Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(77)

I smacked my lips. The taste in my mouth was rotten, as if someone had stuffed cotton balls between my tongue and gums and then left them there for days.

Despite the burning protest in my muscles, I heaved myself onto my elbows. The movement made my stomach curdle, but I forced myself to keep going. I wanted to sit fully upright.

I brought my right hand to my face and found bandages wrapped over my palm. When I inspected my left arm, I found it wasn’t bandaged; but the skin was scraped off—as if I’d fallen and tried to catch myself.

No. Not fallen. Propelled.

And then I remembered everything. A fresh set of sobs erupted from my chest. My heart was ripped in two all over again. I started to shiver uncontrollably.

Clarence... Clarence... poor Clarence. And Elijah—oh God, Elijah. It couldn’t be. This nightmare would end. It had to end!

Make it stop, make it stop!

I called out, but my voice sounded faint, as if miles away. The explosion must have damaged my hearing.

I called again and again, sobbing and desperate, but no one came.

At last I fell back onto the bed and cried until sleep and exhaustion overtook me.

“Eleanor.”

Mama’s voice. I could hear Mama. I could hear.

“Eleanor. Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I breathed. I snapped my eyelids up. Mama was there, her face eaten by exhaustion. Heavy pockets were beneath her eyes, wrinkles lined her mouth, and her skin was papery.

“Why are you crying?” I asked. Did she know of Elijah?

“Because you are all right, my darling. You are all right.” She laid a cool hand on my brow. “Oh, my Eleanor, I was so frightened.”

I moistened my lips, which were cracked and raw. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday. You have been asleep for two days. Doctor Mitchell said you must rest to heal. He thinks you might have suffered a mild concussion.”

“Oh.” I lolled my head to the side and tried to swallow. “I’m thirsty.”

“Yes. Mary will be here any moment with soup.” Mama tipped her head and caught my gaze. “What happened? Why were you at the Exhibition, Eleanor?”

I grunted. I didn’t want to think about it ever again. And I never, never wanted to talk of it. If I stayed in bed forever, I wouldn’t have to.

“That blond man brought you home again,” Mama said. Her voice was calm, but I sensed a tightness there. She was gauging my reaction. “He said things.”

“That’s nice.” I twisted my head as far from her as possible and stared at the wall. “Can I be left alone now?”

“No.” Her voice turned hard, and she wrenched me by the chin back toward her. “You must eat, and you must answer me. How do you know that young man?”

She had been mulling this question for the last two days. I could see it in her frayed desperation. Without answers or understanding, she had driven herself to hysteria.

“I don’t know that young man,” I said.

“You do. He called you Eleanor, he knew how you’d been hurt, and he cried—are you listening?” Mama squeezed my chin with her fingernails. “Were you seeing that man?”

“No.” I lowered my eyelids in a slow blink. A tiny spark of anger ignited between my shoulders. “If I had, though, why would it matter? Especially now?”

“Because Clarence Wilcox is dead.”

“I know.” I held my breath and forced my mind into submission. I would not think of it. I would not let my thoughts go to that darkness. I must stay in this lethargic apathy. But the anger was growing, spreading from my shoulders into my neck.

“You do not care?” she asked.

“Of course I care.”

“Well, you should care a little more, Eleanor. He was your best chance at marriage, and now he’s gone. If anyone should find out about you and that man”—she thrust her finger in the direction of the Exhibition—“all your chances—our chances—will be ruined.”

I laughed. It was a bitter rasp filled with disgust. “Is that all you care about, Mama? Clarence was murdered. I was in an explosion. Still, all you can think about is marriage? Money?”

“This is not funny.” Her nostrils flared. “We can’t afford the cost of your treatment. Doctor Mitchell was kind enough to help and allow us to pay later.” She glared down her nose at me. “When you are better, when your wounds have healed, you will realize exactly how dire this situation is.”

“How dire?” I screeched. “You’re the one who wasted our money on curtains and dresses, so I want to know how dire you think it is, Mama!”

“Dire enough that we will have to secure an engagement with someone—anyone! And soon.” Mama peered at me through half-closed eyes, her lips pursed. “And dire enough that we may need to silence that young man somehow. Your reputation is at stake here. Wounds will heal, grief will pass, but a reputation can never be recovered.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and in a stilted voice quoted Shakespeare. “Reputation is an idle and most false imposition.” I clung to the memorized words to keep my temper cool and my thoughts clear. “Oft got without merit and lost without deserving.”

Mama ignored me. “Your father did enough damage to our family’s standing, Eleanor, when he tried to save his company. Your brother only worsened it when he ran off. Without a good reputation, you will not make a suitable match. We will be on the streets soon!”