The Pain of Defeat, A Bitter Draught Indeed.
Title: The Pain of Defeat, A Bitter Draught Indeed.
Characters: Stephen, Jack
Rating: G
Spoilers: The Fortune of War
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Patrick O'Brian & his heirs on a non-profit basis
The Pain of Defeat, A Bitter Draught Indeed
Stephen stepped into Jack’s room at the Asclepia and stopped just inside the door, looking with concern at his friend, staring out the window down to the navy yard and the harbour at the bottom of the hill. Jack’s intense and obsessive interest in all the activities in the navy yard had shown no sign of waning from the day that he had been installed in this light, dry and airy room. It was as if he felt he must keep the enemy in sight at all times, even though he was captured and powerless and unable to influence or prevent any of the comings and goings down there on the water. His refusal to accept defeat at the hands of the Americans puzzled Stephen immensely. Jack had taken his capture by the French in the year one with a reasonable degree of equanimity and good grace but his refusal to face the reality of his and the navy’s defeat at the hands of the fledgling American navy was disturbing.
Yet, didn’t he also feel a stab of regret and pain at the continuing stream of defeats, the pain as not as great as Jack’s but there nevertheless. The fact that he felt so much for the navy surprised him. He thought he was beyond all that and as if to dispel these disturbing thoughts, shook his head and walked up to Jack and stood behind him, lightly touching his shoulder in greeting. Jack, distracted looked up and smiled wearily up at Stephen but the pain he was feeling so clearly shone from those eyes that Stephen was tempted to bend down and kiss him and hold him but held back, uncertain of his reception. For there was anger shining there, along with the pain and Jack had been equally obsessed with appearances of late, lecturing him about the importance of being properly dressed and ship-shape at all times, not letting the side down, not letting the Americans see that they had defeated us morally as well. ‘How would he perceive any attempt by me to comfort him? Would he violently reject it and me, seeing it as a sign of weakness to accept such comfort. Jack has been so different of late … a barrier of anger and shame between us. Is he ashamed of what we shared this last year? Would he see any physical contact between us as … unmanly … or worse … immoral?’
Stephen stepped back a little, feeling unsure and discomfited by these doubts about their friendship, glancing away for a few seconds and so missing Jack’s hurt expression, the sense of rejection he felt. For Jack had seen the aborted action, the slight bending towards him and then the rapid recoil of Stephen’s body away from him. It only confirmed in his mind his utter worthlessness. Even Stephen could not bear to be close to him … and how he longed for him … a kiss or just to be held, nothing more. ‘No … Diana was going to be here in a few days … of course Stephen wouldn’t want him. How does he see me now? I wonder. Does he regret the nights we spent in my cot, those kisses, our lovemaking … probably.’ Jack’s expression hardened, as he enquired, “What have you been doing today?”
Stephen looked back at him and shrugged, “I went to enquire if there were any letters for us with the agent for prisoners-of-war …”
Jack looked up expectantly, hoping for a letter from Sophie. Stephen grimaced when he saw that glimmer of hope in Jack’s expression and shook his head, “I’m sorry Jack, nothing … You know she may not know that we are captured … It hasn’t been that long and as we were not known to have been aboard the Java, no one could be aware of our capture as yet. The others from the Java have only just this last week been allowed to leave for Halifax.” He leant forward and patted Jack’s hand, not being able to stop himself from drawing close.
Jack smiled uncertainly and looked down, nodding, “Yes, you’re right Stephen … of course … silly of me to hope for a letter from Sophie so soon … Anything else?”
“I helped Dr Choate with some of his surgical cases and bought a few additional clothes we will need if our stay here in Boston is to be prolonged.”
“I don’t know why they haven’t put us aboard the cartel already? I’m not that poorly.”
Stephen looked at him considering, unsure whether to voice his concerns about the delays, but chose not to burden Jack with any further worries. “I expect they feel that they may only send you off to Halifax when your health can be assured enough for you to arrive there safely.”
“Humph, I doubt it. I was the captain of the Leopard and as far as they are concerned I must be as guilty as that fool who commanded her when he caused that damned incident with the Americans in the first place. Those officials who came to quiz me seemed to think so.” Jack growled his anger resurfacing but then, just as quickly, his anger dissipated and he slumped forward, turning his face to the window. The light was fading fast and still Jack stared, trapped in his misery.
Stephen looked searchingly at Jack. He seemed to have sunk even further into gloom and Stephen longed to take Jack outside the Asclepia, have him meet others, take interest in something other than his continual brooding on the fresh news of his beloved Navy’s defeats at the hands of the Americans. These last few weeks the bad news had just seemed to pile one on top of the other, ship after ship taken, sunk or burnt by the Americans, further deepening Jack’s depression. The only people Jack met were the varied lunatic residents of the Asclepia, the nurses and his only visitors were fellow naval officers, prisoners of the Americans and their only conversation that of ships and old comrades lost. His physical condition still worried Stephen for the wound on his arm was taking much longer to heal than was usual for Jack. He usually had a strong, healthy body that recovered quickly from wounds, but not this time and Stephen suspected the slow rate of healing was due to his depression. Stephen had a strong belief in the strong interrelation between the health of the mind and the body of his patients and often used this knowledge as a means of affecting physical cures by attacking the illness at what he believed was often the root of the disease, in his patients’ psyche.
He bent his head and considered, ‘Surely a little tenderness, a touch from me might help. I shall at least find out what Jack thinks … whether he still wants me …’ With that thought Stephen nodded, his mind made up and he crouched down quickly in front of Jack and looked up at his face in the deepening gloom, murmuring, “Jack … look at me …” Once he got his attention, he cupped Jack’s face and drew him down to his lips and kissed him gently, reaching up to caress his shoulders and then slipped his arms down further rubbing his hands up and down his back, seeking to soothe and console with touch.
Jack for a minute surprised, did not respond immediately but at the feel of Stephen’s arms around him, he reacted. With a choked sob, he pulled Stephen to him with his good arm and deepened the kiss, pressing his lips firmly to his. Pulling away for a minute he whispered, “Stephen … Stephen, my plum … needed this for so long … thought you didn’t want me any more …” He bent again to kiss him, the feel of Stephen’s lips and body awakening his desire, long suppressed by grief. He would have attempted to pull Stephen up and take him to his bed but at the sound of steps in the hallway, they both froze and hurriedly pulled apart.
“Lord, they are sitting in the dark again, the creatures,” exclaimed Bridey Donohue as she stepped into the room. “Let me light some candles.” She did so and brought in a tray. “Here’s your supper, sirs. Coffee, as you like it and toast and cheese and some boiled eggs and raspberry jam.
Stephen now standing by the window turned around and bent his head, “Thank you, my dear.” He glanced down at Jack and placed his hand on his shoulder. Jack mastered the tremor in his hands and schooled his face to a serenity he did not feel as he turned to greet and thank her.
“Will there be anything more you gentlemen will be wanting this evening?”
Stephen smiled and replied, “No, I think that will be all. I will see to the Captain’s medicine and put him to bed. Goodnight Bridey.”
Jack nodded and smiled his thanks and she bobbed and left the room, closing the door behind her. He slumped back in the chair muttering, “That was close. I’m sorry Stephen. We shall have to be more careful.”
Stephen looked down at him and again reached out to squeeze his shoulder, “Yes, my dear …” He looked down, away from Jack’s gaze, “I was concerned for you … you seem so low … I wanted … wanted to comfort you.”
Jack smiled and patted his hand, “You do my dear. You do.”
Stephen nodded, “Shall we have our supper? I find I’m quite hungry.” Jack rose and Stephen carried his chair to the side-table and settled Jack and drew another chair close beside Jack, their thighs just touching.
Jack poured their coffee and began to butter a piece of toast and reached for an egg while Stephen picked up his cup and sipped his coffee, amused to see that Jack’s appetite for food had made a welcome return as well and closed his eyes, feeling the sparks of sensation as Jack’s leg moved against his. ‘Would it be possible? Too much of a risk … no … Jack had not recovered sufficiently … no …’ He opened his eyes and reached for a piece of toast and the cheese. He began to cut thick slices from the cheese - strong, sharp tasting cheddar.
Jack chuckled and patted his leg, “You are hungry, Stephen …” He trailed off glancing sideways at Stephen and in a much lower tone, he murmured, “Are you hungry for other things too?”
Stephen stopped chewing and looked directly at Jack, “As for my hungers, perhaps I should have considered more carefully before I … You are not strong enough, I should not have.” He looked down when he saw Jack’s face fall.
“No, Stephen I’m certainly strong enough … well, will you just lie with me in my bed for a while … I just want to feel your arms around me … feel you close to me … but if you don’t want.” He hung his head and looked away.
Stephen grabbed his hand, desperate to reassure, “No, my dear … it is not lack of desire. You were right, we should be careful. How would it look if a nurse should come in and find us in bed together? It is not safe.” Jack stared at him, the plea clear in his eyes, a plea that Stephen could never ignore and he put the piece of toast he was holding down and leaned close to Jack, kissing his cheek. “All right my dear, just till you sleep. Now eat your supper and drink your coffee.” Stephen’s heart skipped a beat, seeing that dazzling smile on Jack’s face again and shook his head, but pleased nonetheless.
Two hours later, Stephen was carefully disentangling his limbs from Jack’s, attempting to leave the bed without waking him. He need not have worried. The combination of the draught he’d given him and the relaxation induced by the feel of Stephen’s arms around him, massaging him, comforting and soothing him and the gentle kisses they shared had lulled Jack into a deep sleep. Stephen stood and pulled his coat on and slipped into his shoes and looked down at Jack, searching his face. There was a degree of ease there now but still the colour of his face, ashen and dull, so unlike the usual high colour and glow that Jack radiated when in good health and spirits. No, that was missing all together for the wound to his spirit was still too deep, too painful. His caresses had merely eased the pain temporarily, for the underlying source of the malaise would only be cured by the receipt of news of an English victory at sea.
Stephen spent the next few days with either young Mr Herapath or Herapath’s father and his associates, all eager to pledge their loyalty to England but offering nothing of real value. Today he was with Louisa Wogan and to his discomfort, the increased nervous tension induced by the anticipation of meeting Diana again, adding a sharp edge to his carnal appetites. The long deprivation he had experienced since leaving Pulo Batang all those long months ago made itself felt and he squirmed in some discomfort as he sat beside Louisa Wogan. He felt his rapidly mounting desires, fanned by the sight of her delightfully rounded body and her scent and he clamped down hard on his body’s responses. Now was not the time to act on any impulse. She had all but revealed that Harry Johnson was her superior and also of his hatred of Jack due to his acceptance of Louisa’s belief that it was Jack who was responsible for those poisoned documents. Documents, Stephen had taken such great care in preparing and ensuring that she should discover them. That thought confirmed all of Stephen’s worries concerning the danger to Jack. He went to reconnoitre Franchon’s Hotel and hurried off to attend another meeting with Herapath senior’s associates and listened with barely contained patience their generous sentiments of no binding quality and of little value. As early as politeness would allow he detached himself from them and hurried back to Jack, worried that the government officials who were badgering him may have returned in his absence.
He found Jack at his usual station by the window surveying the harbour with his glass, following the slightest movement afloat and when Jack was telling him of all he had noted that day and mentioned that he must write them all down, Stephen stiffened, instantly alarmed. He clasped Jack’s good shoulder, “No, my dear you must not do any such thing. Listen now Jack, you must not note anything down and please dear, be careful to whom you speak and what you say, for the Americans suspect you of being concerned with intelligence.” Stephen instantly regretted his outburst and sought to allay any concerns Jack may have but decided to at least give him some advice on how best to malinger so that no zealous official might take it into their head to arrest him and again reassured him that it would soon blow over.
Jack’s eyes sparkled with mirth as he contemplated his response and Stephen who had missed this Jack, a happy, joking Jack these past few months, responded as he always did to those sparkling blue eyes and smiled down at him, clasping his shoulder again and pondered his face waiting for the inevitable witticism. Jack laughed heartily now, the first time he had laughed in their captivity and replied to Stephen, “Oh, I am concerned. If they suspect me of intelligence, I’m sure it will soon blow over.”
Stephen shook his head, pleased nonetheless to see Jack’s pleasure at his own wit and to hear his laughter. He bent down and kissed Jack’s cheek. “Good night to you now my dear. I’m going to turn in early, because I too wish to be intelligent tomorrow.”
The day that had started with such trepidation and nervousness for Stephen had ended in the deepest despair. The time he’d spent with Diana, the first time since her sudden disappearance from his life two years ago, had at first filled him with joy and an excitement he had difficulty containing despite all his efforts. Not much effort was required though, for much longer as he felt the coldness and numbness invade his soul as he listened to her, observed her movements and reactions and interactions with Johnson and realised that this was not the woman that he had loved. With the thought, ‘I don’t love her any more. All my feelings for her are dead. Nothing left but a vague sense of connection, a sympathetic fellow feeling for her plight, nothing more. What am I to do now?’ He wandered out into the deepening gloom, his mind in turmoil. The harbour fog that twisted and drifted around him entangling him and he wandered blindly. He stumbled on, pure instinct guiding him back to the Asclepia, the need for the comfort that only Jack could provide at this moment driving him on.
But what Stephen confronted on his return to the Asclepia energised him, the need to defend and protect Jack enflaming his rage as he paced across the room to Jack’s side, the tremor in his hands reflecting the anger coursing through his body as he ordered the men from the room. He bent to feel Jack’s pulse turning on the petty official, repeating his demand. “Leave the room, sir. You are doing the patient serious harm.” Stephen pulled the bell to summon Bridey and asked that the porter step up for a moment. The fear induced by the silent menacing presence of the Indian drove Brenton and his secretary from the room, leaving Stephen to fuss over Jack, but Stephen now confused by his anger and uncertain now, hurried away from Jack, telling him he would see Dr Choate. Frightened now to talk to Jack, feeling he could not burden him with his sorrows, no that was too much for him in his present state. Or that is what he told himself. Another part of his mind whispered, ‘Coward.’
He thanked the porter for his help and was relieved when Dr Choate asked him to help with an urgent cystotomy. Before leaving to return to his rooms he asked Choate if he might have some laudanum for his patient and returned with a bottle of his solace to Jack’s room. There he washed and turned to look at Jack, look at his face stern and grave, the pain that his body and mind suffered these last few months so clear there. Stephen sighed and turned away and reached for the whiskey bottle hid behind Jack’s books and quickly swallowed off a half a glass and dropped the glass. No change of expression, no stirring from Jack.
Stephen sighed and bent toward Jack to caress his face and then drew back, shook his head and muttered, “No my dear, there is too much pain in you already. I can’t burden you with mine.” He turned and went to his room. He pulled out Diana’s note from his coat pocket and threw it on the table and slumped into a chair beside it, staring at the flames in the hearth. There was no one to talk to, no comforting shoulder, and no friend that he could open himself to with complete candour at this moment. He was alone and desolate and so he turned to the only outlet he allowed himself, the only means of pouring out his pain. He picked up the pen and wrote, wrote line after line of his state of mind and emotions, its malaise and the possible aetiology of the malaise, wrote of himself and hoped in the analysis to find an answer there, but knowing it to be as always an impossible task, all questions turning back on themselves. In the end as always he consigned them to the fire, watching the flames consume them, wishing that the pain he felt at this moment could as easily be burnt from his soul. Knowing of course that there could never be so simple a remedy, no radical surgery or cauterising of his soul would take the pain and the emptiness from him. Stephen sighed and reached for the little green bottle containing his other source of solace or at least comfort, the comforting bringer of unconsciousness, blanking out all pain, all feelings, all questioning for at least a few short hours. He poured some into a glass and stared at the liquid, swirling it around and before he could reconsider swallowed it in two quick gulps, grimacing at its bitterness.
He stood up and slowly undressed and slipped under the covers, murmuring, “Jack, now I know your bitterness. This is a defeat for me, a defeat as bitter and as painful, a bitter draught indeed. But what enemy has defeated me? Jack you know your enemy at least, but it seems my enemy is myself.” Stephen closed his eyes and then heard in the lower part of the building a man’s voice singing, ‘Oh, oh the mourning dove,’ as if his heart would break. Stephen listened intently until the laudanum’s effect took hold and submerged his consciousness, obliterating all thought.
The End
Characters: Stephen, Jack
Rating: G
Spoilers: The Fortune of War
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Patrick O'Brian & his heirs on a non-profit basis
The Pain of Defeat, A Bitter Draught Indeed
Stephen stepped into Jack’s room at the Asclepia and stopped just inside the door, looking with concern at his friend, staring out the window down to the navy yard and the harbour at the bottom of the hill. Jack’s intense and obsessive interest in all the activities in the navy yard had shown no sign of waning from the day that he had been installed in this light, dry and airy room. It was as if he felt he must keep the enemy in sight at all times, even though he was captured and powerless and unable to influence or prevent any of the comings and goings down there on the water. His refusal to accept defeat at the hands of the Americans puzzled Stephen immensely. Jack had taken his capture by the French in the year one with a reasonable degree of equanimity and good grace but his refusal to face the reality of his and the navy’s defeat at the hands of the fledgling American navy was disturbing.
Yet, didn’t he also feel a stab of regret and pain at the continuing stream of defeats, the pain as not as great as Jack’s but there nevertheless. The fact that he felt so much for the navy surprised him. He thought he was beyond all that and as if to dispel these disturbing thoughts, shook his head and walked up to Jack and stood behind him, lightly touching his shoulder in greeting. Jack, distracted looked up and smiled wearily up at Stephen but the pain he was feeling so clearly shone from those eyes that Stephen was tempted to bend down and kiss him and hold him but held back, uncertain of his reception. For there was anger shining there, along with the pain and Jack had been equally obsessed with appearances of late, lecturing him about the importance of being properly dressed and ship-shape at all times, not letting the side down, not letting the Americans see that they had defeated us morally as well. ‘How would he perceive any attempt by me to comfort him? Would he violently reject it and me, seeing it as a sign of weakness to accept such comfort. Jack has been so different of late … a barrier of anger and shame between us. Is he ashamed of what we shared this last year? Would he see any physical contact between us as … unmanly … or worse … immoral?’
Stephen stepped back a little, feeling unsure and discomfited by these doubts about their friendship, glancing away for a few seconds and so missing Jack’s hurt expression, the sense of rejection he felt. For Jack had seen the aborted action, the slight bending towards him and then the rapid recoil of Stephen’s body away from him. It only confirmed in his mind his utter worthlessness. Even Stephen could not bear to be close to him … and how he longed for him … a kiss or just to be held, nothing more. ‘No … Diana was going to be here in a few days … of course Stephen wouldn’t want him. How does he see me now? I wonder. Does he regret the nights we spent in my cot, those kisses, our lovemaking … probably.’ Jack’s expression hardened, as he enquired, “What have you been doing today?”
Stephen looked back at him and shrugged, “I went to enquire if there were any letters for us with the agent for prisoners-of-war …”
Jack looked up expectantly, hoping for a letter from Sophie. Stephen grimaced when he saw that glimmer of hope in Jack’s expression and shook his head, “I’m sorry Jack, nothing … You know she may not know that we are captured … It hasn’t been that long and as we were not known to have been aboard the Java, no one could be aware of our capture as yet. The others from the Java have only just this last week been allowed to leave for Halifax.” He leant forward and patted Jack’s hand, not being able to stop himself from drawing close.
Jack smiled uncertainly and looked down, nodding, “Yes, you’re right Stephen … of course … silly of me to hope for a letter from Sophie so soon … Anything else?”
“I helped Dr Choate with some of his surgical cases and bought a few additional clothes we will need if our stay here in Boston is to be prolonged.”
“I don’t know why they haven’t put us aboard the cartel already? I’m not that poorly.”
Stephen looked at him considering, unsure whether to voice his concerns about the delays, but chose not to burden Jack with any further worries. “I expect they feel that they may only send you off to Halifax when your health can be assured enough for you to arrive there safely.”
“Humph, I doubt it. I was the captain of the Leopard and as far as they are concerned I must be as guilty as that fool who commanded her when he caused that damned incident with the Americans in the first place. Those officials who came to quiz me seemed to think so.” Jack growled his anger resurfacing but then, just as quickly, his anger dissipated and he slumped forward, turning his face to the window. The light was fading fast and still Jack stared, trapped in his misery.
Stephen looked searchingly at Jack. He seemed to have sunk even further into gloom and Stephen longed to take Jack outside the Asclepia, have him meet others, take interest in something other than his continual brooding on the fresh news of his beloved Navy’s defeats at the hands of the Americans. These last few weeks the bad news had just seemed to pile one on top of the other, ship after ship taken, sunk or burnt by the Americans, further deepening Jack’s depression. The only people Jack met were the varied lunatic residents of the Asclepia, the nurses and his only visitors were fellow naval officers, prisoners of the Americans and their only conversation that of ships and old comrades lost. His physical condition still worried Stephen for the wound on his arm was taking much longer to heal than was usual for Jack. He usually had a strong, healthy body that recovered quickly from wounds, but not this time and Stephen suspected the slow rate of healing was due to his depression. Stephen had a strong belief in the strong interrelation between the health of the mind and the body of his patients and often used this knowledge as a means of affecting physical cures by attacking the illness at what he believed was often the root of the disease, in his patients’ psyche.
He bent his head and considered, ‘Surely a little tenderness, a touch from me might help. I shall at least find out what Jack thinks … whether he still wants me …’ With that thought Stephen nodded, his mind made up and he crouched down quickly in front of Jack and looked up at his face in the deepening gloom, murmuring, “Jack … look at me …” Once he got his attention, he cupped Jack’s face and drew him down to his lips and kissed him gently, reaching up to caress his shoulders and then slipped his arms down further rubbing his hands up and down his back, seeking to soothe and console with touch.
Jack for a minute surprised, did not respond immediately but at the feel of Stephen’s arms around him, he reacted. With a choked sob, he pulled Stephen to him with his good arm and deepened the kiss, pressing his lips firmly to his. Pulling away for a minute he whispered, “Stephen … Stephen, my plum … needed this for so long … thought you didn’t want me any more …” He bent again to kiss him, the feel of Stephen’s lips and body awakening his desire, long suppressed by grief. He would have attempted to pull Stephen up and take him to his bed but at the sound of steps in the hallway, they both froze and hurriedly pulled apart.
“Lord, they are sitting in the dark again, the creatures,” exclaimed Bridey Donohue as she stepped into the room. “Let me light some candles.” She did so and brought in a tray. “Here’s your supper, sirs. Coffee, as you like it and toast and cheese and some boiled eggs and raspberry jam.
Stephen now standing by the window turned around and bent his head, “Thank you, my dear.” He glanced down at Jack and placed his hand on his shoulder. Jack mastered the tremor in his hands and schooled his face to a serenity he did not feel as he turned to greet and thank her.
“Will there be anything more you gentlemen will be wanting this evening?”
Stephen smiled and replied, “No, I think that will be all. I will see to the Captain’s medicine and put him to bed. Goodnight Bridey.”
Jack nodded and smiled his thanks and she bobbed and left the room, closing the door behind her. He slumped back in the chair muttering, “That was close. I’m sorry Stephen. We shall have to be more careful.”
Stephen looked down at him and again reached out to squeeze his shoulder, “Yes, my dear …” He looked down, away from Jack’s gaze, “I was concerned for you … you seem so low … I wanted … wanted to comfort you.”
Jack smiled and patted his hand, “You do my dear. You do.”
Stephen nodded, “Shall we have our supper? I find I’m quite hungry.” Jack rose and Stephen carried his chair to the side-table and settled Jack and drew another chair close beside Jack, their thighs just touching.
Jack poured their coffee and began to butter a piece of toast and reached for an egg while Stephen picked up his cup and sipped his coffee, amused to see that Jack’s appetite for food had made a welcome return as well and closed his eyes, feeling the sparks of sensation as Jack’s leg moved against his. ‘Would it be possible? Too much of a risk … no … Jack had not recovered sufficiently … no …’ He opened his eyes and reached for a piece of toast and the cheese. He began to cut thick slices from the cheese - strong, sharp tasting cheddar.
Jack chuckled and patted his leg, “You are hungry, Stephen …” He trailed off glancing sideways at Stephen and in a much lower tone, he murmured, “Are you hungry for other things too?”
Stephen stopped chewing and looked directly at Jack, “As for my hungers, perhaps I should have considered more carefully before I … You are not strong enough, I should not have.” He looked down when he saw Jack’s face fall.
“No, Stephen I’m certainly strong enough … well, will you just lie with me in my bed for a while … I just want to feel your arms around me … feel you close to me … but if you don’t want.” He hung his head and looked away.
Stephen grabbed his hand, desperate to reassure, “No, my dear … it is not lack of desire. You were right, we should be careful. How would it look if a nurse should come in and find us in bed together? It is not safe.” Jack stared at him, the plea clear in his eyes, a plea that Stephen could never ignore and he put the piece of toast he was holding down and leaned close to Jack, kissing his cheek. “All right my dear, just till you sleep. Now eat your supper and drink your coffee.” Stephen’s heart skipped a beat, seeing that dazzling smile on Jack’s face again and shook his head, but pleased nonetheless.
Two hours later, Stephen was carefully disentangling his limbs from Jack’s, attempting to leave the bed without waking him. He need not have worried. The combination of the draught he’d given him and the relaxation induced by the feel of Stephen’s arms around him, massaging him, comforting and soothing him and the gentle kisses they shared had lulled Jack into a deep sleep. Stephen stood and pulled his coat on and slipped into his shoes and looked down at Jack, searching his face. There was a degree of ease there now but still the colour of his face, ashen and dull, so unlike the usual high colour and glow that Jack radiated when in good health and spirits. No, that was missing all together for the wound to his spirit was still too deep, too painful. His caresses had merely eased the pain temporarily, for the underlying source of the malaise would only be cured by the receipt of news of an English victory at sea.
Stephen spent the next few days with either young Mr Herapath or Herapath’s father and his associates, all eager to pledge their loyalty to England but offering nothing of real value. Today he was with Louisa Wogan and to his discomfort, the increased nervous tension induced by the anticipation of meeting Diana again, adding a sharp edge to his carnal appetites. The long deprivation he had experienced since leaving Pulo Batang all those long months ago made itself felt and he squirmed in some discomfort as he sat beside Louisa Wogan. He felt his rapidly mounting desires, fanned by the sight of her delightfully rounded body and her scent and he clamped down hard on his body’s responses. Now was not the time to act on any impulse. She had all but revealed that Harry Johnson was her superior and also of his hatred of Jack due to his acceptance of Louisa’s belief that it was Jack who was responsible for those poisoned documents. Documents, Stephen had taken such great care in preparing and ensuring that she should discover them. That thought confirmed all of Stephen’s worries concerning the danger to Jack. He went to reconnoitre Franchon’s Hotel and hurried off to attend another meeting with Herapath senior’s associates and listened with barely contained patience their generous sentiments of no binding quality and of little value. As early as politeness would allow he detached himself from them and hurried back to Jack, worried that the government officials who were badgering him may have returned in his absence.
He found Jack at his usual station by the window surveying the harbour with his glass, following the slightest movement afloat and when Jack was telling him of all he had noted that day and mentioned that he must write them all down, Stephen stiffened, instantly alarmed. He clasped Jack’s good shoulder, “No, my dear you must not do any such thing. Listen now Jack, you must not note anything down and please dear, be careful to whom you speak and what you say, for the Americans suspect you of being concerned with intelligence.” Stephen instantly regretted his outburst and sought to allay any concerns Jack may have but decided to at least give him some advice on how best to malinger so that no zealous official might take it into their head to arrest him and again reassured him that it would soon blow over.
Jack’s eyes sparkled with mirth as he contemplated his response and Stephen who had missed this Jack, a happy, joking Jack these past few months, responded as he always did to those sparkling blue eyes and smiled down at him, clasping his shoulder again and pondered his face waiting for the inevitable witticism. Jack laughed heartily now, the first time he had laughed in their captivity and replied to Stephen, “Oh, I am concerned. If they suspect me of intelligence, I’m sure it will soon blow over.”
Stephen shook his head, pleased nonetheless to see Jack’s pleasure at his own wit and to hear his laughter. He bent down and kissed Jack’s cheek. “Good night to you now my dear. I’m going to turn in early, because I too wish to be intelligent tomorrow.”
The day that had started with such trepidation and nervousness for Stephen had ended in the deepest despair. The time he’d spent with Diana, the first time since her sudden disappearance from his life two years ago, had at first filled him with joy and an excitement he had difficulty containing despite all his efforts. Not much effort was required though, for much longer as he felt the coldness and numbness invade his soul as he listened to her, observed her movements and reactions and interactions with Johnson and realised that this was not the woman that he had loved. With the thought, ‘I don’t love her any more. All my feelings for her are dead. Nothing left but a vague sense of connection, a sympathetic fellow feeling for her plight, nothing more. What am I to do now?’ He wandered out into the deepening gloom, his mind in turmoil. The harbour fog that twisted and drifted around him entangling him and he wandered blindly. He stumbled on, pure instinct guiding him back to the Asclepia, the need for the comfort that only Jack could provide at this moment driving him on.
But what Stephen confronted on his return to the Asclepia energised him, the need to defend and protect Jack enflaming his rage as he paced across the room to Jack’s side, the tremor in his hands reflecting the anger coursing through his body as he ordered the men from the room. He bent to feel Jack’s pulse turning on the petty official, repeating his demand. “Leave the room, sir. You are doing the patient serious harm.” Stephen pulled the bell to summon Bridey and asked that the porter step up for a moment. The fear induced by the silent menacing presence of the Indian drove Brenton and his secretary from the room, leaving Stephen to fuss over Jack, but Stephen now confused by his anger and uncertain now, hurried away from Jack, telling him he would see Dr Choate. Frightened now to talk to Jack, feeling he could not burden him with his sorrows, no that was too much for him in his present state. Or that is what he told himself. Another part of his mind whispered, ‘Coward.’
He thanked the porter for his help and was relieved when Dr Choate asked him to help with an urgent cystotomy. Before leaving to return to his rooms he asked Choate if he might have some laudanum for his patient and returned with a bottle of his solace to Jack’s room. There he washed and turned to look at Jack, look at his face stern and grave, the pain that his body and mind suffered these last few months so clear there. Stephen sighed and turned away and reached for the whiskey bottle hid behind Jack’s books and quickly swallowed off a half a glass and dropped the glass. No change of expression, no stirring from Jack.
Stephen sighed and bent toward Jack to caress his face and then drew back, shook his head and muttered, “No my dear, there is too much pain in you already. I can’t burden you with mine.” He turned and went to his room. He pulled out Diana’s note from his coat pocket and threw it on the table and slumped into a chair beside it, staring at the flames in the hearth. There was no one to talk to, no comforting shoulder, and no friend that he could open himself to with complete candour at this moment. He was alone and desolate and so he turned to the only outlet he allowed himself, the only means of pouring out his pain. He picked up the pen and wrote, wrote line after line of his state of mind and emotions, its malaise and the possible aetiology of the malaise, wrote of himself and hoped in the analysis to find an answer there, but knowing it to be as always an impossible task, all questions turning back on themselves. In the end as always he consigned them to the fire, watching the flames consume them, wishing that the pain he felt at this moment could as easily be burnt from his soul. Knowing of course that there could never be so simple a remedy, no radical surgery or cauterising of his soul would take the pain and the emptiness from him. Stephen sighed and reached for the little green bottle containing his other source of solace or at least comfort, the comforting bringer of unconsciousness, blanking out all pain, all feelings, all questioning for at least a few short hours. He poured some into a glass and stared at the liquid, swirling it around and before he could reconsider swallowed it in two quick gulps, grimacing at its bitterness.
He stood up and slowly undressed and slipped under the covers, murmuring, “Jack, now I know your bitterness. This is a defeat for me, a defeat as bitter and as painful, a bitter draught indeed. But what enemy has defeated me? Jack you know your enemy at least, but it seems my enemy is myself.” Stephen closed his eyes and then heard in the lower part of the building a man’s voice singing, ‘Oh, oh the mourning dove,’ as if his heart would break. Stephen listened intently until the laudanum’s effect took hold and submerged his consciousness, obliterating all thought.
The End