Symphony of Lilacs

39. Pierce My Soul

“You… I didn't know you cared for her that much…” Henry whispers. “I, I don't quite know, Matthew. But I do know that time is fleeting.”

I wish I knew just how much I cared for her… to want this… 

After pacing around the lilac gardens for about two hours, I sit on the ground, palm supporting my cheek. My eyes keep darting to and fro for any sign of a peacock blue cloak. I knew Mathilda wouldn't be here till later, but waiting didn't seem like an option. The issue with her mother hasn't been resolved. How do I even tell her when all of that is hanging? Then there's the bird… 

A caw cracks through the skies, making me snap. My heartbeat turns to a low hum, as a few birds fly out a tree. All of crows, no ravens, and without a silver feather. Shutting my eyes, a pattern of thorns forms in my mind, one that slithers in and out, one that keeps biting its own tail, somehow recreating itself.

First meeting Jacob Trevor; the carriage; the raven coming afterwards…

“A raven is an omen of change, irrespective of nature.”

If that's the case… No, need more proof for that… 
But proof like this can be too...

“Matthew,” a chime like voice makes me shoot up, stumbling into the lilac bushes. But then Mathilda drops her bag and grabs my arm before my plummeting. 

“Thank you for saving for the damsel,” I joke, ignoring the low hum of heartbeats turning into a torrent.

Tilda only shakes her head, a smile curving on her lips. A smile that reminds me of lilac petals… “I didn't realise my voice would make you jump as if you'd suddenly seen Miss Havisham frolicking about.”

“If anything, I only saw Estella, Tilda.” I reply with the same gesture, but then my eyes meet the light circles under hers, like the same circles under mine. My hand raises to touch her cheek, even if it's for a few moments. “You’re overworking again.”

“I could say the same about you.” Mathilda sucks in a breath, her hand interlacing with mine on her cheek like a perfect symphony come together.

“I want to spend my last days without agony, even though most would agree that I deserve it.”

That thought gives me the resolve to say, “You asked me two questions last time. Now I need to tell you two answers.”

As if she can sense the greyness of my tone, Mathilda steps back, our hands losing connection. Looking away, she starts fiddling with the strings of her cloak. “It seems like this may take a while.” The strings flutter open, falling from her shoulders. This time, we both catch it before it cascades down, fingers brushing. 
Before anything else can happen, she quickly folds the cloak and puts it next to the crocheted bag.  “What is it?”

My gaze tears away from the cloak. “I talked to your mother, a few days before Crimley's arrest.”

Crests line Mathilda's forehead, as she asks, “And?”

“And I think enough time has been wasted. She needs the mercury treatment. But Mrs Penrose refused.”

Mathilda presses a hand behind her neck. “We were barely able to afford that treatment five years ago… And I don't think we have the means to do so again…”

“There can be a solution…”
My left fingers tap the folded arm, waiting for her to figure it out. I hold out a hand, but Mathilda takes a step back.

“I don't want your money.” Her voice shifts, agitation lacing it like a chord.

“I would give you anything you asked for, but there can be another solution.” My hand runs through my hair. “My hospital also runs a trusteeship and might arrange for treatment after submitting the case.”