The Decoder - Chapter 12

I sipped my broth with only slight guilt.  Lucy had ultimately saved the day with her acting ability and here we were inside Pemberley, surely the grandest manor in Derbyshire.  And I had seen Darcy in wet clothes.  What a sight.  Besides, I thought, it’s not as if they’re real.  I think.

Amy was attempting to explain our outlandish appearance in a mirage of Shakespearian English and mangled vocabulary.  Darcy and his sister, Georgiana, wore masks of polite astonishment.  Presently, Wayne put a stop to Amy’s mortification.

“We are stranded travelers, sir,” he said.  “We have no money, food, or shelter.”

Silence descended heavily on the party.

“Please,” said Darcy, only just succeeding in keeping his countenance, “there is no need for you to justify your condition, neither to pay for your lodgings.  You shall stay in Pemberley for the time being, until we can organize other accommodations for you on the estate.”

I was determined to leave my mark on the conversation.

“My name is Esme,” I said, “and this is Wayne, Amy and Lucy, whom you were so kind as to rescue.”

“My name is Darcy,” he said with a slight bow, “and this is my sister Georgiana.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I smiled, then to Georgiana, “Do you play the pianoforte?”

This was laying it on rather thick, but I wanted to make a good impression, so that we would be allowed to stay for the week.  I had no intention of walking for another day.

Georgiana nodded, and she and Lucy entered into a conversation about Bach.  I’m afraid to say I despise Bach.  When I was ten, my piano teacher gave me a particularly long, dull two-part melody of his to play.  I never really got over it.  Same goes for Mozart.  Accompanying ten little girls shrilling Eine Kleine Nachtmusik on recorders with all possible vigor is somewhat off-putting.  No—my strong point has always been my voice.  I’m a pure soprano, though my range stretches well into the tenor.

Wayne was addressing Darcy, trying to make our situation seem more realistic.

“Where are we, exactly?”

“Derbyshire, England.  This is my estate, Pemberley.  Where did your journey begin?”

Amy’s eyes flickered.  “We are not at liberty to divulge details.”

I was once again astonished.  I would have sounded like a secret agent straight from the CIA, but from her the tone was formal and polite.

Darcy gave a small smile.  “My, my, you are a strange party.  You wear strange clothes and speak in strange accents, yet you know our music.  You are very young for such travel...  Tell me, how old are you?”

“We are all about fifteen.”

“As old as my sister, then.”

After some more tense conversation we retreated to our new rooms.  I was ushered into a palatial bathroom by a maid.  I waited for her to leave, but it became clear to me that she was to stay and help me wash.  I was appalled, but could do nothing for the sake of staying viable.  It was a balm to me, as I stripped down, that Amy, Lucy and Wayne were undergoing the same treatment, though it would be incontestably the worst for Wayne.  I huddled in the tub and the maid poured a torrent of scalding water over my back.  I tried, but finally dismissed the maid after a last pitcher full of boiling water.  I could then focus on scrubbing the caked dirt from between my toenails.  Tension slowly flowed out of my shoulders and I lay back with my eyes closed.

A scream rent the silence.  I  sat bolt upright for a second, hearing slamming doors and running feet.  Voices, shouting urgently.  A sudden line of fire erupted on my arm.  I screamed.  Blood tinted the water pink as I struggled out of the tub and scrabbled for a towel, which I clamped over the wound.  The soft white cloth was instantly soaked with blood.  The door burst open and Georgiana came in, followed by Wayne and Darcy in clean white nightwear.  I flung the towel over my body in an attempt to hide, but more blood and pain pulled it to my arm again.  They had seen anyway.  Everything became a slippery red mess as blood mingled with water and people were everywhere.

“Georgiana, get a doctor!  Quick!  For both of them,” said Darcy.

Wayne grabbed my arm and wound the towel tighter around the cut.

“Lucy’s down too,” he murmured in my ear.  “Amy’s got her, but there’s lots of blood.  Bouvier’s playing her games with us.”

My naked body slipped on the floor as I tried to cover everything with one hand.  Darcy handed Wayne another clean, fluffy white towel and it too succumbed to my blood.  I quivered.  Wayne and Darcy pulled me up and got me into my bedroom, where some servants had placed a steaming bowl of water with cloths.  More towels were wrapped around me and Wayne started to talk.

“Fetch me some neat alcohol.  Run!  I know this isn’t recommended, but I’m going to remove the towels, sterilize it, and  bandage it properly.  I need you to sit still and not contract your arm muscles.  Darcy, please apply indirect pressure on the arm, and I’ll whip off those towels and replace them.”

According to Wayne’s directions, Darcy pressed my artery onto the bone.  A maid came in with a small bottle.  Wayne made her pour the contents onto a cloth, which he took in hand.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I gasped.

Wayne tore the towels off my arm and blood immediately poured out of a long, deep cut on my arm.  I arched my back and clenched my hands.

“Stop flexing your muscles,” snapped Wayne.  “Here goes...”

I wished for anesthesia, and stitches and a doctor’s bright lights.  The alcohol was no joke.  Wayne moved over to Lucy next, and I heard her anguished yells as he and Amy killed germs.  Darcy stayed with me for a while, and I apologized redly for my exhibition.

“No matter,” he said.  “I never asked what happened—did you cut yourself on the edge of the bath?”

“Yes,” I replied immediately.  “Though I’m not quite sure how.”

I scrutinized my bandaging.  It was very neat, with a small, round knot on top.

“Your friend is quite a skilled medic,” commented Darcy.

“He is well trained.”

Wayne and Amy were both school medics—they had the large, glossy certificates to show it, though Wayne was perhaps somewhat better.  He had signed up for the Disaster Relief Squad and through them had gained the highest possible first-aid qualification, whatever it was.  The conversation languished at this point and presently Darcy bade me goodnight and left.

I checked the bandages again.  Blood was already oozing through.  Amy rushed in, a rusty smear over her face.

“It’s not healing, is it?  Lucy’s fainted straight away, for real this time.  The damned Bouvier’s not healing you on the other side, Esme!  You’ll bloody bleed to death!”