William (21 page)

"Is anything the matter?"

"No." He paused. "Not especially. Come, let's
move to the parlor for a spell."

We turned up a few of the lamps and settled
down at the small round table in the corner of the room, where
Merrick laid down his sheaf of letters.

"It appears that this damp summer may bring
peril to the coastal towns," Merrick said. "There was a deadly
outbreak in Virginia, said to be yellow fever. Now there are rumors
of illness around the ports as far north as Baltimore. A ship
carrying goods from there was turned away from Boston yesterday,
and remains now anchored in quarantine offshore."

"Oh," I said, caught off guard. Frankly, I
had nearly forgotten such worries as deadly fevers existed. "Isn't
it early in the season for that?"

"The weather has been unusual this year."

"I suppose the air's been rather thick."

Merrick nodded, turning one of the envelopes
slowly on the table. "Yes. I fear this could be a devastating year
for many."

As he spoke, it dawned on me what might be on
his mind. "Are you thinking of your duties as a doctor? I would be
happy to assist you."

Merrick looked at me quickly. "Heavens,
no."

I frowned. "All right."

"Pardon me," he apologized. "I only intend
for you to keep a reasonable distance from the general public for a
while, until you feel confident in your new circumstances."

"Yes, of course." I wasn't offended, merely
caught off guard. "Well, then, is something else the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter." Merrick said. “But
perhaps you should write to your mother soon."

I blinked, squinted, and then screwed up my
face in confusion. "Very well. But what has she got to do with it?"
My eyes went to the stack of letters, and I drew a sharp breath.
"Is she ill?"

"No. Not to my knowledge."

A strange feeling had gripped my chest, as
though my heart had tried to jump out of it and knocked itself for
a loop. I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. "I think you just
gave me a fright."

Merrick sat back in his chair, looking at me
solemnly. "You still think of her fondly, do you?"

"Yes. Well," I corrected, "in all honesty, I
haven't thought of her much at all. But yes. Now that you bring her
to mind, yes, I am, well, I hate to think of...if anything...I hope
no ill befalls her." There was something bewildering about the
whole idea.

"Do you miss her?"

"Do I miss her? No. Yes. That is, I will. I
might. Will I?" I sighed, slumping helplessly.

Merrick gave a rueful smile. "At the very
least, you will remain fond, and somewhat protective. The ones we
knew before are different from the ones we meet now. We still feel
for their well-being, the ones we loved."

"That's what it is," I realized. "Indeed. Is
she well? Have you got word of her?"

"No. I'm only suggesting that you write to
her." Merrick leaned forward slowly, clasping his hands on the
table. "You see how quickly time passes for you now. One day, when
you've become accustomed to all this novelty and pleasure, you will
begin to reflect on the life you led before. But that could be
years from now, and you may find that the people you've held in
your heart..."

"I see." I thought of Jeremy, too. It was
nice, thinking of them. I had no urge to be with them now—perhaps
out of instinct for their safety—but I did hope they were well.

"Now is as good a time as any to send your
regards." Merrick reached for his wine. "You may be glad for it
later."

"You thought of this because of the fever?
Because you’re afraid for New York?"

"Because of the fever; because of any number
of dangers you and I may all too easily forget."

"I see," I said thoughtfully. Yes, I
understood how many perils I had left behind when I drank Merrick's
blood, and I could feel how easy it was to forget the commonness of
death—despite the fact that I myself brought death upon them, night
after night.

"And finally, there is this." Merrick drew a
letter from the pile and handed it to me. "For you."

"Me?" I frowned. "But no one knows I'm here."
And then my face went smooth. There, indeed, was my name, penned in
a sharp and swooping script that I had seen on only one other
occasion, in upstate New York, in a letter I had once uncovered in
Merrick's underground study. And turning the envelope over, I found
it sealed with an ornately styled T. "It isn't."

"It is."

Well, this was awkward. "What..." I grimaced,
pinching the envelope. At least it wasn't fat. "Did he write you
one?"

"Of course he did. I did have word sent the
day after you arrived, to save him the trouble of verifying for
himself. They just arrived today.” Merrick gave me a dry look as he
rose from the table. “And to think we might have left for
Providence none the wiser."

I watched Merrick carefully as he went for
the door, gauging his reaction. There was no dark storm cloud in
his eyes this time. It must have been a good letter; that, or
Merrick's anger was finally beginning to cool on his own.

"I'll be in the drawing room," Merrick said,
pausing at the threshold. "I have a few last correspondences to
attend to. They won't take long. Shall we leave in twenty
minutes?"

"Right."

"And William." Merrick's eyes went to the
letter, which I still held balanced between my thumb and forefinger
like a shard of glass. "If there is anything I should know."
Immediately I thrust the letter in his direction, but he held up
his hand. "I leave it to you."

I watched him leave before I looked down at
the letter. To my great consternation, I was dying to know what was
inside.

I broke the seal and unfolded the page. It
was covered in Theo's confident, energetic handwriting, scrawled
with such obvious excitement and glee that I could practically hear
him howling through the deep blue ink.

My dear, dear, dear, DEAR young W!

Bon TRAVAIL mon ami—is it true? Write me, W,
oh do write and tell me yourself it is done, and I shall explode
twice over—go on and murder me with Joy if you really want me dead.
The Prince is born! I dare not believe this Feat has been conquered
at last, over a HUNDRED years of TORMENT gone up in smoke, thanks
to you, sweet little fool, I could cover your stupid face in kisses
I am so far flung by this Happiness. Thousands and millions of
Felicitations, showers of Light be upon your head! !!!

What more shall I say as I bask in this
sweet Finale? Only I beg you to write, young Prince, I do—I must
have it in your own words if I am to truly, finally close the door
on this ghastly affair. Write to me. And give me news, do, do tell
me how it is, if he is as Happy as I. Spare not a word! I'll be in
New York, waiting. Bless you bless you and bless you to the Moon
and back, you magnificent little shit. I shall never forget this
Beautiful Deed. I remain

Your Esteemed Councilor,

BENJAMIN CORRINGTON

I dropped the letter with a sigh, but try as
I might, I couldn't quite keep the smile from my lips.

The night streets were dank and pungent with
the heat, and all the good people of Boston were wilting like
cabbage in steam. I watched in fascination as a young worker passed
us, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hair stuck to his forehead in damp
tendrils.

"Do we sweat?" I asked Merrick.

"Rarely." We were walking toward Beekman's,
and I had not yet thought of what to say about Theo's letter, the
contents of which were, quite honestly, of no urgent relevance that
I could see.

I continued to look about. The poor things
were turning to mush in the humidity, and now they had the threat
of fever to contend with? God, what a bunch of problems I'd left
behind! I was almost sorry to think that while I was to dally my
nights away, light on my feet and in perfect health, these hapless
creatures would be battling any number of mortal predicaments.
Fatigue, headaches and back pain, bowed legs and hunchbacks, bad
eyes and tired lungs, and sickness, always the threat of sickness,
or bad water or cold weather or worms in the pantry...I
shuddered.

"Is something the matter?" Merrick asked.

"I feel sorry for them."

"Why is that?"

"Well," I shrugged, thinking it rather
obvious. "We have much less to worry about, don't we?"

"No animal is perfect."

"Yet it’s a perfect world in sum," I mused,
glancing up at the moon.

Merrick cast me a puzzled smile. "Is the
evening so fine?"

"Is it not?"

His response was a bemused laugh. "Yes, I
suppose it is."

"Or," I realized slowly, "was your
letter..."

"There were no surprises."

"He asked me to write to him."

"Yes, he said that he would."

There was a pause before I prodded,
"And?"

Merrick glanced at me again, raising a mild
brow. "And?"

"Well," I said awkwardly. "Do you—that is, if
you would prefer that I..."

"Do as you wish." There was no emotion behind
the remark. After another pause, Merrick added, "It would do no
harm to confirm that his duties, as he sees them, are finished
without question."

"I had the same thought, only, well. If it
should disturb you."

"William, I leave it to you. I told you I
have faith in your judgment."

I shut my mouth, frowning ahead. We were mere
moments from Beekman's.

After a silence, Merrick sighed. "Of course.
You're worried after my reaction to hearing of your meetings. I'm
not troubled by letters, William. If I thought you easily corrupted
by words on a page, I'd be in for a harrowing ride, wouldn't you
say?"

That was better, and I relaxed considerably.
"But I am, you know," I smirked as we stepped onto the path toward
the tailor's door. "Just look what my love of books has
wrought."

"What has it wrought?" Merrick murmured,
clearly suppressing a smile.

"A life of dark adventure, lust, passion of
the most savage—"

Merrick laughed, surprised, before cutting me
off with a gesture. "Yes. I see. Thank you."

I pressed my lips together to contain a grin
as he knocked on Beekman's door, pleased with myself for amusing
him, and with him for being amused—with the pair of us, decidedly.
There had been times in our acquaintance where I'd wondered if he
would look down on some parts of my character he hadn't yet come to
know. After all, I was considerably younger—considerably—and a bit
rough around the edges. Indeed, the more I learned of his
experiences and compared them to mine, the more alarmingly
mismatched we seemed.

And yet somehow, to my constant and ever
expanding amazement, I had never once sensed condescension or
disapproval in Merrick's eyes. When I tested the waters with a hard
word or a sly remark, he always took it in stride. Of course, he
was as he was, and I was as I was; I had no illusions that I'd ever
see him howling with laughter at some beer-drenched table. The very
notion brought a fresh smirk to my lips. But the point was that he
humored me as I was, that he took visible pleasure in my amusement,
no matter what it was that amused me. It warmed my heart. It made
me want to crush him in my arms and drink him up.

I was looking at him wistfully when Beekman
opened the door.

"Gentlemen," the tailor said warmly, beaming
as he beckoned us in. Mr. Beekman was clad in supple buckskins, a
pale waistcoat and a navy jacket, and his hair was even more
lusciously windswept than I remembered. But it was the scent of him
smacked me right in the chest. When he turned away to lead us into
the main room I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath before I
followed. Merrick had told me it would be a challenge, and I was
determined to conquer it, but my God, his presence already tickled
my tongue! Absence, I feared, had made my thirst profounder.

"You're due to leave us soon, are you?"
Beekman asked, looking between us as he took the first suit over
his arm. The chamber was lit as lustrously as before, but appeared
much emptier. There were no bolts of fabric set out for display
this time, and something else was missing, too.

"Yes, we'll be off in the morning." Merrick
said. "Business in New Hampshire."

"Very good. Though I can't say I'm happy to
see you go. The city could use your sense of fashion, the two of
you."

"You're kind to include me," Merrick said
pleasantly, and looked my way. "But between the two of us, it is my
associate who has the discerning taste."

Discerning taste, indeed. My teeth were
ringing. Distractedly, I realized what was missing from the place
this time. "Have your apprentices gone to bed, sir?"

"Oh, I do hope so. I sent them home for the
night. The poor lads would toil all hours of the week if I didn't
push them out the door on occasion. Here you are, sir." Beekman
beckoned me to join him behind the linen dressing screen.

I glanced at Merrick, who only met my eyes
calmly. God help me. I stepped into the small enclosure.

"Forgive the darkness, sir," Beekman said,
pivoting to take my jacket.

"Hardly your fault." My reply came out as a
murmur, and I resisted the urge to clear my throat. His fingertips
softly clipped the backs of my shoulders as he helped me shed the
garment, and I looked upward as I undid my waistcoat. "We should
beg your pardon," I said, trying to distract myself. "Insisting on
such late meetings."

"Oh, not at'all." Beekman laid my jacket over
the clothes horse and held out his hand for my vest. "If only all
business could be done so peacefully. The usual in-and-out by day
makes it rather difficult to give as much personal attention as I'd
like." Setting the waistcoat aside, Beekman took my arm to steady
me for the boot jack.