Monty spots me lurking in the door like the trespasser into this family that I am. They both stop talking and oh God, they were talking about me. He was probably telling her about my stupid list and the stupid pie and my stupid pamphlets and how he broke his leg because I almost threw myself overboard in the middle of a storm and how they should be rid of me as soon as possible.
“Dear Lord.” Monty claps a hand over his eyes. He still looks too pale and poorly, but theatrics are encouraging. “I thought at least one of you had to be a hallucination.”
“Did you get everything?” Felicity asks, and I hold up the requested items, careful not to let my sleeve slide back. Felicity unfolds herself from the bed and stretches with her arms over her head. She’s changed her bloody shirt and has a leather apron that looks like something a blacksmith would wear looped around her neck. She fastens the ties as she crosses to the counter to examine my purchases. She frowns at the jar. “Is this all they gave you?”
I can feel the leeches sucking on my arm. My stomach is still sloshing. “There was a shortage.”
I’m sure she’s going to demand to know why I paid for a dozen leeches but was given only a few, or the whereabouts of all their friends, or question whether a shortage of leeches is even possible—in England, the ponds are overrun with them—and I’ll have to either lie poorly or tell the truth and sound entirely mad. Sweat drips down my back and my ribs ache.
But Felicity rips a handful of leaves off the wormwood stalk and begins to grind them with a pestle and says nothing more.
Monty inclines his head in my direction, then says to Felicity, as though I can’t hear him, “Isn’t he tall?”
“Should I be amazed?” Felicity asks without looking up.
“I was hoping for outrage. Be outraged with me! Every precious centimeter you and I would have coveted got shaved off and reallocated to him.”
“Speak for yourself,” Felicity replies, tipping the wormwood onto a scale and adjusting the weights. “Not all of us are so cripplingly insecure about our height.”
“I’m not insecure.”
“You were delivered to my house with a broken leg, wearing heels.”
“You didn’t throw them out, did you?”
“Are those the only shoes you brought for a voyage to Morocco?”
“No. But they were the least formal.” He glances at me at last. “Sit down, Adrian. You’re making me seasick.”
I realize I’m swaying where I stand. I’m so light-headed a strong breeze down the chimney would likely knock me over. There are no chairs beside the one pulled up to the table Felicity is working at, so I take an awkward seat on an overturned bucket next to the stove. My knees are pulled up so far I can almost rest my chin upon them.
“By the by,” Monty says, throwing a piece of straw he’s picked from the mattress at Felicity. It falls short by almost the entire room. “I’m only calling you Veronica from here on.”
Felicity snorts. “In God’s name, why?”
Monty catches my eye and grins, like this is some brilliant joke only we know, but I just feel stupid. Stupid stupid stupid lad with this stupid stupid stupid brain that won’t shut up and let him be. Unbearably stupid to have drunk from that pump and then expect to be cured by a handful of leeches. My stomach heaves.
Felicity nudges a kettle into place over the fire with her elbow, then tosses Monty a damp rag from the washing basin beside her table. He’s still watching me, so it hits him square in the face. “You’ll have to drink this as soon as it’s ready.”
He presses the rag against the back of his neck. “It’s going to taste rotten, isn’t it?”
“Oh, grow up. You are so goddamn lucky you were brought to me, Henry Montague. And so goddamn lucky I didn’t have to cut your goddamn leg off.” She twists her plait around something sharp and medical and certainly not meant to be used for hairdressing, then wedges it in place until it holds. “I swear to god, I’m not letting George off this island until I’ve given him a course in basic medicine.”
“You all right?” Monty asks suddenly. I look around, unsure who he’s talking to before he says, “Adrian.” And I realize it’s me. When I look at him, he raises his eyebrows, and I wonder if I’m going green, or my nose is bleeding, or he’s noticed some other indicator that I’ve been poisoned. I should have put those last two leeches on; these alone aren’t doing the trick.
“Adrian,” Monty says again. “Is something the matter?”
Felicity peers at me over the top of her spectacles, and I redden. I can feel the leeches throbbing against my arm and suddenly I’m sure I can hear them too, slurping and gurgling as they drain my blood. How do the leeches know what’s poison and what’s not? Maybe they’re just sucking me dry? I need to get them off me before I crumple up like a dead leaf in autumn. Or before Monty and Felicity hear them and realize what a loon I am. How is it I recognize the insanity of what I’ve done and it still feels absolutely essential to my own survival? I have to take them off. I can’t take them off; I’ve been poisoned.
God, how long has it been since he asked me if I was all right? They’re both staring at me. “I’m fine.”
Which is a lie, both in the long term and the present sense. It’s too hot in here. The air is stuffy and stale. I want to pull open the collar of my shirt; I feel like it’s tightening around my throat. Am I swelling up? Is that because of the water? Or the leeches?
The crackle of a log breaking in the stove fills the silence. Outside, a breeze rattles the window frames. Monty tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, mopping his chest with the damp rag. He must not realize I’m watching him, for, with Felicity’s back turned, he closes his eyes and flexes his hand against his collarbone, then takes a long purposeful breath through tight lips. It’s like a mask slipping for a moment before he pushes it back up, like he isn’t in a fantastic amount of pain.
Why can’t I do that? Just box up my thoughts and throw them in the cellar and forget about them until spring. I’m not even in any actual pain—or actual danger. Adrian, you’ve not been poisoned; it was just water, and you’re fine. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
If I say it enough, maybe I’ll believe it.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you can’t feel your fingers and you’re so goddamn fine.
“I’m not fine,” I say. It’s been so long since I was asked, Monty probably forgot he even spoke. And what a queer response—I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone give an honest report about their state of being when it’s inquired after. That’s not why we ask each other.
Monty looks over at me, and Felicity turns as well. I swallow. I can still taste the rusty pump water at the back of my throat, and I want to claw these leeches off my body but I can’t because they are saving my life.
“What’s wrong with the water?” I demand.
Felicity cocks her head. “What water?”
“The pump water. Outside. You said I shouldn’t drink it.”
“Did I?”
“You said I would probably be fine, but what if I’m not? I don’t think I am. So what’s wrong with it?”