As Aubrey and Lindsey reached the road, they met with several of the household staff. Fletcher and the other grooms, along with Charles, had come out on horseback to search for the missing gentlemen. Fletcher caught sight of them first and immediately dismounted, leading his steed over to them and offering the reins to Lindsey.
“Glad to find you safe, sir,” Fletcher blurted out.
It took Aubrey a moment to realise Fletcher had addressed not his employer, but Aubrey himself. Relief had only just begun to rub out the fretful lines in Fletcher’s otherwise youthful features. The revelation that the groom had felt concern not just for Lindsey but for Aubrey as well left Aubrey feeling nothing less than astonished.
“Glad to be found,” Aubrey managed after a moment of stunned silence.
His hacking cough put a stop to any further communication between them. Each cough stabbed through Aubrey’s chest, the cracked ribs flaring with every reverberation. Even after his fit ended, he found it difficult to regather his breath, and the lack of it left him lightheaded—certainly in no position to climb on horseback. As Lindsey likewise refused to leave Aubrey’s side, they were forced to stagger back to the house on foot, with the grooms riding around them like an escort of guards.
Lindsey sent Charles to telegram for Dr Pilkington immediately upon their return to the house. Even so, it took until evening for them to receive an answering telegram, and this only informed them that Dr Pilkington would arrive at the earliest possible hour tomorrow morning.
The hours in between sending for the surgeon and receiving a response passed quietly enough, if not without tension. Lindsey drew another hot bath for Aubrey, insisting it was necessary to warm his chilled bones. Aubrey didn’t argue; he felt he needed it as much for the chill as for the mud splattered over him from head to toe.
“Another suit ruined,” he reflected with some bitterness as Lindsey helped him undress.
Lindsey stopped in the midst of untying Aubrey’s boot and looked up. “If that’s the worst that’s come of this, I’ll be thankful.”
There was something in his tone, not quite sharp, but more insistent than Aubrey was accustomed to hearing from him. Worried, that was it. No matter how Aubrey told him he was fine, cracked ribs and sprained ankle aside. Aubrey, used to harbouring all the anxiety in their relationship, felt uncomfortable at this shift in dynamics. “Sorry. I just—it feels like such a waste.”
Lindsey’s expression softened, and he stood to press a kiss to Aubrey’s temple.
“Worth it,” he whispered, “to have you home safe.”
Aubrey swallowed down the lump in his throat and kissed him back.
Still, Lindsey’s eyes lingered upon Aubrey’s bruises far longer than they’d ever lingered upon his burn scars.
The second bath proved far less seductive than the first. The comfort of the warm water was off-set by the throbbing of Aubrey’s bruises, the grinding of his cracked ribs, and the cough that had settled into his lungs as he lay out in the rain. He tried to suppress it, as not only did each hacking breath bring bolts of agony across his chest, but also deepened the concerned furrows in Lindsey’s brow.
As he left the bath, Aubrey found himself shivering. Lindsey hurried to wrap him in a dressing gown warmed in front of the fire. Even so, Aubrey’s teeth chattered as he leaned into Lindsey and staggered to bed. Bedsheets roasted with a warming-pan helped matters some, and Lindsey tucked additional quilts up over Aubrey’s shoulders. Aubrey thought Lindsey might do still more to warm him up by slipping between the sheets himself, but as he opened his mouth to suggest it, he cut himself off with another hacking cough that cracked through his ribcage like gunshots, laying him low in breathless agonies.
Lindsey measured out a dose of laudanum, and for once, Aubrey didn’t protest taking his medicine.
To help with the bitter taste of the laudanum, Lindsey had beef broth and toast brought up—an invalid’s dinner. Aubrey stayed awake long enough to eat about half his portion. Then exhaustion forced him to push the remainder away. He didn’t fall so much as collapse into sleep, losing consciousness before Lindsey could climb into bed beside him.
Hours later, Aubrey’s own cough jolted him awake like a lightning strike through his ribcage.
In the dark, half-asleep, he fumbled with the laudanum bottle on the nightstand, the finicky dropper and the glass tumbler of water, to dispense a second dose. He held his breath all the while to stop the itch in his throat from turning into another cough and waking Lindsey—until a groan behind him told him he’d already failed.
“What…” Lindsey mumbled, even as Aubrey desperately prayed he’d fall back asleep. Then came the sounds of Lindsey fumbling with the nightstand on his own side of the bed, the drawer rattling open and shut, and the hiss of a struck match flaring to life. The soft glow of candlelight suffused the room, revealing Lindsey’s befuddled expression, and Aubrey’s secret medicinal shame.
Aubrey had never felt more like an opium-eater. “Go back to sleep,” he meant to say, but the moment he let air pass over his vocal chords, his throat contracted, and he lost all words in coughing.
Lindsey set down the candle, reached over Aubrey, and took over dispensing the laudanum, tossing out the water Aubrey had failed with and beginning afresh from the pitcher. Aubrey witnessed less than half his work, his coughing fit forcing his eyes shut. Then he felt Lindsey’s hand settle upon his back and heard a gentle voice bid, “Drink this,” and opened his eyes to find Lindsey looking upon him with an expression equal parts exhaustion and concern, holding the tumbler up to his face.
Aubrey raised a shaking hand to join Lindsey’s in clasping the glass and tipped it down his own ungrateful throat with perhaps more force than advisable for an invalid.
They fell back into bed, but Aubrey could not fall asleep. Every time his eyes fell shut, his sore throat would itch and his lungs convulse, and the resulting stab like a spear in his side would jolt him awake again. In desperation he grabbed a pillow and clutched it to his ribs to absorb even a fraction of the shock that rattled his ribcage with every breath. It helped some, and combined with the laudanum, allowed him eventual sleep.
The next morning found Aubrey’s ankle much better. The swelling had nearly gone, and only a slight limp remained in his gait. His ribs, however, felt as bad as the day before, and the lost sleep didn’t help matters.
Fortunately, Dr Pilkington came on the first train. Aubrey had just finished breakfast—in bed, at Lindsey’s insistence—when Charles announced the return of the family carriage to the drive, and Dr Pilkington came into the sickroom.
After a perfunctory examination of Aubrey’s ankle, Dr Pilkington declared it had merely “rolled,” not sprained and certainly not broken, despite Lindsey’s concerns. Then the stethoscope came out of the black leather bag, and Dr Pilkington warmed it against his palm while Aubrey reluctantly disrobed just enough to allow for an examination of his ribs. Dr Pilkington listened intently to Aubrey’s breathing. Aubrey wondered if his stethoscope allowed him to hear the grinding of the bones as well.
“Hairline fractures,” Dr Pilkington declared as he removed the buds from his ears. “The cough concerns me, but there’s no crackling, which means no pneumonia as of yet. I’d still like to keep a close watch on your lungs as matters develop. In the meantime, I strongly caution against bed-rest.”
Aubrey, who’d rather expected to hear the exact opposite recommendation, raised his brows.
Lindsey likewise appeared surprised and a great deal more perturbed. “No bed-rest?”
“No bed-rest,” Dr Pilkington confirmed, rolling up his stethoscope and slipping it back into his bag. “If we’re to keep pneumonia out of your lungs, Mr Warren, then you need to continue breathing as normally as you can manage. That’s the danger of broken ribs. Shallow breathing allows for fluid to build up, and pneumonia settles in. So you must make a conscious effort at deep-breathing, at least once per hour. I can recommend laudanum for cough-suppression, and for the pain, but I must insist you get out of bed as much as you can stand, and breathe deep!”
Aubrey, who’d been dreading the prospect of lying about for weeks on end, struggled to withhold his joy at this prescription. “I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do,” replied Dr Pilkington. “I’d like to return to check on your progress at the end of the week. But don’t hesitate to send for me if you feel any worse.”
With that, he stood up to leave. Lindsey rose as well and, with a concerned glance back at Aubrey, showed the doctor out. As they departed, Aubrey caught a snatch of conversation.
“If I might have a word…” came Lindsey’s hushed tones.
The creak of the door falling shut overpowered the rest.
~
Lindsey had hoped Dr Pilkington’s arrival would soothe his own worries along with Aubrey’s wounds. Instead, he found himself more worried than ever.
“Are you sure,” he said in hushed tones as he escorted the surgeon down to the foyer, “there is no cause for concern?”
“No more than usual,” Dr Pilkington replied easily. “Certainly far less than when last I treated him.”
Lindsey well recalled that prior meeting between his Aubrey and the good doctor. He’d first consulted Dr Pilkington on Graves’s recommendation, when Aubrey, returning home from Withington Hospital, had suffered morphine withdrawals on top of the injuries he’d incurred in the boiler explosion at Rook Mill.
“Do not allow him to stay abed,” Dr Pilkington continued, drawing Lindsey out of his troubling reminiscences. “Ensure he does his breathing exercises and remains otherwise active.”
“Should he get back on the horse, as well?” Lindsey asked in disbelief.
Dr Pilkington chuckled. “Not quite yet. Though some light perambulation around the house and grounds would do him good. You needn’t worry about him unless that cough of his grows worse, or unless it starts bringing up mucus. Should either occur, send for me without delay.”
They’d reached the front courtyard by then, so Lindsey could do little more than promise to follow doctor’s orders and let him return to London. He watched the family carriage rattle away down the drive towards the village and the train station, then returned to the house and took the stairs two at a time back to his bedroom.
All the while, he tried to reconcile Dr Pilkington’s advice with his own instincts. He knew Dr Pilkington as an able and trustworthy surgeon, whose advice and expertise had already saved Aubrey’s life once before. Still, Lindsey couldn’t quite silence the little nagging voice in the back of his mind which fretted for Aubrey’s sake. This little nagging voice only grew louder once he opened the bedroom door.
The bed was empty.
Lindsey stared at the spot where he’d left his Aubrey not a quarter-hour ago. The bed wasn’t just empty—it was made-up, as if whoever had left it had no intention of returning anytime soon, or indeed, had never been there. Aubrey’s pyjamas were folded neatly at the foot of the bed, ready for the maid to collect for laundry. Aubrey himself, however, had totally vanished.
A glance into the bathroom did not reveal Aubrey. Nor did the journey into the hall, or down the grand staircase in the foyer. In the breakfast-room, Lindsey found not Aubrey, but Charles, who informed him Aubrey had gone down to the ballroom with Halloway.
Lindsey did not run to the ballroom, though it took great presence of mind to keep from doing so. He paused before the double doors to gather himself. From within, he heard muted conversation, a few notes of Halloway’s laughter, and a cough from Aubrey. Lindsey flexed his hands to steady himself, then pushed open the door.
Halloway stood in front of his easel, arranging the tools of his trade, stripped down to his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Aubrey stood beside him, clad in his dressing gown and slippers, his everyday suit folded up and set aside near the pile of pillows, crates, and tarps.
“Aubrey!” said Lindsey, cutting off whatever conversation passed between them. He just barely stopped himself from adding, Shouldn’t you be in bed?
Aubrey had already turned to regard him upon his entrance and appeared no less puzzled now. “Yes?”
“What are you doing here?” Lindsey asked.
This question did nothing to clear up the bewildered expression on Aubrey’s face. “Modelling for Halloway.”
Lindsey cast about for the most diplomatic phrasing possible. “Are you certain that’s a wise course of action, given your injuries?”
“Dr Pilkington warned against bed rest,” Aubrey reminded him. “And this will hardly tax me.”
Lindsey, helpless, turned to Halloway for reinforcement.
Halloway coughed. “Forgive me for being indelicate, but given how Warren’s wounds were sustained in a fall… They could add great verisimilitude to my work.”
Lindsey stared at Halloway.
“In that case,” Aubrey piped up, “I ought to return to modelling without delay. Otherwise the bruising won’t be fresh and the colours will turn.”
Lindsey stared at Aubrey.
“Fresh bruises would be ideal,” Halloway agreed.
Lindsey gave up staring at both of them, instead casting his gaze upon the painting-in-progress. Even in his distracted state, he had to concede the work had compelling properties. The pose of Icarus showed off Aubrey’s body to great advantage and made his natural beauty impossible to ignore.
Meanwhile, the voice of the flesh-and-blood Aubrey broke into Lindsey’s considerations. “Did you want to stay and supervise the proceedings?”
Since the beginning of the artistic process, Lindsey had felt intense curiosity and intrigue regarding the painting. He’d held back out of respect for Aubrey’s sensibilities and for Halloway’s work. Now, invited to act the part of the voyeur, he found the suggestion allayed many of his concerns. He needn’t spend the day fretting in ignorance; if anything dreadful should befall Aubrey in the course of modelling, he’d be first to know of it, and better still, be perfectly positioned to render aid.
“I’d very much like to,” Lindsey admitted. He cast a glance at Halloway. “That is, if you don’t object…?”
Halloway shrugged. “Not in the least. Shall we?”
An extra chair was brought in from the dining room, along with the laudanum bottle from the bedroom, at Lindsey’s request. The ballroom doors shut tight against prying eyes from within. Halloway added fresh paint to his palette. All was readiness.
Aubrey stepped out of his slippers and made as if to resume his pose—then paused, with a glance at Lindsey. Their eyes locked for an instant.
Lindsey smiled at him, a simple, supportive gesture.
Aubrey returned it in his usual way—a shy flicker, hardly more than a twitch of his lips, yet providing such warmth in its brief flash as to melt the heart of any man who saw it.
Then he let the silk robe slip off his shoulders in a singular shrug—and handed the article over to Lindsey in a manner as shy as his previous gesture had been bold.
Lindsey took it, letting his hand clasp Aubrey’s within the robe’s folds as he did so, a quick squeeze of assurance.
Aubrey bit back a second smile as, together, they approached the makeshift background. Coming up to it, Lindsey perceived the charcoal outline of a body laid out over the draped canvas tarps. Aubrey started to settle in to the position indicated by the markings—then stopped with an abrupt wince. Lindsey offered his arm, and Aubrey took it with evident gratitude. With Lindsey’s help, he lowered himself down into place.
Halloway, from his post by his easel, called out for a few minor adjustments of Aubrey’s position. Then he declared himself ready to begin, and Lindsey, with some reluctance, had only to “step out of frame,” as it were.
Lindsey returned to his chair beside Halloway’s easel and settled in to watch the proceedings.
He had seen Aubrey nude before, of course—many times over. But never quite from this perspective. When Aubrey disrobed behind their bedroom door, for example, he was always within Lindsey’s reach, and often helping to undress Lindsey in turn. Lindsey could run an idle hand over the wiry muscles of his arms—astonishing to see when Aubrey removed his shirt and revealed how the narrow frame beneath his suit held unforeseen strength—or trace his fingertips through the dusting of fine black hairs across his chest, and trail them down to the matching line over his belly, leading further south to the soft black curls nestled around his prick. He could smooth his thumbs over the jutting points of Aubrey’s hipbones, or grasp the shapely thighs and feel them tremble beneath his ministrations, or caress the sharp definition of his calves. He could kiss the spread of burn scars from cheek to shoulder, arm to fingertip, and show how he valued the marks of survival, ingenuity, and courage.
Now, he could do nothing more than stare.
The painting had transformed Lindsey from tactile lover to wistful voyeur. At present, only his eyes could roam over the curve of Aubrey’s collarbone or the slender bend of his waist. The distance heightened Lindsey’s appreciation for the beloved and familiar form before him.
Even so, the bruises were new.
Lindsey had seen them yesterday in the dim gaslight of their bedroom and the bath. The sight of them had stopped his heart, had required a sharp intake of breath to fortify himself against exclaiming aloud in alarm. Then, they had appeared like blotches of deep crimson watercolour blooming across Aubrey’s parchment-pale skin. Now, a day later, they had turned a dreadful shade of blue-black, like indigo ink, as dark as the night sky absent of moon and stars and hope. The mass over Aubrey’s ribcage looked the worst, marking out where the three ribs had cracked, from whence the greatest portion of his pain stemmed, and had kept them both awake half the night.
With neither bedsheets nor robe to shield them from view, Lindsey saw every hitch in Aubrey’s breath, every flinch and wince, every cough reverberating throughout his frame, every tremulous, half-imagined shifting of his cracked ribs beneath the brutal bloom of his bruises.
Lindsey wanted nothing more than to fold Aubrey’s broken and battered form within his arms, to clasp him in a warm embrace, to shield him from further harm.
But he could only watch.
Lindsey tore his eyes away from the painful visual reminder of Aubrey’s suffering and turned them instead towards Halloway and his canvas.
The painting, which had looked almost as good as finished to Lindsey’s amateur eyes, proved barely begun. Halloway built up layer upon layer of brush-strokes, blending in new and more exacting hues, bringing the image of Icarus Fallen into sharper focus like a photographer adjusting his lens by minute degrees.
So too did the new bruises come into focus. At first Halloway added stark dashes of maroon, crimson, and indigo on top of what had initially appeared as a completed painting of unblemished flesh. Then the blending began, and sharp edges of the paint daubs faded into a more lifelike representation of Aubrey’s very real contusions. Every delicate flick of the bristles brought new life into Icarus, making the fallen form seem to breathe within the confines of the canvas, as if actual blood flowed beneath painted skin.
Halloway talked as he painted, with the same easygoing air he always had at dinner parties and more casual gatherings. At first he directed his gentle enquiries at Aubrey—out of habit, from what Lindsey could gather—before the pained tones of Aubrey’s replies checked him, and he instead turned his conversational prowess upon Lindsey. If pressed for details afterwards, Lindsey would be unable to tell what, exactly, the topics of their discourse had been, or how they had flowed from one into the other. He knew only that it felt friendly and carefree as ever.
Awe-inspiring though he found Halloway’s speed and skill, Lindsey couldn’t help stealing glances at his Aubrey. One of these glances caught Aubrey’s eye and earned him a shy half-smile. Lindsey returned it, wishing all the while he could press his hand to his cheek and feel the smile against his palm, whilst Aubrey, as he so often did, disguised his evident pleasure with a kiss to Lindsey’s wrist.
As he watched, Lindsey twisted Aubrey’s robe around his hands in his lap. The silk folds still felt warm. He hoped Aubrey wasn’t too cold without it.
~