The Digger's Rest (26 page)

Maybe going back to the scene of the
crime, as it were, would help if he didn’t go alone. It would mean
yet another responsibility for Mitch, responsibility for another
man’s sanity, but he caved. “I’ll see what I can do, Sean. We
haven’t even started yet. Give me a few days to see exactly what
needs to be done. I’m sure there’ll be something for you to do.
Just let me figure it all out first,” Mitch said with his hand on
the man’s shoulder, looking up in the air, taking a deep breath,
and thinking,
Fuck, I could really use a
drink right now.

“
Thank you, Dr. Bramson,” Sean said
gratefully as he stood up.

“
Okay, now why don’t we go downstairs
and I’ll buy you a beer this time,” Mitch said, walking him to the
door. “We’ll work it out somehow.”

***

A few doors down, Lady Madeline changed into
her nightgown and sat at her dressing table to begin her
pre-bedtime regimen; make-up removal, wrinkle cream, moisturizer.
Looking at her reflection the mirror, she couldn’t help but
remember what it was like when men looked at her the way that nice
young Australian looked at Sandrine. It made her feel…old, less
valued, like a dress from a bygone era long gone out of style.

She missed Neville terribly. Whenever she was
with him, she forgot that she wasn’t young and vital anymore
because she knew, in his eyes, she would always be the young and
pretty redhead he met at the museum all those long years ago, so it
didn’t matter what the rest of the world saw.

As she sat there, lost in her thoughts,
wiping the excess cream from her face, she heard a rustle over by
the windows and looked over; noticing the bottoms of the curtains
billowing, as if a draft was coming through. But it couldn’t be.
She’d closed the windows tight, and the night was still. No matter,
she thought and turned back to her unadorned face in the mirror,
her hair pulled back and pinned, revealing the slightest outgrowth
of new gray hair reminding her that she would need a new coloring
soon.

The curtains rustled again. This time she
felt the warm breeze on her ankles and looked over, the curtains
were still. When she looked back into the mirror she thought she
saw a shadow move somewhere behind her, from over in the corner by
the curtains. Her eyes darted to follow it. Nothing.

She looked back into the mirror and froze.
The shadows were standing behind her, three figures, shrouded in
robes covering their heads and faces, translucent but somehow
solid. Men. She could see the powerful build of their upper bodies
rippling through the thin gauzy shrouds, and something that looked
like bowed arches behind their shoulders, shrouded; reminding her
of a rolling hillside.

Terrified, she tried to move, to scream, but
she couldn’t; she was paralyzed. Only her eyes could move. The
central figure and largest of the three leaned in, putting his head
next to her ear; his scarred hand poised to whisper in her ear. She
looked in his eyes. The irises weren’t solid but white clouds
rolling through blue skies. Only the pupils gave any indication of
life or intelligence. She heard his voice, whispering in a language
she didn’t recognize but the sounds, the sounds told her it was a
long dead language not spoken for possibly thousands of years, yet
somehow she understood.

“
We have need of thee,
daughter of Eve.”

Lady Madeline then realized that she could
move again. She reached down into her sewing bag at the side of the
dressing table, never taking her eyes off of the strangers behind
her. She knew the feel of her needlepoint hoop the minute she
touched it and pulled it out, placing it in front of her on the
dressing table. Set with new cloth, she had not yet begun a
pattern.

“
Sew,”
she
heard him say and she reached down again, coming back up with her
needle set and thread pouch. He whispered three words in her ear
and she began to sew. After the first letter was completed, she
asked him with her mind,
“What?
Why?”

“
Thou wilst know hence,
daughter of Eve. When the time is nigh.”

The central figure stepped back and the
other two at his side stepped forward.
“Thou hast done well, daughter of Eve, and for thine aid we
shall reward thee, both now and hence,”
the figure to
her mirror-reflected right whispered in her ear as he raised his
hand, also scarred, to touch the mirror-reflected right side of her
face. At the same time the figure to her left reached over and
placed his scarred hand on the other side of her face. They stroked
it gently, forehead, eyes, mouth and throat. She closed her eyes at
their touch, thinking how loving and soothing it felt.

When Lady Madeline opened her eyes
again she felt oddly refreshed, looking into the mirror, a tissue
in her hand damp with the moisturizer. As she looked at her
reflection she couldn’t help but remark to herself that she must
remember to get more of that brand of cream. The crow’s feet at the
corners of her eyes were gone, and the little laugh lines around
her mouth, the lines of age in her lips, and the pouch under her
chin.
All gone.

Feeling oddly relaxed and content, she got up
from the dressing table to go to bed. Something fell from her lap
and hit the floor. She picked it up. It was her needlepoint hoop
with her new project already started, only a few letters in a new
style for her, almost like a primary school lesson, “Snvi . .”

***

When they got downstairs, Mitch was
immediately reminded of his other charge. There was Simon at the
end of the bar with Sandrine. He walked over with Sean. Jed was
there waiting for him. “Drinks, Dr. Bramson?”

“
You said it, Jed, old man, and plenty
of them; a round for all my friends here, and one for yourself,
too. Just make mine a double.” Jed shifted his eyes toward Simon
who was practically sliding off of his chair. Mitch picked up on it
instantly.

“
So, Simon, how are we tonight?” Mitch
asked him with a good ol’ boy slap on the back while he
nonchalantly gave Simon’s chair a good shove against the wall for
him to lean on. Sandrine giggled loudly. They were both drunk as
skunks. Simon looked up at him, his eyes floating in his
head.

Jed leaned over and whispered to Mitch, his
eyes serious with concern. “He wanted to know what you drank, so I
gave him some. He’s had about four shots. Should I not have done
that, sir?” he asked.

“
Nah, it’ll be alight. He’s just a
beginner. I’m here now. I’ll take care of him.”

Simon tried to speak, his lips starting to
move, but no words came out, the sound followed later in the “I
jus’ want to tell you…” voice he’d had in London. “Boooyyy, aaam
aye everrrr gggglad to ssseeee yooouu, sirrrrr,” Simon slurred.
Mitch looked back to Jed and comically crossed his eyes.

“
Uh, make mine a triple, and back Sean
here up for the night, and put it all on my tab. You have another
one for yourself too, on me, for taking such good care of all of my
children,” Mitch said and laughed out loud thinking,
So much for birth control
and not
wanting any responsibility as he watched Sandrine about to slide
off her chair with a case of the giggles; grabbing her by the arm
just in time.

By the time the night was ready to wind down,
Mitch had had share, too. Simon was practically in a stupor, Sean
was singing Irish ditties about unrequited love for some “lassie o’
me heart” and Sandrine couldn’t stand up without holding onto the
bar for support. They’d all overdone it. The excitement of a new
place, visiting the site for the first time, the romance of
discovery, or in Sandrine’s case, the romance of romance, all made
them feel like they were living outside of themselves. Almost like
they were players in some cosmic Camusian ensemble piece written by
God or fate, pre-destiny or karma, with no one knowing how it would
play out except its creator. Everyone involved having no choice but
to play their parts to the fullest.

Mitch, having the most experience, took Simon
in hand, but he would need help with Sandrine. Being the man he
was, there was no way he was going to trust an amorous young man to
help make sure Sandrine got to her room unmolested. A good guy like
Jed, was still, after all was said and done, a man, so he did the
next thing that came to his mind. He asked Jed to call Fi to see if
she could help take Sandrine back.

“
I’m sorry, sir, but tonight is Fi’s
night off.” Then his eyes got the look of a man with an idea. He
called out in the direction of the kitchen, “Ivy!”

Ivy Farthing came out of the kitchen, her
eyes flying into anger as she witnessed the bacchanal that had
become the bar at her pub. When she saw Mitch they turned hot, like
glowing blue-gray embers, white hot. She walked up to Jed. “What is
going on here?” she asked through her teeth.

Jed smiled sheepishly, knowing his cousin
well enough to know that if he gave the wrong answer, she might
take it into her mind to grab her peacemaker club from under the
bar and give him a good one for letting it happen. “Dr. Bramson was
just wondering if you might help take Miss Boucher to her room.
They’ve all had a few drinks,” he said, backing away from her
slowly.

She turned her ire towards Mitch, but didn’t
say anything. She just stomped around the bar and took Sandrine
solicitously by the arm like she’d been a woman wronged and started
walking her towards the back of the inn. Mitch followed,
practically holding Simon up from around his waist, bidding good
night to Sean and drunkenly reiterating his promise to him from
earlier in the evening. “We’ll work something out,” he called back
as he half dragged Simon toward the back of the inn.

By the time they’d gotten to the cottage, Ivy
Farthing had disappeared, apparently depositing Sandrine safely in
her room. Mitch took Simon to his and let him fall slowly down on
the bed then sat down beside him. He looked over at the sleeping
boy, passed out. Out of the back of his mind, Simon’s London “I
jus’ wan’ to tell yooouuu…” speech rushed back to him. Suddenly
awash with emotion, he touched the boy’s head gently and whispered,
“I will always take care of you, Simon,” then got up and went to
the door leaving the sleeping boy with a somewhat slurred, “Good
night, sweet prince,” before closing the door and finding himself
back out in the hall.

When he turned, she was waiting for him; her
eyes glaring at him like cobalt coals stoked with fury, her hands
on her hips in a stance that told him that she was ready for a
fight.

“
What exactly do you think you’re
doing?” she said to him, the decibel level of her voice rising with
each word. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. “What
kind of a man are you? A grown man encouraging those…children to
act that way? You come here, flashing your money around, tempting
my brothers into abandoning their responsibilities here to go off
with you on some lark of yours. I want you to remember something,
Doctor Bramson. Once you’ve gone and taken your American money with
you along with whatever it is you came here to steal, they’ll be
left behind, damaged in the wake of your selfishness, so let me
make something perfectly clear to you. I may have to be civil to
you for my brothers’ sake and for the sake of the business because
it’s their life and they love it, but don’t you think that I can’t
see through you. You’re a selfish spoiler, you and all your kind. I
don’t like your being here. I don’t like the way you encourage
others to behave like you do in my establishment, and quite
frankly, Dr. Bramson, I don’t like you,” she spewed, shouting her
last comment.

Blown away by the sheer force her tirade,
like a scalding desert wind, a sirocco, not to mention the
substance of what she was saying, Mitch backed up until he was flat
against the wall, raising his hands up in mock surrender until
she’d stomped off down the hall, waiting until he heard the door
slam behind her to make sure she was gone before he went the few
steps back to his own room.

Fuck she’s beautiful,
he thought.
And more beautiful the
angrier she gets,
as he sat on the bed fumbling to get
his boots off
. A fucking knock out of a
fire breathing, red headed dragon with a temper straight from hell.
Just what I needed. Just shoot me now!
he slurred to
himself as he fell over on the bed, pulling the quilt around him;
the bed spinning beneath him in the darkness.

***

After she left the cottage that night, Ivy
Farthing ran to her room, slammed the door behind her, threw
herself on her bed and cried. She hadn’t always hated men, or she
didn’t think so…and not all men.

Since she was about thirteen, Ivy had always
known that she was different from other girls her age. She didn’t
dream of any Prince Charming coming and sweeping her off her feet
as she swooned in his arms. She’d been raised with two brothers,
and felt like one of them, only deep down, she knew she wasn’t and
it made her angry.

Even before that she’d resented the different
way her father loved her brothers from the way he loved her. Oh,
she knew it wasn’t his fault, she was always Daddy’s little girl
and he’d always treated her special, but she never wanted that. She
wanted him to love her the same way he loved the boys.

She also knew she wasn’t a lesbian. She
enjoyed sex with men way too much to even consider that. It was
just that the boys she chose to date and become involved with were
always the ones who let her feel that she was in control, and it
was that power over them, and their relationships, that gave her
the next best feeling to being one of them.