The Ghost of Winn Peterson

12. Winn

 27 September 

How lax have I been in my writing! How horridly, unforgivably despicable I am a writer, a scribe to my own life. Not even the excuse of all these recent stresses, nor displacements in so many lives, are worthy reasons for my neglect of the pen and paper. Oh, to think on the sorry state my poor story has been in, as well, and considering Evie's desire that I should continue it in hopes of finally finishing, it is as highly important as keeping detailed entries in this book! I suppose I shall calm myself before continuing; I shake the pen enough to scatter my precious ink, and I fear I will ruin the chapters previous this in my nervousness. Off for a cup of tea, then, and perhaps a biscuit or two. 

Very well! My hand has steadied somewhat, and my heart a tamed little critter. I wish I were a vegetable in my garden, cared for by the sure hands of Evelyn and surrounded by healthy, dirty flowers that required no tenderness of situation to merely thrive. This may, I see, prove a curious statement, but I have the benefit of the last few weeks' experience, of which I shall promptly share, if only after another sorrowful message or two. It has been a truly exhausting series of events, and will require far more energy than I have previously devoted to the task of journaling my day. Ah, I suppose writing over and moaning about it all will prove actually useful, so here's to that, at least. 

The eighth day of the month was marked by my fervoured anticipation of Evie's return, and the night saw her restored to her household in safe, if only damp, condition. The doctor so eagerly sought made my uneasy acquaintance, and it was here that we see he forgoes the immediate inspection of the sickly Genevieve Thomas for the set up of his medical offices in a spare bedroom. Retiring for the night, it was only natural that I would be plagued with uneasiness into my frightful sleep. My story continues only in the morning! One would be blessed to hope for at least a day of reprieve from these stressful environments, but not even had I awoken until there was more to fret about. 

The fretting in particular began with the doctor. 

My uneasy rest had been abruptly cut short when I felt a large, strong hand made of something totally devoid of human warmth rest upon my brow and exclaim, "You must be in possession of illness yourself, Ms. Peterson! Why did you not say anything the night before of your own discomforts?" I lurched forward and stifled a yelp, for Dr. Radcliffe was indeed bent over my person and touching my skin with his own. All whilst I was in my nightclothes! It was a dizzying quickness that I leapt to my feet and pulled my blankets to my chin as speedily as I had stood. 

"Doctor, I must beg you to leave at once! I am in no condition to greet... a guest!" The term stranger passed my mind, but seeing the same heartless, black eyes as the night before, I felt angering the doctor was unwise, somehow. He did not even blink at my reaction, instead pressing a hand to my shoulder and pushing me as easily as a kitten onto the bed. 

"Do not shout; you will only worsen your condition. I came to inquire into the rooms of the Lady Thomas, but here you are, concealing the need for care elsewhere!" He tutted and looked around the room, eyes settling on the windows. "The window is opened! Save me, what manner of ignorance passes through these villages, that one cannot comprehend the closing of a window in this weather." He slammed the window shut and my heart jumped with it. The window reminded me that I had not seen Evie since my rude awakening; had she made her escape through it? I could not recall if there was some outward extension of the house that protruded from its glass face, but then, why would Evie have wanted to go out of there, anyway? I hoped with a morbid fear that she had not plunged herself out as I slept, but this only served to increase my heart rate, which this most invasive of men noticed upon his turning back around. 

Despite all of my protestations to the opposite, I was bundled in place of where Evie had been only hours before, my arms trapped under the sheets and a cooling cloth placed over my head. With my hair fanned out in its unruly state, I must have looked a homeless child, wandering the villages before anyone had taken pity to invite me in. Mummified and humiliated, I could only wait until the doctor quit the room for another soul to bother before I pried myself free and tossed the cloth across the room. "How dare he!" I fumed, shedding my nightclothes in favour of my usual dress and stockings. "No right! He had... no right!" Each limb was clothed with each word I heaved out. If only this vehemence was applied in the actual presence of the offending party, but as it is, not all acts of bravery or wisdom are displayed in public, but only uselessly when one finds themselves well past the point of putting it in practise.