Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

A week later, Jessamina awoke to find James unexpectedly downstairs. She walked downstairs in her wrapper, thinking that there would be no calls made that day, but as soon as she entered the drawing room, she encountered James talking to her mother. They both turned towards her as she protectively covered herself with her arms. Mrs. Delaney is utterly shocked and disappointed by Jessamina’s disheveled appearance, but James merely grins and gives a slow whistle.

“I’m sorry, James, she isn’t normally this exposed. She simply wasn’t expecting any visitors.” Mrs. Delaney hastily explained.
“Understandable. I suppose this will be a common sight once we get married then?”

Jessamina blushed. “Certainly not. You should have told me you were coming.”
“I decided I would surprise you with a picnic lunch is the park today. The sun is out and the weather is surprising warm today. Go get dressed and we’ll leave at once!”

Jessamina ran upstairs, eager to get out of the house after several days of dreary rain. James was never one to plan these impromptu events, but Jessamina supposed that he was simply as eager to spend some time with her as she was with him. After all, now that they were engaged, Jessamina was allowed to be alone with him without a chaperone. After having to hide her relationship with Edmund for so long, Jessamina loved the idea of being able to publicly express some affection to her fiance.

The final touch to all of her outfits was her cameo brooch, but Jessamina found herself hesitating to wear it this afternoon. After all, she felt safe with James by her side. And now that her murderous days were over, there was no need for its hidden use anymore. She decided to leave it in its special place and keep it only as a reminder of her father, rather than as a weapon. In fact, as soon as she could, she would try to figure out a way to disable its dispersion system.

James had been right about the weather; London had not had such a perfectly blue sky in months. They sat on a grassy field in the middle of Hyde Park, watching a group of small children frolic a few meters away from them.

“You are not wearing your brooch today.” James said with surprise.
“Oh, you noticed!”
“I thought you said that you wore it every day.”
“Well, yes, I used to. But today I decided I would rather not.”
“I see.” he paused. “If I may be so bold, why did you decide not to wear it.”
“Why does it matter?”
“I am simply curious. The entire time that I have known you, I have never seen you without it. And you said it holds great sentimental value for you, does it not?”
“It does. My father gave it to me. I wore it previously because it made me feel... safe. I felt as if every time I wore, he was there with me, in spirit.” She smiled up at him. “But now I have you to keep me safe, and I don’t need his protection anymore. I might still wear it from time to time, but I have no need for its constant presence on my person anymore. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, it does. I apologize if it was rude of me to ask. I just... over the past few days I have started to think about my own relationship with my father. What it means to me. And I remembered your brooch, and how you had a keepsake to remember him by. But I don’t have anything of that sort from my father, and I wonder whether or not it is because I do not deserve one.”
“Why, you don’t need one, James! Think of everything else he’s given you.”
“Yes, but my father has never really given me something form his heart. Something that had a special meaning to him that he wanted to pass down from generation to generation. I never had a good relationship with my father, and with his health as horrible as it is... I am not certain if I will ever get a chance to mend it.”
“Has his condition deteriorated?”
“I am not even certain he will make it through till Sunday.”
“James! Why are you not there with him now? You should spend every waking moment you have with him. Try to remember every detail of these last few days. I barely remember anything of my last interaction with my father, and that pains me a great deal. You should try to make amends with him while you can.”
“Would you like to meet him, Jessamina?”
“Who? Your father?”
“I know that you have wanted to meet him for some time now; after all, you were always asking about him when we first met. Edmund came in to observe him the other day, and he said that whatever ails my father is not a contagious disease. And you said yourself that this may be the last chance.”

Jessamina thought about what James was asking of her. On the one hand, actually meeting Vincent Blackhorne could be too much for her to handle; while she may not have wanted to kill him anymore, she would never forget what his father had done to destroy her life. On the other hand, meeting him may give her the closure she needed. If she could have a few words with him, alone, perhaps she could finally get some peace of mind.

“May I speak to him alone?” she asked.
“Certainly. Then you’ll meet him?”
“Yes. I think I would like that.”

They packed up their lunch as quickly as they could and rode back to the Blackhorne residence. As soon as they arrived, James let Jessamina stand in the garden while he put away the carriage.

Jessamina still could not believe that she would soon be living in this magnificent place. Soon, she would be able to spend her afternoons reading in the quiet solitude of the flowers and topiaries lining their estate. She could relax by the fountain and have the sounds of rushing water lull her to sleep. And during the warm summer nights, she could simply sit with her husband and stare at the bright stars in the heavens above them. She almost wanted to elope with James just so she would have to wait until June to start this new blissful chapter of her life. Of course, she knew that their families wouldn’t approve of such things, and she was looking forward to having a lovely reception. Still, she wished that the time would just fly by so her wedding day would come sooner.

“Are you ready, dear?” James asked as he approached from the stables.
“Ready as I will ever be, I suppose. But James, are you certain he is not too weak to be having this visit? Should I not come back another day?
“Believe me, today is a perfect day for you to meet him.” He led her inside the house. “I sent all the servants home today. They have all been working so hard to keep my father comfortable that I thought it best to give them the day off to rest.”
“How sweet of you, James! I am sure they were very appreciative.”

They continued their journey up the spiral staircase in the main part of the house. Jessamina had never been anywhere except the front hall and the ballroom, so she found this experience incredibly exciting. She stopped in front of a portrait of a young woman.

“James, who is this?”
“My mother. It was painted a year or so before she passed away. It is, I believe, the last portrait ever taken of her.”

The woman in the painting was tall and majestic looking, with long flaming red hair flowing down to her waist. She seemed to stare directly at Jessamina with a frightening intensity, her blue eyes piercing the canvas.

“She’s beautiful.” Jessamina whispered.
“Yes. She was.”
“How did she die?”
“I would rather not talk about it.” James said, his voice suddenly turning cold.

Jessamina whirled around in horror. “Oh, James! How careless of me to ask something of so sensitive a subject! I am so sorry!”
“No need, to apologize, Jessamina. My father is in that room at the top of the stairs. I will leave you alone to talk to him for a few minutes.”
“James--”
“I have something I have to take care of, Jessamina. You did want to speak to him alone, did you not?”

Not wanting to anger James anymore, she simply nodded and proceeded up the long staircase. She would apologize again to him fully later, and she was certain he would forgive her.

She finally entered the room, careful not to make the door creak too loudly. The room was windowless and incredibly dark, with a few measly candles illuminating the bed. She immediately was overcome with a horrible pungent stench, and she had to hold a handkerchief up to her nose in order to keep from gagging. She felt herself growing dizzy from the all too familiar nauseating aroma of death.

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Jessamina’s grandfather on her father’s side is the first person that she can truly remember dying. What’s more, it was the first death she ever witnessed.

She was thirteen years old, and even though she knew her father’s occupation involved helping some very sick people, it never once occurred to her that any of those people might die. Dying was something that happened to other people on other streets; in her world, everyone would live forever and nothing could possibly change that fact of life.

Imagine, then, her surprise when her father told her that Grandfather would very soon be meeting God in heaven, and that she and her mother would be accompanying him to Surrey for a final goodbye. Certainly a man as kindly and as wise as her Grandfather wouldn’t leaving the earth so quickly; he had so much more advice and wisdom to offer to his family. She was certain that her father would be mistaken, but having never travelled outside of the city, she agreed to the trip immediately.

The journey was long and arduous; a three days journey by carriage with only stops along the way for sleeping. Jessamina noticed that her parents seemed much more reserved and quiet than usual. They constantly fought over the smallest things, and the arguments usually ended with her mother crying and her father staring desolately out the window. She assumed it was because they were as frustrated as she was about the length of the trip, not realizing that their stress was brought on by a more pressing matter.

When they finally arrived, Jessamina immediately noticed the eerie quietness surrounding the house. It was as if they had entered some sort of strange invisible soundproof room; the clocks didn’t tick, the wind didn’t rustle the trees. Everything was still.

Being in the same room as her grandfather was even worse. Her father had entered the room immediately and began unpacking his bag, but Jessamina merely stood at the entrance way, too appalled to want to move any closer. The room smelled like damp sheets and camphor oil. It was clear that the windows hadn’t been opened for fear of him catching a cold; the room was hot and humid, only intensifying the smell tenfold. She hadn’t even noticed that her Grandfather was in the room until the silence was suddenly pierced with weak labored breaths. She slowly walked towards the bed.

She couldn’t believe that the small, pale man in front of her could actually be her grandfather. He looked like a child, barely taking up any room on his bed. The sheets around him pooled around him, leaving only his upper body exposed. His eyes were were clouded over with a film, and his eyes were so sunken into their sockets that he seemed to almost have hollow spaces there. His skin, so translucent you could see perfectly all his veins, seemed so fragile that she was afraid to touch him for fear of ripping his skin.

“Father? Save him!” Jessamina whined.
“My dear, there is unfortunately nothing that can be done for him. He is sixty years old now, and too old to have fought off this infection by himself. I am afraid we arrived to late to help him. All I can do is keep him comfortable now, and hope he goes painlessly.” Mr. Delaney went to his father’s side and delicately injected him with some morphine. After only a few seconds, the raspy, shaking breaths became smooth and even. Mr. Delaney sighed, seeming pleased that there was at least something he could do to help his ailing father.
“Can he not hear us speak to him?” Jessamina asked.
“It is possible, but very unlikely. He is probably unconscious right now, slipping in and out of lucidity.”

They stood there in silence for a few minutes just watching the old man’s chest rising at slowly decreasing intervals. Jessamina slowly felt the tears drip down her face, refusing to wipe them away.

“Jessamina,” he said softly. She ran towards him and buried her head in his chest. “I know this must be very difficult for you. You are very young; too young to have experienced death before. But know this; death does not have to be a bad thing.”
“Of course it does! He’s leaving us forever, Father!”
“That may be so, but he is going to heaven now to be with others who love him just as much as we do. He is leaving this world to go to a better one. We shouldn’t pity him; we should be happy that he won’t be in any more pain or unhappiness once he gets there. And even when he isn’t here with us physically, he will always be with us.”
“In our hearts?”
“Everywhere, Jessamina. In the sunsets, in the moon, in the stars, in the wind. Just as God is everywhere, so are the spirits of our loved ones.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am positive, Jessamina. Even in our darkest times, we are never truly alone; we are merely unable to see our supporters.”

Jessamina and her parents sat there in that musky room for the next two days, each taking turns to hold his hand. And on the last day, they all gathered around him and watched as he took his final quiet breath. He looked so peacefully finally that Jessamina actually smiled, glad he was in a better place.

She wished she could feel the same way about her father.

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The situation felt so incredibly familiar that she knew instictively that Vincent Blackhorne’s days were drawing near. She felt guilty at how relieved she was that he would die soon. The death would not have to be on her conscious, and yet she knew that this cruel man would never be able to harm anyone ever again. She listened for the tell-tale rattling breaths, but realized that Edmund must have given him the same injecting her grandfather had been given; all was quiet.

She had already come within six feet from the foot of the bed, and she dared not go any further. She wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes. Instead, she decided to give her speech from her current position.

“Mr. Blackhorne,” she said. “I am not sure if you can hear me right now, but if you can hear me, please do not talk until I have finished saying everything I need to say to you.” She paused, taking a deep breath before beginning again.

“You know who I am, Mr. Blackhorne, just as I know who you are. I know that you are a hired enforcer for the blue pigeon society. I know that when you are given orders to torture someone for information, or kill them for disobeying the committee, you do so without hesitation. That is your job, and I doubt you have any remorse for what you have done.

“I, too, had never any remorse for the people I had killed. That is one thing that you and I had in common, Mr. Blackhorne. But they had destroyed one of the few people in my life I ever cared about, and they deserved to be punished for their ill deeds. I considered what I did to be a service to humankind; after all, they profited from illegal activities and killed those who dared to do the right thing. You simply killed for money you never even needed. That I thought, was our main difference; the reasons for why we chose to end other people’s lives.

“But when I met your son, I realized that although I should detest and despise you so much more that the rest, I simply could not. I love your son too much to harbor that much ill will against his closest kin.

“I do not forgive you for what you have done, Mr. Blackhorne. And I never will. I will never be sorry that you are dead. But I hope you understand that I am here to make peace with you. That is to say, I will take good cafe of your son. I will be a good wife to him. And I will never love your son any less for what you have done.”

She waited for any sort of response, but there was no sign that he had heard any of it. Even if he hadn’t been awake, Jessamina felt that a great weight had been lifted off of her chest; but the room was eerily quiet.

She listened more intensely, and realized that there was more to the quiet than she originally expected. In fact, there was no sign of breathing at all. From the way the blanket covered the body, she could tell that his chest wasn’t moving. Vincent Blackhorne was dead, and she had been in the room while it happened.

She felt so calmed by this recent observation that she decided she did want to see Vincent Blackhorne’s face after all. She slowly approach the left-hand side of the bed, expecting the worst.

But Vincent looked strangely peaceful, just like her grandfather did when he passed away. She could tell that they were about the same age based on the deep wrinkles around the mouth and eyes. Their skin had the same milky transparency and softness. Nothing seemed different about Mr. Blackhorne’s death than the death of any man who had lived a long life.

Something immediately felt wrong about this revelation, Jessamina decided. She had been told that Vincent Blackhorne was a deadly killer, with awesome strength and a brutality that made even The Committee shake in terror.
Yet here lay Vincent Blackhorne before her, and he appeared to be nearly sixty years old; surely even three years ago he would not have been strong enough to kill her father.

“How is this possible?” she muttered.

“How is it possible that he could have killed your father?”

Jessamina whirled around, startled by the voice. James was standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Jessamina, now that we are engaged to be married, I have something I need to confess to you.”

“James?” she said weakly, suddenly very aware of how dark and cold his eyes were. He chuckled.

“Close, my dear. My full name is Vincent James Blackhorne IV.”

He pulled a gleaming razor from behind his back.

“And you really should not have tried to find me.”