Page 8 of Lady for a Season
“Leave a candle burning,” said Eliza to Maggie. She offered her a lamp made of metal, which surrounded the thick candle within, allowing light to emerge only through many tiny holes, thus avoiding the risk of fire. “You may need it if you have to go to him in the night.”
“Does he wake often?”
Eliza nodded without offering further information, busy divesting herself of her clothing and changing hurriedly into a nightgown against the cold. Carefully, Maggie placed the candle in its holder on top of her trunk, where it glowed softly.
The room was chilly, but the blankets on the bed were thick and after all the new experiences and lack of sleep the previous night, Maggie fell asleep.
“HELP!”
Maggie awoke with a start in the darkness, unsure of where she was. The Hospital? No, she had left there… the inn? No, no, she was in Ivy Cottage, and the shouting she had just heard was a man’s voice, it –
“PLEASE!”
Eliza sighed. “He’s having a nightmare. You must go to him.”
Fumbling in the unaccustomed space, Maggie grabbed at the lamp and made her way along the corridor into Edward’s room.
“PLEASE NO! DON’T!”
“Edward!” she whispered, scared by the fear in his voice. “Edward, it’s me, Maggie.”
“NO!”
It was hard to make out much in the dim light, but Maggie crept forward until a flailing arm caught her about the waist. She grabbed hold of it, felt for his hand, clasped it. “Edward. Edward, be calm. All is well.”
He did not shout again, only gasped, panting for breath. His eyes opened and he stared wildly about the room.
“Edward? Are you awake?”
“Yes.” His voice was tiny after the shouting and her shoulders relaxed, relieved that the crisis had passed.
“All is well, I think you must have had a nightmare.”
“Yes. I am sorry to have troubled you.” He sounded fearful.
Maggie knelt by his bed and touched his cheek, which was wet with sweat. She used the sheet to wipe his face, still clasping his hand. “What did you dream of?”
“I do not recall.”
She did not believe him, his shouts had been too intense forthat to be true, but she did not ask further questions, only stroked his hand for a few moments.
“Are you well now?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he murmured, and she left the room and returned to her bed.
Eliza and Agnes were asleep again; evidently they were accustomed to Edward’s nightmares, but Maggie was shaken by how frightened he had sounded, caught up in some dark horror in his mind. What fears plagued him, what had happened in his young life to lead to such shouts of terror in his dreams? She lay tensely for some time, wondering if he might scream again, but there was no further sound from him and at last she fell asleep, to unsettling dreams of her own, in which hands reached out to her in the darkness and yet she could not see whose hands they were.
In the morning, she washed and dressed and came down to the kitchen, where Eliza was chopping vegetables.
“He’s already up. He wakes early,” she said, nodding towards the parlour. “Agnes’ll bring your breakfast.”
“Does he have nightmares often?” Maggie asked.
Eliza nodded. “Most nights.”
“Mostnights? Why?”
Eliza shrugged. “He is a lunatic,” she said, matter-of-factly. “It’s part of his affliction. I’ll send in breakfast directly.”
