Part XV: Recovery II

Evans was in Mr. Haddock’s room for most of the night, Mr. Hogan leaving with armfuls of sloshing, crimson-filled bowls and bloody bandages and returning with white strips of dressings and warm basins of water.  Evans had handed Isolde off to Mrs. McKeever upon their hasty return so as to get her out of the way while he worked.  Mrs. McKeever wrapped Isolde up in warm blankets, sat her in front of the fire, and drew a bath for her while Isolde dazedly allowed the middle-aged woman to treat her like a small child. 

“Dear, dear.  I dannae if I’ll be able teh clean these,” Mrs. McKeever said as she helped Isolde out of her bloodstained clothes.

“It’s fine,” Isolde said, not really paying attention.  The bath went by within the blink of an eye, and Isolde found herself sitting on her bed, her wet hair hanging loose and a fur blanket over her shoulders.  Mrs. McKeever gave her a cup of hot tea and Isolde mechanically took it from her hands.  The woman hesitated by her bedside.

“I beg pardon, but you nae mind if I sit up with yeh, Miss Marlowe?  Nae to be oversteppin’ me station, but yeh seem in need o’ th’ company.”

Isolde gave the woman a small smile.

              “Oh, please do.”

Mrs. McKeever sank down beside Isolde.

“Yeh best drink yer tea while it’s still warm, Dear.”

Isolde sipped at the hot drink.  She still felt cold and numb inside even when the cup was empty.

“Would yeh like some more, Miss?” Mrs. McKeever asked, moving to get up.

“No.  It’s fine.  Please stay.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind howling around the lodge and hurried footsteps outside of the room.

              “Miss?”

Isolde blinked out of the fog her mind had settled in.

              “Yes?”

“Will, ehm, Master Haddock be all right?”

 “I don’t—don’t—"

Her throat began to constrict as she felt tears fighting to escape her eyes.  Mrs. McKeever immediately took notice and hugged her as Isolde felt herself losing control yet again.

“There, there, Dear.  It’ll be all right,” Mrs. McKeever murmured. “Master Haddock is in good hands.”

                                                                                      *

Morning dawned with smoky purple clouds on the horizon sluggishly moving on with their burden of snow.  A somber atmosphere had hung over the lodge for the past week.  Evans was the only person who came and went into Haddock’s chambers, obstinately refusing anyone else’s offer of assistance.  He sported permanent dark circles under his eyes from staying up most of the time to change bandages and make sure that his master was resting easy, living off of a continual brew of coffee.  He caught Miss Marlowe trying to sneak into Haddock’s room in the early hours of the morning and angrily sent her away, telling her that he would allow her to see The Master once he was well enough.  Mrs. McKeever kept Miss Marlowe company, having her help her in the kitchen at Evans’s behest to distract and keep her from attempting to see Haddock.  His real reasons for maintaining that Miss Marlowe remain separated were with her in mind.

              When Haddock transformed the morning following Sir Drexel’s execution, he was in a very bad way.  Granted his wounds had looked dreadful in his hairy form, but Evans was used to seeing bloodied animals on hunting trips and when working on his father’s farm as a boy.  Seeing a human with those same injuries had a very different effect on the mind.  Haddock was conscious during the entire carriage ride back to the lodge, blacking out during the scuffle in which Evans and Mr. Hogan carried him up the stairs.  Evans had done his best to stop the bleeding and bind the open wounds while working around a very heavy coat of fur and matted blood and saliva.  Haddock came back to consciousness shortly after returning to human form, while Evans was stitching up a puncture on his throat.  The following howl of startled pain was clearly heard throughout the lodge.  Evans proceeded to quickly send Mr. Hogan to bring up a bottle of the strongest liquor they had in the cellar to calm his patient, making it easier for him to finish up with the stitches.

              After Evans had done all he could, Haddock lapsed into a deathlike sleep punctuated by confused and manic awakenings for the first day.  He ripped open a gash on his side that had taken Evans over an hour and several spools of thread to close up, even longer the second time around.  Later in the afternoon, he started to consciousness long enough to lean over and retch onto the floor before collapsing back on the bed.  Evans had noted with growing worry how much blood was in the vomitus.  Haddock became feverish the next day.  Evans shut himself up in the room with his master for most of the day, continually wiping the sick man’s forehead, endeavoring to get liquids into his body, and changing out blankets that were soiled.  The fever had an even stronger hold on Haddock the third day.  Miss Marlowe kept pleading with him to relieve his long vigil, and Evans continued to rebuff her.  He didn’t want her to see or know about Haddock’s worsening state.

                                                                                                     *

The fever broke on the eighth day after the fight.  Haddock came to with a pounding headache and a body that felt like it had been repeatedly run over by a carriage.  His eyes were gummy and crusted together.  When he lifted a hand to rub them he felt like someone had tied weights to his arm.  He blinked and squinted, his surroundings gradually coming into focus.  Milky light cast a ghostly glow to the maroon, stale-smelling room.  He moved his shaking hand over his face, feeling for any new scars that Sir Drexel might had imparted upon him.  All Haddock’s hand encountered was a week’s worth of stubble and very dry lips.  He tried sitting up and sank back amongst the pillows, groaning through his teeth.  There was a tight pressure pressing his whole torso.  Craning his head down, he saw bandages criss-crossing his abdomen, dark bloodstains having dried through.  He turned his head away from the window and his sore neck began to throb from the slight movement.  Evans was seated in a chair by the bed, chin in hand, sleeping soundly.  His face was ashy and drawn, looking as if he had aged several years.

              Haddock felt like a terrible employer and friend.  He didn’t mean to put Evans through so much stress…  Even when he had told the loyal butler to bring in a real doctor before the fight, the man barked “no, no, no” like an angry parrot.  Haddock would think of some way to repay him for saving his life yet again.  Evans would refuse of course, so he would have to go through Mrs. Evans.  A paid, month-long vacation along the British coast perhaps?

              He needed some fresh air.  Haddock carefully sat up, letting his swimming head adjust before slowly pulling back the bedsheets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  He pulled on a pair of pants and some old boots that were shoved at the back of the wardrobe and tried to button up a shirt but found that his fingers were trembling too much.  He gave up and left it unbuttoned.  Haddock snuck out of the room and stiffly walked down the deserted hallway.  It was still early morning, and the lodge was asleep.  He exited through the kitchen, feeling his spirits lift as soon as he opened the door to the outside and felt the clean, cool air hit him. 

He wandered out onto the lodge grounds like a ghost.  He expected he would look like a ghost to anyone he’d run into.  The cold breeze felt good on his aching limbs, numbing them enough so that the pain wasn’t quite so intense.  His brain was fuzzy, and he tasted residual alcohol at the back of his throat.  That would explain the headache.  He stopped to lean against a tree.  Fog hung over the landscape as the sun, still crouched on the horizon, provided a soft yellow light.  Some of the snow had melted leaving patches of pale green grass poking through.

Haddock let out a sigh that smoked out in a vapor cloud.  They had accomplished what they’d set out to do—Sir Drexel was dead and buried.  There would be no more reports of a killer wolf terrorizing the inhabitants of Broadburn every full moon.  He closed his eyes, leaning his full weight against the tree as his legs began to quiver.

A soft, warm hand hesitantly tapped his back.  Haddock turned to see the hand’s possessor, but he already knew who it was.  Miss Marlowe stood next to him, wearing a thin blue jacket and a worried expression.  Her hand still hung in the air.  Her pale eyes were traveling over his body, continually coming back to the dark patch of dried blood that had seeped through the bandages on his chest.  It hadn’t occurred to him that this was the first time she had seen him since the fight.

Haddock, on the other hand, was inexplicably glad to see her out of all people standing there.  He couldn’t define what exactly he felt as he gazed down at her.  All he knew is that he didn’t want that growing little spark in his chest to die.

He acted impulsively.  Lacing his fingers around hers, he drew Miss Marlowe close and kissed her.  She made a surprised noise, but didn’t pull away.  The little spark in Haddock’s chest burst into a blazing bonfire.  They stood, joined for what seemed like an eternity in bliss before the realization of what he had done hit Haddock.  He disengaged and quickly stepped backwards, blushing profusely.

              “I’m so sorry—”

“I’m not.”

              Haddock stared as Miss Marlowe held a hand up to her face to hide her smile and reddening cheeks.

              “W-what I mean is, um, it’s good to see you’re doing better,” she faltered, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh.  Um, thank you…?”

              He directed his gaze to the ground, feeling very hot for someone standing in wintry weather with a shirt hanging loose.  His mind was still fixated on that kiss.  Miss Marlowe sniffed and Haddock quickly brought his eyes up.  She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

              “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, wiping her eyes.  “I’m just—I thought you wouldn’t—”

She threw her arms around Haddock, giving him a tight hug.  He bit his lip as she put pressure on his stitches but refrained from making any noises.  He brought his arms up to return the hug as she continued to sniff.  She mumbled something into his chest.

              “What?”

Looking up at him with watery blue eyes, she smiled.

“I’m happy you’re alive.”

              Haddock couldn’t help but grin too.  He wiped the tears from Miss Marlowe’s eyes.

“I’d offer you a handkerchief if, well, I had one, but I didn’t really think it would be necessary for this outing.”

              Miss Marlowe emitted a choking laugh as she clung onto Haddock’s hand.

“We, we should probably head back to the lodge.  Evans had a fit when he woke up and saw you missing.  Everyone is looking for you.  I though you would have wanted to escape the lodge, knowing you.”

              “Oh, well all right,” Haddock said with a sigh.  They struck out over the snow-patched plains towards the lodge as the sun’s beams pricked through the treetops, Miss Marlowe helping to hold Haddock up as the surge of energy that had propelled him outdoors began to ebb.

              “Miss Marlowe.”

“Yes?”

              “When it’s just the two of us, I wouldn’t mind it if you addressed me as Malcolm.”

“Of course,” she replied.  There was a smile in her voice. “And you can just call me Isolde.”