The Monster's Wife(52)

Stuart gaped at her. “You’re coming to his aid now, after all your cant about helping May?”

“He has nothing to do with it. Can you not see he is ignorant?”

“Ignorant?” He took a step towards her and brushed her cheek with his fingers.

His touch was the sting of a jellyfish. She pushed his hand away. “I thought he was wisdom itself, a genius May said.”

She stared him down. “Just as you are a genius with your hands. Why not tell us about the Elver that you were fixing? It’s you should confess.”

“Useless damn woman.” He spun away from her. “Aren’t they all? Now tell us, doctor, what did do you do? Cut her up for one of your experiments?”

Victor raised his head, the slight curl of his lips a shadow of his usual wry smile. “It does not work like that, my friend. If you knew anything…”

Stuart smashed the distaff into Victor’s gut.

Victor screamed.

Something snapped inside Oona. She no longer cared if he hurt her. She must act. She flung herself between them and tried to seize the distaff from him. He just held it higher over his head.

“You must stop this.” She tried to wrestle it from him.

“Andrew, come and take this daft woman of yours.” Grunting, Stuart pulled the distaff from her grip.

Oona stumbled back, steadying herself on the doorframe. Andrew walked in, his mouth tight.

Framed by the crook of Stuart’s arm, Victor’s face was a mask of blood. His right eye was swollen shut. He breathed raggedly.

“If you keep on, he will certainly die and then everyone will know you are a murderer.” She made the last words as cold and measured as she could. If pleas had no effect, maybe the threat of the valley’s disapproval would.

Stuart and Andrew stood at the foot of the bed looking down at Victor. Stuart’s face twisted in disgust. Andrew turned pale. He reached out to Stuart. “Hand me that distaff.” As he said the words, his eyes met Oona’s.

“The pleasure is mine.” Stuart gave it to him, spat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He turned away from the bed. “I’ve had my fill for now, anyway.” With that, he walked out.





45


Oona ran to the bed, her eyes blurred with tears. Victor’s left eye looked at her vaguely, the pupil large and dark, the white bloodshot. His face was grey, the veins at the temples hard ridges. It was heartbreaking to see him lying there like the husk of a dead crab, fighting to stay awake.

She turned to Andrew. “I must prop him against the pillow, or he’ll choke.”

Andrew nodded. Together, they lifted Victor’s until his head rested upon the pillow. She dabbed the blood from him with the edge of the blanket, hearing his breaths grow slower and calmer.

Andrew wiped his hands nervously on his trousers. “I’m going to… I need to find Stuart… stop him running mad.”

She nodded. “Thank you for putting an end to this. It was the right thing to do.”

Victor coughed hard, bright blood staining the blanket and his lips. “Thirsty,” he gasped.

There was a flask by the bed. Whoever had been sleeping out here had brought a few home comforts at least. Oona tilted Victor’s head back and gave him a sup of whatever was inside it.

He drank, then pushed the flask away, coughing. “Mein gott, feuerwasser.”

She sniffed the leather mouth of the flask. Whisky. “It might help with the pain.” She put it to his lips again. Some ran down his chin and cheeks, mingling with blood.

“It stings!” He winced, his hands flailing.

“Sorry.” She put down the flask. She’d never seen someone as weakened as this. He hardly seemed aware of her.

At the foot of the bed was a rumple of blankets. She pulled them over him as gently as she could and tucked them around his body.

“I wish I knew how to stop the bleeding.” She turned away, looking around the room for something she might use as bandages.

He caught her by the wrist. “Don’t leave me here.”

“Of course not.” She laid her hand over his. “You will be well again, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry.” He coughed hard.

“For what?”

Victor kept coughing, his hands pressed to his face. “Bringing him here.”

“Who?”

“Death.”

She braced herself, wondering if he did know something after all. Then she looked in his eyes and saw that he was far away somewhere, mumbling nonsense like a child who’s woken from a nightmare.

She gently touched his face. “You’re talking nonsense. A good blow to the head will do that to you.” She tried to laugh, but one glance at the wreck that was Victor killed the sound in her throat. She bent and kissed the top of his head, her lips grazing his matted hair. Pride no longer mattered. He needed her.

His hands were as bloody and bruised as the rest of him. He lay them very gingerly on hers. “The man you saw at your window, the scarred man...”

Her throat tightened. “The one you said I dreamed because of the laudanum?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “It was wicked of me to lie to you. That man is real, a monster, he followed me to this island. He is shrewd, cunning and...” He broke into a fit of coughing. She tipped the flask to his lips.