Authors: February Grace
However long I live, I will remember two things most from that horrific night: the sight of Quinn staggering toward me through the snow, and the sound of Pennington Renfrew's agonized scream the moment that the unholy blast from the explosion claimed what remained of his hearing.
Quinn and I were blown to the ground. The concussive force muffled my own hearing, and I had to strain to understand anything spoken to me in the moments that followed.
Quinn's tender kiss needed no translation.
I clung to him, for all that I was worth I clung to him, and he shook in my arms for a long moment before his inborn rational genius took command of the situation once more.
He ran for Penn, desperately trying to comfort the boy, though we both knew that nothing could undo the damage that had been done now.
For all the times Penn had wished for silence, I wondered if he would ever be glad that he finally, truly got it.
“Fetch Marielle,” Quinn instructed. I obeyed, finding the strength within myself now to stand. I brought the two girls over to our brave, fallen young friend. Marielle sobbed, clasped Penn to her heart, and whispered words of love that he would never hear. He held her fast in a way that said he understood, even so.
I wondered what would become of them now — the girl profoundly blind and so in love with the boy rendered totally deaf.
I wondered what would become of us all.
Quinn rushed back towards Schuyler now. I kissed Penn on the forehead and held him a moment before finally trudging my way back in Quinn's footsteps.
Much to my shock, the two men were having a conversation.
“You must,” Schuyler insisted.
“I cannot,” Quinn replied. “I am equally stubborn as you, Schuyler Algernon, and I will not leave you in this condition.”
“You… must.” Schuyler's eyes were as red as the blood that stained the fabric of his usually perfectly pressed pants. I realized that they seemed to have no form now, no shape; his legs were simply crushed.
Quinn coughed, fighting the effects of the smoke on his own lungs. He started ripping the sleeves from his shirt, so that he could use the fabric to try to stem the flow of blood from Schuyler's injuries. “Abigail, tourniquet.”
I began tearing my skirt apart, possessed of a strength, once again, I knew not that I had. How strange it was, I thought, as I rent length after length of beautiful, though stained, blue fabric from my skirt, that the life of the man who made it depended upon it now.
Quinn tied off each of Schuyler's broken legs, and continued also pressing down to put pressure on the wounds. I imitated his posture on the right leg, holding down with all my strength as the cry of the sirens grew nearer.
“Quinn.”
“Schuyler, shut up.”
“You must take her, and go. Before they get here. Before… questions.”
Quinn looked at Schuyler, then up at me, and we exchanged a look of mournful understanding. Yes, questions would be asked and if I was discovered here, if Quinn's work was revealed…
“He's right.” Another voice spoke clearly now behind Quinn, and several men hurried toward us.
“How?” I breathed more than spoke the word. The strong hand of J. Robeson Weatherall fell upon my shoulder as both of his bodyguards moved in and picked Schuyler up from the now scarlet snow.
“We went back to the cemetery, after everyone had gone, to have a moment alone at Jon's grave,” he explained. “We saw the smoke and I sent for help.”
“Quinn!” Schuyler called out as he was carried off, and my heart ached for him, after all. He was in unimaginable pain, quite possibly dying, and still, the very last word on his lips could turn out to be the name of the man he loved.
Quinn looked at me and I nodded strenuously; there was nothing to be said. I knew that he was all right. I could ask no more and expected no less than he would have to tend to his lifelong friend, no matter what had transpired on one night of their long relationship.
He ran after Schuyler, who was being loaded into the Magistrate's grand carriage.
I stood paralyzed for a few moments, staring first up at the last of the collapsed building as it burnt down to the frozen ground. I watched as the fire wagon pulled up before it and the men stood back, folded their arms and shook their heads. There was nothing, really, to be done now. All that had been, was lost.
“Abigail!” I looked up as I heard a familiar voice shout my name. It was Adelia Blake Weatherall, whom I was certain had told that name to Quinn to begin with.
I moved to her as quickly as I could, realizing that her husband, and the vehicle in which they'd come, had already sped off down the road with the Magistrate, Penn, Schuyler, and Quinn safely inside of it.
“Abigail, help me.”
I helped her pull Marielle and Lilibet together and lead them farther away from the gathering crowd. Even in her own time of grief, her wits were razor sharp.
“Say nothing,” she instructed. “If anyone asks any questions, I will be the one to answer.” She hurried to shrug the coat from her shoulders and threw it over mine. “We need to get you all out of here.”
A man in uniform approached us, and her eyes implored calm again as she raised her hand to speak. “These are friends of my late son,” she said. “We've all been visiting with Mr. Algernon following the funeral and, well, something went dreadfully wrong. Mr. Algernon and his shop boy were injured. My husband is seeing to their treatment, Inspector. Another of our fleet will be along shortly so that I can escort my charges home.”
The man looked at her sideways, questioning; she had no residue of smoke or evidence of fire upon her clothing as the rest of us did. I could clearly see from his expression that he was uncertain he believed her. Still, she was far too influential a woman, and married to much too powerful a man, to be questioned as to the truth of her explanation, especially on the day she buried her only child.
“Very well. I shall need to speak with Mr. Algernon as soon as he is able to answer some questions.”
“I shall inform his physician,” Adelia said, leading Marielle, and Lilibet and I further down the court. “Thank you for your concern.”
I felt Marielle and Lilibet's slim, fragile arms wrap around me and I hugged them close. Marielle openly wept, Lilibet simply stared and rocked as she stood, clutching her talktype; the only material item from within the house to survive.
As I looked at them and considered Penn's fate, I wondered what the true cost of Schuyler's wrath would turn out to be.
C
HAPTER
29
FRANTIC, PAINFUL HOURS PASSED
before I saw Quinn again.
When I did, he was still in the same torn and stained clothing he had been immediately after the fire; and he made no attempt to conceal his emotions as he raced toward me and into my outstretched arms.
“Abigail, my darling…”
This time it was I who kissed him, and I felt him lean his weight heavily against me. He was exhausted, near to absolute collapse. As I ran my hands through short silver hair impossible to ever smooth down, I had to ask the question that terrified me to the core.
“Schuyler?”
“He may yet lose one leg, but he will live.”
I clasped him tighter, but now he leaned back so he could meet my eyes.
“Abigail, I must leave Fairever. Immediately.”
At that moment — at that thought — I was utterly heartbroken.
“Quinn—”
“Schuyler was right. I cannot stay now.” His eyes shone with tears as, realizing that I misunderstood his intentions, he took my face tenderly into his hands and leaned his forehead against mine. “
We
cannot stay.”
I trembled so I could scarcely force the word out. “We?”
“We must go away. Far away, and begin a new life.”
“But…”
“Schuyler will recover. He will stay here; the Weatheralls will look after him and Penn until it's safe for Penn to travel.”
“Penn's hearing?” Tears fell from my eyes now, and as he brushed them away, Quinn merely shook his head in the negative. Just as I'd feared, Penn's loss could not be reclaimed.
“When we are settled, and it is safe, the Weatheralls will send them to us.”
“Them?”
“Penn. Lilibet and Marielle. It's all being arranged.”
“What about…” I didn't know how to ask what I was asking. “What of you and I?”
“I intend,” Quinn whispered, pressing his lips to my ear, “for Mrs. Godspeed to live as long and healthy a life as I am able to provide for her.”
I stared at him in disbelief as he elaborated.
“I have found my heart inextricably wound into the clockwork of yours, Abigail Courage. To lose you now would mean the death of me.” He clasped both of my hands and held them to his heart. “I love you, Abigail. Marry me.”
C
HAPTER
30
THE SAME TRAIN
that once symbolized the end of my life now facilitated the true beginning of it.
I stared out the window as Quinn took the seat beside me. He wrapped his hand around mine before leaning over and resting his head against my shoulder. Soon he was fast asleep, lulled by the comfort of our closeness and the hum of the engine.
Gazing over at him, I knew for a certainty that no eternity in Heaven could mean more to me than this moment.
‘Til death us do part?
The vow means so much more to me than that.
I will love him beyond the hereafter should such places exist, but more importantly, I will love him upon this flawed Earth — my heaven — for as long as Quinn's clockwork heart still beats inside my chest.
THE END
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