if they end up with a few dead bodies, it’s that much less they have to pay the resurrection men to have nice fresh corpses to operate on.”

“That’s horrible!” Gabrielle exclaimed.

“But practical. These are the dregs of society,” Antony said with a shake of his head. “Few of these people have visitors, friends and family willing or able to visit them every day the way you do your sister. If they die, no one is really going to ask too many questions.

Gabrielle shot an outraged look at her cousin. “You see? It’s like I’ve said all along. If Oxnard really cared about Lucinda he would have made much better arrangements for her. I know there are private care institutions and nurses, people willing to help and not commit poor unfortunates.

"Thomas Eltham and Jonathan Deveril did it for Thomas' sister Jane when she was unwell after those horrible men used her as a plaything and left her pregnant and diseased. And just because a person is confused or forgetful the way Alexander was when he first met Sarah doesn’t mean they’re mad.”

Simon began to shiver again. She shoved a fresh shirt over him for a moment while she struggled to get his trousers on. She couldn’t fail to notice his massive arousal. Even gaunt he was magnificent, like a piece of Greek statuary.

Dionysian, most certainly, she thought with an inward giggle.
Priapic even.
She could see now why many people put fig leaves over the privates of their art work so as to not shock visitors. Surely looking at something as gorgeous as this all day would be most distracting.

“I’m sorry. You’re gently raised and should not be forced to tolerate such an insult,” he said in a low tone.

“Insult?” she said in confusion.

“My uncontrollable ardor for your gentle touch and presence.”

“You mean—” Her gaze fastened on him unabashedly now.

“Yes,
that
," he said with a blush. "I hope you don’t think I always walk around in such a manner!”

“I never really thought about it at all, to be honest. I don’t feel insulted, though. I understand how you feel, actually. You’re certain a most handsome man. Pity women don’t do, well, that.”

He laughed bitterly. “Now I know I’m dreaming. A woman like you flirting with a maniac like me. I’m bound to wake up in my squalid little cell all alone, cold and starving, at any moment.”

She grasped his hand. “I’m here, Simon. And I’m going to cut your hair and trim you beard. Antony, have you got any food with you?”

Her cousin searched his clothes. “Aye, a bit of bread and cheese I stuffed in my pocket and forgot to eat, and a couple of packets of hunting chocolate.” He put the cloth wrapped parcel and two bars in their cardboard packets onto the counter next to him.