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I can't bear to return home. Father's deteriorating rapidly, crying out for laudanum or the pipe, some opiate to take away his pain. Tom sits outside Father's door, his long arms resting on the tops of his bent knees. He is unshaven and there are dark circles beneath his eyes.
"I've brought you tea," I say, handing him the cup. "How is he?"
As if in answer, Father moans from behind the door. I can hear the bed creaking under the weight of his thrashing. He cries softly. Tom puts his hands on either side of his head as if he could squeeze all thoughts from his skull.
"I've failed him, Gemma."
This time I sit beside my brother."No, you haven't."
"Perhaps I'm not meant to be a doctor."
"Of course you are. Ann thinks you're going to be one of the finest physicians in London," I say, hoping to cheer him. It is hard to see Tom--impossible, arrogant, unstoppable Tom-- feeling so glum. He is the one constant in my life, even if the constant is irritation.
Tom gives a sheepish grin."Miss Bradshaw said that? She is most kind. And rich, as well. When I asked you to find me a suitable match with a small fortune, I was only joking. But you took me at my word, I see." "Yes, well, about that fortune . . . ," I start. How do I explain this lie to Tom? I should tell him before things go much further, yet I can't bring myself to confess that Ann is no heiress, only a kind, hopeful soul who thinks the world of him."She is rich in other ways, Tom. Remember that."
Father groans loudly, and Tom looks as if he will crawl out of his skin."I can't take much more. Perhaps I should give him a little something--some brandy or--"
"No. Why don't you go out for a walk or to your club? I'll sit with him."
"Thank you, Gemma." He gives me an impulsive peck on the forehead. The spot feels warm. "Don't give in to him. I know how you ladies are--too soft to be proper guardians."
"Go on, then. Away with you," I say.
Father's room is bathed in the purplish haze of dusk. He moans and writhes on the bed, twisting the linens into a wreck. The air smells of sweat. Father is drenched in it, his bedclothes plastered to his body.
"Hello, Father," I say, drawing the curtains and turning up the lamp. I pour water into a glass and put it to his lips, which are cracked and white. He takes halting sips.
"Gemma," he gasps."Gemma, darling. Help me."
Don't cry, Gem. Be strong. "Would you like me to read to you?" He grips my arm. "I'm having the most horrid dreams. So real I cannot tell if I am dreaming or awake."
My stomach twists."What sorts of dreams?"
"Creatures. They tell me terrible stories about your mother. That she wasn't who she claimed to be. That she was a witch, a sorceress who did terrible things. My Virginia . . . my wife."
He breaks down sobbing. Something inside me falls away. Not my father. Leave my father alone.
"My wife was virtuous. She was a noble woman. A good woman." His eyes find mine. "They say it's your fault. All this is because of you." I try to take a breath. Father's eyes soften. "But you are my darling girl, my very good girl, aren't you, Gemma?" "Yes," I whisper."Of course."
His grip is strong. "I cannot bear another minute of these things. Be my good girl, Gemma. Find the bottle. Before those dreams come back for me."
My resolve weakens. I'm no longer certain of myself as his pleadings grow more urgent, his tear-soaked voice a raw whisper. "Please. Please. Please. I can't bear it." A small bubble of spit floats on his cracked lips.
I think I shall go mad. Like Nell Hawkins's, my father's mind has been worn thin. And now those creatures have found him in his dreams. They will give him no peace because of me. This is my fault. I must remedy it. Tonight, I will go into the realms and not leave them until I have found the Temple.
But I will not let my father suffer while I do.
"Shhh, Father. I will help you," I say. Pulling up my skirts to an immodest length, I run to my room and find the box where I've hidden the bottle. I race back to my father's bedside. He's working the bed linens between his knuckles, rocking his head back and forth, writhing and sweaty.
"Father, here. Here!" I put the bottle to his lips. He drinks down the laudanum like a man parched.
"More/7 he pleads.
"Shhh, that's all there is."
"It's not enough!" he cries."Not enough!"
"Give it a moment."
