Page 44 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Help?” Kenneth seemed dumbstruck by the idea. Clearly, he had never asked a woman's help with anything, let alone business. “How would you do that?”
“You need to know if they're lying, right?” Leah squinted at Kenneth. “Because they assert the ship was sunk by the storm. That is truly the determination you must reach.”
“Well, yes, it could be reduced to that. I confess I had never thought of it in that way.”
“Of course, you haven't.” Leah grinned.
“What's that mean?” Kenneth puffed out his lip, obviously pretending to be overly insulted.
“Come, let's have a look.” Leah waved for him to hand her the stack of testimony.
“This is unorthodox.” Kenneth complained, but nonetheless he handed over the documents.
“Did you believe the man you heard?” Leah asked, beginning to look over the papers with great interest. This glimpse into the other world was a fascinating one.What strange things they did with their money.
“I did.” Kenneth granted. “He seemed trustworthy. He was brief; however, I cannot wonder if perhaps he neglected pieces of information.”
“Let me see.” Leah began to read over the captain's statement.
“You know this is all confidential.” Kenneth stammered.
“Who am I to tell?” Leah poked. “You shall have to make an appointment with a newsman if you wish for me to tell all of London.”
“I suppose that is true.” Kenneth conceded, sitting back on the stool and throwing up his hands in a mock surrender. “Then read away and inform me of your opinion.”
“You shall have to give me some time then.” Leah turned over the pile of paper.
“Very well, I shall leave you then.” Kenneth said, and left with a glance over his shoulder.
Leah encouraged him with a friendly nod. “Go on.” she said, and the door shut behind him.
The papers before her were crisp and orderly. They were organized into boxes and lines that seemed so neatly ordained. Within the boxes, some very calculated handwriting had been manifested, clearly by the same tedious hand, detailing individual testimonies from surviving sailors.
She took her time to study each report, taking apart the narrative through the eyes of traumatized people. She could feel their sorrow, their fear, and their general remorse.
There was real pain in these pages, pain she knew, the pain of unexpected and brutal loss. She had felt it before, when her parents died, and again when her friend Teller had disappeared.
It was a drawn-out feeling, one that would sit with the carrier for years, slowly falling away piece by piece until instead of pain there was simply an emptiness where something used to be.
Before she knew what was happening, Leah was crying. She could hear the creak of the mast and the shouts of the crew as the rogue wave rose up; then the shuddering impact – the splintering of timber and ruining of sails – split the ship in two and she sank swiftly beneath the stormy sea.
The water was cold, colder than anything she had ever felt. It crushed in around her, squeezing every bit of air left in her lungs out through her throat, threatening to let her slip beneath the waves, and they came over her head again and again.
She was powerless against the raging fury above; the thunder and lightning rocked the atmosphere as the ocean responded in kind. The ship was gone, and so too the crew, and so she relinquished what little shred of life she clung to and went under.
It was freezing, heavy darkness, muting her, and she sank, yet something took hold of her then. Something strong and alive, and it yanked her upwards from the salt water. On the ships shattered side the group limped to an iceberg, where they took shelter in the hollow of a wind impression until the sun rose, and everything was suddenly peaceful.
Leah was shaking. The narrative that she had just entered had scared her; she had felt the true danger and fright of perishing at sea through the manicured words of another, and she did not know what to make of it.
It was a powerful thing; to be transported in such a way. In all her years of which she could read, she had never thought to live so deeply in the content of pages. Her talent was most often reserved for reading newspapers, wanted posters, special bulletins, and advertisements.
Even though she had asked for Greek classics, she was not familiar with them. Nor could she earnestly engross herself in them, for she lacked much of the necessary context one requires to suddenly open Homer's pagesWho am I trying to fool?She had only asked forFrankensteinbecause she had heard it concerned a living dead man, and that it had caused quite the stir in many a literary circle. It was the most intriguing, controversial title she could think of.
But in the true recounting of a shipwreck, she was wholly immersed, and she learned what is was to read another's pain.
In her bed she mourned the lost souls. If she believed in any sort of religion she might have prayed, but she mourned the men she would never know in silence.
Kenneth finally appeared some hours later after Leah had been attended to by the housekeeper. He had changed his clothes and clearly washed his face, for he shone with the bright light skin of a polished nobleman.
