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bookishwenchFor notes, see chapter 1.
XXI.
He wasn’t sure how much she had guessed. With her upbringing, it was possible that she had no idea men like himself existed. But she wasn’t stupid.
She also wasn’t vindictive, something he couldn’t say about her sisters. He felt an odd pity that she had one sister who was so witlessly cruel that her beauty was the only thing saving her from spinsterhood, another who would stab her own kin in the back and laugh for joy as the knife slipped, a father who was convinced time would work better in reverse, and a mother who was, well, American.
XXII.
Edward (in his mind at least, he could call the man by his first name) confided to him about his desire to farm, his envious brother Jack, and his fear that he would never see again.
And maybe, just possibly, there had been something in that moment beyond simple companionship.
Thomas wasn’t stupid enough to think of perfect happiness, but the smallest bit of hope was there. Granted, it was heavily laced with caution and a good dose of fatalism. Nothing had ever turned out right for him yet, but there was nothing that said that couldn’t change, was there?
XXIII.
“I’m concerned about Lieutenant Courtenay.”
It wasn’t something Thomas was used to doing, asking for help. If it were for himself, he’d never do it, but Edward wasn’t well, and it wasn’t just physical. The body, he’d found, could mend in time or find ways to adapt, but mental wounds often went undiagnosed and could be just as debilitating. It had taken him a good hour to work up his nerve to speak to Lady— no, Nurse Crawley about it.
“Yes, so am I,” she said, glancing towards the hospital as their cigarettes were both nearly forgotten in their fingers.
XXIV.
“Has he any family?” she asked. “I know he’s sent letters, but he’s had no visitors.”
“There’s a brother and father,” he said, “but I don’t know as they’re the supportive type. The opposite, in fact, from what he’s said.”
“That’s foul,” Nurse Crawley said, rubbing out her cigarette with her shoe against the gravel as though it were the offending party.
You’d know, he thought. Then again, perhaps she wouldn’t. If Lady Mary or Lady Edith were ill, there was no doubt that their little sister would take care of them regardless of anything they might say or do.
XXV.
She looked at him intently.
“We could be his family here,” she suggested. “It’s our duty, in a way. I’ve read a bit on physical recovery for the blind, some techniques to make life more independent for them. Would you be willing to help?”
“Yes.”
The word was out a shade too quickly.
“Then we shall,” she said, but there was a pause, and he knew the moment had come. “Corporal, is there some reason the Lieutenant elicits such concern?”
“I care about all the wounded,” he said.
“You’re an excellent worker,” she said, “but that’s not what I mean.”
XXVI.
Nurse Crawley regarded him silently, her eyes a shade deep than usual.
“I’m not entirely naïve,” she said. “I’ve heard bits of servants’ gossip when they thought I wasn’t listening, just as I’m sure your lot listen to mine. I don’t give credence to idle stories, though, until I have something to confirm it.”
“A wise course of action, and one I follow myself,” he said. “Ears open, mouth shut and all that.”
He waited for some sign of the usual disgust, but she just looked out at the gathering mist.
“I’d say it’s no one else’s business,” she said.
XXVII.
And that was all. She never brought it up again, and if she noticed his enthusiasm for Lieutenant Courtenay was more than friendship, which she undoubtedly did, she only smiled and politely refrained from saying a word, the very soul of discretion.
It was a unique reaction, but one of the most comfortable ones he’d got.
Nurse Crawley lent him reading materials on the newest innovations in treating the blind and incorporating basic skills like walking and Braille into their convalescence. He’d never been much for books, but he studied these closely, soaking in as much knowledge as he could.
XXVIII.
Corporal Barrow knew the fear of looking ridiculous. He’d been the butt of many a joke, both as a child and an adult, and the only one who didn’t seem to find it funny was himself. Lieutenant Courtenay’s initial refusal to work with the cane was, he knew, exactly the same fear. He was going to stumble, fall, look like a bloody fool sometimes, all while fumbling through a darkness that was there only for him.
“The only ones there will be me and Nurse Crawley,” he assured him. “We’ll even keep away from windows.”
Slowly, they gained his trust.
XXIX.
It wasn’t easy going. Edward handled the cane with disgust.
“There’s nothing that says your eyesight won’t return in time,” Nurse Crawley said softly. “This isn’t a surrender. It’s only a different form of battle.”
The lieutenant snorted, but he gripped the cane more firmly.
“The ground is in front of you is quite smooth, no obstacles,” Thomas said. “Just try standing from the wheelchair and use the cane like we talked about.”
“Back and forth,” Nurse Crawley said. “Slow at first, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
After a deep breath, he grasped Thomas’s hand and stood.
XXX.
Thomas knew he was handsome. He was perfectly aware a wide of variety of kitchen maids who had not been disabused of their incorrect assessment of him, Daisy included, were completely smitten with him. More than a handful of men had been as well. He used his looks as a weapon, and it was a very effective one.
It was therefore very strange for him to be drawn to a man who couldn’t see him at all, at least not in the traditional way.
“What do you look like, Corporal Barrow?” Edward asked curiously one day. “I can’t picture you.”
XXI.
He wasn’t sure how much she had guessed. With her upbringing, it was possible that she had no idea men like himself existed. But she wasn’t stupid.
She also wasn’t vindictive, something he couldn’t say about her sisters. He felt an odd pity that she had one sister who was so witlessly cruel that her beauty was the only thing saving her from spinsterhood, another who would stab her own kin in the back and laugh for joy as the knife slipped, a father who was convinced time would work better in reverse, and a mother who was, well, American.
XXII.
Edward (in his mind at least, he could call the man by his first name) confided to him about his desire to farm, his envious brother Jack, and his fear that he would never see again.
And maybe, just possibly, there had been something in that moment beyond simple companionship.
Thomas wasn’t stupid enough to think of perfect happiness, but the smallest bit of hope was there. Granted, it was heavily laced with caution and a good dose of fatalism. Nothing had ever turned out right for him yet, but there was nothing that said that couldn’t change, was there?
XXIII.
“I’m concerned about Lieutenant Courtenay.”
It wasn’t something Thomas was used to doing, asking for help. If it were for himself, he’d never do it, but Edward wasn’t well, and it wasn’t just physical. The body, he’d found, could mend in time or find ways to adapt, but mental wounds often went undiagnosed and could be just as debilitating. It had taken him a good hour to work up his nerve to speak to Lady— no, Nurse Crawley about it.
“Yes, so am I,” she said, glancing towards the hospital as their cigarettes were both nearly forgotten in their fingers.
XXIV.
“Has he any family?” she asked. “I know he’s sent letters, but he’s had no visitors.”
“There’s a brother and father,” he said, “but I don’t know as they’re the supportive type. The opposite, in fact, from what he’s said.”
“That’s foul,” Nurse Crawley said, rubbing out her cigarette with her shoe against the gravel as though it were the offending party.
You’d know, he thought. Then again, perhaps she wouldn’t. If Lady Mary or Lady Edith were ill, there was no doubt that their little sister would take care of them regardless of anything they might say or do.
XXV.
She looked at him intently.
“We could be his family here,” she suggested. “It’s our duty, in a way. I’ve read a bit on physical recovery for the blind, some techniques to make life more independent for them. Would you be willing to help?”
“Yes.”
The word was out a shade too quickly.
“Then we shall,” she said, but there was a pause, and he knew the moment had come. “Corporal, is there some reason the Lieutenant elicits such concern?”
“I care about all the wounded,” he said.
“You’re an excellent worker,” she said, “but that’s not what I mean.”
XXVI.
Nurse Crawley regarded him silently, her eyes a shade deep than usual.
“I’m not entirely naïve,” she said. “I’ve heard bits of servants’ gossip when they thought I wasn’t listening, just as I’m sure your lot listen to mine. I don’t give credence to idle stories, though, until I have something to confirm it.”
“A wise course of action, and one I follow myself,” he said. “Ears open, mouth shut and all that.”
He waited for some sign of the usual disgust, but she just looked out at the gathering mist.
“I’d say it’s no one else’s business,” she said.
XXVII.
And that was all. She never brought it up again, and if she noticed his enthusiasm for Lieutenant Courtenay was more than friendship, which she undoubtedly did, she only smiled and politely refrained from saying a word, the very soul of discretion.
It was a unique reaction, but one of the most comfortable ones he’d got.
Nurse Crawley lent him reading materials on the newest innovations in treating the blind and incorporating basic skills like walking and Braille into their convalescence. He’d never been much for books, but he studied these closely, soaking in as much knowledge as he could.
XXVIII.
Corporal Barrow knew the fear of looking ridiculous. He’d been the butt of many a joke, both as a child and an adult, and the only one who didn’t seem to find it funny was himself. Lieutenant Courtenay’s initial refusal to work with the cane was, he knew, exactly the same fear. He was going to stumble, fall, look like a bloody fool sometimes, all while fumbling through a darkness that was there only for him.
“The only ones there will be me and Nurse Crawley,” he assured him. “We’ll even keep away from windows.”
Slowly, they gained his trust.
XXIX.
It wasn’t easy going. Edward handled the cane with disgust.
“There’s nothing that says your eyesight won’t return in time,” Nurse Crawley said softly. “This isn’t a surrender. It’s only a different form of battle.”
The lieutenant snorted, but he gripped the cane more firmly.
“The ground is in front of you is quite smooth, no obstacles,” Thomas said. “Just try standing from the wheelchair and use the cane like we talked about.”
“Back and forth,” Nurse Crawley said. “Slow at first, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
After a deep breath, he grasped Thomas’s hand and stood.
XXX.
Thomas knew he was handsome. He was perfectly aware a wide of variety of kitchen maids who had not been disabused of their incorrect assessment of him, Daisy included, were completely smitten with him. More than a handful of men had been as well. He used his looks as a weapon, and it was a very effective one.
It was therefore very strange for him to be drawn to a man who couldn’t see him at all, at least not in the traditional way.
“What do you look like, Corporal Barrow?” Edward asked curiously one day. “I can’t picture you.”
