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Chapter Twenty-Six
Various severe storms had marked Helen’s time at sea, making it easy for her to visualize the fear that would have gripped even the experienced crew aboard Alacrity during their last moments and the grisly details of their deaths.
Her mind lived through it all. She heard the wind, the creaking of the ship, and the shouts of the men. Felt the powerful waves sweep her under the frigid water, stinging her nose, battering her body, making her arms flail. Tasted the salt. Experienced the terror.
Had they died in the dark of night? Or by the light of day?
She spent the first day and night of mourning by agonizing—living and re-living the dozens of deaths on board and trying to recall as many of the sixty names and faces of the crew as she could. She called out Elijah’s name. She lamented that three months had passed since he’d died—all while she’d walked in London parks, celebrated Christmas in July, and sipped tea in the Lilac Room.
The second day was one of abject sadness.
Her anger over Elijah and Robbie’s betrayal evaporated. Whatever passion and love they’d ever known together had been crammed into stolen moments, so fleeting; worse yet, subject to guilt and lies. Elijah had paid for his sins with his life. He hadn’t asked to be who he was; he hadn’t been allowed ever to be himself. In the end, all he’d wanted was to make it up to her, to provide for her, and he had not just failed, but sacrificed himself in the process.
On the third day, the horror and guilt transformed into self-pity.
Sometimes, she remembered the reassurances Nicholas had offered about facing difficulties together, but that was before she had lost his entire investment. Before his father had made clear his disappointment.
Her precarious position in the world felt more acute than ever. Staying in borrowed lodgings. Her homeland was an ocean away; though she’d have to find the courage eventually, climbing aboard a ship seemed unimaginable.
She had a small amount of funds left from the lumber sale and a few pieces of jewelry—including the pearls. It was more than her mother’s entire family had come to America with, and for that, she was grateful.
But unlike them, she was alone. Out there somewhere, even here in England and across the Irish Sea in Ireland, were people who shared her blood. But they were strangers and disconnected from the memories of her family, and she would never find them. Elijah had been the last person left with a shared memory of her childhood. However differently they’d experienced their family, they had been in it together. Even when her brother had sailed away—even when they’d been estranged—she’d at least had some family on this planet.
Numbness enveloped her during the fourth day.
She hadn’t left her bedchamber since running away from Nicholas. The maid, Alice, came in to see to the necessities and reported that the Siderises tried to call on her several times a day.
The knock on the door at the end of the fourth day sounded different. Somewhere in the distance of consciousness, she knew something was off.
But she didn’t care. She couldn’t feel anything.
The door opened, and though her eyelids stayed closed, she soon recognized who it was. Only one woman imparted a cloud of light jasmine perfume…mixed faintly with oil paint and turpentine.
Sirena tied back the draperies on both tall windows, filling the room with light for the first time in days. Helen rolled over and pulled the sheet over her head.
A hand rubbed her shoulder through the soft bed linen. “I know it hurts a great deal. But the maid says you’re not eating or drinking—and that cannot continue. Sit up and drink for me, eh?”
After some time, the gentle touch stilled, and only the warm weight of Sirena’s hand registered. Helen was exhausted; though she’d been in bed for an untold time, she hadn’t slept well. She couldn’t summon the energy to send the woman away, and sleep beckoned.
When she woke, the light entering her chamber came from the last glowing rays of the sun before it set. For a few groggy seconds, she wondered why she was in bed, in her shift, so late in the day…before remembering.
Elijah is dead. Alacrity is gone.
Now-familiar dread filled her again. Life would never be the same. She could sleep fitfully here and there, only to wake to the same nightmare.
The chair in the corner of the room creaked, making her heart race.
“Sit up and drink, my dear.”
She’d been ignoring her thirst, but it felt unbearable now. Dragging herself up against the headboard, she wilted weakly against it, dizzy. She closed her eyes, so she didn’t have to see Sirena or her reaction. A cool rim touched her lips, and she drank deeply without reaching to hold the cup herself.
“I’ll pour more.”
She drank again, dimly noting the relief of no longer being parched, then slid back down to turn her face into the pillow.
The bed dipped. She resolved to ignore Sirena until the woman left, but when she stroked Helen’s matted hair, pride and embarrassment surged.
“Go,” she croaked.
