Lady in Rags

Chapter Forty-Four: Good Luck

Neil's health continued to improve throughout May and into June. The physician at first doubtfully blamed a stomach tumour for his continuing weight gain, and then, when it became undeniable that he was getting better, began to claim that his prescriptions had made the difference. The nurse boasted that her milk and sherry possets were the cause. Mrs Roper suggested it was barley soup and boiled eggs and toast. Verity didn't know why, but was blindly grateful that he continued to gain weight and strength, even if his still fragile mind worried her. Jane jokingly suggested to Richard that it was flirting that had done the job, and Richard almost forbade her from returning: himself, he thought the change was due to the clement weather, and argued with his father until Neil was allowed to spend his mornings on the terrace in the sun. Only Neil knew the truth, and dared speak of it to no one: a second voice had joined the incessant lullaby in his head, only this one he knew to be memory: I need you, I need you, I need you. The more the lullaby lured him towards sleep, the more the other voice begged him to stay awake and live. The other voice had started out softly persistent, but grew louder every day. It would ring in his ears until he found himself tossing his laudanum out the window, or in the chamber vase, or into the dirt of the potted orchid he had cunningly asked of Richard. It would plead with him to "Get up, get up," until he found himself shuffling about his room, his disused muscles aching with a gentle, persistent hum.

Despite his physical strength, his memory remained as tattered as ever. Sometimes he spent whole days believing Giulia was still alive and waiting for him; knowing, simultaneously, that Verity was carrying his child, he hated himself. Sometimes he remembered she was his wife, and that Giulia was dead, and tried to look upon Verity with fondness, because he understood why she needed him. At other times, when she would lay her hand on his, the touch would frighten him, and he knew not why. It was easier when, in June, she was ordered on bed-rest. He visited her several times, at Richard's insistence, finding the reversal of their roles strange. Her cheeks were pale and puffy, and her belly, under the blankets, was a mountain. The baby would be coming very soon, and the thought filled him with silent dread. Whenever Jane came to visit, he would creep away to the terrace with her, and beg her to tell him stories of her adventures in society, to take his mind away from the baby.

That was where they were now. Neil was leaning back on his chair with his eyes shut. Jane was watching him from her perch on the balustrade, taking advantage of his closed eyes to make a full and libertine account of his figure, stretched out from toe to chin. She enjoyed the muscles of his neck, still too thin, but attractive in line and form, exposed beneath the open-collared muslin shirt that disappeared beneath the collar of his yellow silk banyan. It was the nurse's directive that he not wear a cravat or starch his collar. Jane approved greatly.

"I have summer," he said blissfully. "I have attained summer."

"It's achievement for any Briton, not just a winter sick invalid."

"Tell me a story," he demanded, his eyes still shut against her blatant lechery. She wondered if it would disturb him if he knew. He always had been a prude.

"What kind of story?"

"One of your awful, improper London stories." Then, without waiting for the story, he added, "You know, I think I shall be returning to Italy soon. I am much better. Don't you think I am much better now?"

"You are a little better," she said cautiously, not wishing to encourage him. "I could come too."

"You? It is... Everybody would talk. They always talk about you anyway, don't they? Even I have heard gossip, away in my mercury tower."

"Pray, do not tell," Jane drawled. "I despise gossip. And I do not care what they shall say. I want to go to Italy too. It's unfair that men get all the fun. Take me."