Chapter Text
George could hear Bertha coming down the hall - her steps quick, as familiar to him as her heartbeat despite their time apart, no matter how often he had tried to forget. She opened the door, giving him a look of irritation before she closed it behind her.
So different from most of their married life. There was a time, such a large and now-distant portion of his life, that she had smiled at him whenever she had spotted him in a room-
But then, he didn’t want that now, did he? He wanted that distance from her, from the choice she’d forced upon him and upon their daughter. To have her smile at him, as though their lives were as they had once been, would surely be worse. He was not certain of much these days, but he was sure of that.
“Are you still not ready?”
Henpecking him, as she had for weeks since she returned from England. Always demanding he eat with her or take a tray in his room though he had no appetite. Bothering him about going into the office. Giving him judgmental looks whenever she spotted a glass in his hand. Pointed remarks about retiring to bed, as though lying down were any guarantee that sleep would find him. She was worse than Larry about such things, though perhaps that was just because she knew better how to needle him, to poke and prod and get under his skin. Even laudanum was not enough to dull it.
It had gotten worse since they had arrived in Newport. He hadn’t intended on going at all, but then Gladys had arrived in the city and she’d seemed so upset at the idea of him remaining behind, and he couldn’t let her down again, couldn’t bear to abandon her to her mother’s grasp again, and so he had let himself get bundled along with the rest of the luggage. He’d had some idea in his mind that after they arrived in Newport Gladys would come to him and, away from the eyes and ears of her mother and her husband, she would ask for his help in making her escape. He imagined the plan of it, how a divorce might be managed, presenting it to Bertha and standing his ground as he had not done before Gladys’ wedding.
Instead, it almost felt as though Gladys were avoiding him. It felt as though they all were, even Larry making excuses to be out of the house, accompanying Marian to some event or other as George himself might have done for Bertha in times past. The ball that night was the first time Bertha had insisted he attend any event with her that season, though perhaps the fact that they were hosting it made his attendance somewhat unavoidable. She certainly didn’t seem as though she wished for him to attend, her eyes flashing as she looked up at him.
George sat down heavily on the side of the bed, ignoring Bertha’s huff of frustration. “Just give me a minute, will you? One minute of peace?”
“I’ve given you several,” said Bertha. “People will start arriving any minute, could you-”
“Well heaven forbid we disappoint the people,” said George.
He eyed the bottle on his dressing table, the whiskey there glimmering in the low light, the weight of the flask in his pocket even more enticing. Not in front of Bertha, he couldn’t - she’d caught him at it too many times now, her judgement as irritating as it was unbearable. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of the argument.
“Our daughter is one of them,” said Bertha, “or don’t you remember that she’s here?”
“Of course I remember,” said George, “but I think using her presence as a bribe is in poor form.”
Bertha let out a sound of frustration. “It’s not a bribe, will you just- Could you at least try to look presentable for the receiving line-”
She tried to smooth down his hair again, as though he were a child, frowning down at him.
“Leave me alone, woman,” said George, pushing at her shoulder.
He didn't mean to add any force behind it but she stumbled back just the same, bumping into the couch. The shock on her face sent a sickening jolt through the haze around his thoughts and he pushed himself to his feet, staggering a little before he found his footing. She couldn’t be hurt, surely, he could never have hurt her.
“Bertha, I-”
Bertha’s expression shuttered away, smoothed into nothing. “I'm sending your valet up in ten minutes. Your daughter is expecting to see you tonight. At least try to care about that.”
She turned on her heel, sweeping out of the room. George could hear her footsteps fading under the buzz of activity in the house. She’d be true to her word, more than likely, the valet sent up to fuss over him.
George let out a breath. Ten minutes. Plenty of time for a drink, and enough laudanum to get through the evening. He wouldn’t have to do much more than show his face - these affairs were more for Bertha anyhow. He was extraneous to the proceedings, just another piece set out for people to gawk at, like their poor daughter and her Duke, like their son and his bride-to-be.
George drained the glass and poured himself another.
He was in a much better mood, or at least a more level one, by the time his valet arrived to straighten out his jacket or whatever else Bertha felt needed to be done with his appearance. George let his mind wander, though these days when he did so his thoughts didn’t return to the churn of business as it might have in times past, but instead to a kind of relaxing blankness.
He floated in it while he stood in the reception line, the pleasant haze of it carrying him into the ballroom after the guests had arrived. Bertha greeted them all with ease, her memory for names and faces as meticulous as ever even as the guests blurred in front of George’s eyes. Larry and Marian stood by her, swapping out for Gladys and Hector so smoothly that George didn’t even notice his daughter step away.
Larry frowned when George asked where she’d gone, his expression making George grit his teeth. His son often wore that frown when George asked something of him nowadays. A product of spending too much time with Bertha. She was inflating their son’s sense of himself past reality, why, just a few weeks ago he’d had the audacity to correct George’s figures in front of the board. They’d only been out by a few hundred, hardly any cause for concern.
“She wanted to dance with Hector,” said Larry, his eyes flicking to Marian. “Apparently the balls she’s hosted at Sidmouth haven’t been enough for her.”
“I didn’t realise there was a limit on how often a woman might want to dance with her husband,” said Marian, giving him a look. “Maybe I should clear my dance card, to better prepare for my future.”
“Absolutely not,” said Larry, quickly taking her hand. “After this past year I have a lot of missed events to make up for.”
Marian’s expression melted into a smile. Out of the corner of his eye George could see something flicker across Bertha’s expression, there and then gone again before he could catch it, already turning away from him to greet the last of their guests.
He was soon released from his duties, Bertha leaving his side almost before he could register the warmth of her hand on his arm. George watched the dancers turn about the ballroom of their Newport cottage, all of them like beautiful flowers in a golden room. The perfection of it turned his stomach. It all felt so empty, though it was difficult to place why. He’d thought the feeling was caused by Bertha, as such feelings had been these past months - dwelling on the cruelty of her ambition, thinking of what it had done to Gladys, to all of them.
But then, when Gladys had arrived back on American shores with a baby and husband in tow, when that dreaded moment of seeing her so trapped now in the life Bertha had chosen for her had come to pass, Gladys had not been the miserable and cowering girl he'd expected. Instead, a joyful young woman had been in her place, smiling - actually smiling - as she greeted her mother, her husband on her arm. Hector met them all with the effortless politeness one might expect of a Duke but his attention quickly returned to Gladys, as young men infatuated with their beaus tended to do, proudly showing off their new daughter to everyone from servants to Mrs Astor.
He and Gladys were full of praise for Bertha as well, for travelling over to England to help Gladys during her pregnancy and holding her hand through the birth, for keeping Hector calm afterwards, for all her motherly advice, the kind of thing Gladys once found suffocating.
The effect was disconcerting to say the least.
It had not gotten any less so, though he had not had a great deal of time to get used to it. It had not given George a lot of time to speak to Gladys alone, and when he had she had brushed his concerns aside as though they were nothing, Bertha stopping by Gladys' room and interrupting them before he could press the matter.
She had been frightened after she had first been married, Gladys had said. She had been upset, and scared, and had felt terribly alone.
“But I do not feel that way any more,” Gladys had said, her hand clasped on her lap. “I live a life of great opportunity now. There are so many exciting paths open to me, more than I'd ever imagined. It's been… I've been given a wonderful future, my daughter an even better one.”
It felt like hearing Bertha’s voice come out of their daughter’s mouth.
Bertha hadn’t looked at him as he’d left the room, clearly too proud even now to risk giving him the slightest victory if he were to point out the hollowness of their daughter’s words. It was how things were between them now, even her previously stormy arguments and tearful pleas felt muted, lessened, turning him from husband to acquaintance. He envied her in that, in her steadiness, her surety. He had yet to find his own, lost ever since he’d begun out west all those months ago now, the remains shredded by a bullet.
She fluttered through the ballroom, far from him, giving a word to someone here, pausing to whisper a little with someone there. The centre of the earth and the world turning around her, unaffected by human failings.
He’d thought her uncaring as well, before the shooting. He’d been so sure of it, that she must care for no one, that she must feel nothing except ambition, but then she had stayed by his side. Her eyes had been red, when he’d first began to wake, as though she wept over his sleeping body. She had set aside all social duties to be at his beck and call.
She had been there, Larry said, when they had brought him to the house. She had held him steady as the doctor worked to save him, Marian said, and refused to leave his side even to change out of her bloodied clothes until Marian herself had coaxed her away to clean up. She’d written endlessly of his progress, Gladys said, reassuring their daughter even as she kept the news from leaking out.
Doubt had crept in, as it had coated all things of late. Still, even if he had misjudged her heart, he had not misjudged her cold ambition. It was hard to see how he could fit himself into the world that made, harder still to feel certain in it.
It had made sleep difficult to find, though his body ached for rest. The laudanum helped a little, even though it made the days hazy. They had often been so of late, but it was better than the pain.
He'd noticed aches now, the days prickling and irritating if he went too long without. But then, he rarely went too long without. Dr Logan was very accommodating despite Larry's meddling, and surely no one could fault him for following doctor’s orders. Probably time for a new dose now, in fact. George ducked into a small alcove, taking the flask from his jacket, the laudanum burning his throat before blissful relief flooded in. He felt steadier for it, which was probably for the best.
Alfred Merrick was dancing with Bertha again.
George clenched his jaw, his eyes following them, the rest of the ballroom turning hazy around them. The man was a constant nuisance, always managing an invitation, always quick with a compliment or some other charm to make Bertha smile as though he were courting her.
Bertha didn’t mention the man in casual conversation, didn’t request for him to be invited, didn’t even seem to so much as run into him in the street. Her only encounters were in public spaces or in their own dining room where George was present. Still, the sight of him made George burn with something, some long discarded passion bubbling under the haze of laudanum.
It was a reminder, as if he needed one, of how desirable other men found his wife, as coveted a thing as his house or fortune or business holdings, and far more easily lost. He’d thought it had been, really. She’d gone away to England to help Gladys with the birth with barely a word and he’d thought that was the end of them, the pain of it at the very edge of his awareness bleeding inwards until it consumed him. He had felt her absence like a living, writhing thing in his chest. He’d thought of all the things he ought to have said and done, before Gladys’ wedding and after. There must have been a way to make her see the right of it, to find some way that all could have been made well again. The path of it eluded him as true rest escaped his grasp.
But then she’d returned, seeming almost lighter, seeming almost happier than when she had left, and wasn’t that just typical, that she grew more steady and sure as he felt certainty slip further from his grasp.
She’d been perfectly civil to him, agreeing to anything he might ask for, hosting dinners with seemingly effortless charm, carefully avoiding his study when he asked not to be disturbed, not stopping by his bedroom at night. Whatever she had once needed from him, she no longer required it.
Or perhaps, he thought, watching as Bertha smiled at something Merrick said to her, she now got it from elsewhere.
George grit his teeth. He wouldn’t make a scene of it, not here. If he asked Bertha about it, she’d only deny it. He’d have to have proof of it, but then, that was the thing of it, wasn’t it? Did he even want to see evidence? Would he truly want to hold proof of being made a cuckold in his hands or, worse, to discover that no proof could be found? Bertha was smart enough about such things to out-manoeuvre a Pinkerton, surely. She would no doubt enjoy the game of it just as much as a secret rendezvous. His stomach twisted just to think of it, Bertha laughing with her lover over his foolishness.
“Mr Russell,” said Enid, stepping towards him, her elegant purple gown showing her to every advantage. “I had wondered if you’d gone up to bed.”
“Not just yet,” said George.
The corners of Enid’s lips twitched. She followed his gaze out to the dancers, pausing for a moment. ”Your wife and Mr Merrick seem very… close.”
Wonderful, so other people thought she was making a cuckold of him.
“He’s an associate of mine,” said George.
Enid hummed. “I’m sure.” She paused, leaning a little closer to him. “What a shame she must entertain him and leave you all alone.”
It was bait, it had to be, and yet…
George glanced at her. Enid’s lips twitched again, looking at him from under her eyelashes. If Bertha was going to have her fun, why couldn’t he have his own? The idea, as enticing as the laudanum in his pocket, curled in his mind, the words pressing against his lips until he let them into the air.
“The offer you made me once,” said George. “I thought you might like to know that I'm more open to it currently.”
“Currently,” said Enid, her voice neutral, though she turned more towards him.
“Yes,” said George.
“I see.” Enid paused. “Well, that is interesting.”
George smirked. “I thought it might be.”
“Not for the reason you might think, Mr Russell,” said Enid. “How funny. Now you're interested, I'm not.”
George frowned. “What?”
“I'm afraid I don't see much of anything in the offer for me,” said Enid. “And I'm a married woman now. Some of us take our vows seriously.”
“But… you said you'd fallen in love with me,” said George.
Enid laughed, covering her mouth as though she hadn't meant to do so aloud. “Oh, that's- You believed that? I must be a better actress than I thought. Or perhaps you're just more gullible. Either way, I think I ought to cut our conversation short, and go and find my husband.” She paused. “Or perhaps your wife.”
She slipped away before George could react. Indeed, he felt a little like he were moving underwater, his thoughts sluggish as the laudanum took effect. Perhaps taking another dose so soon had been a mistake on his part, something he’d done more out of habit than of need. It occurred to him, perhaps belatedly, that he should not have made the offer without examining it from all angles first, as he would a business deal.
Well. Not the best comparison, perhaps. Larry had begun to do more of that, all the bothersome little day-to-day meetings, leaving George to move listlessly from 61st Street to the office, the day only broken up by Larry’s insistence on them both going to lunch, or else insisting he accompany Marian, as though the woman needed his help to locate food in New York.
He blinked, and the woman herself was beside him. He stopped himself from reacting, barely - he hadn’t noticed her approach. The ballroom had begun to swirl behind her, the colours warping people into streaks of paint and light.
“It is good to see you here tonight,” said Marian after a moment. “I’m glad you were able to travel down with us.”
“Of course,” said George.
“I know Gladys has missed you,” said Marian, “and- We all have.”
Something sour curled in the pit of his stomach.
“So Bertha has you checking up on me,” said George.
“Larry does, actually,” said Marian. “Though I think I probably would have spoken to you regardless, despite your attitude.”
George frowned, turning more towards her. Marian’s attention was across the room - easy to see why, when he followed her gaze. Larry was making his way through the ballroom, two glasses in his hands. George’s throat ached, the flask heavy in his pocket.
“I think my attitude, such as it is, is a reaction to those around me more than anything else,” said George.
“Yes, I can see why you’d be so unhappy,” said Marian. “With your family and friends around you in such a beautiful home and a past season of successes for your business. There is clearly much to be upset by.”
“Miss Brook-”
“Mr Russell,” said Marian, giving him a look. “I am not here to debate you on the morals of past events, only to say that I think if you spend too long in the past you will get trapped there, if you are not already.”
George frowned. He opened his mouth, only to close it again as Larry reached them.
“Thank you,” said Marian, accepting the glass of lemonade. “Has Gladys gone up to check on Iris?”
Larry nodded, his eyes flicking to George and then away. George felt a prickle of irritation. His son often gave him such looks of late, fussing over him as though he were still an invalid.
“Mother’s dancing with Hector to distract him I think,” said Larry, “otherwise he’d surely vanish upstairs for hours.”
Marian huffed a laugh.
“I can’t imagine your mother would be too pleased with her prize Duke disappearing on her,” said George.
The amusement vanished from Larry’s expression. “I meant more that Hector, at least, likes spending time with his daughter.”
“Larry,” said Marian admonishingly.
Larry huffed a breath. “Apologies. I meant nothing by it, Father.”
“I think you did,” said George. “Though I can’t think what.”
Larry opened his mouth and then closed it again as Marian gave him another look, turning his attention back towards the dance floor as Marian slipped her arm through his, the picture of a happy couple. Across the ballroom, George could see Bertha had finished dancing, speaking to someone-
Speaking to Enid.
He winced. Their expressions had a fixed quality, though perhaps that was just his imagination, his heart stuttering in his chest as they both glanced towards him. There was no reason to think Enid would tell her directly. Despite the future tenuous family connection through the various marriages, it wasn’t as though they were allies.
Still. Perhaps he ought to take steps to counteract it. Visit Bertha after the ball as he used to. When a stakeholder began to claim shaky ground he could always turn them around, and surely a wife would be the same. It wouldn’t be a hardship, as long as he could make himself focus only on her body. In that, she was as alluring as ever, her blue and silver gown showing her figure to perfection, his eyes drawn towards her whenever her tiara caught the light.
He followed that light back to her room as they retired for the evening, feeling every inch the moth drawn towards the flame. She didn’t stop him as he followed her inside her room. She didn’t stop him as he dismissed her maid. She didn’t stop him as he kissed her, as he peeled the clothes from her body.
She didn’t reach for him, however, her fingers curled loosely in his shirt as he kissed a trail down her neck. George pulled back, watching her expression. He knew what it ought to have looked like, what it had looked like in times past - her eyes heavy-lidded and dark, biting her lip to try and quiet her sounds of pleasure, her hands clutching at him with a desperate need only he could satisfy.
Instead, her expression was very carefully blank. She looked as if she’d been doing nothing more interesting than idly reading the newspaper to pass the time between her appointments. She looked as she sometimes did during a carriage ride when she was running through her mental list of remaining tasks for the day. He pulled back further, a frown coming over Bertha’s expression.
“George? Are you alright?”
“Am I- Do you even want this?”
Bertha gave a shrug. “I am a little tired, but I’m not opposed to it. It’s not as though you were hurting me.”
“You don’t seem very enthusiastic,” said George.
Bertha sighed. “Do you need that too? I was under the impression that most husbands only required their wives to be willing bodies. Requesting false enthusiasm seems a little much to ask after such a long night. You might need to work a little harder for that.”
“False-” George pulled back further, sitting back on the bed. “What are you talking about? Since when do you have to fake enthusiasm for this?”
“I don’t know George,” said Bertha, sitting up a little, scrubbing a hand over her face. “It’s been a long time since you asked me for this, or indeed expressed much interest in me at all, you might have to give me a moment to revive that part of myself. And this is hardly as ideal night for it, after-”
“Revive-”
“A poor choice of words,” said Bertha, waving a hand. She lay back down. “You can continue, if you’d like to.”
George frowned, feeling as though his every thought was being pulled through deep water, cold and distant. “But I- Would you like to?”
“I think I’d rather go to sleep, if you’re asking,” said Bertha. “But if it’s something you… If this is something I can do for you, I am happy to provide it. It would be nice to feel as though I am doing something you might actually like for a change. I’m a little tired of only doing wrong in your eyes.”
An old guilt twisted in the pit of his stomach. “You don’t- I won’t ask it of you if you don’t want it.”
“I truly don’t mind, George. I’ve told you - I only want to help you, and I-” She pressed her lips together, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above her. “I know my loving you is no longer enough.”
Her voice so completely and horribly resigned that he could feel the weight of it settle in the pit of his stomach. That wasn’t true. That wasn’t how it was.
“That's not- I wouldn't put it like that,” said George.
“I'm sure you wouldn't,” said Bertha, “but I find I prefer plain words these days.”
“Yes, it seems like it,” said George.
Bertha let out a breath. “You asked. If you wish for me to lie to you as other wives do I-”
“That isn’t what I want,” said George.
Bertha sat up sharply, her eyes flashing. “Then what is it you want? Do you know? Will you ever know?”
The weight in his stomach twisted, the cold creeping tendrils of it spreading up, making his chest feel tight. It was so easy for her, so simple, the path in front of her unshaken and undisturbed. He felt as though he could barely see two steps in front of him, every day a scramble, grasping for anything which might provide certainty.
George stood up from the bed, searching around for his clothes, pulling them back on. Bertha watched him, saying nothing, her expression returning to the horribly blank mask she had worn earlier. She didn’t stop him leaving any more than she had stopped him doing anything else.
His room felt chilled, despite the fire and the heat of the day still lingering outside. He asked his valet to stoke the fire before waving off the man’s offer to help him change. He’d dressed himself often enough while he’d been at the Union. Surely a grown person could undress themselves without aid.
He wrestled his way out of his clothes, a few buttons torn away where his frustration had gotten the best of him, fumbling for his flask before he lay back in bed. Just a dose to help him sleep, to get some rest after such a trying day. He’d wake with a clearer head for it, surely, better able to deal with Bertha, better equipped to think of what to say to her after how they had left things in her bedroom.
George woke, fuzzy-headed and as exhausted as ever. Bertha, already awake and alert and finished breakfast by the time he made it downstairs, said nothing of it the next day, seeming as content as ever as she left to pay calls. Gladys waved her goodbye, little Iris tucked in her arms. The sight of it called George fofrward, light coming into the world at the sight of his first grandchild.
Gladys smiled. It was, perhaps, not as full of a thing as it might have been in her youth, still genuine but tinged now with something he couldn’t put a name to. He could only put it down to her circumstances, the memory of what he had done to her, as his affection for her had not changed.
“Mother’s gone to pay a call on Mrs Van Rhijn,” said Gladys.
“She has?” said George. “Miss Brook must be working miracles over there.”
Gladys frowned. “Oh, no, not- The other Mrs Van Rhijn. The one who used to be our…”
Enid. She’d gone to see Enid, and then she’d know-
Know what, exactly? Know of his offer? Or of his cowardice in not telling her he’d done so? It was hardly the norm for their set to inform a wife about mistresses.
Maybe it was. He’d never sought one out, and he’d never particularly cared to listen to men who discussed such things in any lasting detail even when he’d been bored out of his mind at the Union. That wasn't even what he’d meant by it, not really. When he tried to recall his reasoning the memory slipped from his grasp.
He could picture it now, Enid suggesting Bertha stop by while they’d been at the ball together, Bertha arriving there thinking she was extending the hand of friendship and being very much bitten. Bertha, returning to the house full of self-righteous rage. Bertha, using it to file for divorce, which he didn’t want. He was almost certain, now, that he didn’t want that even as everything else remained uncertain. But he had no argument against it, just as he’d had no argument against Gladys’ marriage, the world pulled out from under his feet again-
Gladys put a hand on his arm. “Father, are you alright?”
“Perfectly fine,” said George faintly.
“Perhaps we ought to sit down,” said Gladys. “Iris will be more comfortable like that anyway. Have you eaten breakfast? I could call for something.”
He didn’t feel hungry, though he didn’t have much of an appetite of late. Instead, his throat ached for the burn of laudanum-
But that was how he’d given Enid the ammunition against him in the first place. George swallowed. Not yet. He didn’t need it just yet.
“I’m fine,” said George.
“I’ll ring for some anyway,” said Gladys.
George picked at the little sandwiches that were brought, managing a few bites, trying to focus on what Gladys was saying, some piece of news Carrie had told her about some friend of hers George didn’t know. His thoughts kept getting pulled back to the night before, his stomach churning at the memory of making an offer, Enid laughing in his face, Enid saying she’d tell Bertha.
Bertha, underneath that, telling him in no uncertain terms that there would be no forgiveness for the next marital infraction. She was as certain in that as she was in anything, the earth always solid under her feet, the path ahead of her bright and clear. If she heard about it, if Enid told her, she’d practically go directly to a lawyer, returning home with the bill of divorcement all drawn up and ready for him to sign.
He spent the day in such memories and swirling fears, Bertha not returning until the evening and, even then, not giving him many opportunities after dinner to speak with her alone. He didn’t even realise she had returned, as she had gone directly to the study to speak with Larry and remained hidden away there until they had to change for dinner. Even then, she’d walked with downstairs Marian and Gladys in a little bubbling group, a built-in buffer to keep him at arm’s length. Perhaps his behaviour the previous evening was keeping her away-
It made his stomach squirm again to think about, twisting further at the thought that Enid had shared such information with Bertha. It did not paint a particularly flattering portrait, for all that the memory of much of the evening felt indistinct to him.
His throat ached, but still he did not reach for the laudanum. He felt the absurd urge to throw the bottle away, a somewhat childish impulse, as though every trouble of his could be thrown away with it. Instead, he left the bottle in his room when he went downstairs, the first time it had not been on his person since-
The thought made him pause. Weeks, surely. Months, more than likely. He’d had the prescription for it at least that long. There was a part of him that ached to turn back, to bring that pleasant haze with him to dinner. Instead he suffered through an endless stretch of it, his heart pounding like he’d run a mile instead of simply walking downstairs. He would be fine. It wasn’t as if he needed it.
George’s head began to ache before they had reached the second course. He could feel sweat making his shirt cling to his back through the dinner, adding to the torture of it. If the others suffered from the length of the thing, they didn’t show it. Perhaps they were more tolerant of the heat.
By the time he’d pushed his food around his plate enough to disguise his lack of appetite and very carefully sipped his brandy to give himself an excuse not to have to make conversation with Hector, he was about ready to go upstairs and drain the bottle. Larry eyed him warily throughout the remainder of the evening, trading looks with Marian as George retired upstairs.
George ignored the rudeness of it. After all, it was a hot night and it was late, it wasperfectly reasonable for him to want to go to bed. He tugged at his tie, pulling it free and dropping it on the floor as he entered his bedroom, throwing his jacket and waistcoat aside on his way to pick up the bottle. He unscrewed it, the sharp, medicinal scent flooded his nose and George let out a shaky breath of relief, lifting the bottle to his lips.
He paused as he heard footsteps pass by his door. Bertha’s, unmistakably Bertha’s. He’d thought for sure that she would come to visit him, to chastise, to lambast him for his misstep with Enid. Instead, her footsteps continued on to her own room. George set the bottle down, replacing the lid, though his body screamed for him to pick it back up.
A passing thought, of course. He could feel his sweat making his shirt cling to his back though he had begun to feel a little chilled now, a shiver running through him as he closed his eyes. He didn’t need it. He only used it on occasion, on doctor’s orders, and perhaps tonight he’d need a clearer head. He could always take some later, before he went to sleep. Yes, that was it. It would be his little reward for suffering through whatever argument Bertha put forth, perhaps not a strictly medicinal dose but certainly not one taken out of some kind of base need. He sat down on the side of his bed to wait, unbuttoning his shirt a little to get more air, loosening his collar.
Minutes ticked by to hours. His head began to pound in time with his heartbeat. Bertha did not approach his door. Indeed, when George opened his door, the house was dark and quiet, the other occupants apparently all abed.
Unlike Bertha, to leave such a thing unfinished. No doubt she was planning to ambush him with it at some inconvenient time to throw him off balance as she had with Gladys’ betrothal. Well then, she gave him no choice but to bring the fight of it to her. Things would be different, this time around.
He knocked on her door, pausing for a moment before knocking again.
“Yes?” said Bertha’s voice, sounding half-asleep even through the door.
George opened the door, hesitating in her doorway. She was in bed, the sheet sliding off her shoulder a little as she went up on one elbow.
He cleared his throat, pulling his gaze away from her bare shoulder. “Might I come in?”
“Of course,” said Bertha. She sat up a little, watching his face in the low light thrown by the moonlight from the window. “Is there something wrong?”
George could feel his shirt clinging to his skin as he took a step forward, the scratch of fabric like sandpaper. “Of course not, I only- I wished to ask about your day.”
Bertha made a face. “You… wish to ask about my day?”
“That’s not so unusual, is it?” said George.
“It is lately,” said Bertha, that same horrible resignation that her voice had held the night before returning.
“That’s- It’s hardly fair of you to compare a few months to our years together,” said George. “And it isn’t as though you’ve been particularly welcoming.”
“As I said to you last night,” said Bertha, “it seems rather unfair to expect me to fake enthusiasm on top of everything else. It is hardly enjoyable to have one’s ambitions belittled for hours on end and then to be forced to pretend that you’ve had a delightful conversation.”
“I didn’t belittle them,” said George. “I simply did not want our daughter-”
Bertha sighed loudly. “George, it’s very late. Did you really wake me in the middle of the night to ask me about my day and argue the extremely settled point of our daughter’s marriage? I think both could have waited until morning.”
“I- I only- I simply wished to inquire if you had spoken to anyone of interest today,” said George. “We did not have much opportunity for discussion over dinner.”
“Ah,” said Bertha. “I take it that this is about Mrs Van Rhijn?”
“Nothing happened, whatever she’s said to you,” said George. “It was just- A momentary lapse-”
“A lapse?” said Bertha, her eyes flashing. “You proposition another woman, and you consider that a lapse?”
“It’s- Well I didn’t mean it,” said George.
“It sounded genuine enough to her,” said Bertha. “I imagine that you gave her a marvelous evening despite the lack of sexual gratification. Though frankly I think humiliating me is close enough in her mind to get her there in private.” She paused. “She told me last night, at the ball. Today was just about controlling the damage.”
She’d known before he’d come to her room. Shame twisted in the pit of his stomach.
“You… You knew?”
“Yes,” said Bertha, her voice utterly calm, as though they were talking about the mundanities of dinner arrangements.
“Then why didn't you say anything?” said George.
“Why didn't you?” said Bertha. “I don't suppose you have any reason for it to be for the same reasons as last time as you have made it very clear how little you wish to consider my feelings.”
“I-”
“Perhaps it slipped your mind?” said Bertha, her tone tipping towards icy now. “You were busy with other matters? Though I don't know what those would be since our son says you're asleep at your desk when you even make it to the office-”
That wasn’t true, that wasn’t how it was. Larry had stepped up, of course, but he’d been ill. Such things could leave any man feeling worn out. There was no need for her to spin up some silly rumour based on the fact that Larry had taken charge of a few accounts.
“I do nothing of the sort,” snapped George, stepping closer to her, “and if you had heard such a ridiculous tale you could have said something-”
“Oh yes,” said Bertha. “How wonderful for a wife to bring that to her husband, that's just what I’d love to do right now, since you've been so amenable when I've tried to talk to you about any other topic. I would love to ask you how to manage this situation.”
He paused. “I suppose she's told others.”
“No,” said Bertha sharply. “I've managed that. You've nothing to worry about.”
“You've… managed it,” said George.
“Yes,” said Bertha. “Her new husband might know about her lowly beginnings but no one else does. It's too messy for her to really reveal why she'd find it so amusing so there's little sport in it for her to tell anyone, and she is aware that I could make the full tale significantly less appealing. She still requires my invitations to get a foot in anywhere, after all.”
Bertha, at the foot of their stairs claiming that she could fix all the ills she’d done to their daughter. Bertha, apparently doing just that, as though no task held any more difficulty to her than any other. Bertha, turning her opinion around on their son’s choice of bride and changing their son’s opinion of his mother with it. Bertha, greeting their former maid as a friend, making an ally of her out of his fumbling attempt at petty revenge.
She rubbed her forehead. “You really had to pick her, of all people?”
George looked away, wincing as the sharp movement of his head made it feel as though his brain were pressing painfully against his skull. “I thought she'd say- I wasn't looking to… overcomplicate matters.”
“You'll excuse me if I don't thank you for that,” said Bertha, her voice still cold, the sound of it sharp enough to make pain spike through his skull. “You’ll excuse me if I-”
George glanced towards the windows - they were all open, but Bertha’s room felt suffocatingly hot, the air still enough that it felt difficult to draw breath. He took a step towards her, stumbling slightly as his knees threatened to give way.
Bertha was by his side in an instant, guiding him to sit down on the side of her bed. Even now, her hands felt steady. Even now, as the world tilted and seemed to slide away underfoot, her movements were certain and sure.
“I’m fine,” said George.
“Of course,” said Bertha. “But perhaps we can continue our discussion tomorrow, after you get some sleep.”
“I don’t need you to play nursemaid,” said George.
“I’m not,” said Bertha. “You were always a terrible patient.”
“You were worse,” said George.
“How would you know,” said Bertha, something new curling in her tone now, making him look up. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”
She was smiling.
She was smiling at him, and it felt… It felt…
There was something. Through the pounding in his head and the creeping discomfort of the heat and the too-quick beating of his heart there was something, just at the very edge of his awareness. A kind of warmth, not oppressive as the heat of the room was but welcoming, calling out to him, if only he could reach it.
The laudanum likely did not help that, a voice in his mind whispered. The voice sounded a little like Bertha, a little like Larry. Sometimes, when he’d had such thoughts in the past, it even sounded a little like his own voice, as though there was some version of himself in the ether that still held his old certainty, watching his present self scornfully from a distance. There were words which that past version of himself wished to say, but George couldn’t quite force them from his throat.
Bertha’s expression faltered, her smile flickering away and that feeling vanishing with it. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”
“I don’t need your help,” said George. “I’m not an invalid.”
Irritation and shame prickled under his skin as Bertha did, in fact, have to help him up from the bed, taking his arm to keep him steady as she walked with him back to his room. George’s head swam with the heat, his throat aching. His eyes were drawn to the laudanum bottle as soon as he entered the room, though Bertha guided his steps towards the bed instead.
“There,” said Bertha. “I’m sure, as you’re perfectly fine, you won’t need any further assistance.”
“Of course not,” said George. He could feel his hands shaking, pressing them to the mattress so that she wouldn’t notice. “Could you pass me that tray on your way out?”
Bertha paused. “No.”
George turned to look at her. “No?”
“If you need it so badly, you can cross the room yourself,” said Bertha. “I won’t be complicit in it.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” said George. “It was just a thought, since you insist on treating me as if I’m liable to collapse any moment, and you’re half-way there already. I can get it myself.”
“I’m sure you will,” said Bertha, her expression twisting as she turned away from him. “Just as I’m sure you’ll take it to bed with you.”
A chill gripped his stomach. That wasn’t how it was. Hd she forgotten the shooting so quickly, did she think the pain of it vanished overnight?
“I’m not- It was just a thought, Bertha. The doctor prescribed-”
“That man prescribes what you pay him to,” said Bertha.
“Whatever conspiracy you have cooked up in your mind-”
Bertha whipped around to face him, her eyes flashing. “You accuse me of sleeping with every man I have danced with in the past six months and I’m the one with conspiracies?”
“Merrick is fond of you,” said George bitterly. “Despite your protestations, I’m sure you-”
“He can be as fond of me as he likes, but I’m married to you, you absolute-”
Bertha took a breath in, letting it out through her nose. She stepped towards the laudanum, picking up the tray. George’s throat ached, already feeling the relief of it-
And then she stepped further away, setting the tray down on the far side of the room.
George frowned. “What-”
“If you are really so well then it won’t be any trouble for you to get it yourself,” said Bertha, leaving the tray there and stepping towards his door. “Goodnight George.”
George listened to her footsteps recede in a kind of stunned haze, albeit a far less pleasant kind of haze than he was used to. His head throbbed. His heart thudded in his chest. Sweat soaked through his shirt, though that provided no relief in the sweltering room.
She talked to him as though he was some kind of… some kind of…
He wasn’t, of course. He wasn’t anything like that. Just because he had, perhaps, overindulged a little here and there since the shooting, that didn’t mean he needed it. After all, he’d gone almost a day without it now. He didn’t even need a dose now, not really. Yes, that would show her. Bertha would no doubt stop by his room tomorrow to check the bottle and be stunned to discover that her husband had more self-control than she gave him credit for.
George held tight to the thought as he tried to ready himself for bed. In the end, the ache in his body grew too much and so he managed little more than to toe off his shoes and curl up on the covers, but still, he felt some victory in it. He could already feel exhaustion claiming him, and satisfaction with it. After all, if he could fall asleep so easily without a dose of laudanum or even a single drop of whiskey, surely that proved he was as well as ever.
Unfortunately he did not wake up feeling particularly well. In fact, he woke up feeling so spectacularly unwell that he barely had time to lean over the side of the bed before he threw up the meagre contents of his stomach. He fumbled for the bell, ringing for a servant as darkness gathered at the edge of his vision.
The pain in his head felt as though it had spread through his body, the ache of it throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His stomach rolled and he gagged again, and though nothing came up he did not feel any kind of relief, his stomach churning with it. The room seemed to slide around him, rolling as though he had been secreted away in the night to a ship at sea. He tried to peer out the window, to reassure himself of dry land, but his arms shook too violently to lift himself off the bed.
There was a light knock on the door before his valet entered, the man’s eyes widening in shock.
“I, uh. Let me get you something for that sir,” said his valet, promptly disappearing.
Something for what, George wanted to say, the words coming out instead as a thin moan, the pained sound wavering in the air.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his clothes feeling as though they burned and scratched at his skin, every muscle twitching and tense, the ache in his head strong enough to block out all thought - eons, perhaps. The time felt stretched enough for it.
His stomach rolled again as he heard Bertha’s footsteps. He winced, bracing for her loud chastisement or gloating over his suffering.
Instead she made a soft sound of distress, rushing to his side as she had last night, as Marian said she had when he’d been shot. Her hand pressed to his forehead, her fingers cool, a glimmer of peace in a world of fire. As she pulled her hand back he reached clumsily for it, pressing it back against his forehead, desperate for any relief despite the shame that curled up in him at so childish a motion.
“Send someone for Dr Kirkland,” said Bertha, talking to someone over her shoulder. “Miss Brook will know how to find him.”
“Don’t need a doctor,” muttered George.
Even those small words made his teeth ache, his head throbbing painfully, his throat crying out for the burn of laudanum. That would help, surely. Even just a small dose, surely that would be enough to help him relax.
“You do and I don’t think you’re in any state to argue about it,” said Bertha. She let out a huff of breath. “How much did you take after I left you for the night?”
“Take?” managed George.
“Yes,” said Bertha. “I would have thought by now that you’d know enough not to overdo it like this.”
“Didn’t take any,” said George.
Bertha sighed. “Dr Kirkland will only ask you when he gets here, so you may as well-”
“Didn’t take any,” said George again, his head pounding with every syllable. “I told you, I don’t need it.”
Bertha paused. “You… When did you last have a dose?”
“Don’t believe me?”
She pulled back her hand, taking him by the shoulders, her face swimming in front of his eyes. “George. Focus. When did you last take laudanum?”
“Yesterday,” said George. It felt difficult to think of it exactly, the memory blurred in his mind. “In the morning, probably. It hardly matters.”
“Bertha?” said Marian’s voice. “Mr Russell’s valet said you needed-” Her eyes widened. “Is he-”
“He hasn’t had any laudanum since yesterday morning,” said Bertha, an odd tone of urgency to her voice.
Her concern was unnecessary, of course. Surely he’d gone without it before, even if he couldn’t remember doing so lately.
“I’ll fetch Dr Kirkland,” said Marian, her tone a match for Bertha’s. “He’s in Newport with Peggy, they- I’ll find him.”
“Church will know who to send of the staff to go with you,” said Bertha. “Could you have him send someone up with water and towels?”
Marian nodded, closing the door behind her.
“All this fuss over a headache,” said George, his stomach rolling again.
Bertha took a deep breath in, letting it out in a rush. “Sometimes you can be such a stubborn fool.”
He would have responded, but his stomach rolled again as he tried to sit up and it took his focus not to gag. Bertha sat down on the mattress next to him, her cool palm resting against his forehead. George breathed in, letting the familiar scent of her perfume ground him even as his muscles tensed under his skin. He let his eyes fall closed, though he couldn’t find any comfortable position in which to sleep.
His valet returned, Bertha helping the man change George from his sweat-drenched eveningwear to clean sleep clothes, a maid stripping the bed and replacing the soiled sheets with fresh ones. Bertha pressed him back down against the mattress, putting a cool cloth to his forehead.
“There now,” said Bertha, her voice soft, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “There now, that’s right.”
George couldn’t have said how long it took Kirkland to arrive, only that any pain that had lessened through Bertha’s careful ministrations returned in force with the the thudding of his footsteps.
“I’m sorry that you were dragged all the way out here for this,” said George, attempting to push himself up on shaking arms and pausing as a wave of nausea took hold of him. “Just a head cold surely. Or the flu.”
“I think it is a little more than that,” said Kirkland carefully. “Miss Brook said it has been almost a day since your last dose of laudanum?”
“Why does everyone keep going on about that?” said George. “I take it as prescribed.”
Bertha grimaced.
“I see,” said Kirkland. “Might I ask what prevented you from taking it as prescribed yesterday?”
“I didn’t need it,” said George. His head throbbed, his whole body feeling as though it were one raw nerve. “I don’t need to take it, I’m not some sort of- I don’t need it.”
“I see,” said Kirkland again. He looked up, speaking to Bertha as though George couldn’t still hear him. “I’m afraid it may get worse before it gets better.”
“How long?” said Bertha.
“A week, at least,” said Kirkland. “It may be- It will be unpleasant.”
“It already is,” said Bertha. “Afterwards, will he be done with it?”
“That is not for me to say,” said Kirkland, “but if… As he doesn’t think of it as a problem…”
“There isn’t any problem,” said George. “This is just a cold.”
The illness in him worsened as the days crawled by, George either losing the days to flashes of light and darkness or trapped in the endless stretch of it, his body feeling as though he were resting on broken glass instead of fine linen. Bertha tried to get him to take broth, but what little he could make himself drink soon came back up again. His stomach rolled at the slightest movement and made up some additional ones besides, as though the bed underneath him were being tossed about in a storm.
His throat ached sharply. Laudanum. If he had some laudanum, surely that would settle his stomach. It would at least settle his mind enough to doze, enough that he could slide into sleep and be free of the agony for a few hours.
“No,” said Bertha.
George swallowed. He hadn’t realised that he’d been speaking aloud.
“Just- It’s just to help me sleep,” said George, his voice a rasp in his throat.
“No,” said Bertha again, her harsh tone at odds with the careful way she held up a cup of water for him to drink from. “You’ve come this far. I won’t allow you to give up. You only need to focus-”
“I’m not giving up,” said George. “It’s not as though I-”
“You do,” said Bertha. “You’ve come to need it.”
“No I don’t,” said George. “I don’t and I- If I want it, you can’t stop me-”
He tried to pull himself out of bed but only got as far as sliding to the floor. Bertha caught him, staggering under his dead weight. He couldn’t seem to get his knees to be steady enough to hold himself up, his body flushing hot and cold with the shock of it.
“What is-” George wet his lips. “What’s happening?”
Bertha brushed back the hair from his face, easing the covers back over him. “I think you know.”
“I don’t, I-” A wave of pain washed over him, making him curl into himself even as the blankets felt as though they were tearing into his skin. That wasn’t how it was. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need anything. “I’m not like that, It’s just- This is a bad cold, I’m not- I couldn’t-”
Bertha let out a breath, her hand falling away from him. “I wish you would face it, George. If you could only look into the face of it…”
Pain curled around his nerve endings, his body curling reflexively in the covers as he tried to find some relief. Bertha put a hand on his back, even that gentle touch like broken glass against his skin. A whimper escaped him, but Bertha didn’t flinch back, the feel of her hand on his back helping to focus his mind.
It was more difficult as the days pressed on, dragging over his skin like needles, that he didn’t feel as though he needed the laudanum more than he wanted it. His stomach rolled again, a different kind of nausea than the kind he’d been experiencing, shame welling up inside him and making him gag.
He longed for the haze of it, still, and yet at the same time the need of it disgusted him. That wasn’t how it was, that couldn’t have been how it was. And yet it must have been… He must have been…
“George,” said Bertha softly, the resigned tone back in her voice again, the sound of it enough to make tears prickle in his eyes.
She put a hand on his back. Even that felt better, somehow, his body so weakened that the merest touch from her felt healing.
He was glad he’d curled facing away from her. “Well here’s your excuse, then. You can have your divorce.”
Bertha withdrew her hand, the absence of it twice as painful as the contact had been. “I don’t want that. You’re the one who’s looking for an excuse for one.”
“No, I- Because you-”
A wave of nausea hit him and he breathed through it, swallowing down the urge to gag. Bertha put her hand back, running soothingly up and down his spine. Gradually the pain of it lessened, allowing him to stretch out again, removing his excuse and forcing him to face her once more.
“I don’t want a divorce,” said Bertha quietly. “I have never wanted that.”
“I’m sure,” scoffed George. “Since you clearly think I’ve done so well as a husband-”
“I have never wanted a divorce,” said Bertha, her tone more forceful now. “George.”
She took his hands, George’s breath catching in his throat as their eyes met, the sincerity there bright, filling his chest with the light of it.
“I love you,” said Bertha firmly. “No matter what, I love you.”
George’s chest tightened and he looked away as a sob escaped him. That wasn’t how it was. That couldn’t be how it was, not now, not when he was like this, every weakness she despised on display. “Bertha, I’m- You can’t, surely, I-”
Bertha’s fingers tightened around his as he tried to pull away. “Listen to my voice. Focus. Look at me, George. Focus on me.”
George let out a breath, trying to steady himself as he looked back towards her. Bertha’s face blurred and then sharpened. She cupped his cheek in her hand, her palm soothing against his overheated skin.
“You want time to figure it out,” said Bertha. “I can give you the time. I’m not going anywhere. Surely you know that by now.”
He had, once. He must have forgotten it somehow, though it felt inexplicable now that she was so close to him again, her gaze steady on his face. The pain of Gladys’s wedding, of Gladys’s marriage? That was still there, making his stomach churn, but it had faded a little compared to the bone-deep ache wracking his body. The pain, too, of feeling Bertha so certain in her goals as he faltered with his, the twisting shame of it that had turned his stomach for months was shadowed now by rolling nausea.
That wasn’t how it truly was. The past and present were covered by the fact that Bertha was there now, her steadiness holding him against the tide that threatened to pull him under, her faith leeching into his body through her fingertips.
Bertha leaned close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Focus, George. All it takes is a little focus. I know you have it.”
The pain of it began to fade with the days, broth and juice easier to keep down, little by little. He was able to sleep for small patches of time, the ache in his muscles giving way to fatigue. He found it easier to focus on the world outside of his own pained body, listening to Bertha as she read aloud from the newspaper. It was peace as he had not known it in a long time. The world began to feel settled again, steady again. The world began to feel as it should be.
Dr Kirkland visited again, though George remembered his first visit about as well as he remembered Kirkland’s help after the shooting, quietly ushered into the room by Marian. If Kirkland was put off-balance by the secrecy he didn't show it, greeting Bertha warmly, enquiring about her health as though they were at a garden party.
“You must have a very strange impression of me,” said George. “We seem to meet only when I am in the worst state.”
Kirkland smiled. “As a physician that is how I come to know most people.” He paused, glancing at Marian.
“Has Mrs Kirkland come with you?” asked Marian.
“She has,” said Kirkland. “Though she is… She decided it might be best if she waited in the carriage.”
“Surely not,” said Marian. “We must invite her in for some refreshments at least.”
“Of course,” said Bertha. “If there is any difficulty you can send someone for me.”
“But you must come down with me,” said Marian. “You both share so many of the same causes, I'm sure you must have much to discuss.”
“Peggy would like that, I'm sure,” said Kirkland. “And I'm sure she is tired of discussing such things with only me.”
Bertha looking between them, her gaze flicking away from George quickly. “Very well, as long as- Please have someone fetch me when you are ready to come downstairs, doctor.”
“Of course, ma’am,” said Kirkland.
He took a seat, both of them listening to Bertha and Marian's footsteps fade downstairs. George braced himself before he turned to look properly at Kirkland. The other man was already looking back at him, his gaze like a steady weight in George's chest.
“I take it that you have something you wish to say to me outside my wife's hearing,” said George.
“Only to inquire about your health,” said Kirkland, “and I have often found that men… that often we do not wish for the women in our lives to see us falter in any sense.”
George's hands flex in the covers. “Being shot was hardly a falter of mine.”
“On that we agree,” said Kirkland. “It is what has come after that where it seems the difficulty lies.”
George paused. “I don't know what you mean.”
“You are a smart man, Mr Russell,” said Kirkland carefully, “I find it difficult to believe that you have not put the pieces together of it all.”
“I…” George swallowed. “It was a brief lapse in judgement, perhaps. If I had managed the dosage better…”
Kirkland shook his head. George felt his irritation prickle at the motion, his hands flexing in the sheets.
"I would not presume to tell any man how to live his life, especially one such as you. But speaking as a medical man..." Kirkland paused for a moment as though reconsidering his words. "I have seen laudanum's effect."
"But it was prescribed," said George.
"And when taken as prescribed it can be every bit as miraculous as promised," said Kirkland. "But when overused..."
George felt his muscles tense. That was not what he had done, surely. It was prescribed, taken only as needed. If he had needed it a little more these past few months, well, it had been a difficult time. A little extra to make his evenings easier, what harm could there be in that?
Kirkland let out a breath, rising to his feet. “I will leave you to consider past events, sir.”
The room felt very quiet, after Kirkland had left. George's eyes drifted towards the newspaper, when Bertha had left it on his bedside table. He almost reached for it, his finger barely brushing the page before he heard the sound of her footsteps approaching. Though she opened the door without knocking, she still hesitated in the doorway.
He waved a hand. “Surely you can't think I'm contagious.”
Bertha managed a smile, though it did not quite look real to his eyes. “How was your talk with Dr Kirkland?”
“Brief,” said George. “How is Mrs Kirkland?”
“Very well,” said Bertha. “She is a very interesting young woman. I can see why Miss Brook is so fond of her.” She paused. “Next time they visit, perhaps you could meet with them downstairs.”
Surely she couldn't think he was to be an invalid forever.
“Perhaps,” said George.
Larry and Gladys visited briefly, both of them clearly not knowing what to do with a version of their father who barely had the strength to sit up on bed, both of them clearly so relieved that Bertha was in the room with them. At least he could take some solace in the fact that he had at last managed to bridge the gap between his wife and his children, even if he did not quite understand how he'd done it.
Despite their new closeness, Marian seemed to be the only one of them that could convince Bertha to leave the room, though more often than not he was already asleep, waking to find Bertha in a different dress, at work on some different task. Only once did he awake to find himself alone with Marian, quietly reading the newspaper by candlelight. George turned his head slowly to look out the window - it was dark, the heat of the day made less suffocating at last.
She glanced up at him and then looked towards the door. “Oh, I ought to- She must have fallen asleep-”
“Let her rest,” said George, wincing as his voice rasped.
Marian shook her head, standing up to pour him a glass of water, helping to hold his hand steady as he drank. George felt his face burn with something closer to embarrassment than fever.
“If I don’t get her she’ll start refusing to leave your room again,” said Marian.
George frowned. “She what?”
Marian opened her mouth and then closed it again. “She… It was as though she’d seen you be shot all over again.” She paused, pressing her lips together for a long moment. “I hope you… I hope you understand what I mean.”
“But I wasn’t shot,” said George. “I was just…”
Shame twisted in the pit of his stomach again. Just ill. Just weak. Just an example of every person she rightfully felt was beneath her.
“She thought she might lose you,” said Marian. “We all did, but Mrs Russell…”
“She’d be fine without me,” muttered George, looking away.
Marian shook her head. “I don’t think you quite understand how you are the centre of her world.”
George looked up, a pulse of shock powering his body. She couldn’t mean that. That wasn’t how it was.
Bertha opened the door before he could press her for the real truth of it, the lantern in her hand illuminating her profile in gold. She was in a different dress than he remembered, the skirt of it oddly rumpled. She had fallen asleep in it, then, just as Marian had thought. George swallowed, his throat aching at the thought.
“You ought to go to bed Miss Brook,” said Bertha quietly.
Marian shot George a look before she turned her attention back to Bertha. “So should you.”
“I’m fine,” said Bertha. “Really, you go on. You have a luncheon with your cousin and his wife tomorrow.”
Marian smiled. “I suppose I will need my wits about me for that.”
She bid them both good night, Bertha murmuring her farewells as she took her seat at George’s bedside. He watched her for a long moment. She did look tired, as tired as he felt.
“You’re not going to the luncheon?” asked George at last.
Bertha shook her head. “I’m needed here.”
“You ought to- You don’t need to sacrifice these things on my account,” said George.
“It’s hardly a sacrifice not to be needled for hours by Mrs Van Rhijn,” said Bertha.
“Still,” said George.
“Do you…” Bertha smoothed her hands over her skirts. “If you would rather someone else’s company, I can arrange that, I only think- Well, Dr Kirkland said we ought to have someone with you.”
“I’m sorry,” said George, shame twisting at him again.
To be forced to watch his weakness so closely… If he hadn’t driven her into Merrick’s arms before he surely had now.
Instead, Bertha shook her head. “I… It isn’t a hardship to sit with you, George.” She paused for a long moment, her throat working as she swallowed. “I… I have missed you. Being with you.”
George blinked. That wasn’t how it was. That couldn’t be how it was, and yet she sounded so certain, as sure of that as she was of anything.
“You don’t have to- I can’t imagine it’s been pleasant,” said George.
“And yet it was still better than being without you,” said Bertha. She smoothed her hands along her skirts again, reaching for the newspaper Marian had set aside and beginning to fold it up neatly. “I could hardly have let anyone else take the duty, in any case.”
Perhaps she considered him her burden to bear.
Bertha did seem committed to keeping him as such, practically refusing to let the staff into the room in the morning, even now shielding him from being see too closely by the world for what he was. She helped him to change clothes and to arrange himself on the sofa when she sheets needed to be changed, she rang for his breakfast in the morning, taking his tray at the door and carrying it to his bed herself, fussing around as she propped him up with pillows, making sure everything was settled before she put the tray in front of him. There was a cup of coffee on the tray - for her, obviously, since Bertha wouldn’t allow him to take anything stronger than fruit juice at present - and he handed it to her after she sat down, their fingers brushing one another’s.
Her cheeks flushed. Not to a noticeable degree, not to the untrained eye, but he’d been training his for decades now, for all that he had tried to spend the past year forgetting it. It was such a small thing and yet - perhaps that was how it was. Perhaps, even now, even after all this, that could be how it was. Fondness, certain and sure, welled up in his chest. Words pressed against his throat, aching to escape his lips. He let them, freeing them at last.
“I don’t want a divorce,” said George. “I love you.”
Bertha’s cup rattled sharply and she quickly set it down on the sidetable. “I see.” She paused. “What brought this on?”
A new pain ached in his chest at the wariness in her voice. Not unearned, on his part, with all he’d put her through, a punishment that far outweighed the crime he’d accused her of.
“I just thought you should know,” said George. “I do not want to leave you with any doubts. I think I have had quite enough of them for us both.”
“I…” She hesitated for a moment before she reached out, taking his hands in hers. “I love you too. You do know that?”
His chest felt tight, all the love he had held back from her pressing against his ribs, desperate to get out now that he had relaxed his hold on it. That was how it was, after all. That was how it had been since they had met, and perhaps even before that.
“I do,” said George. “I am only ashamed to have forgotten it. I have treated you all… I have not behaved as I should, and you got the worst of it.”
“I certainly felt as though I did,” said Bertha softly.
That new pain ached again in his chest. “I have been given a second chance twice over. I will not waste it this time in blaming you for the ills of my world.”
“I hope you will share them with me,” said Bertha, her eyes searching his face. “I- You know that I want to help you?”
Another thing he had tried to make himself forget.
“You do,” said George. “And I am sorry that I made you feel as if you couldn’t.”
“I just-” She pressed her lips together, and he could feel her fingers trembling in his. “Will you tell me now what it was that I did? It can’t have been only…”
“No,” said George. “I wanted it to be that, I think. It made it easier for me, but it- Larry has told you by now? About how things really proceeded out west?”
“Yes,” said Bertha. “But that’s- You would have worked it out.”
Shame twisted in the pit of George’s stomach at her certainty - that steadiness, that surety in the world, it had never been solely for herself alone. It had always been for him, if he hadn’t been too stubborn to take it.
“I had forgotten that too,” said George. “Or else it seemed impossible to me that you would still have believed that if you had known the truth of it. Another doubt that you did not deserve.”
He lifted her hands, pressing a kiss to the back of it and then lowering his head, letting his forehead fall upon her raised hands as though in prayer. Perhaps it was, of a kind, the truest kind he had ever made. He’d only ever managed piety towards her, after all.
“No, I didn’t,” said Bertha softly. “But I… Well. You were not in your right mind.”
“Only for the last of it,” said George, forcing himself to look up at her. “For the rest, it was my own stubbornness and jealousy.”
Bertha frowned. “Jealousy?”
“You have such a way in the world, my dear,” said George. “Your head held high in victory or defeat, though you are rarely defeated.”
Bertha swallowed, looking away. “You almost did.”
“I…”
“You made it very difficult to bear,” said Bertha.
“I know,” said George.
“You were cruel,” said Bertha.
George winced. How he wished that he could blame it all on the laudanum, step forward with a clean slate, his soul unblemished. But he would know it to be false.
“I know I was,” said George. “I hope never to be so to you again. Or our children.”
“You must do better than hoping,” said Bertha. “Anyone can do that. But you are George Russell. I expect more from you than hoping.”
“You think too much of me,” said George. “What man could measure up to the image?”
“You have before,” said Bertha. “You did it for twenty years. You can do it again.”
That was how it was. You’ve made one fortune, she had told him once, We can make and spend another, her faith in him endless, a bottomless well even now, after being faced with months of proof of his weakness and cowardice.
“I will work every day to be the man you believe me to be,” said George, as solemn a vow as he had ever made.
“And you will succeed,” said Bertha, unshakeable, certain and sure.
George could feel that certainty flow through him, steadying the earth beneath him at last. Looking into her eyes he could almost believe it. Perhaps it did not matter if he did- as long as he had Bertha by his side, as long as he worked to be the man she saw him as, then he would be worthy of that certainty.
There was a quiet knock at the door, Bertha calling out for them to enter. George was almost startled to see Gladys there, baby Iris in her arms. Usually she made some excuse for the child’s absence, though George could hardly blame Gladys for wanting to keep her child away from him of late.
“We were going to take a carriage ride to take the air,” said Gladys. “But I thought we ought to say goodbye first.”
Bertha smiled. “How lovely.”
Gladys stepped closer, carefully transferring the child to Bertha’s arms, sitting at the foot of George’s bed as she would be when she was a child herself. George’s chest felt tight and he took a breath in, letting it out slowly. Gladys was a child no longer, a wife and mother now in her own right. A happy one, too, smiling across at them as Bertha stepped closer with Iris in her arms.
That was the way things were, too. His daughter, home for the moment, happy in her life. His daughter, smiling at Bertha as Bertha sat beside him. Iris blinked up at him with Gladys’ eyes, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket she was swaddled in.
George smiled, brushing the tiny wisps of hair back from Iris’ face. “She’s just perfect.”
“She is, isn’t she?” said Bertha. She paused, her eyes flicking to Gladys. “Would you like to hold her?”
“I…”
He hadn’t yet - too busy, or distracted, too much in the haze of laudanum or liquor, too resentful of what the child represented about his own failings. A lot to place upon such small shoulders. He looked over at Gladys. She gave him a slight nod, a little tiny movement of her head like she was encouraging him to ask her mother some favour on her behalf.
“Of course I would,” said George. “As long as I’m not holding up your day?”
“Oh, I have time,” said Gladys.
Bertha stayed close after she positioned the baby in his arms, her arm curling around his shoulder, holding him steady, her strength giving him strength. Iris yawned, blinking up at him with his daughter’s eyes before she settled back into sleep.
George let out a deep breath. This was how it was. All was not entirely well, but it would get there, in time. He looked up at Bertha, and she smiled down at him. They would get there, together.