On a side table rested a jug and bowl for morning ablutions. Serena picked up a small vial and put it to her nose. Lavender oil. The familiar scent he used. With a sigh, she placed the jar back.
Serena sat on the edge of his bed. One day soon, she intended to share this room with him. She would have the fig removed and do everything in her power to help Edward remain stable. But first, she needed to get him out of the asylum. Since the magistrate sent him there, she supposed it wouldn’t be an easy thing to have him released again. What if his family, and herself, wrote letters to the magistrate, defending his character? Surely, they would listen to several voices against the one testimony of Caleb Moncrief.
Oh! Serena balled her hands into fists at the thought of the man. He needed to be taught a lesson or two.
She shook her head. She didn’t have time to dwell on Moncrief now. There must be a way to have Edward returned to his family. Serena stood and moved to his desk. There would surely be paper and ink to begin her own letter to the Magistrate. Sure enough, she found the writing materials, and sat to begin her testimony. Then her eyes alighted on his snuff box, and her throat convulsed. Edward carried his snuff everywhere. She flicked it open and smelled the contents—tobacco, vanilla and cinnamon—bringing back memories of being close to him.
There were several layers of paper on the desk which she needed to move aside to work. As she did so, she uncovered the journal she had stumbled upon once before. On that occasion, she had resisted the curiosity that begged her to read. This time, she did not hesitate. Something within those pages might be of help.
Opening the journal, she began at the beginning and read the journey of his mind. Moments of euphoria, moments of utter despair and moments that were lucid and down-to-earth. His ideas and inspirations, his troubles and doubts. It was all there. Edward hid nothing from the private pages of his journal.
His love for her was as real as hers was for him. Exaggerated at times, yes, but still real. Several of those embellished passages brought waves of heat to Serena’s neck and cheeks, and warmth to her heart. Poems and sonnets—she could live with that without a doubt.
The harder part to live with would be the down times, the words of despair and defeat. And the words of confusion and delusion. She still needed to convince Edward that he wasn’t under a curse. She found and read the journal entry of his meeting with the priest, which read as harmless while it was fresh in his mind. It must have been later that the memory morphed into something quite different.
As she read, the frequent mention of his sister revealed a pattern. A pattern that deeply concerned Serena. Even if several of the passages were delusional or exaggerated, there was still enough to cast serious doubt over her behaviour. A behaviour that seemed at odds with that which she presented to everyone else. Certainly, she feared the reputation that madness would bring to the family. But had that fear transcended normal protective behaviours, and made her act underhandedly? Serena sat back and tried to recount her own exchanges with Mrs Jones and frowned more deeply. Surely not. It couldn’t be.
After more than an hour of reading, Serena turned to the last entry. The date on the page read Monday, 11th July 1842. Several weeks after that fateful day on the beach, possibly the day he climbed the tree. The ink smudged on the page. Serena ran her hand over the flawless script. How desperate must a person be to want to end their life?
The giant fig calls me, its branches like bony fingers beckon. Through the rain that blurs my eyes, I can still see them. I can hear the wind howling my name. There is nothing left. She is gone. I have let her go. She does not deserve to be burdened with me. I have given her the only things that matter, and there is an end. I cannot go on. Life...
What is life?
Not this.
Not this.
God, take this curse, or take me.
I am done.
Xavier, Simon, Serena, goodbye.
Be happy.
I love you.
Forgive me.
Edward.
Sobs broke forth from Serena as she finished reading. Dear God, be with him, keep him safe.
Serena stormed down the staircase. Now that she’d finished the journal and considered the things Edward wrote about his sister, her alarm turned to anger. How dare she? And to her own brother, no less. That woman had some answering to do. She found Judith sitting in the parlour, at first glance serene, then quickly transforming into a picture of grief.
How had Serena never noticed these swift changes in Mrs Jones’s demeanour? If only she was more observant. Perhaps then none of this would have happened. Serena willed herself to calm, Edward’s illness did not stem from his sister’s scheming ways. If she became hysterical and over-reacted now, it would not help.
‘The one person who should support Edward above all, and instead the whole time you devise ways to undermine him and control him.’
Surprise lit Mrs Jones’s features, and again a look of disbelief quickly displaced it, and even a feigned expression of hurt. If it weren’t so serious, Serena could almost laugh.
‘What ridiculous idea has gotten into your head now, Miss Bellingham?’
Serena narrowed her eyes at the woman. ‘Edward keeps a journal, did you know?’
Once again, for the briefest moment,
