Talk Sweetly to Me (Brothers Sinister #4.5)(25)

“Now.” Patricia’s voice was hoarse and ragged.

It took Rose a moment, standing there blinking in the blinding light, to understand that her sister was not talking to her. Patricia sat on the sofa in a robe. Her hands were on her knees; she grimaced as she spoke, her whole body tensing.

Doctor Chillingsworth sat on a chair before her, looking at a watch.

Rose could see the tension in her sister’s face, the grit of her teeth, the faint sheen of sweat at her temples. Rose stood in place, unsure of what she was observing.

The doctor, however, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Really, Mrs. Wells,” he said reprovingly. “Do you really think that you can falsify a contraction and convince me?”

Patricia’s hands gripped her knees. “Falsify? I wouldn’t lie about such a thing.”

Chillingsworth met this with a wave of his hand. “Exaggerate, then. The too-prominent grinding of teeth, the low noise in your throat—Mrs. Wells, you are a doctor’s wife. It does not behoove you to behave in this fashion.” Chillingsworth stood. “There is no cervical dilation; the, ah, contractions, as you call them, do not seem particularly intense. And the baby still has not turned. You’ve at least three weeks remaining by my estimation. This is false labor once again, Mrs. Wells. Try to sleep, and do make an effort not to bother me with trivialities until it is truly your time.”

Patricia’s face was a mask. Rose stepped forward, all the heat rising to her face. “Doctor Chillingsworth, my sister does not—”

Patricia interrupted this defense with a swift shake of her head. “Thank you for seeing me, doctor. I’m much obliged to you for putting my fears to rest. Now that you’ve explained what I must look for, I shall be sure not to bother you again until it is time.”

“See that you don’t.” Chillingsworth ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his pocket watch once more. “Right in the middle of dinner,” he muttered. He dropped the gold disc into his waistcoat pocket and gathered up his bag.

Patricia did not say anything until after he had left. For that matter, she didn’t say anything immediately then. She simply sat on the sofa looking at Rose, while Rose stood in place, afraid to speak.

“I’ve been frantic,” Patricia finally said. “Waiting for you to come home. I was afraid something had happened to you. I looked all over—up and down—I went to the Observatory myself, and they told me you weren’t there. I was so frantic, and then I thought my contractions were starting.”

It didn’t matter what Stephen’s intentions were. It didn’t matter what he wanted. It didn’t matter how sweet or how gentle he had been. It didn’t even matter how much she loved him, how much she still yearned to run back to the spire and fall into his arms.

He hadn’t made her forget herself; she’d just forgotten her sister.

Rose came in and sat on the chair Chillingsworth had vacated. “I’m so sorry, Patricia. But the transit of Venus…”

“Would not have been visible after sunset,” Patricia said. “Or with the clouds that rolled in. I do listen to you. What were you doing?”

“I know it looks bad, but—”

“It is bad. I’m responsible for you, and you disappeared out from under my nose. Being out past sunset—that does not look good, Rose. Please tell me that you were with Dr. and Mrs. Barnstable the whole time, celebrating…whatever it is that astronomers celebrate.”

Rose swallowed. “Um.”

“Please tell me that Mr. Shaughnessy was not with you.”

Oh, she could see it now. Patricia was right. It didn’t just look bad. It was bad. What was she to do, lie to her sister for the rest of her life? Tell her she was marrying a man who would carry on in such a fashion? Their father had scraped and worked so hard to achieve even the barest measure of gentility. Was she to give it up so easily?

Rose examined her knuckles. “Did I…” She swallowed. “Did I not mention that I’ve been tutoring him in the methods of calculating astronomical distances?”

Patricia’s eyes grew wide. “No. You know very well you did not mention any such thing.”

“He may have set up a telescope in the church spire. So I could observe the transit.”

“Together?”

Rose nodded.

“Alone?”

Another nod. Rose felt her cheeks burn in mortification.

“Did he hurt you?” Patricia demanded.

“No. He wouldn’t.” Not the way Patricia meant it anyway. “And don’t look at me like that—I don’t know what you must think of him, but he wouldn’t hurt me.” He would tell her that she was beautiful and brilliant. He would say that he liked her. But in the end, it would always come down to this—that if anyone found out that he was pursuing her, they would instantly think the worst.

“Oh, Rose. What am I to do with you?”

“How should I know?” Rose asked bitterly. “I don’t know what to do with me, either.”

Patricia didn’t hesitate. She held out her hands. Rose stood, going to her, wrapping her arms around her.

“Sometimes,” Rose said, “I can make myself remember that we live in two different worlds—he in his, and me in mine. Other times, I think that we live in the same place—one world, so much better because he’s in it. I think I could fall in love with him, if only I dared.” She swallowed. “But I can only dare to do so many things at a time.” Her voice was thick. “And now, daring to do this one… I left you.”