Chapter Text
Jack sat, sprawled in his preferred armchair in the parlour, expectant that any moment now the shooting, stabbing pain in his leg would return, and the best he’d be able to do to preserve what remained of his dignity would be to drag himself upstairs to his bedroom and magic the door shut. But nothing happening. The clock on the mantle ticked on, and the pain remained at bay.
“Anything?” Edwin asked, looking at his pocket watch. His brand new illustrated anatomy book was held open with a couple of paperweights on a double-paged spread showing the nervous system on a table beside him.
“No,” Jack replied.
It was just the two of them as Jack had sent Alan off to work after breakfast as he didn’t need him hovering about all day. It was bad enough that Edwin was here. Thankfully, Alan had been happy enough to go, especially after Jack’s appetite had returned with a vengeance at breakfast; Jack had devoured three slices of toast, including two with bacon and one with scrambled egg, a pot of tea, a decent serving of kedgeree, a couple of fried potatoes, an apple cut up and drizzled with honey, and a fruit bun smothered with marmalade.
“I, ah…”
“Cautious optimism would not be misplaced,” Jack said, giving Edwin a fraction of a smile. He leant back further into his chair. “Christ, it feels good to not be in agony like that.”
“How do you feel, though? Because to be perfectly honest, if I hadn’t seen you yesterday, I’d say you’d never looked worse.”
“What flattery,” Jack said. “Considering I feel as though I’ve run a marathon, been run over by a bus, then promptly swum across the Channel, all while having red-hot barbed wire wrapped around my calf, I feel terrific.”
Jack hoped that Edwin picked up that that meant that his entire body ached. His neck was sore, his shoulders were stiff, it felt like he’d twinged the hamstring on his bad leg. His arms felt like jelly, his good leg felt like it had taken a beating, but by god did Jack feel better. And now? If Edwin’s magic had worked…
“It’s been ten minutes,” Edwin said, snapping the pocket watch shut and placing it back in his pocket before giving his hands a shake.
Jack nodded. He adjusted his posture so he could more easily move his foot, slowly pointing and flexing it, followed by little movements from side to side. He had had Oliver bandage it up this morning, not that that helped overly, but the gentle pressure felt reassuring, even if it was something Jack too seldom asked for. “The foot works.”
Edwin exhaled with not some little relief. “So you think I got the right nerve?”
“Seems like it,” Jack said. Yesterday evening, Edwin had used the spell to put the problem nerve to sleep. Today he’d returned, and using that same nerve spell along with a Sleeping Beauty clause, as Edwin had called it, put the damaged nerve to sleep more permanently. Broken things wanted to be mended, the part wanted to return to the whole, but none of that was possible in the case of Jack’s wounded leg. The best Edwin could come up with was this, which left Jack with a numb patch on his ruined calf about the size of two half-crown coin stacked on top of each other, but given the extent of the injury, it didn’t bother Jack in the slightest. There was so little muscle left there to feel anyway, it hadn’t impacted the nerve running down to his foot, and with pain relief it provided, it was more than enough.
“But you are sure that a general negation aimed in my direction can’t undo it?” Jack asked, wanting to be quite certain on this point.
“Quite certain,” Edwin said. “That’s why I used the Sleeping Beauty clause. It can be negated, but it’s highly specific, nothing that’s likely to happen by accident. When I get home I’ll write out the negation for you, in case you ever - ”
“Feel the need for some searing, burning pain?” Jack asked. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Well, I’ll do it anyway, then you can do with the instructions as you wish.”
Jack shrugged. Edwin was never going to miss a chance to write down his spells, even if Jack had every intention of using it to start a fire.
“And that nerve spell? What on earth did you invent that for?” Jack asked.
Immediately, Edwin’s cheeks went bright pink.
“Oh,” said Jack, and smiled properly this time. “Well in that case, I suppose this is the first time it’s been used for medicinal purposes?”
Edwin didn’t respond directly. “I suppose I should be getting on. If there are any changes, anything at all, and I mean that Jack, if the numbness changes, if the pain returns to any degree…”
“I know where to find you. Don’t worry, I’ll send word, because I know if I don’t, Alan will.”
“Don’t be mad at him.”
“I’ll be as mad at him as I like.”
“Robin had already had a vision, we were likely to call by anyway.”
“You should take up piano.”
“What?”
“Might help to strengthen your hands. Or get yourself a small Indian rubber ball, squeeze it, that’ll help with hand and forearm strength too.”
Now it was Edwin’s turn to look pale, or to lose what little colour he’d gained from Jack’s correct assumption about the origins of the nerve spell.
“I…, what?”
“I thought you’d been twitchier this past year,” Jack said. “You shake your hands, or flick them out with some regularity, especially after doing magic or writing too much. You’re also more likely to clench a fist, or shove your hands into your pockets. Then just before, when you were holding my hand to guide the magic down my nervous system, I could feel your hand shake. I don’t know if it did yesterday. Honestly, by time you showed up there could have been a brass band playing in my bedroom and I would hardly have been aware.”
“I - I…” Edwin stammered, clearly aware that this was an issue, but one he’d been hoping to hide.
“It’s not a criticism, or a failing,” Jack said, in what he hoped was his encouraging-officer voice. “You were injured, and the injury, despite being able to receive fairly prompt magical attention, was severe. Injuries don’t always heal the way we want them too. Like I said, it’s not a failing, Edwin. It’s not a weakness. Besides, I only noticed because I know what to look for.”
Edwin looked down at his hands, clasped in front of him.
“It makes it feel like Walt won,” Edwin said quietly, looking at the carpet.
“Edwin, he…”
Edwin shook his head, and Jack paused.
“Since I was a kid, after my magic came in… well, it was since I went to boarding school, really, he couldn’t physically hurt me at Penhallick, or at least not without at least pretending to make it look like an accident, but at school… he’s been threatening to break my fingers since I was ten, and a lot of the time it felt a lot more real than just a threat. Even the other year, all that with the coin, with Robin… I honestly thought he was going to do it then. There’s no way I could heal myself, not from that, not… and then…”
Jack sighed. He wished he didn’t pity Edwin, but it was rather hard not to. It was also hard to understand how siblings could end up having such an awful relationship. He thought about Elsie and how much they loved each other. Robin and Maud; they were dedicated to each other. The Rossis all got along like a house on fire. But the Courcey siblings? Walt was a bully and a shit person, Bel did her own thing but was generally stupid and could be naively cruel, and Edwin suffered through all of it.
“He didn’t win, Edwin. He quite specifically lost. He ended up dead, after all.”
“Which I have very complicated feeling about because he wasn’t supposed to die and I do believe in the legal systems of this country, both magical and regular, and I very much would have preferred to see Walt get taken down through legal means. And our mother wasn’t well before and this certainly hasn’t helped, and I know I’ve only seen my father a couple of times in the past year but he can hardly look at me after what happened and - ”
“Well he did watch Walt try to kill you, which I don’t suppose is pleasant for any parent, no matter how poorly their sons get along. And I know you’ll think you’re burdening her, but you should talk to your mother about all this. I avoided mine for years, especially since the Boer, and really… well, it doesn’t help.”
Edwin didn’t say anything, he simply remained staring at the floor. Jack had the feeling he was trying not to cry, and frankly he would prefer this staring at the floor strategy to actual tears. He did not need Edwin Courcey to start crying on him.
“I damn well hope you’ve told Robin.”
“Told Robin what?” Edwin asked, and Jack heard this hitch in his voice as Edwin swallowed hard.
“All this. About Walt.”
Edwin gave a stiff nod. “Of course he knows. He’s always known.”
“Good. Friday we’re going to Cheetham.”
“Oh. Well, have a nice time.”
“No, you idiot, that’s an inclusive ‘we’. You and Robin are coming too.”
Edwin finally looked up, and he blinked a couple of times as his face rearranged into something more hopeful. “I don’t think we can stay long…”
“Long weekend, then. I’ll be there for a couple weeks, better to recuperate down there. Besides, Polly will want to fuss over me. Might as well give her the opportunity.”
“You and Alan don’t just want…?”
“No, you two are coming too. That’s not a request, Cheetham will be cross with me if you don’t.”
Edwin managed a small smile, and Jack managed to repress an exasperated sigh. Somehow, without any of them realising as such at the time, during the chaos of gala night a year ago, the land at Cheetham Hall had accepted Edwin as one of its own. It hadn’t taken Edwin long to realise his magic was stronger there than usual, not as strong as at Sutton, but noticeably more so than anywhere else. Some research later, thank Christ Edwin was the one looking all this up, Jack wouldn’t have even known where to start, Edwin had found a couple of historical precedents where magical land had chosen itself to more or less adopt someone who had had their blood spilt upon the land in protection of family. Not that Edwin had been directly protecting Jack, or that Jack himself had been a primary target, but the land didn’t know that. Jack had been in trouble, Edwin’s blood had been spilt upon it in defence, and somehow Jack Alston, Lord Hawthorn, had ended up with Edwin Courcey of all people as effectively his liege man.
“I’ll write to Polly this afternoon. She’ll want to show you the gardens too. She keeps telling me all about her hydrangeas and camellias or something, I’m sure it’s very interesting if one is interested in gardens, but - ”
“Anything about her roses?” Edwin asked, brightening further. “Her ladyship is testing some of Flora Sutton’s magic. I can’t publish any of Flora’s work until we have evidence that it works in various settings, and - ”
“Edwin.”
“Oh. I will ask her on Friday. Well, I’d best be off, I need to see my tailor and I’d like to do so before the end of the day.”
“I’d see you out, but I refuse to move,” Jack lounged back in his chair, feeling more himself by the minute, even if everything ached and he had no intention of moving from this very spot for the rest of the afternoon. His cane rested beside the chair, and he knew he’d be needing that more than he liked in the coming days as his strength slowly returned.
“Of course,” Edwin said, standing up and picking up his book. “We’ll see you on Friday then. Usual time at the station?”
“You’re not getting me there any earlier,” Jack said.
“See you then. Though you know, you really are to call for me if you have any trouble…”
“I know, I know,” Jack said, trying not to roll his eyes, still getting used to people actually caring, and to Edwin Courcey actually having some level of self-confidence and self-respect. “Go, before I uninvite you.”
…
Jack’s letter to Polly informing of her of their impending arrival had been light on details, but honest enough all the same. Jack had told his mother that he’d had terrible trouble with his bad leg these past few weeks and had ended up quite poorly, so he was coming to Cheetham for a couple of weeks to recuperate, and that Alan, Edwin and Robin would be joining him this weekend.
Suggesting to Edwin that he look into strengthening his hands had got Jack thinking, so as not to be a hypocrite, he should probably find another hobby himself. Horse-riding had always been his favourite activity growing up, he was so small when he’d first been sat upon a pony that he couldn’t remember ever not riding. Horse riding was now, however, quite off the cards, Jack doubted he could mount a horse even with a mounting block, much less manage any more than a short walk around stable yard. There was no way he could keep his leg in position, with his toes up, heel down, without his leg instantly cramping even on a good day. But Jack was far from the first horseman to be incapacitated when it came to riding, and that didn’t mean that there were no options available.
The station porter, two footmen from Cheetham Hall, and two coachmen met them at the station, and Jack was thrilled once they got out the front to find a dog-cart and a wagonette. He’d hinted to Polly in his letter that he may like to go driving, and he was very glad she had understood entirely. Of course, one could drive a motorcar, but they didn’t appeal to Jack. As the porter assisted the Cheetham staff with loading the luggage onto the wagonette, Jack handed his cane to Alan.
“Hold this, will you, Caesar? Blyth, I’m going to need you to be discreet, but I can’t get up without… ah…” Jack started, having had enough trouble getting in and out of the cab in London, on and off the train, and now this was one hurdle too many.
“A hand-up?” Robin said.
“Something like that. You can ride beside me, Alan and Edwin go behind.”
“Whatever your lordship says,” Alan said with a filthy wink, which Jack decided he would deal with later. As much as he liked to consider himself a Londoner, there was something very nice about being back on Cheetham land. He could feel the magic in the land, and could see that Edwin felt it too by the way he stood a little taller and looked somewhat brighter.
Robin helped Jack up as discreetly as possible, and Jack was more than happy to take the reins behind the placid grey horse attached to the cart.
“All seated?” Jack asked, as everyone took the places, and couldn’t help but find it comforting to have Alan’s back up against his own, Alan’s unruly curls blowing in the breeze and tickling against the back of Jack’s neck.
“All good,” said Edwin.
“Yep, all good.”
“Don’t drop my cane, or you’ll be walking back to get it and then walking to the Hall,” Jack teased, giving Alan a nudge in the ribs before flicking the reins for the horse to walk on. The luggage would follow when ready.
It was a lovely autumn day to be out in the fresh air, and Jack was sure the drive to the hall seemed quicker than usual. Perhaps after lunch he could go out driving again, see the land that way, just he and Alan this time. A bevy of staff, along with his mother, were lined up outside the hall to greet them. A footman took hold of the reins as Jack pulled the horse to a stop. Robin jumped down immediately, looking ridiculously graceful as he did so, and with as much discretion as possible, supported Jack down.
“Hullo Jack, darling. You’re looking a bit peaky," Polly said with a smile. Jack could tell that she was quite looking forward to playing nurse, just as he suspected.
“Well, I looked worse,” Jack grumbled as he bent down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek, wishing there weren't quite so many staff around. Alan was last one down, and handed a grateful Jack his cane.
“He really looked terrible,” Edwin said, as he straightened up his clothing.
“Yes, thank-you, Edwin,” Jack said dryly, gripping his cane for extra stability on the gravel driveway. Everyone exchanged greetings with her ladyship, who looked positively thrilled that Jack and the others were here.
“Now, you're all to go and clean-up and change before lunch,” Polly said, taking charge. “Edwin, dear, I have so much to show you this afternoon. You really must see the rose garden, and my dahlias have never looked better.”
“I really am looked forward to it,” Edwin said.
“I have to show you what we’re trying in the greenhouses too. Following all your instructions, of course. Or, Flora Sutton's. Robin, I don't know how you plan to occupy yourself this afternoon.”
“I’m happy to see the gardens too,” Robin smiled, which Jack translated as Robin being happy to follow Edwin around and listen to him ramble on about plants and magic and whatever else, to the point of being willing to sit on the grass and watch it grow if that was what Edwin wanted.
“Jack, I do suppose you'll want to go out driving,” Polly went on as she lead the way inside. “I’ve already told the stables you will, so I do hope so. Maybe pop around the Hawthorn estate too?"
"My thoughts exactly," Jack said. “What do you think about that, Alan? We’ll go for a drive?”
“I was hoping you’d say ‘ride’,” Alan said quietly, allowing the others to get a couple of steps ahead, with a look he knew Jack couldn’t ignore.
Jack pursed his lips as the others continued on, Edwin and his mother still talking plants, and Robin looking at Edwin as though he were the sole reason for life on earth. It had been a month since he and Alan had… well, Jack had hardly been feeling himself, but now that he had picked up a bit over the past few days, and being back on Cheetham land, where he could feel his magic surging within him…
“Know any lowly village healers who could be blackmailed into helping the dark, injured duke?” Jack asked quietly.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to come up with the ideas,” Alan hissed with a smirk. “But yes, something along those lines. I’m guessing the duke is bedridden?”
“Obviously. He can’t risk wrongly adjusting his weight and causing more damage to his injuries.”
Alan grinned. “So what time is dinner?”
Jack smiled broadly for the first time in weeks. “I think it’s going to be a very good weekend.”