Departure by Clonesgirl
Part II: Delusions
The rain driving into his face almost blinded the man as he strode along, now climbing the steep hill to his own house. As he passed through the large iron gates of the estate and the house loomed large up on the hill, he paused. He did not want to enter it. He did not want to go there.
A man of iron will, he forced himself to continue. Drawing closer, he peered at its windows through the curtains of rain, at the spray flying off the grey tiles of the roof and the high gables. The manor house was far too big for him, but protocol dictated that he had to keep it, if for no other purpose than to entertain. He gazed at the steps where only two days ago he had exchanged a final embrace with his dear ones.
No, he would not think about it - could not bear to contemplate it. The pain was too fresh, too raw, and his heart ached.
Wearily, he trudged up the long driveway, not even sparing a glance for the lovely garden where they had spent so many happy hours, vaguely wondering what on earth he was going to do to occupy himself for the next four weeks. He had to do something to take his mind off... things, he decided, not wanting to put a name to the dreadful hollowness that threatened to swallow him up. He had tried telling himself that it would be good for them; that they would have new experiences, new adventures; that 'Renown' was a good ship, but none of it seemed to help.
As he walked up the steps and stood under the large porch he removed his sodden cloak and wiped his muddy boots. He wanted desperately not to enter the house but at that moment the front door flew open and his housekeeper, Mrs Kelly, spied him. A rosy-cheeked, plump little woman, she had worked for him for over fifteen years now and was married to the gardener. She had taken care of him like a son ever since his wife had died. It was the same with his dear ones; she treated them like long lost sons and would see to it that their favourite foods were prepared for them each time they came home.
"Oh, sir! Oh, just look at you! You're soaked to the skin! Now you go and get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death! There's a fire in your room. Now drink this!" She handed him a hot, spiced rum and he took it in shaking hands and brought it to his lips.
"Yes, Mrs Kelly."
The first sip burnt his tongue a little, but he barely noticed. He took a second mouthful, feeling the heat trickle down inside him to warm his belly.
He gazed at her and wondered. "How did you know?"
She gave him that reproving look of hers. "I'm Irish, sir. I always know!"
He tried to smile at her, though he was unsure if he succeeded. He had well known what she would say for it was the same answer she always gave whenever he queried her about anything she seemed to know before it seemed possible that she should.
He sighed wearily. He did not want to go upstairs to his room. He did not want to look at the four walls. Most of all he did not want to see his bed; a bed large enough to sleep three in comfort, now far too large for one. How cold it would be now without his dear ones beside him. Besides, it was bound to remind him of their last night together; and he could not bear to think of that; not yet, for it was much too painful.
He was shivering violently now, had been for some time, he realised, as he handed Mrs Kelly his sodden cloak, his fingers stiff with cold. He trudged from the large vestibule with its many doorways to the broad, curving staircase, it's heavy polished wood banister gleaming in the lamplight. The master bedroom was the far door on the right and as he drew nearer the door, he could feel nothing but dread.
Holding the rum in one hand, he opened the door with the other.
Well, at least the room was warm and the fire inviting, he decided, closing the door behind him. Going to the fire, he placed the rum on the mantelpiece before shouldering out of his wet coat.
"Dearest Edward!"
The voice, so shocking in its nearness, yet so very familiar, froze him to the spot.
My God, I am hearing things! he decided.
"Yes, Edward, are you not going to greet us?" a second, also-familiar voice reproached in gentle manner.
Forcing himself to turn on leaden feet, he took in the sight before him.
For the first time in his life, Sir Edward Pellew, esteemed captain of 'Indefatigable', felt faint. Slightly dizzy, he found himself swaying, only to be grasped firmly on either side.
"Careful, Edward! We can't have you in the fire!" warned the one on his left.
"Now, let us get you out of that wet clothing!" declared the one on his right.
"Oh, Edward, you're shivering! We can't have you getting a fever!" exclaimed the one on his left.
Vaguely, he was aware of being undressed before the fire. He was urged to sit as they pulled his wet boots off him and removed his remaining clothing. His robe was put on him and the hot rum was placed in his shaking hand once more as a gentle voice urged him to drink. This time he managed to swallow a lot more, the fiery liquid warming him inside as one sat beside him, rubbing him and the other dried his hair.
As he finished the rum, they took the mug from him and the beautiful one with the sky blue eyes urged him to the bed. His robe was removed and he found himself lying down, the coolness of the sheets chilling him a little once more. But then the blue-eyed one, now also naked, lay beside him, embracing him most fondly, whilst the other one, the one with the largest and most beautiful brown eyes he had ever beheld, now in a similar state of undress, lay on his other side, his sweet, full lips parted in the loveliest smile.
The shivers finally seemed to be lessening, but the rum, drunk on an empty stomach had made him a little woozy. However, he was warm, he was in his own bed, and, impossibly, it seemed that his dear ones were with him. He needed to speak, to say something; there were questions that had to be asked, but his brain was in a fog due largely to complete exhaustion and lack of sleep for the past two days.
"Shh. Sleep now, dearest Edward, and we will keep you warm," the blue-eyed one murmured, stroking him in most gentle manner.
"Yes, sleep now," the brown-eyed one agreed, "and we will be here when you waken." Soft lips touched his cheek.
"Do not fear, dearest Edward, for all is well," the blue-eyed one whispered.
"Now close your eyes, my Edward," the dark-eyed one murmured, kissing his cheek once more.
"Sleep now," the other urged, soft lips on his other cheek.
Were they real? Or were they apparitions? Edward Pellew knew not. All he knew was that he was warmed to the core by the enchanting illusion that his dear ones had somehow returned to him. His mind gave up the struggle to think, to question; to reason why this simply could not be, and he fell into a sleep that was near to unconsciousness.
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