Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Watching Jane, even at a distance, Georgiana could tell something was off. Hearing her speak, however, it wasn't difficult to surmise that something had happened with the doctor. Or perhaps, it was something that had not happened. Everyone had been so sure, including Georgiana, that Doctor Rosalin was to make good on his affections for Jane, but had he not, perhaps? It was a shame... for Jane deserved the happiness, and while it wouldn't do to diminish her own joy and appear somehow less genuine, she could sympathize...
It was a cold world, and women seemed to get left behind in it, more often than not. Their feelings were forgotten, their needs ignored, in favor of those things that seemed to matter all the more. Like business, and money, and gain in general. Had the good doctor perhaps thought her an invaluable wife? Dear Lord, Georgie hoped not...
"Oh, that is sweet, Jane. Thank you for thinking of me." Her smile softened, and she reached out, "But that isn't why I was looking for you. I was wondering... Well, I was hoping, perhaps, and you needn't answer now, please... take some time to think on it. But I was hoping that you might consider being my bridesmaid. Lizzie will be my other attendant, but she's a bit young, and well, I don't have many friends, but I rather consider one."
Smiling faintly, she shrugged, "You'll think about it, at least?"
She was most glad that Georgiana hadn't asked and she smiled a small smile, acknowledging what Georgiana had said. "Yes," she replied, "I'll think on it, of course. Thank you for such a kind offer. You have always been so kind to me." She curtsied low at such a thought to her soon-to-be mistress before turning away and coaxing Georgiana along with a small wave of her hand. "This way, miss," she said, sounding not much more upbeat than before, "I shall show you the way. Have you been to the baths at Wintersmith yet? They are very nice. Odd place—downstairs… but," she shrugged it off.
"I believe they were installed only after the estate had been built to appease the former mistress of the house… long before it had been acquired by the Osments. It hadn't intended to have baths at first, I don't believe, but rumor says that the old mistress fell very ill and requested them to be built for her." Jane explained idly, looking for lame, incoherent chatter to keep her mind and mouth busy as she walked.
Cold sweat glistened on her furrowed visage. With hands clasped tightly in front of her stomach, she constantly fiddled with her knuckles, weaving her fingers in and out of each other as she coaxed Georgiana along… down one set of stairs, down two, until they were in the lowest level of the building. There, as promised, was a bathhouse. Marble tile filled the space and the air was steamy, damp, and inviting and the central bath had been filled—as Jane had promised. In the cellar of the house, there wasn't any windows, but it was extravagant and romantic in all the right ways. Huge marble pillars, which must have cost nothing short of a fortune, segmented the room and green jade filigree added accent to the veined white marble.
"Master Osment never seems keen to use it," she shrugged as she stepped back towards the door again, "But I figured you might enjoy it, yourself."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
She seemed to brighten, if only superficially, and for that, Georgiana was glad. It was painful to see Jane so upset, when she was usually such a lighthearted, warm individual. She wanted to ask, but she thought of the times she herself had been in a similar situation, and explaining the agony of that emotional turmoil was all the more disheartening. In time, hopefully, Jane would explain, but for now, she was content to let it be in her own time.
Before, she might have insisted Jane talk about it - insisted that it was better to be honest and open, particularly with emotions, but she had learned, over the past few months at Wintersmith that she wasn't always right, and that sometimes, while honesty was always the best policy, it wasn't necessary to say anything at all.
She followed, frowning thoughtfully. It wasn't a portion of Wintersmith she had ever seen, and knowing Mason never used it was a curious thing, indeed, but upon entering the baths, her concern fled and with a soft, appreciative smile, she nodded, "It's lovely, Jane. And I dare say, something I greatly need. It has been a very long week..." Or had been weeks? She had lost track, really, after all that had happened - all the good and bad.
Touching her fingertips to one of the marble columns, she turned to Jane and her smile brightened, "You are a dear... I will enjoy it, thank you."
Jane curtsied and stood in the threshold of the door. She hesitated, as if held by static before returning to facing Georgiana, her brow knitted with a great deal of concern. "Also, you have shown me nothing but kindness… you have always been so good… but…" from her frock pocket, she slipped a vial, holding the little glass container in her trembling fingers. "But Doctor Rosalin has engaged to another woman. I know… I know if I could just get him to come in earnest. If I could just talk to him… he… he would see he is making a mistake!"
Jane had become a caricature of herself, but she hadn't been that way before. Once her emotions were as variable as any person, sometimes gregarious, other times moody. Now, she was stuck in a negative range and always extreme. Once her face was soft with the beginnings of laughter lines, not creased in that angry way that had become her only face to the world during the Osments' time away to Wayward. She trembled and dumped the contents of the vial on to the floor. Immediately, the fumes wrapped about her throat and she coughed, staggering back out of the threshold and slamming the door shut behind her, trapping Georgiana inside.
Her forehead thumped against the heavy door as the sound of her key scraped in the lock, bolding the heavy object entirely shut. "I am so, so sorry Miss Georgiana…" she whispered, "It will be painless, I promise but… he must come. He must come. I must give him a reason to come…" she choked on a sob and ran her fingers down the door before she stepped away from it, first in a stagger, then next in a turning and a run. She ran until she reached the stairs, scrambling up it and leaving the vial behind her, dropped.
As she raced up the stairs, she nearly slammed into Mason who had momentarily left his study to fetch something. His brows raised at her curiously. "Good day, Miss Jane," he said idly as she hastily blurted back a greeting and rushed past him. Thinking little of it, he continued on his way, strolling past the stairs leading towards the cellar of Wintersmith.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
It was all so quick... so unexpected, that Georgiana was almost unsure of what was happening. She had opened her mouth to tell Jane how sorry she was to hear about the doctor, when she caught sight of the bottle, and as Jane continued, she took a hesitant step towards her. She knew all too well the heartache of unrequited love, and while her own story had gone very differently, she might've been able to explain that in the end, you survived it... you could get past it and that she was so kind, so good, she would find a way to move on, to find someone worthy of her.
But she had tipped the contents of the vial before Georgie could say anything, and the noxious fumes began to fill her lungs. Moving forward as the door slammed closed, she grappled for the handle, choking on the air, as she wiggled it, furiously, trying to dislodge the lock, "Jane! Jane, don't... Don't do this!" Her voice dissolved into a fit of coughs, as the air seemed to thicken, her eyes tearing. Releasing the knob, she slammed her fists into the wooden door, "Jane! Open the door! Jane! Help me! Someone help!"
Dizzy, she sank lower, sank to her knees, her fists hitting the door hard enough to splinter the wood, but to little avail. It was too heavy, too thick...
"Oh God... no..." Breathing in shallow, painful gasps, she dropped to the marble floor, and consciousness swam in and out of focus, "Please..."
Very rarely did Georgiana stay away as long as she said she would. It had surprised Mason that, after nearly an hour alone in his study, she had not appeared or made herself known to him. It wasn't worry that caused him to rise, but happiness. Had they not been on the brink of their marriage, he might have left it alone… let her do whatever it was she had gotten up to, but their love was new to him. It was exciting and thrilling and they had only breached the point of being entirely inseparable. In time, that love would mature, but that could only come in time.
He stepped around the entirety of the house, at least all the places she ought to be, and was surprised he hadn't found her anywhere. He had even peeked in at Lizzie's room, though Lizzie had said Georgiana wasn't with her. Eventually, after much searching, he returned to Lizzie's room. "And you haven't seen her? You're certain?"
It was snowing violently outside once more, so he doubted that even her free spirit would survive the terrible coldness of the outside world.
"I haven't," Lizzie confirmed, holding up her doll and smoothing out the little girl's skirt with a smile, "I was playing downstairs and heard that she was talking to Jane about the baths, though."
"The baths?" Mason echoed. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone down to the baths. They had been declared off-limits since the fire, as they had been one of the only places to survive unscathed from the flames. It disturbed him… the baths… because of how pristine they had remained after the scorching fire, so the news caused the hair along the back of his neck to rise.
"Thank you, Lizzie." He stepped off and immediately went down towards the baths. He descended the stairs in no particular rush, finding a gush of hot steam billow out from underneath the door. "Georgiana?" he called to her, giving the knock a small door, "Are you in there?" But there was no response. He knocked again, this time louder. Still, no response. Anxiety rose through him like the carbonation in ale and he reached hastily for his own set of keys, unbolting the door and pushing it open in haste. In his surprise, the door smacked up against a shriveled frame lying on the floor.
Immediately, he began to cough. His lungs burned and he stepped back in surprise at the strength of the illness that had come over him. His arm suddenly stopped aching and he found strength in his body he hadn't possessed since before his injury. Leaning down, he scooped her up in one swift motion.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
She tried. Desperately, she tried to stay awake... to keep herself upright. She had beat on the door until her hands had rubbed raw and bled, until the small bones in her hands threatened to crack, had cried out until her voice shrank away, stolen by the hacking, choking cough. Eventually, it had become too difficult and she had blacked out entirely, fear the very last thing her mind latched to... fear and certain doom.
She would die... In this horrible, horrible room, alone, lost in a haze of fog vapor. She would never seen her Mason again, never feel his touch again, the gentleness of his kiss. She would never hear his voice, not in conversation or argument, his laugh, so rare, but so wonderful. She would never see Lizzie, her bright, beautiful, clever Lizzie. She wouldn't get to watch her grow and mature, to find an incredible man, worthy of her love.
Would Mason recover? Would he be able to move on without her? Or would he shrivel away inside of himself, become the recluse he had almost become after the loss of his family? Would he forgive her, for leaving him?
He had told her before that Wintersmith was a prison... but for her it had been a home, her very first. She didn't want to die there, though, not there... not alone...
They had been her last thoughts, before the darkness consumed her, and then there was nothing. She did not see or hear Mason, did not feel him lift her up and carry her own, call for Mary. Her breath came, as fresh air filled her lungs, but in short, ragged gasps, her heart beating thready and faint, against her chest... these the only sign of life, at all.
Mary, upon her master's word, fled from the kitchen at the sound of his desperation. He had made his way up the stairs to the foyer, where his shoulder finally began to grow weak from the effort and a reminder of pain struck him ill and violently. He laid her out upon the daybed and sat at the edge, his hand stroking across her feverish forehead and pushing back locks of her sweat damp hair. "Mary," Mason said again as the woman entered, "Send for Dr. John, will you? At once! Send Mr. Darly. He is our fastest rider. It is of utmost urgency."
He feared that the weather would impede the young man but he couldn't let his thoughts linger on it. His thumb stroked across the hot cheek of his beloved, looking down upon her with a deep frown and a pitiful shutter.
"Dr. John?" cried Jane, seeming to come from nowhere as Mary departed, "What of Dr. Rosalin? Wouldn't he be the better choice?" there was desperation fringing her tone that Mason would have picked up on had he not been preoccupied elsewhere.
"No," Mason snapped, "He has gone away to Ireland with his wife. He visited Warway very briefly during my stay there."
Jane shuddered and coiled. She went entirely pale and grief stricken. No words came to her but as she stumbled over what was happening in her own mind, Mason ignored her entirely. There was nothing he knew that he could do for her. He couldn't even get her a sip of water, he didn't think she could manage it. Her breath was hard and ragged, struggling to capture air into her lungs.
"Relax," he murmured to her gently, convinced she couldn't even hear him, "Relax. Help will be here for you soon." He had barely begun to process that something had happened, he couldn't even begin to wrap his brain around how it had happened.
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It was a strange sensation, being aware, while also unconscious... in her mind, Georgiana could hear the muffled sounds around her, the fear and the uncertainty... She could hear Mason's still strong murmuring, and in her heart she felt sure she had imagined it all. That she was still lying on the marble floor of the bathhouse, slowly succumbed to her state and these imaginings were her mind's way of giving her peace before the end.
Relax... She heard, and it did her heart some good. She wanted to wake, to open her eyes, to see Mason's face, even if it were only for one last time. She wanted to tell him she loved him, and make him promise that if she died, he wouldn't give up, that he wouldn't retreat into himself. That he would care for Lizzie and protect her from the harsh world. That he would find love again... Marry, and have those beautiful children that they had talked about.
Her breath was a wheeze, barely a sound at all, but slowly, as though by will alone, she managed to crack open her eyes, and her fingers curled around Mason's arm as his face swam in and out of focus before her. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but the sound wouldn't come, her throat raw, damaged by the fumes, by her screams... There was another figure behind him, but she could barely make out the shape...
Jane. It was Jane...
Her grip tightened, her eyes opening wide and as her heart began to pound, her breath tightened again in her chest. Panic overwhelmed, the rim of her vision fading red... and slowly, her grip slackened, as unconsciousness came again.
Georgiana had begun to come to, but only briefly… fleetingly, barely worth noting, and he certainly couldn't understand the intensity of her gaze over his shoulder, to groaning of her throat as she tried to speak. She couldn't speak. "Shh, shh," he cooed to her warmly, deepening his seat on the daybed so he could tenderly rest her head against his thigh. His hand still stroked her hair, freeing the strands from the braid and letting the tendrils spill across his lap. "Just rest, it will be fine."
It had to be fine. It must. Such a lost—the second—to Wintersmith would be nigh unbearable. For years, he had remained a closed off man. To that day still he was aloof and cold, unwilling and afraid to open up his heart and secrets to anyone. What a cruel twist of fate it would be to trust, to love, only to lose again so soon, so suddenly. He thought not of how the illness had come about her. He had no reason to believe that anyone in his house would wish her any ill and with all of his worry, every ounce, put to her well-being, he couldn't think of anything but how soon the doctor would arrive.
All the while, he petted her hair, whispering softly "Oh Georgiana… Georgiana," now and again in his anguish. He was painfully troubled by his love in his arms, lying ill, possibly dying. He couldn't even comprehend such an end.
It was about two hours when the doctor finally arrived from town. He was covered in snow, the white flakes covering every inch of his black coat. His nose was as red as his lips were blue and he hastily stepped inside. Darly, shivering in his footsteps, followed him inside without question.
Dr. John was a tall, angular man of about thirty-two. He had narrow slits for eyes that were preciously blue and dark hair that had been streaked with silver from his temples back. His lips were thin and severe, his nose long but straight, and his cheeks plump.
"Is this the woman, Mr. Osment?" he asked firmly. The two had been acquainted before.
"Yes," he replied, peeling his hand away from her forehead unwillingly, "Yes, this is she."
The doctor quickly examined her, peeling back her eyelids to look at her pupils, opening her mouth, shining his lantern up her nose. "She is very ill… poisoned, almost certainly," he concluded after only about five minutes of analysis. "Unless we can discover the root, I am unsure of how to treat her. Hmm," he pensively hummed as he looked down at his bag's contents, "I shall prescribe an generic antidote. It may help, it may not."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
It was several hours later, after Georgiana had been taken to bed and given the doctor's medicinal antidote. There had been some change to her breathing, which had evened out - the windows cracked fresh air - and her pulse had strengthened. Her damp clothes had been removed, in favor of her underclothes and extra warm blankets, and after further observation, the doctor had also bandaged her hands.
But she had yet to wake. In truth, it seemed for a time she would not. While she seemed well enough, there was little color to her skin, and the strength had gone from her, the rise and fall of her chest the only real indication that she was alive at all. Evening had fallen, logs added to the fire, and under the doctor's watchful eye, more of the antidote was delivered, with even less change noted. It seemed left up to fate after that... and fate, for a little while, seemed grim.
But as the moon rose high over Wintersmith, and a fresh snow began to fall from the sky, Georgiana gave a whimper, her eyes blinking open, first with an unfocused glaze, then at long last, with clarity. She spoke, her voice a ragged whisper, shaky and unsure, as her hand groped out in fear, "Mason...?"
Jane had said nothing but Mason had sent her away many hours prior. He remained with her in the chambers, sitting patiently at her bedside. Worried was not a word that could describe the look on his face, for it went much beyond worried. It was deep and meditative, as though he was lost in his own painful nightmare that he couldn't escape from. He felt as though he truly could not and he wondered what he must have done in a past life to deserve such a cruel and caustic current life. Every time his eyes closed, even in blink, he could only see the oranges and reds of fire ripping across him.
A shaky exhale escaped his lips and he remained silent. The physician worked until there was nothing he could do, though he had been given a dormitory at the house for the night. Mostly because he wished to see over Georgiana's progress in the morning, but also because the snow fell too violently and too quick for a safe journey back nearer London. He had retired several hours before, but Mason couldn't even think of sleep. His brain simply wouldn't allow it. Instead, he was forced in his own nightmarish misery to contemplate all that he had lost... all that he stood to lose. It was only during those hours he considered truly what the physician had meant: she had been poisoned.
By who? He wondered.
He couldn't fathom a single person in his house doing such a thing, but he closed his eyes and considered what he had heard from Lizzie: she had been talking with Jane about the baths. His mind could scarcely believe it. Jane? Little, sweet Jane? He had known the girl for several years now, she had been in his stead for a long time and had never lifted a finger against a fly so much as anything else.
The sound of his name roused him from his thoughts and he looked, surprised, to Georgiana. "Georgiana?" He asked of her, his hand going to hers, bringing it back to her side and stroking his thumb lovingly along the backside of her palm, feeling the soft ridges of her bandages. "Oh, Georgiana."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Earlier that day... if it was, in fact, the same day, Georgiana had been so sure that she was living in a dream. Now she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't waking up from that dream. Swimming in and out of focus, she made out Mason's voice before she could properly see him, but the sound of it was as soothing as a cold compress to her hot forehead. Tears welled behind her eyes and squeezing his hand, grimacing at the feel of her sore and swollen fingers, she took in a sharp breath.
Her lungs hurt, her chest feeling as thought she had been struck by a horse, and her head bearing much the same weight. She opened her eyes again, and this time, her vision cleared. She saw him, and the tears came without mercy, pouring down her cheeks. Everything was a haze, but the memories began to return, and with them, the terrifying feeling, overwhelming her emotions.
Jane. Her friend. One of the few that she had... that she had ever had. The woman she had asked to be her bridesmaid. And she had tried to kill her. She had locked her in that bath, and she had left her there, to die... Her heart began to race again, and her grip tightened around his... "I'm here..." She whispered to him, sucking in another much needed breath, "I'm here..."
"You are very unwell, my dear," Mason said as Georgiana kept struggling—trying to speak, trying to see. She gripped his hand with ferocity and he kept his own hand wrapped around hers firmly, but not imposingly. She began to cry and a pang of great sadness sweltered over him nearly immediate, but there was so little he could do for her. The physician had already warned him against asking any questions of her until she was at least a little better—and determined more than ever for her wellbeing over his own anger, he remained without a question passing through him.
In his mind though, questions were plentiful. Who had done this? Why? With what? He felt obliged to trust no one except Mary, his trust for her running deep into the marrow of his bones to be broken by suspicion. So it had been her that he had sent to care for Lizzie while both he and Georgiana were away. She had come in once, earlier in the day, to sit on Mason's lap and be with Georgiana, but she had gone away quickly to resume her studies... of which Mary had been attempting to help her with.
He had taken that time to speak with Mary also, to change plans regarding Scotland.
"Yes, you are here," he replied warmly, lovingly, "But you must rest, alright? You are very sick right now and you must rest some more. I know you are here so do not worry about trying to convince me." Georgiana was too stubborn, he had decided, for her to ever go away at such a time. "Worry not, I will stay here right with you the entire time."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
She had no doubt that he would stay, but even still, the idea of releasing him felt like too much, too soon. His hand was an anchor, holding her to reality, but also keeping her from it. She felt safe, for a moment, even if in her mind she knew that it she wasn't. His voice sounded distant in her ears, her blood still pounding in her head, but it was a comfort to her, deep down in the depths of her heart.
The tears eventually subsided, and her throat felt better for it, but her voice was still weak, her mind unfocused and her vision a fading blur, in and out. As he promised her he would stay, she nodded. She had little doubt he would have left her, but it was good to hear, either way, and as she relaxed back against the mattress, she opened her eyes again to stare up at the ceiling.
The words hovered on her tongue, and for a moment, she hesitated. She didn't want to say it... to tell him what happened. The last thing she wanted was to turn in poor Jane. But it was the thought that if she was capable of doing this to her, she might do it to someone else... to Mason, or Lizzie, or to anyone within Wintersmith, and Georgiana couldn't allow that to happen.
Jane wasn't well... and she needed help, before she hurt someone, or worse...
"Jane." She finally said, and the word caught on a soft sob, "...Where is she?"
"Jane?" he echoed of her, the question wrought with confusion. Though he didn't understand quite why she was asking for the young maid, he hadn't thought anything unusual of her presence before. He had already considered what Lizzie had said earlier—about how it had been her and Jane discussing the baths—but he couldn't rightfully accuse the young lady of anything until he knew better what had happened. If there was one thing Mason always was, it was just and fair, and it went against his very nature to accuse someone of anything if he had no grounds for doing so.
He already knew that Lizzie could sometimes misremember, or outright lie about things. It was her immaturity and childish nature, so he couldn't exactly feel justified in using her words for accusations. It was only upon Georgiana's request of the young woman did his suspicion again rouse. Of course, he realized she could have just been asking for another friend at her bedside. In his most ill hour in Warway, it had been his greatest wish to have comforts at his bedside.
"I sent her off to do chores," he said after only a moment's pause and meditation, "Perhaps she is in the library now to clean." It had been Dr. John's explicit instruction to avoid asking questions of Georgiana, for she was still in a very weak and delirious state. Her nervous system was still in shock, quivering like a newborn fawn in a cold frost. It was the physician's orders only that kept his tongue entirely still behind his gritted teeth. Questions could be asked only after she had been better rested, stronger, and had taken in some nourishment.
In Mary's care, he felt no concern for Lizzie. It was the greatest trust Mason had instilled in the older woman and if anyone had attempted Georgiana's life, he was most certain—above everyone else except himself—that Mary had not been the culprit. She might have tried to scold Mason, passive aggressively so as to not appear out of place, for how he doted too much on the child but she would never wish ill of the little ward. So long as she was under Mary's care, he was certain she would be fine, if only a little stressed by the much more rigid character of Mary.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Pushing herself up, gingerly, her entire body aching with the motion, she shook her head, and an urgency came over her that enveloped her entire expression. Whatever had happened, whatever her motives had been for why she did what she did, one thing was apparent to Georgiana... Jane was not well. Being left on her own, she could harm herself or someone else, and there was no time to consider the ethics of turning her over...
She had cared about the girl, and she had desperately wanted the best for her - she had such high hopes for her relationship with the doctor. The utter sense of betrayal hurt nearly as much emotionally, as she did physically.
"It was Jane, Mason. She..." Her voice broke, as her mind revolved back to that horrible moment, as she poured out the vial and slammed the door shut, "It's as though she's gone mad. She spoke about Doctor Rosalin being engaged to someone else, and how she was sure if he came back to Wintersmith, she could convince him to marry her, instead."
Sinking back, she brushed her cheeks with her bandaged palms. She felt dazed, and frightened, and there was still a fuzziness around her vision that made everything feel surreal, "...I thought... I though she was my friend. I thought... I had just asked her to be my bridesmaid. I can't,... I can't understand why she would do this."
She put a great deal of effort in to sitting up and while Mason said nothing, his eyes were scolding. She was incredibly ill and really ought not to have been trying such a feat, but he couldn't bring the words to his tongue to admonish her verbally. Her efforts were to an end, however, and the next words out of her mouth rather surprised him. He considered them deeply and thoughtfully, trying to administer fault to Jane and struggling to do so. Little, quiet Jane? Her reasons seemed almost entirely irrational… though he had known the doctor had gone off and wed another.
He had yet to tell Georgiana such a fact, though Jane surely would have known. His brow fell into quiet, concerned contemplation for some few moments. "Gone mad, indeed," he agreed gravely, "A nervous fever, perhaps, or even true madness… I have seen its symptoms before." They didn't need to be spoken that it had been the original Mason who had displayed equally violent and inhumane psychosis. He was still under extreme care at a London hospital. His eyes brushed across Georgiana and a half-smile, or an attempt at one, softened his countenance.
"Georgiana," he cooed in his warm, deep baritone tones, "Jane's actions had nothing to do with you specifically. She is likely sick of the mind in the same way you are sick of body. I hardly doubt it is something she can control, just as well you can't control your fever or coughs." He rose then, as the matter needed to be directly addressed. "I shall rouse Dr. John to see to her and with his guidance, her fate shall be decided."
Though she had done a great act of anger, violence, and immorality, he could not think of it to call the parish for her sentence and punishment. Such an act would have put her to her death, and Mason did not believe she deserved it for a fever of the mind. Though he would not have her in his house and he felt an intense anger towards her, it was not in his good nature to act out against it… not when he had seen such symptoms before and what they had done to a person. Still, Jane was a danger to those he held most dear and such acts could not be left unnoticed.
The anger he felt was expressed only in an involuntary twitch at the corner of his eyes and a tightening of his lips to prevent himself from lashing out against her when he located her. He would have had the outcome been different.
"Now rest," he leaned over Georgiana's bedside and smoothed back her hair, "I shall return in a short-time, but Jane must be seen to."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
She didn't want him to leave. More than anything, she feared the thought of being alone, and as he smoothed back her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring, she almost asked him to stay. What had happened, had happened so quickly, so suddenly and unexpectedly that she could barely wrap her mind around it, and being alone, terrified her.
But he needed to deal with Jane before she did something worse... She wasn't well, as Mason had said, and once she understood that she was going to be caught, there was no telling how she might react. She was a danger to herself and to the rest of Wintersmith, and if that meant Georgiana was left on her own...
Wintersmith, decidedly, was less the dream that Georgiana had thought when she had been away in London. Mason had told her it was a prison - cursed... and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps it was. It had been Mason, in truth, and Lizzie, who had made Wintersmith so important to her, but her heart ached to think of all the horrors the house had seen... too many. Far too many... And it had almost happened to her...
Decidedly, she was nearly ready to say farewell to it...
"Rest well, Georgiana," he said in parting to her. His words, as his character usually was, were kind and tender.
The door shut gently behind him, clicking in its lock as he made his way to fetch the doctor. It was growing late. He could Mary putting Lizzie to bed with some fuss, though in her usual fashion, Lizzie seemed to be having none of it—whatever it was they were discussing, he could not make out. Approaching the good Doctor's room, he knocked and was allowed entry. After revealing what had been told to him by the victim, the doctor readied himself hurriedly.
For one hour, for two, for three Mason was gone from Georgiana's bedside. It was near the middle of the night by the time he had returned. This time, he didn't knock in fear of rousing her had she slept. Stepping in to the darkness, he proceeded towards the bed. He, himself, looked quite tired and understandably worn. His hair, usually glossy and chestnut locks of slight curl, fell loosely against his neck with the moisture of a cool, winter night. He stopped next to Georgiana's bedside, though his eyes could not see yet through the darkness and he could not see whether or not she was awake—only a shadowy outline of a form.
"Jane has been cared for," he said in a quiet voice, hardly above a whisper at all, in the event that she truly did lie sleeping. "Some changes have been made to your upcoming weeks, and mine, also. A talk for a healthier time, perhaps," he continued on, looking even more wary than he had but moments prior. His personality, usually buoyant and calm, seemed taken over by something of outward distress.
"Good night, Georgiana," he murmured, closing his eyes in a long, steady blink, leaning forward to press a kiss to her warm forehead before turning off to depart, to acquire his own chambers for rest.
