These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(26)

“I climbed out the window on the third floor, crawled my way over to the edge of the roof, slipped on the wings, and never gave the danger a second thought. I wholeheartedly believed it would work. So I prepared to jump—”

“And Mr. Braddock heroically caught you at the last second,” I said, with wicked pleasure, sure to my bones that I was correct.

Miss Lodge grinned at my impertinence. “Yes, exactly! I was just above his room, and he heard the racket. And I must mention that when he pulled me back, he tore the wings in the process. I was furious with him!”

“It seems Mr. Braddock has had years of practice, then.”

Miss Lodge looked curiously at me. “Practice saving people?”

“Acting like a dark, brooding hero,” I said, wondering if she could not see it herself.

A wrinkle appeared between her light brows. “I . . . suppose I can see it. But really, he’s not like that at all, Miss Wyndham.”

At that moment, Cushing returned with the willow bark and a boiling pot of water on a tray, and I left her bedside and set the willow bark to steep. The simple act only occupied a minute of time and needed a half hour to steep. Thoughtfully, Cushing had also brought us two cups of good strong black tea, and I decided they certainly could not worsen Miss Lodge’s condition. I returned to her side and helped her prop herself up in the bed, her breath coming too quickly for the slight effort.

“How did the two of you first meet?” I asked as she took a shaky sip. “It sounds as though you have many years of acquaintance, but he has an incurable condition that keeps him from answering questions.”

“He was best friends with Henry. They were schoolmates from a young age, and our families were also close.”

“And your brother, is he away at school?”

Miss Lodge looked grave as she put down her spoon. “Henry passed away almost two years ago.”

Not the pleasant teatime conversation I had expected. I choked on a sip and coughed it away. “I did not mean to—”

“No, no apologies. I am simply not used to telling others. It doesn’t seem real, still.”

“I’m sorry, it must have been . . .” I trailed off, for what does one really say?

“It was hard for all of us. And Sebastian had just lost his parents the prior year—”

“I beg your pardon? He—how . . . is that possible?” I asked, cold settling in my stomach.

“His parents were both stricken by the same illness. He lost his father first and then his mother a few months later.”

“What sort of illness?”

“Consumption. The same as my brother.”

I shook my head, as if that could change everything. “And now you have this . . . this Addison’s disease. How horrible.”

“You could also say I’m lucky,” she replied with a smile. “I showed some of the symptoms of consumption myself after Henry, but I managed to recover. I’m still here despite the dismal odds.”

I agreed but felt a little sick myself. Neither one of us spoke for some time. The faint sounds of traffic seeped inside. Miss Lodge’s eyes glimmered in the glow of the sinking sun.

“Thank you for bringing him back, Miss Wyndham,” she said.

“He brought me here to help you,” I insisted, placing our empty cups back on the tray.

“Yes, but you see, when he was younger”—she paused to shift uncomfortably in the bed—“Sebastian was always the responsible one. The way Henry talked about him at school, he was the one other boys looked up to. But after all this happened, he was— he was distraught. He retreated further into himself. He never said it, but I know he feels guilty that Henry fell sick while they were traveling together. He’ll hold himself responsible no matter what you say. He seemed quite lost after the funeral, and he rarely visited or wrote.”

She looked up and gave me an earnest smile. “He must have faith in you if he decided to bring you here personally, and I’m glad of it. I want him to remember that this is a home for him. That he does not need to run away again.”

“I doubt he will,” I replied, unable to name the particular emotion running through me. “His desire to see you was apparent to me the moment he stepped in here.”

“I hope so. He’s still adjusting, but it’s fortunate we’ve all been brought together.”

Not entirely hearing her, I simply nodded. My cheeks burned as I turned away from Miss Lodge and poured her the willow-bark brew. Mr. Braddock truly had reasons for his grief, and I had mocked his pain. I winced inwardly, remembering my accusations about his fake tragic past. He had had every right to yell at me—indeed, he had been incredibly restrained for someone who had lost both parents and a best friend. With every breath, my perceptions seemed to rearrange until I was hopelessly confused and my opinion of him was reduced to a chaotic mess.

Serving Miss Lodge the tea, I endeavored not to betray my swirling emotions. She drank it down quickly, lay back, and began to drift away. Though I knew it was futile, I couldn’t help but take her hands in mine, hoping that I really did have some ridiculous power. As Rose’s assistant, I’d never held a life in my hands and felt that full, impossible responsibility. This girl did not deserve to die, yet here she was: weak, delicate as a bird, and wasting away.

I didn’t know how many long minutes passed, my thoughts bounding back and forth between this girl I wished I could save and the man who was at every turn an enigma. When there was nothing left to do but pray, I noiselessly stood up and slipped out of the room. Before closing the door, I took one final glance at Miss Lodge, finding her color almost matching the ivory bedclothes. Her fair complexion seemed to be returning. But as I looked closer, I realized it was just a combination of the faint sunset and wishful thinking.