Snorting, he deposited the brush onto the stand and snagged the towel, practically beating the thing into submission as he dried his hands. “With or without faith, evil men still prosper, and the good are left with nothing but want. I have seen with my own eyes upright, hardworking sailors driven to their death by lazy, arrogant officers who did nothing to ease the pain of those beneath them. Even were I the most saintly of men, there is no guarantee I will prosper in this wicked world, and I will not suffer your sister to sink to the depths along with me.”
He glared over at Balfour, who by now had set down the lamp and stood with arms folded.
Balfour met his challenge with an even stare. “In all my years shut away with nothing but books as companions, I have learned this. Godissovereign, permitting things for a reason, even if that reason is hidden from man’s eyes. Should He allow you—or Amelia—to suffer in poverty, then it is by His good plan. And if you believe that God is not only sovereign but just, then you can be sure no matter how things might look, everything will be made right in the end.”
“Hah!” Graham spat out the word as though it were a weevil in his bread. “Lofty sentiment, but not entirely true. Everything was not made right for my mother. She died without the comfort of family at her side. I wonder, Mr. Balfour, if you can tell me how that was just.”
“How is this?” He pointed to his face with a wag of his grotesque head. “Yet I find it is not justice so much as mercy that makes all things right. While our Saviour’s death on the cross satisfied the righteous wrath of God, the true gift is that Christ allowed Himself to be hung there in the first place. I grant you that we cannot know the mind of God on this side of heaven, but I do know there was a purpose behind the timing of your mother’s death, every bit as much as there is a purpose for my deformity.”
Balfour’s words rushed in, lodging in a far corner of Graham’s mind like an uninvited guest—one he desperately wanted to evict but didn’t have the time or strength to oust. Clenching his jaw, he instead went to work on the housekeeper’s leg, resetting the bone with as firm a resolution as his next words. “I hope you are right.”
“Hope is a precious gift.” Balfour moved to the end of the bed, offering assistance that Graham refused with a shake of his head.
“You give me much to think on, Mr. Balfour. I will consider all you’ve said today.”
“Don’t think too long. Patience is not one of my sister’s virtues.”
Must everything always come back to that beautiful enigma? Every turn of conversation? Of thought?
He nestled Mrs. Kirwin’s now-wrapped leg between two pillows. “I am finished here.” He strode to the head of the bed once again and this time lifted one of her eyelids, then the other. Normal pupils. Nothing but slight agitation at the affront. Good.
Satisfied, he retrieved his bag from the nightstand and faced Mr. Balfour. “Your housekeeper ought to be coming ’round soon enough. Have the scullery maid sit with her, offer her water when she does so, then summon me. For now, I’ll go prepare your treatment.”
He strode to the door but paused as Balfour’s quiet words hit him square between the shoulder blades.
“About that…”
“Yes?” He turned.
As if Mrs. Kirwin might hear him, Balfour glanced at her then stalked to the door and lowered his voice. “I’ve been having a rather odd side effect I thought you should know about.”
Graham cocked his head. “Which is?”
“I’ve, uh…” He looked away, as if finding the courage to speak from some source of strength out in the corridor. “I’ve been seeing things.”
“What sort of things?”
Balfour plowed his massive fingers through his coarse hair, knotting it more than smoothing the dark locks. “At first, mostly moving shadows. Looked like animals at times. But yesterday, late afternoon…” He dropped his hand and faced him. “I swear I saw a child. A boy. Standing at the end of the passageway near Amelia’s bedchamber. I called out to him, but he didn’t move. Not a whit. So I rubbed my eyes, and when I reopened them, the corridor was empty.”
“Well, that is concerning.” Graham frowned. “But are you certain it wasn’t perhaps an errand boy who’d taken liberties to explore where he ought not have been?”
“I thought as much.” The big man shrugged. “Which is why I then went to investigate further. Amelia’s room was empty. Unless the boy jumped out a window, there was no way a body could vanish so quickly.”
Graham chewed on the information while Balfour paced away several steps. When he doubled back, a terrible fierceness burned in his dark eyes.
Balfour stood silent, clenching and unclenching his hands, as if deciding to fight or flee. It was a pitiful sight.
“I must know, Doctor…am I going mad?”
Graham chuckled, hoping to ease the man’s angst. “You’re more sane than half the naval officers I worked with. You’re not nipping into more laudanum than you should be, are you?”
“No. In fact, after seeing the shadow animals, I cut it off altogether.”
“There you have it.” Graham cuffed the big man on the arm. “Ending the dosage without first reducing the amount of such a powerful medication can have an adverse effect. Or it could simply have been a trick of the light. There was a storm, after all. Likely you saw nothing more than the play of lightning through glass. But”—Graham looked him straight in the eyes—“let me know if the incident repeats itself.”
“Very good.” Relief radiated off the man in waves. “I’ll go find someone to sit with Mrs. Kirwin and join you shortly upstairs.”
They parted ways then, Balfour disappearing into the bowels of the kitchen, Graham strolling towards the servants’ stairway. He stopped just shy of the first step, though, a strange glint near the baseboard catching the corner of his eye. Odd. Stooping, he swiped up a small ball of polished alabaster, albeit a bit chipped. A marble? What the devil? He looked from the child’s toy to the top of the stairway.
