Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Chapter Twenty-One

Sweet, sweet morphine.

I was staring at those words in Alastair's elegant writing when there was a quiet knock at the door. Wesley entered. I could somehow tell it was him. I turned to see him looking at me with eyes so, so similar to Alastair's. It hurt.

"Father would like to invite you to dinner," he said. "If—if you're hungry?"

My stomach rumbled on cue. "I guess I am."

Wesley smiled. "So... are you making progress?"

A little pile of opened letters sat in front of me. All full of the unimaginable pain of a bone trying to mend itself when its pieces were scattered and smashed, and the ominous words sweet, sweet morphine.

"Um, yeah." I sniffed hard. Big surprise, I had been bawling my eyes out. "Is dinner going to be fancy? I don't have anything else to wear."

"It's fine," Wesley said, waving his hand. "We keep things a lot less formal than they used to be."

He offered me a smile and opens the door to lead me to dinner.

Sure, he said things are a lot less formal. But in the dining room, his mother and father sit in high-backed chairs while a footman pours them wine.

Lord Walsingham smiled at me.

"Hello, Max," he said, his eyes crinkling. "This is my wife, Lady Josephine."

Her smile spread to me like a pleasant disease.

"Henry tells me you're unravelling some secrets," Lady Josephine said. "I'm already fascinated."

"I don't know if he wants to talk about it," Wesley said as we sit down.

The food was amazing. Roast beef and creamy, buttery mashed potatoes. We ate in silence for a few minutes. I felt like everything rested on me. Did I want to talk about it? I didn't want to turn into an emotional, crying mess.

But this was their house. Alastair was part of their family. And here I was, a complete, total stranger, arriving out of the blue and freaking them way the hell out with some crazy-ass science fiction ties to their long-dead relative. They invited me to dinner, for God's sake.

"I'm sorry," I said. "This must be awfully weird for you guys. I—I do want to talk about it. And I have questions."

The family exchanged looks. For a second their upper-class veneer wore off. I could see that they'd been waiting to have this conversation all day; the mystery was killing them. Then Lord Walsingham looked at me benevolently.

"Go on," Lord Walsingham said. "We'll answer any question we can."

I took a deep breath. This is Alastair's family, I reminded myself. That made it easier.

"What was he like?" I asked. "When you knew him, what was Alastair like?"

Lord Walsingham took a sip of wine.

"He was very old when I knew him," he said. "I grew up in Blake Cottage, in the park, and Great-Uncle Alastair lived here, in the big house. My father was his heir and he taught him all he knew about running the estate. My father was probably his best friend, too. Uncle Alastair was... rather strange. Reclusive. Always... sad." He looked at me. "I wonder if you can tell me about that."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. "I think—I think it's my fault he was sad."

"Your fault?" Lady Josephine said. "You couldn't even have been born until after he died, surely?"

"See, this is where it gets complicated," I sighed.

"Tell us everything," Wesley said.

His eyes were wide and imploring. He leaned forward like he was hanging on my every word.