Amelia looked pained. "Veronica, I've never even met the man. This is not something I know how to control. It happens, and then it is as if the episode somehow leaves a residue in my mind, fleeting images I can sometimes remember. It's not as if I can recall the entire episode at will."
Veronica tried to fight back the tears. "I know, Amelia, I know. I'm so sorry." She turned away, breathing deeply to steady herself.
Amelia put her hand on Veronica's arm. "Don't be. Clearly something terrible has happened and I want to do everything I can to help."
"You already have. I suppose now it's just a matter of time."
"What happened? Tell me."
"Sir Maurice was attacked by three revenants this morning. They practically tore him apart, but he managed to get away. He was fighting for his life, bleeding all over the carriage-all over me-but we managed to get him to the surgeon."
Amelia put a hand to her mouth. "Will he make it through?"
Veronica was solemn. "I don't know. Worse than that, though, is the threat of plague. I have every fear that he might have been infected."
"Oh God."
"That's why I came to you, Amelia. I had to know if you'd seen him in one of your visions, had to know if he was going to be alright. I should never have come. It was unfair of me."
"Sister, you've done so much for me. Is it not fair that I at least attempt to repay that love and loyalty from time to time?"
"It doesn't work like that, Amelia. You don't owe me anything."
"I know exactly how it works, Veronica. That's why I love you so."
Too late, Veronica noticed that Amelia was starting to take short, shallow gasps at the air, beginning the process of inducing an episode. She clutched her by the shoulders. "No! Stop it, Amelia! Stop it now!"
Amelia shook her head, gasping for breath.
Veronica held her tight. "I'm sorry, sister."
"…I…know…" Amelia began to fit, her body shuddering as her muscles went into spasm. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, showing the milky-white underside of her eyeballs. She rocked back, saliva running from the corner of her mouth.
Veronica glanced around to see if any of the nurses had noticed. They were still engaged in conversation by the main asylum doors. She clutched Amelia close, trying to keep her safe.
Amelia began to babble. At first it seemed incoherent; a long chain of moaning sounds and half-formed words, but then Veronica began to make sense of what she was saying.
"…from the sky…like a child's balloon, tumbling…tumbling towards the ground…water…shouting…confusion."
Veronica shook her head, trying to get through to her sister. "No Amelia, that's already happened. The airship has already crashed!"
"…water…dripping water…a clockwork man." She gasped, gulping air down into her lungs, her entire body shaking as the fit took complete control of her body, "…a dark place…a woman's voice…Veronica!" The shuddering stopped. Amelia turned towards her sister, her unseeing eyes fixed on Veronica's face. It was the most eerie thing Veronica had ever seen. She let go of Amelia, reflexively forcing herself backwards on the wooden bench. She heard footsteps on the gravel behind her.
"It's all in their heads, Veronica. Tell him. You must tell him. It's all in their heads." Amelia collapsed back into spasms once again, and Veronica, shaking, looked round to see two of the nurses rushing to Amelia's aid. They gathered her up as quickly as they could and laid her out on the lawn beside the wooden bench, holding her down as she continued to spasm. Veronica leaned over them, desperate to see if Amelia had anything more to say, unprepared for her sister to go through all of this agony on her behalf without even finding an answer. But it was not to be. Amelia's episode began to subside and the twitching of her body slowed. She didn't utter another word. Veronica slumped back onto the wooden bench, thankful, at least, that her sister seemed to be unscathed.
Amelia's breath was shallow and she looked dazed, unsure where she was or how she may have got there. She looked up at Veronica, the nurses still pinning her arms to the ground.
"Veronica?"
"Yes, I'm here, Amelia. Are you okay?"
Amelia blinked, looking at the faces of the two nurses who were holding her down on the cold grass, awaiting the arrival of the doctor. "I'll be alright." She met Veronica's gaze. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Her eyes were questing, searching for approval from her older sister.
Veronica looked away. "I'm not sure, Amelia. I don't know what it all meant."
Dr. Mason came running towards them, then, his face flushed. He scowled when he saw Veronica sitting on the bench in the middle of the scene. "Hello, Amelia. I think it's time we got you inside." He turned to Veronica. "Your sister will be taking her leave of us now."
Veronica nodded, briefly. She stood as the nurses helped Amelia to her feet. "I love you, sister." She stepped forward and kissed Amelia on the cheek. "Be well."
"I'll try."
And with that, Veronica turned and walked away from the scene, her hand on her head to keep her hat from fluttering away in the breeze.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning Newbury rose early, still tender from the ministrations of the Fixer the previous day. He went directly to the bathroom and washed his wounds, and then applied a thick layer of the yellow poultice to each of them in turn. The substance smelled faintly of beeswax, although he could only guess at what else it was comprised of. He felt vibrant and nervous with energy, partially the result of too much rest, and partially, he imagined, the continued effect of Dr. Fabian's compound. His wounds had begun to heal already, too, although there was still a long way to go before he'd be back to anything like his normal physical form.
Newbury had spent the remainder of the previous day holed up in his study, pacing the room, smoking his pipe and doing his utmost to stop himself giving in to his cravings for the laudanum, which sat in its little brown bottle on the shelf across the room, teasing him with promises of warmth, forgetfulness and solitude. He had sorted through a number of papers from his years in India, searching out references to the revenant plague and attempting to lose himself in reminisces of the period. Mrs. Bradshaw had prepared him a lavish roast beef dinner, and he had taken it in the dining room, the first time for months that he had made a point of sitting down to eat a proper meal in his own house.
By morning, however, he felt he could carry on like this no longer. In truth, he was concerned that boredom would indeed drive him to the dreaded opiate that he was attempting so pointedly to resist. Instead, he had resolved to head to the office, to deal with any outstanding correspondence, ensure that Mrs. Coulthard was bearing up, and otherwise busy himself with work on his now-overdue academic paper. He secretly hoped that, in doing so, he would happen upon Miss Hobbes with news of the case, and together they could spend the day mulling over the developments so far, gathering their thoughts whilst his constitution was restored and agreeing on a course of action for the following day. If nothing else, he knew Her Majesty would not look too kindly on him wasting another day in lackadaisical pursuits when he had a case to solve, injured or not.
It was still too early in the day to expect Mrs. Bradshaw to have risen to make breakfast, so instead Newbury settled for organising himself a pot of Earl Grey and rummaging up a few slices of toast, which he ate with a smear of marmalade whilst reading the morning papers. Then, confident that he was well enough for a brief stroll, he fetched his coat and hat and set out, drawing in the fresh morning air and celebrating the fact that he was still alive. The previous day's events seemed like a lifetime ago, a dark and distant memory, and if it were not for the occasional twinge in his upper torso as he walked, he could almost have believed that it had been nothing but a fantasy.