Strongwill Shorties

Overmorrow (ii)

Blanche rushed to the lavatory, washed her face, and skipped the creams. She squeezed into her corset and covered herself in numerous layers of under- and over-clothes. Her hair was left undone.

Mistress Blanche, someone has come to see you. We shall wait for you in the receiving room in ten.

She scuttled through the hallway, on crimson velvet carpets. She had received a telegraph from James the other day; it stated that he had arrived in the country and was to see her yesterday. But he didn't appear (prompting Blanche's sleep deprivation to extend to a pair of days). To-day, though, is a different day. Must it be James who had come to see her at last?

"There you are, Blanche," her mother said upon her entrance, sitting on a couch, sniffing, lower lip wavering. "Colonel Sterling has come to see you."

A man transpired from the shadows of the heavy, purple curtains.

"Oh, Anthony," Blanche muttered, disappointed with the absence of her man. Curtseying, she asked, "Where's James?"

"Blanche..." Anthony rejoined. There was a tone of pleading in his voice; and by the way his brows were weaved in a sorry state Blanche knew he was about to deliver bad news.

"Anthony, where is James? He was supposed to arrive yesterday. What happened? A fallen horse perhaps?"

Anthony drew closer to Blanche and held her hands to his chest. "Dearest Blanche," he sighed, "I regret to tell you that Dr Garrott didn't make the war."

Breathing in sharply, Blanche took a step back and reclaimed her hands, both as cold as death. "There must have been a mis-communication. He sent me a telegraph the other day-"

"He died on his way from being drafted back from Macarrico. That was four days ago."

"Oh, poor James," Blanche's mother whimpered, blotting her eyes with a chief. "Was not even blessed with the chance to step in his homeland again."

"Mother, no," Blanche pressed, maintaining her calm disposition, "Samuel sent me James' itinerary the other day, too. James had been safely back from Macarrico. He was only to meet up with Anthony," icy gaze back at the colonel, "yesterday at St. Peter and then... and then he was coming back here. To Gail. For me." Her voice fell into a whisper. "He was to marry me after the war. He can't be dead."

"That is nonsense, Blanche. Someone cannot be not dead because they were to marry someone."

No one spoke so Anthony continued, "James is gone."

Blanche dashed straight out of the room.

"Blanche!" Anthony caught up to her and grabbed her arm, but she easily and swiftly pulled away.

"Do no lay a single finger on me, Anthony!" Blanche hissed, betraying her composure.

"Blanche, listen: You may feel like you will never dismiss James-"

"Do not say that!" she shrieked. "Love never dies with the person... it outlives anyone!" Blanche hunched over, holding her breasts. "And I know you lie, Anthony: James did survive the war, did he not?" She threw the man a piercing look, finally acknowledging the threat of Madness. "The man who murdered Dr Garrott," she huffed, "must better know I shall never forgive."

Blanche turned away, leaving Anthony frozen. She locked herself in her private quarters and rushed to her lavatory. She stretched up to the top drawers, groping around; a few minutes sufficed for her to find a crystalline onion bottle only as tall as her forefinger. She slipped into her study and made some black tea. Back in her bedroom she poured two drops of amber liquid from the small bottle into her tea- a third just to be sure- and sat on her mattress to drink her concoction.

It didn't take long before Blanche was viciously coughing. She laid on her bed, her fists involuntarily beating on her chest; she was gasping for air. She swore not to cry and she was one to keep her promises; so she struggled to adhere herself on the bed, remembering his words, holding on to them, knowing he was one to keep his promises as well. This she did as her sight softened, eventually adapting a void.