“Liars. All around me. Betraying me,” he muttered.
“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked. “What liars?”
“All of you! Even him!” A well-dressed man with a full gray beard glared at Malcolm from across the aisle and snapped his paper, shaking his head. This was beyond embarrassing.
Eliza stood. “There now. It’s all right,” she soothed, patting and pushing at his shoulders. The train lurched and Malcolm fell against her, nearly knocking her to the floor of the car. A gentleman in the seat behind theirs reached out to steady her arm.
“Get your hands off my wife!” Malcolm screeched.
The man’s eyes widened. “So sorry, sir. I was only preventing her from falling.”
“Is that so?” Malcolm was sneering now, his lips tight over his teeth.
“Look, chap.”
“I am no chap, sir. I am a viscount!” Malcolm thundered, going out into the aisle.
Merde.Eliza sank down into her seat, hiding her face in her hands.
“Well, your lordship,” the other man said, squaring off with Malcolm, “I’m a baronet and you’re bloody well acting far below your station, if I may say so.”
Malcolm laughed. “Who are you to tell me how to behave?”
“Malcolm, please! You’re going to get us removed.”
The baronet rolled up his sleeves and stepped out into the aisle of the train car. He was short and stocky, with broad shoulders. He’d likely best Malcolm, if it came to it. “Very well, my lord. If it’s a fight you’re after, I’ll not disappoint you.”
Malcolm began struggling with his coat as the baronet looked on, an amused smirk on his face. As Malcolm was peeling his gloves from his hands, Eliza noticed a constellation of bumps scattered over his palms. They were small—no larger than the barrel of a pencil, with red margins and a clear center like a blister or pustule. She remembered Eastleigh’s words to her at the theatre and a shard of raw panic went through her. Was this a sign of the disease he’d warned her about?
“Malcolm, would you please sit down! You’re being ridiculous.”
“I will not sit until this man has apologized.”
“He already has!”
With a resigned sigh, the finely dressed older gentleman Malcolm had accused of being a liar calmly walked up and pinched Malcolm’s shoulder from behind. He fell to his knees and went limp as a kitten. The train porter rushed up the aisle and helped the man haul Malcolm to his feet. “Let me go! That man challenged me, and on my honor, I shan’t back down!”
“My lord,” the bearded man said firmly, “I am a psychiatric doctor. If you keep that claptrap up, I’ll see that you’re escorted to Bethlem Royal at the next stop.”
“I must apologize, gentlemen,” Eliza said, trying to salvage what little dignity they had left. “My husband has not been well. We’ve justreturned from the funeral of a dear friend. I’m afraid the shock has gotten to him.”
“That is quite apparent,” the doctor said. “For the sake of yourself and the other passengers, I’d offer an intervention. I’ve a tranquilizing vial in my bag. If you’d give me permission, my lady, I’d like to administer it.”
“I’ll have all of you know, Lord Eastleigh was no friend of mine.” Malcolm was shaking now, sweat beading along his hairline. A vein pulsed at his temple. He’d gotten himself into a state, and it showed no sign of improving. “I have no friends. Everyone wants rid of me, it seems! Even my own wife.” There was more murmuring throughout the carriage. Undoubtedly the other occupants were working out who they were. Yet another item for the gossip sheets. They were certainly keeping the presses well inked these days.
“Malcolm,” Eliza soothed, “no one wants rid of you. Perhaps you’ll feel less anxious after a nap. Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind? The sedative?”
“Right. Hold his lordship, young man.” The porter locked Malcolm’s arms behind his back as the doctor produced a vial of clear liquid and prepped a syringe, flicking it with his fingers as he filled it. “This is only a bit of chloral hydrate, sir. It will calm your nerves and give you a nice rest for the remainder of the journey. There’s no harm in it, I assure you.”
Malcolm strained his neck and gnashed his teeth as the needle went into his arm. Within moments, his muscles went slack and his eyes grew heavy-lidded as sleep took him. “Help me get him to the infirmary car,” the doctor ordered the young porter. “His poor wife needs her rest, too.”
After Malcolm was taken away, the baronet leaned around the post between their booths with an apologetic smile. “So sorry for all the trouble, my lady. But your husband is a right loon.”
She hadn’t the strength or desire to disagree. She sank into her seat, her head pounding dully behind her temples. Was this to be her life,then? Chaotic madness, all of it. Even worse, with the papers out, it would only be a matter of time before Malcolm punished her for her behavior with Eastleigh. To bring a child into the mess was cruel. Pure folly. Eliza rested her hands on her belly, absently rubbing, and nestled into the corner of the compartment to hide from the pitying looks of the other passengers. Outside, rain began to lash against the windows. A bone-deep weariness set in, heavy and thick as treacle. She closed her eyes as the train curled on its journey southward.
Sleep had become her only solace.
CHAPTER 41
