Thedra

I’m floating. Pressed by warm arms, a vaguely familiar scent in my nostrils. It smells of books and ink but also of snow and pine, and even faintly of gunpowder. But beneath all that is the scent of a man, one I recognize from all the times I’ve washed his bedding and laundry.

Mr. Bentham.

I wish I could convince myself I’m dreaming. But I’m all too conscious as we burst into the kitchen to the tune of Mrs. Agate’s startled cries and Mr. Bentham bellowing for her to bring hot water bottles. I think he will set me down in front of the kitchen stove, but to my surprise he strides through the house and to the main hall, where he shouts another furious order.

“Forget the carriages— stay where you are! No one leaves this house until I say so!” 

Then he turns and carries me up to his own room, setting me in his own chair and wrapping me with heaps of blankets from off his own bed. I’m too cold to feel embarrassed, though I know very well I ought to be.

“You’re frozen,” he says, squatting before me to clasp my hand in his. For half a second I glimpse his concerned face before I remember to lower my gaze. “How long were you trapped in there?”

I open my chattering mouth to answer but no sound comes out. I’ve lost my voice completely.

“Can’t you answer me?”

I shake my head.

“Look at me, please,” he says, and I hunch even further in on myself. “Thedra.”

The sound of my name on his lips sends a gush of warmth straight through me, revitalizing me in a single instant. All my limbs are suddenly tingling, my belly churns with forbidden delight. I sit thunderstruck, in utter disbelief.

Mr. Bentham knows my name?

“I know this is difficult, but I need you to trust me,” he says, his warm voice sending more hot jolts coursing through my body. “You must let me help you bring the one who did this to justice. Please, Thedra,” I hear a faint tone of pleading in his voice, and it sets my head spinning. “Won’t you please look at me?”

How can I refuse this man? How can I refuse him anything after all he’s done for me? Especially now, when I know the truth of my feelings for him. If he asked me, I would walk to the ends of the earth on broken glass. So surely, I can fulfill this one small request.

Shyly, shyly, I lift my head. My eyelids flutter faintly, if I weren’t so cold I’m sure I’d be blushing with embarrassment. His face is so close to mine. So handsome; his dark, gentle eyes pull me in and twist me all up inside, till I could forget everything I am, even my own name.

 I am shocked when his hand reaches out suddenly to cup the side of my face. His look of relief is so poignant I almost think he will cry. But Mr. Bentham is not the sort of man to make such a spectacle.

“Thank God,” he murmurs, stroking my icy face with his hot thumb. “Thank God you’re alright,” he says again, and startles me once again by pressing his forehead firmly to mine. I’m so shocked I don’t know what to do. But for a change I don’t look away from him. I don’t know if it’s any longer in my power to look away. I’ve been captivated by this man completely. All that I am, body and soul, belong to him.

I must be mad, having such thoughts. I tell myself it’s just the cold. I’ll return to my senses soon, and back to my proper station. I’ll behave myself and be a good servant again, and never dare to hope for anything more. Only let me have this moment, I think, feeling tears well in my eyes. Let me have him all to myself just a little longer.

“Tell me,” he says, pulling away from me abruptly. “Who did this to you? I have an idea, but I need to know what happened.”

Once again I start to answer, but only a faint squeak leaves my throat.

“You’ve lost your voice,” he realizes only now. I nod. “Then, can you write?”

I look to my fingers. He clasps them again.

“Perhaps when you’ve warmed up a bit,” he decides, then he rises. “I’ll just see about those hot water bottles.”

Roderick

With frantic, nervous energy I rise and stride to the door. I throw it open, fully prepared to thunder down the hall at Mrs. Agate, only to find her standing in front of me, perspiration on her brow, clutching four hot water bottles and a thermos against her bosom.

“There you are,” I say, relieving her abruptly of her burden and kicking the door shut behind me, returning to where Thedra sits before the fire.

In no time at all she’s bundled together with the water bottles and a cup of hot broth. Her body ceases to twitch with cold, and she settles into a contented, comfortable position leaned back against the chair. I sit in the chair opposite her, suddenly overly-conscious of her shy, persistent gaze.

What am I going to do? I’m not used to her looking at me like this. It makes me nervous, keenly aware of her as I’ve never been before. She is so incredibly precious. Her beauty astounds me; she is like a fairy, all feminine and sweet, the opposite of me in every way.

I don’t know why but the sight of her in my room, wrapped in my blankets puts an ache of longing in me so poignant I think I’ll be sick with it. All I can think is how I want to be close to her, closer than we’ve ever been, warming her with the heat from my own body. Face to face, breast to wildly beating breast with nothing, not even our clothing between us. Her naked limbs entwined with mine, her hair all around us while I press her freezing body with hot, tender kisses…

You’re a brute, Rod, I chide myself, cringing with shame at my own selfish thoughts. After all she’s just been through, that’s where your mind goes?

I clear my throat sharply and Thedra jumps a little in her blanket cocoon. “Sorry,” I say quickly, and my voice sounds awkward to my own ears. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She shakes her head fiercely and it’s difficult for me to conceal my smile. How is it possible she grows even more adorable with each passing second? 

“Are you feeling a little better?”

She lowers her eyes and nods shyly, then glances back up at me through her long, dark eyelashes. I get a hot lump in my throat; it’s a little hard to swallow it down.

“Then, do you think you can try writing?”

She nods. I busy myself fetching the necessary implements, paper, pen and ink, and a slate to write on. Thedra digs herself out of her cocoon a little to grasp everything in her hands.

“Don’t push yourself,” I say gently, scooting my chair closer to hers so I may read her writing. “If your fingers hurt too much, feel free to stop at any time.”

In response, she pens the words in a hasty though still surprisingly elegant hand: Thank you.

I don’t know why, but the sight of the words on the page fill me with such pleasure. Even now, she is still so well mannered. When I think back to the earliest days of our acquaintance, I have to think that was what first drew me to her. Her lovely, quiet manners, just like a gentlewoman, somehow not at all out of place in spite of her circumstance.

“Thedra,” I say her name and she glances up at me shyly. Her ruby colored eyes are so bewitching in the firelight, it’s all I can do to keep my wits about me and remain the gentleman she so clearly trusts. “I need to know who locked you in the shed. Was it her?”

Evelyn.

I feel my fist clench atop the armrest. 

As I suspected.