Chapter Five

She still made no effort to introduce herself among them. Too many insecurities and fears held her back. But yet, she felt so lonely at times, especially, oddly enough, when she was with them. When she sat above Vincent’s chamber and listened to them all talking to each other.

Sometimes Vincent’s son was asleep when the children arrived but sometimes he was still awake. She loved to hear Vincent entertaining him. Bits of nursery rhymes, snatches of songs, sometimes he improvised, inventing voices for the child’s toy animals. Catherine even knew their different accents. If only she could have just sat quietly among them.

The decision was made for her; although it was in a way that she had helped along herself. She had been keeping more regular hours. She had started to bathe and do her laundry during the early daytime hours, just a little ahead of the others usually.

She was washing out her and Elizabeth’s things when she noticed that someone had left a book behind on the slate floor. She didn’t like to just take it, suppose the owner came back for it. But it was a children’s book - it probably would be easier to read than any of Elizabeth’s. And the illustrations were beautiful. "The Secret Garden." So she sat down right there and began to read. Mary, Dicken, Colin. More old friends - even the red robin. She didn’t realize the time. She had read nearly half the book when she heard others coming. It was too late to leave without encountering them.

"Hello there! I was hoping there would be somebody here. I’ve got my hands full. Rose, isn’t it? I’m Eleanor. I hear you and Elizabeth are getting on famously. Good thing too, Mary had been getting quite anxious about her. Would you mind? I could really use your help. No, don’t get up." Eleanor was unstrapping a front carrier in which a baby was riding.

"This is Luke and Cathy, say hi to Rose. She can’t answer you, don’t expect her to. Luke is Kanin and Olivia’s boy. Cathy is Lena’s. And this," she removed the child from his carrier, "this is Jacob." She bent down and set him in Catherine’s arms. "Vincent’s son."

Catherine didn’t even hear the last part, because as soon as she felt the child being placed into her arms she was aware of nothing else.

She judged him to be about seven or eight months of age. He had soft honey colored hair and a wide angular face. He had an adorable nose and a full lipped mouth. But it was his eyes that captured Catherine’s attention first, captured her attention and brought her heart to a stand still. Blue eyes, eyes of a color she was certain were in no other human head. They reminded her of the blue crystal rock which sat on her dresser, but they were far more beautiful than that. They were the brightest, and yet the softest blue imaginable. They were large eyes, surrounded by long lashes, the crystal blue irises rimmed round with a darker hue, emphasizing the extraordinarily luminous orbs they enclosed.

But the child did not sit still for Catherine’s examination of him. He bounced on her lap, he reached up for his own exploration, kneading her face with his fingers, careless of the sensitivity of eyeballs or inner lips. Catherine smiled, gently taking his small hands and leading them to less vulnerable areas. Then he discovered her hair, he tested it and found it is just right to hold his weight, and was flexible enough for swinging on.

"Well, I can see he likes you." Eleanor observed. "Thanks - really. Olivia and Lena had to go above today. One of the helpers broke her leg and we are all taking turns checking in on her, running errands, things like that. But this laundry really had to get done. So, how are you settling in?" She looked up from her work and smiled at Catherine who nodded and smiled back.

"Gee, it must be really hard not to be able to say anything. Lord knows, I can’t imagine it. But I’ll bet there are some who wish I had that problem sometimes." She laughed. "You know, you and me, we’re gonna get along fine. I love to talk and I guess you must be a pretty good listener." Eleanor scrubbed away at the various articles of clothing she was pulling from her basket.

"Jacob is a real cutie pie, isn’t he? I get him a lot. You know, what with Vincent being a single parent."

Vincent? Catherine had missed that the first time around. This was Vincent’s child?

"And of course, Vincent is always in demand on any job because of his strength. He can do the work of five men. Kids - you’re getting too close to the edge there. I don’t want you getting your shoes wet." Eleanor had finished scrubbing and began to rinse the items out. She lowered her voice. "They’re working on a new chamber for Rolley and Lena, as a wedding present. It’s a surprise. Won’t that be nice?"

The two older children approached Catherine and stood appraising her. "What’s wrong with your hands?" Luke asked.

"Luke! That is so rude." Eleanor scolded. Catherine had almost forgotten her hands. Jacob, of course, was too young to notice. She held them out for Luke to see. She pantomimed flames, then put a hand into the imaginary conflagration and quickly pulled it out again.

"You see," Eleanor told them. "She burned them. That is why William always tells you

never to go near the stove."

"Did it hurt?" Luke wanted to know. Catherine nodded. "I’m sorry. Does it still hurt?"

She held two fingers slightly apart - shrugging her shoulders.

"You’re pretty." Cathy observed - reaching up and gliding her fingers over

Catherine’s hair. Catherine almost pulled away but then held still for her touch.

"Thank you." Catherine mouthed as distinctly as she could.

"You’re welcome." Cathy responded.

Eleanor pulled Luke over to her, inspecting his face and then rubbing it with some water. "That’s better." She smiled at him then, kissing his cheek, she turned him around and sent

him back toward his companion.

"Look - there’s something in the water!" Luke exclaimed and they both ran to the edge of the stream to watch an escaped shoe float by.

"Sorry" Eleanor apologized "I hope they didn’t annoy you." Catherine shook her head. Eleanor started flapping out her dripping laundry and hanging it on the line closest to her.

"You’re going to like it here Rose. I’m the newest member here besides you. I’ve only been here...how many months...let me see, oh, I don’t know. But I feel like this has always been my home. And...this is the oddest thing - it was a helper who told me about this place - as soon as she started to tell me about how everyone down here lived - I believed her. It didn’t sound far fetched to me at all. Do you know why?" Eleanor stopped working and turned to Catherine.

"It’s because I believe in this place. Have always believed - that this is possible. That there could be someplace like this. Where everyone has faith in each other, and takes care of each other, and values each other. A place where people talk over their differences - honestly - but respectfully. Where people always encourage you to find what you are best at - and then encourage you to do it. A place with every person looks out for every other person.

This is such a place. And I wish I could show it to the world - to prove that it can be done - to show the whole world how it can be done." Eleanor paused, smiled to herself. "I told you I talk too much." She turned and threw the last items over the line. "There, that’s done."

She watched the two older children for a moment, playing by the side of the stream. "Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for holding Jacob. And I hope this means we’ll be seeing a lot more of you. Here, I’ll take him now."

Eleanor bent down and held out her arms to Jacob, expecting him to come to her. He didn’t, he was too busy playing with the rose pendant hanging from Catherine’s neck. Catherine stiffened. She suddenly realized she didn’t want to let him go; that she would rather do anything actually, than let the child go.

But she couldn’t do that; hold on for dear life to someone else’s baby. What would her new friend think? She would think that she was, in fact, crazy. Catherine steeled herself and attempted to hand Jacob over to Eleanor. He began to cry - not cry -to howl. He clung to Catherine’s neck. She couldn’t help it. Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around him - holding him to her - kissing his head. Eleanor dropped her arms.

"I can’t believe this. He’s never done this before. Not even with Vincent. Sometimes he fusses a little when you first take him - but he has never cried. He’s too used to it. We pass him around here like a football. I mean, because he only has Vincent, we all take turns helping out with him."

Eleanor was initially surprised by Jacob’s reaction, but she began to look curiously at Catherine too. She sat down beside her, studying her, then she quietly observed,

"You’ve lost a child, haven’t you?"

Catherine looked up at her - startled. It was true. She didn’t know how she knew it. But it was true, she was sure of it. She tried to stop the tears but they slid down her face anyway.

"Don’t. It’s OK. Mary - she has too. She talks about it sometimes." Eleanor paused, then even more quietly added. "I never do. I lost my son before he was even born." Catherine looked down at the child in her arms and then back up at Eleanor. Even if she could have spoken to her she wouldn’t have known what to say.

Eleanor made herself more comfortable beside Catherine - watching her rock Jacob, which was what she was doing. She had him cradled in her arms, gently swaying from side to side.

"Do you want to know what I’ve found out about sorrow?" Eleanor asked her. Catherine nodded.

"That you can’t let it swallow you up, but you can’t run from it either. You have to learn to accommodate it. You can’t expect it to leave - because it never will. So you begin to accept it as a part of your life, and just try to relegate it to the background.

When I first came down here I was envious of the mothers of the younger children, of Lena and Olivia. But as we got to know each other better I saw how destructive that emotion was. And I found that helping them care for their babies made me feel better. And then when Vincent came back, he wasn’t here when I first came down; when he came back with Jacob, it hit me hard at first. Catherine died right after giving birth to him. I don’t know if she even got to hold him. It brought all my own pain back to me. But then I figured we, Jacob and I, could help each other out. And we have. So the way I look at it...If you work at it real hard, at accommodating, you may not ever really get over being sad, but you can be O.K. sometimes, and content sometimes, and even, once in a while, happy again. And you can go on living."

Jacob had fallen asleep. Cathy and Luke came and to stand by Eleanor’s side to tell her they were hungry.

"Look, I gotta feed these kids. Tell you what; Lena is dying to meet you. Why don’t we come for breakfast tomorrow, we’ll raid the kitchen early and bring you and Elizabeth some scones. Then we can all spend the day together...and we’re sure to have Jacob tomorrow...Vincent and everyone, they’re not done with the project yet. How does that sound?"

That sounded fine to Catherine. She still didn’t like giving Jacob up, but knowing they were going to spend the following day together made it much easier. She was careful not to wake him as they transferred him from Catherine’s shoulder to Eleanor’s. They walked down the first corridor together and then parted ways; Catherine waving them out of sight.

 

 

They were nearly at the end of "Great Expectations". Catherine sat above the chamber that night with a lighter heart. She had made the first step toward truly becoming one of them. Vincent had been singing a lullaby to Jacob when she came to take her usual place. It sounded so peaceful, almost familiar. She decided that maybe it was a good thing she didn’t know what had happened to her. Because she felt happy now, truly happy. Whatever happened before could not touch her here; not in a place where people treated each other with such kindness and understanding, and, she had to admit this to herself, not in a place where he was.

The sentries sent a message that Diana was below, heading for Vincent’s chamber. She stood in the entrance when she arrived, listening to him read. She was as entranced as the rest of them. Vincent finished the chapter and told the children he would continue the next night. The children objected but Vincent firmly insisted.

"But there is only one more chapter." They complained.

"Yes, but think of the suspense. How will it end? Will he ever see Estella again? What will happen if he does? Now off with all of you. Don’t make my guest feel unwelcome."

This reminder of their manners sufficed to make them all shuffle away without further comment. When they were alone Diana set down the shopping bag she was carrying and approached him.

"I’m sorry to interrupt. You know, you could have kept on reading. I was enjoying it."

"Well, then I will lend you the book as soon as we finish."

"Oh, but that’s not the same as listening to you read." Diana smiled, but then blushed, no, she wasn’t going to allow herself to indulge in feelings that would only leave her unsatisfied.

Catherine had risen, She stooped to tie her shoe and then turned to go.

"I wanted to speak to you about Rose." Diana told Vincent.

He smiled, looked up, "She is just leaving us."

Catherine started, turned around. He knew then? Knew that she had been listening to him read every night. For how long? she wondered. But she wasn’t going to stay to find out. This was meant to be a private conversation. She hurried away to her own chamber.

Diana looked up, back at him. "You’ve met her then?"

Vincent shook his head. "No. She listens from above us - every night."

Diana nodded. She wasn’t surprised. His voice was as seductive as any siren’s song. Easy to lose your way, listening to him, easy to miss seeing the rocks ahead.

"Well, I have some news for her. But I thought I would let you know first. We’ve arrested the two men we believe are responsible for the murder Rose witnessed that night under the bridge. We’ve arranged a line-up for tomorrow."

"That is news - good news. Perhaps now she’ll be able to put all that has happened behind her. It will make her easier in her mind, I think."

"I thought you said you hadn’t met her."

Vincent looked down. "No, but...you know I can often sense...what others are feeling. But anyway, tonight, she seemed more content. I could be mistaken. It’s just a feeling on my part."

Diana felt a twinge of jealousy. But then she told herself - What then? What if this woman could succeed where Diana had failed. Would she really like to see him live the rest of his life alone just because he didn’t choose her? The answer was no - unequivocally no. She cared too much about him. If he could find love again someday...

"Pascal tells me that Eleanor met Rose today." Vincent resumed.

"Really?"

"Yes. It seemed she and Jacob were quite taken with each other. I thought...I was thinking when you come back tomorrow you could come below with her and both of you could come to hear me finish "Great Expectations". I think Rose would be more comfortable joining us if she had you here with her. Tell her she needn’t make a grand entrance. The two of you could come early and settle yourselves in before anyone else arrives."

"That sounds fine Vincent, I’ll ask her."

"Diana, you’ll have to warn her first, about..." Vincent made a sweeping gesture with his hand, passing it the length of his torso, "me. She doesn’t know. She’s very fragile. I don’t want to frighten her."

"It won’t matter. Even if she hasn’t actually seen you, she comes here every night to listen to you read Vincent. She knows who you are."

Vincent looked down, shrugged, he hoped she was right.

Diana didn’t say anything for a minute, she searched his face intently instead. "You seem better yourself Vincent. There’s something different about you. I’ve never seen you look quite this way before."

"That’s probably true Diana. But I think you mistake the source. I haven’t spoken about this with anyone. I hardly know how to."

"Can you tell me?"

He nodded slowly, and began moving about the room, gathering his thoughts. Finally he turned back to her.

"It’s her. It’s Catherine. She’s here - here in these tunnels. I can feel her all the time now - her presence - all around me, inside of me. Somehow... she has found a way back to me. I can’t explain it, but I know that it’s real. And it is holding me in a state of constant expectation." Vincent drew in a breath. "It has changed the very particles of the air that surrounds me - like a storm with only lightning, you see the flash for one instant, then you wait with held breath for the crack of thunder - but it doesn’t come.

And I feel..." he stopped, lifted his head up, heaving a deep sigh, "It is such a relief to have her near, a blessed relief." There were tears running down his cheeks. "Yet there are times when I still long for her physically, times when I want to touch her, hold her... But then, I remember what it was like before I could start to feel her with me again. And I am so grateful that she has found her way here.

I hardly ever visit her grave anymore. I start to...I go above but then with every step away from here I feel as if I am leaving her behind. It is like I can almost hear her calling me back. And when I am here, when I walk these tunnels at night, there are times when I think I can catch a glimpse of her just ahead of me. And I think - when I turn the next corner - she’ll be there. And she’ll turn around, and she’ll hold out her hand to me. I’ve seen it in my mind a hundred times in these last weeks." Vincent dropped his head, his tears choking him.

Diana went to him, putting her arms around him. "Vincent, oh Vincent." Was all she could think to say.

She stayed with him a while longer, giving him time to compose himself. She wished she could help him, but she couldn’t elucidate anything. What was happening to Vincent didn’t fit into anything she had ever experienced before - she couldn’t offer any explanation. Not that he seemed to need one. He believed that she was near him, and well, whether it be true or not, let him, if he found solace in it. It wasn’t like he was going to go out and hire a medium to hold seances. But still, it troubled her.

But one problem at a time. She’d try to make time to come down more often. For now, she had to concentrate on tomorrow’s line-up. She waited until he was sufficiently recovered. She rose to go but he stopped her.

Vincent looked down, back up at her, "Thank you Diana...for everything."

"You’re welcome Vincent."

As she left him she realized that she would be happy to see him happy under any circumstances. It would have been lovely. But he was a dream of hers, that was all. She suddenly thought of Joe. She stopped in her tracks. Funny how the mind worked sometimes. Funny how sometimes you couldn’t see something that was just in front of you.

 

Catherine was sitting on her bed when Diana entered her little chamber. She was holding the azure crystal rock in her hands and thinking about the baby boy with the most blue, most beautiful eyes.

"Hello Rose." Catherine stood up. "You’ve gained weight. Let me look at you. I bought you a present, compliments of the Police Department." Diana pulled out a white summer dress. "It’s used. I mean, it’s been worn before. I saw it in the window of, actually, they call it a vintage clothing store but it looked like a thrift shop to me."

Catherine stared at the dress, then at her. "Dior" she mouthed.

"Yes" Diana affirmed. "That’s what the woman in the store said." Diana was

surprised. She wouldn’t have known this dress was a Dior if it had been written across the front in neon letters.

"You wouldn’t believe what she wanted for it. I got her to come down a little. I asked her who she thought she was going to sell it to for that price. It’s such a small size I told her that no one who had eaten a decent meal in the last year would be able to fit into it, and no one with the kind of money she was asking for was starving."

Catherine laughed and held the dress up to herself.

"Oh, and I got shoes and a purse to go with it. I bought you some make-up too. Don’t look at me like that. I did go through a lot of trouble but it’s not without reason." Diana sat down and motioned for Catherine to do the same.

Diana explained to Catherine about the line up. Then told her,

"The thing is Rose, they have hired a very expensive attorney - a very good attorney. I mean good in the competent sense, not in the human being sense. I guess the drug business has been pretty good to them. Anyway, the lawyer expects a homeless person, a mental patient, to show up tomorrow - a bag lady, dragging a one wheeled cart behind her and continually counting her toes through the holes in her shoes. When you show up in this dress it is going to throw him off his game entirely."

The women grinned at each other, nodding their heads. Diana rose to leave - telling her what time to expect her in the morning. But she stayed a moment longer, studying the woman, realizing that the itch that Rose gave her sometimes in the back of her head was going crazy.

The dress, how did she know? And her mannerisms, she’d noticed that before. Very refined, very sophisticated, translation: very wealthy. Maybe not. Maybe she had worked for wealthy people. That might explain it. Maybe.

One other thing. She had seen the light dawn in Rose’s eyes when she talked about nailing the defense attorney. Comradery. Two hens plotting against the fox. Two old hens, experienced hens, hens who knew the routine. Diana definitely couldn’t explain that.

Diana was just climbing up to the outside world when she heard a message being sent across the pipes - it was Rose informing Eleanor that she would be unable to meet with her in the morning - she was asking if they could postpone their engagement to the following day. Diana thought that’s what the pipes were vibrating. The message was sure handed, rapid-fire. Rose must be a quick study...unless...unless she had already known...but no, that wasn’t possible. Was it?

Diana arrived bright and early the next morning. Catherine was already up, sitting on her bed with the mirror the children had given her. Diana watched her put on her make-up. Well, she certainly hadn’t learned to apply cosmetics that way at the counter at Woolworths. More likely Bergdorfs - or a private salon even. Catherine stood up. She was wearing her black hooded sweat shirt over the dress. It was too chilly in the tunnels to go without layers. But she pulled it off for Diana’s inspection. The white, sleeveless dress was perfectly fitted to her lithe figure. She had her hair, which was long now, pulled back in a neat pony tail. This was how this woman was born to look.

Diana’s Lieutenant was waiting for them when they entered the precinct. He was stunned. Diana introduced him. "Rose, this is my boss, John Murphy, this is Rose."

"You were right Diana. That dress was worth every penny. You’re a beautiful woman Rose." he paused, "And we are all very appreciative of what you are doing here today."

Catherine looked at Diana. She would have liked to have said that she was the one who was indebted to her.

They all filed up the stairs and into the room with the two way mirror. Diana was right about the impression Rose’s appearance made on the defense attorney. He looked around him for Diana’s witness.

"Mr. Stephenson, isn’t it?" Diana stepped boldly up to him, holding out her hand. "I’m Diana Bennett." Disconcerted, he shook the proffered hand.

"I’d like to introduce you to Rose, witness for the prosecution."

He almost stuttered out his amazement. Within a minute he had composed himself however, pretending he hadn’t been thrown a ball he hadn’t a clue how to hit.

It got worse. Diana and Catherine had become so adept in non-verbal communication that Catherine had forgotten to tell her about her new writing skills. She was asked to signal the number for the first subject - it was Ponytail. He no longer had one though. His hair had been cut short. Every man in the line up was wearing dark glasses. Catherine wondered how badly she had burned his eyes.

She held up the appropriate number of fingers. The attorney protested on some ridiculous basis. Catherine signed for a pen and pad. She wrote:

Number three is the man who ordered the murder of both myself and the deceased victim. He is also the man who, prior to that, pushed me into the fire and caused the burns on my hands.

Catherine showed the missive first to a stunned Diana and then to her boss, then she turned and handed it to the defense attorney. He was trying to look unconvinced, so she followed it up by spreading her burned hands out in front of his face. He stepped back. It was all Diana could do keep from laughing out loud.

"I’d suggest you start thinking about plea bargains." Lieutenant Murphy told him. "But I gotta say, after we tie your clients to the execution of Officers Ramirez and Machuca, and we will - Daniel Webster himself couldn’t save their sorry asses. And you’re not Daniel Webster. They’re getting the needle - and may they rot in Hell."

‘And you too, for trying to get them off for it.’ He added mentally, but his speech had been unprofessional enough as it was. The two men both stood their ground and glared at each other.

Diana and Catherine were both in a high, giddy mood as they left the Precinct House. They hailed a cab, but as they sat broiling in midtown traffic they decided it was too beautiful a day to waste sitting in a hot taxi. They stepped out of the cab and stopped at a pay phone. Diana called Joe.

"So you taking us out to that lunch you promised us?" Diana asked.

"I can’t Diana. I’m sorry. I’ve been in with the deputy Mayor all morning, and he’s not done talking yet. But I got the word. I hear your witness is a real looker. I also hear that she had that creeping worm Stephenson down for the count."

"New travels fast."

"It does when it’s this good. Let me talk to her."

"She can’t talk Joe."

"She can listen."

"Ok." Diana handed the phone off to Catherine. She put it to her ear, grinning at Diana.

"Hey kiddo. I heard you two ladies hit it out of the ball park. I just wanted to say thanks. I would have been there today but I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of. I’d love to take the two of you out to lunch later this week though. Name the day, pick the place. Tell Diana I’ll even go veggie if she wants to."

Catherine had been smiling at first, but then she looked as if she was about to cry. Diana watched the change come over Catherine’s face. Catherine moved her lips as if to speak. She stared at the phone, as if the instrument itself could give her an explanation of what she was feeling.

Diana took the phone and gave Joe a quick goodbye.

"What is it Rose?"

Catherine just rattled her head and looked at Diana in consternation, then shrugged her shoulders. They turned and started to walk, it was a beautiful Spring day but as warm as any summer one.

"Well, I guess we’ll have to find our own lunch." Diana observed. They stopped at a Middle Eastern Restaurant.

Diana began to tell Catherine about Vincent’s invitation. Catherine’s face lit up immediately,

all else forgotten.

"You’ve been listening to Vincent read."

Catherine nodded. Diana studied her. "There’s something I need to tell you...about Vincent.

He wanted me to warn you..."

Warn her? Catherine was suddenly perplexed and worried. Diana took a breath.

"Vincent doesn’t look like other men. He is...different. He’s not deformed exactly. That’s

not it...but it’s something like that. He is worried that his appearance might frighten you."

Catherine bit her lip. Vincent, frighten her? Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. Diana watched her. So her too. Well, who could help it?

"It doesn’t matter, does it? What he looks like; what his physical attributes are. Because nothing can change the fact that he is who he is." Diana smiled too. "I know that. You know that. It’s just Vincent that doesn’t know that."

Diana laughed. Their food arrived. When in Rome...they pulled apart the warm pieces of non bread with their fingers, sloshing it in the spicy sauces. They giggled like school girls. It was a beautiful day, Catherine had identified both attackers, and tonight she was going to meet Vincent. The world was a wonderful place.

Maybe that was why Diana hadn’t noticed the girl with the long black hair that stepped to a pay phone as they passed, or the man dressed like a janitor who was with them for a block or two but then broke off, she hadn’t even noticed the young man who was eating a couple of tables away from theirs. It was such a beautiful day. Nothing could go wrong now.

 

They looked around when they came to an alley that led into an entrance to the tunnels. Two men in business suits were sauntering ahead of them. The men stopped in at a Deli. There was no one else around who had been visible for any length of time. The two women stood for a minute or two while Diana studied the crowd. Catherine pulled her hooded jacket out of her bag and put it on. They walked down the alleyway. Diana helped Catherine remove the manhole cover.

"I have some paperwork to catch up on. You haven’t used this entrance before. Can you find your way?"

Catherine nodded, pantomiming tapping out a message.

"Yeah, I heard you last night. You’re pretty good on the pipes. I guess you can call for help if you need to. I’ll be down myself in a couple of hours. Then we’ll go visit Vincent and Jacob. And we can listen to him finish "Great Expectations".

Catherine suddenly hugged her. Diana was astounded - and pleased. She told her she would see her later, then she pulled the man hole cover back over the void. Diana looked up. No one around. She nonchalantly strolled out of the alley and down the block.

The men in the suits immediately emerged from the Delicatessen. They looked at each other, then after Diana’s retreating figure. They hurried down the empty alley way. There was nothing there.

"Where the hell did she go?"

They looked down at the manhole cover. "You think?"

"I don’t know man. She didn’t come back out. There’s no other way." They looked at the solid buildings around them. They removed the cover, tested the ladder descending into the dim light.

Catherine had already walked away, but she heard the manhole cover being removed again. She turned back smiling. Maybe Diana was going to forgo her paper work until tomorrow. She moved back toward the intersection. She froze for just one moment. Could they be other tunnel dwellers? The first man down the ladder saw her. He yelled to the other.

She turned and fled. It was too late. They were right behind her. Catherine didn’t want to lead them to the occupied tunnels. The abyss! She could scare them, confuse them, maybe trick at least one of them into going over the edge. She heard a popping sound, then a rock projection near her head exploded sending little pieces of shale in every direction. She started to run, speeding toward the ravine.

Vincent had had an anxious day. Something was wrong. Something was missing. He stopped working earlier than usual. Instead of picking Jacob up he headed for Father’s chamber. He has heard on the pipes that Peter was there. He was in the mood to talk.

He stopped, staggered, his hand shot out to the wall for support. He lifted his head, half a growl, half a roar. Stumbling forward, he recovered himself; then he started to fly, his feet barely touching the ground as he bounded through the tunnels, ducking low hanging rocks, springing over obstacles, sailing over the gaps between the pipes.

Catherine had reached the abyss. She turned, she didn’t want to cross to the populated area. She ran along the path overhanging the abyss. Maybe at least one of them would lose his footing. She turned back, no one in sight. She ducked into a gaping crevice in the rock wall. She couldn’t keep running. She was out of breath. She crouched down, hoping they had lost her. But then she saw him. He passed her by, walking gingerly, looking ahead of him. He hadn’t seen her. She pressed herself further into the fissure.

He turned and saw her. He aimed his weapon at her but Catherine was already moving, ducking and running, she had no choice now but to cross the abyss. But the other man, he had crossed before her. He stood at the other end. He pulled out a gravity knife and grinned at her. She turned to look behind her as the first man reached the edge of the bridge. She was trapped. Her foot caught a loose board and she lurched forward onto the wooden slats. Everything had been going so beautifully. The image of the little boy, Vincent’s child, flashed through her mind; she was sure it was her last thought.

Then she heard it. An animal of some kind, its roar reverberated across the chasm. She looked up as it came into view. A creature, something not animal, but not human, went straight for the man standing in front of her. He froze for a second but then took a swipe at it with his knife. The creature’s reflexes were lightning. It jumped back and then forward; with an upward sweep it tore into the man’s flesh, ripping him open, his skin separating with the ease of wrapping paper being torn from a package. Catherine could see the man’s internal organs. It was a fleeting glimpse. Because the thing’s other hand raked across his neck and the juggler was exposed; the blow had upset the man’s balance, he fell backward over the meager railing. He was gone.

The creature didn’t even glance in Catherine’s direction - Its attention was fixed on something behind her. It crouched like a cat about to pounce, moving forward stealthily with a savage rumbling in Its chest and Its lips drawn back in a snarl - exposing huge, sharp white fangs. Its clothing was splattered with blood. Its claws were dripping gore.

Catherine realized what it was the creature was stalking, she had almost forgotten the other man. She turned as the man lifted a shaking arm and Catherine suddenly understood what he was about to do. She sprang up and at him. It was too late, he had fired the gun, but Catherine knocked it from his grasp before he could get off another round. The force of her body hitting his caused the man to fall backward, and sent them both rolling precariously near the edge. He was shocked for a moment, but then he recovered and attempted to retrieve his gun. Catherine could feel it near her foot. She kicked out and was satisfied when she connected with it, sending it into oblivion. The man had turned himself on top of her and cursed at the loss of his weapon, trying to get a grip on her neck. But he was lifted off of her. The creature didn’t even bother to strike. It shook him as an animal shakes its prey and then tossed him into the void.

But then the creature himself staggered, lost his footing, was about to pitch headlong into the abyss - Catherine leapt forward, clutching onto his clothing with both hands and throwing herself backward away from the edge. He was pulled along with her; she fell supine, he to his knees. He looked down at her, into her face, and she was certain that if they drugged her, shocked her with electrodes from now and everyday until the end of her life she would never be able to forget the look on his face, the sound of his voice as he whispered the name "Catherine".

His entire chest was soaked crimson. And high up, just below the line of his shoulder, there was a wound that was literally pumping blood, his life gushing out in quick spurts.

She knew him now. She was positive that all the round world over there was no one else with a voice like his. There could be no doubt. It was him. It was Vincent. The Vincent who read to the children. The Vincent whose voice haunted her dreams. The Vincent who was the only parent to the baby with the blue eyes. And she had as good as killed him.

She pulled off her jacket, binding the wound. She ran to the passage leading to the tunnels and banged out an urgent message on the pipes. ‘Vincent has been shot - bridge over the abyss - bleeding badly - Hurry - Hurry.’ She flew back to his side. His blood was already soaking her make- shift bandage. She lifted his head and shoulders up and propped his body up against hers. She cradled his head against her breast, pushing her hand against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. She leant down with her cheek against his cheek. He was dying. She recognized that in gasping rasp of his breathing. She tried to speak to him - to tell him that help was coming - to tell him that she was sorry. But she could make no sound.

If she could speak wouldn’t she have done so in the hospital? So much of what she has suffered in the last months was due to her inability to speak.

And now, now he was going to die without hearing the comfort of a human voice. She wanted to tell him to hold on. She swallowed hard, put her mouth close to his ear and whispered. And this time she did speak. But they were not the words she had meant to say. The syllables formed themselves on her lips -

"Don’t die Vincent! Don’t die. I love you."

She just held him then, silently held him, her hand pressed against the hole in his chest. Her forehead pressed to his.

But here they were, after what had seemed like hours they were surrounding her. Catherine let go of her grasp on him and slowly backed away while still in a sitting position. They gathered round his inert body.

"How bad is it Peter?" Pascal asked.

Peter just shook his head. He had his bag with him, he made a field dressing. No one was paying any attention to Catherine. She stood for a moment, then she turned and crossed the wooden bridge, back the way she had come. She started down the passage but found her legs weakening under her. She slipped to the ground.

Peter had done what he could for now, he stood and instructed the other men in carrying Vincent. He turned to look for the woman he had seen. She wasn’t there. He walked a little way toward the other end of the bridge. He could have sworn...but of course, that wasn’t possible. And Father would need his help with Vincent. Peter turned and headed for the passage that led to the hospital chamber. He sent a message on the pipes to Father regarding the location and the severity of Vincent’s wound. He turned to look behind him one more time and then continued on his way.

Catherine sat slumped against the tunnel wall for several minutes. She heard Peter’s communication on the pipes. She rose and walked in the direction of the only place she could think to go to. She stood at the mouth of the tunnel which opened above Vincent’s chamber. The room was quiet. Jacob’s cradle was empty. She was weary unto death herself - "even to the edge of doom". She slid down the wall, curled up there, her head on her knees. And she waited.

She had no idea how long it had been. Hours? Years? They finally brought him in. Mouse, Jamie, Pascal. He had a clear liquid IV in his arm. They were carrying him in on a litter. Father and Rebecca and Sarah following behind.

They did their best to make him comfortable in his own bed. They piled his quilts on top of him in an effort to keep him warm. They lit a fire in the earthenware basin across from his bed. He lay there, as still as death. The skin beneath the fur was pale and cold, his breathing imperceptible.

"Why can’t Mouse give Vincent his blood? Doesn’t need it all."

"Mouse, we’ve been over this a hundred times, you’re not compatible with him. It would kill him." Father answered in a weary voice.

"But you used Mouse’s blood when Kanin got hurt. You said Mouse was a world donor."

"That’s a universal donor. And yes, you are. But Vincent’s blood is different from anyone else’s. Unfortunately, No one can act as a donor for him. I know Mouse, it is terrible to feel this helpless." Father pulled Rebecca aside, they moved over to just below where Catherine was sitting.

"I have to go back and speak to everyone. Call me if there is any change - either way."

"I will Father. He...Father, how bad is it?"

"The truth?"

"Yes."

"I’m surprised he is still alive. He shouldn’t be."

"But he’s been hurt like this before."

"No, not like this. The bullet tore an artery. He’s just lost too much blood, and there is no way to replace it. I’m sorry Rebecca, I’ve done everything I can. Now, now we’ll just have to wait. He might not last the night - I want you to be prepared."

Rebecca threw herself into Father’s arms, sobbing. "I’m not. I can’t be."

Father was fighting back tears himself. "I know. But you must be anyway. And...he’s come this far, I really didn’t think he would make it out of surgery. So perhaps...We can still hope."

"What about Jacob?"

"Jacob has all of us. Rebecca, I have to go. We don’t know what happened with the intruders. They may still be roaming the tunnels yet. Please."

Rebecca composed herself as best she could. Father returned to Vincent’s side. He caressed his face, his hand.

"I love you Vincent. Now and always. And if, if you are going someplace else tonight, I believe that Catherine will be there waiting for you." Father stopped, unable to proceed for a moment. "And I will care for your son just as I once cared for you - my son." He stood and quietly gazed on him for a moment. Sarah came forward and led him out of the chamber.

The others were quiet also. Rebecca seated herself in Vincent’s chair. Finally Pascal told Jamie they were needed elsewhere. Jamie nodded. There could be two armed men in their midst. They left. Rebecca sat by patiently while Mouse paced the room and Catherine sat above them in silent misery.

 

Father limped into the crowded room. Those who were not on watch, or out searching the tunnels, were all here. Peter lifted his head. He looked at Father for word on any developments. Father shook his head.

"I have told them our prognosis." Peter sighed.

Father nodded. "You should go home and get some sleep Peter. We’ll notify you if we need to. Also, those supplies we talked about..."

"You’re nearly out of sutures. What else? Oh, yes." Remembering, Peter pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket. "I made a list."

Peter seemed almost in a fog. The events of the day were telling on them all. He remembered something else however, looked around at the others and then moved closer to Father.

"Jacob, that woman, Rose, don’t you think the resemblance is uncanny?"

Father had just taken his seat at his desk. Exhausted, somewhat distracted too, he turned to Peter.

"Resemblance? To whom?"

"How can you ask that, she looks just like her. I mean, I only got a glimpse, but..."

"What’s happened?" Diana appeared at the entrance to Father’s chamber. She gazed around at the gathering of grim faces. "I got your message. What is going on?"

Father had sent Diana a message only saying that she was urgently needed in the tunnels. He turned to her now.

Quietly he told her, "Zak was standing sentry near the entrance Rose used today. She ran by

him, followed by two armed men."

"Oh my God." Diana gasped.

"He sent out an alert. We were trying to track them."

Diana couldn’t wait for a full explanation. "Rose, is she...?"

"No. As far as we know she is unhurt. She sent a message over the pipes near the abyss."

Diana turned and stared at the drear audience surrounding her. "What message?"

Pascal answered, "Vincent. He found them first. He’s been shot Diana."

Diana started to sway, but she managed to stay upright. "How bad?" The question was momentarily greeted by silence.

Peter answered this time. "Very bad. He’s still alive...but...we don’t know if he is going to make it...the truth is we haven’t much hope Diana."

Almost whispering. "Where is he?"

William interrupted, "There’s another problem Diana. Those men who followed Rose here, who shot Vincent, we don’t know what happened to them. Rose has disappeared and we can’t find a trace of any of them."

"Not disappeared. Mouse knows." They all turned to him, he was standing near the top of the spiral staircase. He started to descend. "Light colored hair, in a white dress?"

Diana started forward. "Yes."

"Sitting in the tunnel above Vincent’s chamber. Has her head down. Think she’s praying."

Father stood up. "Thank God for that at least. She has to be questioned."

"I’ll do it." Diana exclaimed. "She must be terrorized." She turned and looked around her,

"I’m so sorry everyone. This is my fault. I just can’t believe it, I didn’t see anyone..." She stopped - remembering the two men who were walking ahead of them. "I was watching for gang members. How could I have been so stupid!" She turned to Zak. "Two dark haired men in business suits?"

He nodded. "Oh, God. I’m so sorry." she told the hushed room.

"You should be." William muttered.

"I’ll find out what happened." Diana hurried up the stairs and out of the chamber.

Father slumped back into his chair. Peter went to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I think we both need to get some rest." Father lay his hand over Peter’s. They exchanged sighs. Peter patted his shoulder and then followed Diana out.

"Kanin, Rolley, could you accompany Peter out? I don’t want anyone going too far alone."

They exited behind Peter.

Diana arrived at Vincent’s chamber slightly out of breath. There she was, just as Mouse had said. She could see the white of her dress in the gloom above them.

Vincent! She approached him, bending over him, caressing his face which was cold and still. They were right. Diana had seen Vincent injured before. But not like this. His skin felt clammy and unyielding. Was he alive even? She felt his neck for a pulse; had trouble finding one. No, it was there - but very faint. Diana ran her hand through her hair. How could she have let this happen? She had been overconfident - celebrating their victory too soon.

Diana turned to Rebecca, whispering to her about the presence of Rose; telling her she had to speak to her alone. Rebecca moved to Vincent’s side, speaking quietly to him, she kissed his forehead and then left them.

Diana turned to tell Catherine to come into the room, but she was already climbing down the ladder. She was beside him in an instant, looking down into his immobile face.

"Rose, Rose - I know how upset you must be. But I need to for you to tell me what happened to the men who followed you." Diana looked around for writing utensils, she went to Vincent’s table and picked up his journal, flipping through for a fresh page.

"They’re dead. Both of them." Catherine whispered, her voice raspy. " Gone. Into the abyss." She looked over at her.

"You can talk!" Diana exclaimed. She put down the book. "My God. Rose, what happened?"

"They followed me down here, those men. They were going to kill me. He came for me." she turned from Diana back to Vincent.

"Why did you? How could you have? No one would have cared if I died. But you! How could you have scarified yourself like this?"

"Hush. You’re overwrought. This is the way Vincent is. He protects everyone below."

"But I have no one; everyone here depends on him," she drew in a sob "loves him. He has his son."

She turned back to Diana, extended her arms out. "I would give up my own blood if I could - every last drop. I wouldn’t mind at all, if it could bring him back."

Diana could see that she actually meant it. She lay her hand upon Catherine’s arm. Shivered. "Oh God Rose! You’re as cold as ice."

Catherine turned her gaze back to Vincent’s face, she dropped to her knees beside his bed.

"Rose, not on the cold floor, please, you’ll catch your death."

Catherine didn’t acknowledge this. Diana looked around for a blanket, she saw instead Vincent’s cloak draped over a chair. She picked it up and threw it over Catherine’s shoulders, the hood falling forward over Catherine’s face.

Catherine could still remember the legends about magical objects - ordinary everyday things that possess fantastical and mystical qualities: Aladdin’s lamp, Rumpelstiltskin’s spinning wheel, Jack’s beans. Surely this cloak must be of the same ilk. Because as the cloth fell over her shoulders, as the soft material near the edge of the hood, worn thin by its owner’s cheek, floated down against her face, she felt a sudden sense of warmth and calm. She placed her elbows on the bed, leaning forward and stroking his hair. She bent and gently brushed her lips against his brow, almost smiled down at him.

"I’ll be right back." Diana told Catherine who only nodded and continued to caress his hair which was splayed out around him on his pillow.

Diana flew back to Father’s chamber. She found most of the others had adjourned to the kitchen, to give Father some peace. Pascal, Mary, Rolley and Lena were the only ones left.

Father had taken a more comfortable chair. He was reclining with his fingers to his temples. He opened his eyes however and sat forward when Diana entered.

"You needn’t worry about the gunmen Father. They’re in the abyss, both of them."

"Oh, well, that is something."

Pascal stood up, "I’ll send the message out over the pipes."

"Thank you Pascal."

"Who is with Vincent?" Mary asked.

"Just Rose. But I’ll go back directly. I just wanted to tell you to call off the alert for the intruders."

"I’ll come with you." Lena offered.

Diana nodded. She knelt down next to Father. "Rose is beside herself. She feels to blame. But this was my responsibility. I am so sorry Father."

Father reached for her hand. "I know Diana. If it weren’t for you; Vincent might not be alive now. And we would never have been able to find Jacob without you. No one is blaming you."

Diana grimaced. "That’s not true. But thank you for saying it."

Diana rose and she and Lena headed for Vincent’s chamber. Rolley went to join the others in the kitchen. Mary and Father remained - sitting quietly.

Catherine was still in the same position when they re-entered Vincent’s chamber; her head bowed, Vincent’s hood shadowing her face. They didn’t disturb her but quietly sat down and began their vigil. Eventually Mary joined them, standing by Lena, her hand on her shoulder. Father had fallen asleep in his chair. Mary had laid a blanket over him and quietly left the room, careful not to wake him.

The two women whispered for a bit and then Mary approached Diana and asked if she could get either her or Rose anything. Diana shook her head. Catherine did not stir.

"Lena and I are going to the kitchen. Are you sure we can’t bring you back something?"

"No, thank you." she paused, "I stood watch over him once before. He recovered then. Maybe my luck will hold."

Mary took her hand and squeezed it. "You were alone then Diana, you have all of us here now. Send a signal if you need anything."

"I will." she nodded her head toward Catherine, "Mary, all either of us needs now is to be with him."

Mary acknowledges this. She stepped over to Vincent, patting his hand, telling him how much they all loved him. She almost reached out and touched Catherine’s shoulder. She wanted so much to comfort her. But she dropped her hand and followed Lena out.

The kitchen was full to brimming. William had pulled out a variety of bowls, pots and pans. He was working at full steam, preparing foods no one would have the stomach to eat. But they helped him with preparation. Anything to keep their hands busy and their minds from grasping the full impact of what had happened.

Jamie had been put to work shelling peas. She turned when Mary and Lena entered.

"How is Vincent?"

"The same."

Jamie bit her lip and lowered her head.

Mary continued, "That’s good news dear. He is holding on, not declining any further, you know how strong he is."

"Are Diana and that woman still with him?" Jamie asked.

"Yes."

Jamie bent over her vegetables, pouting, resentful. "I don’t see why she should be. She’s not even one of us." she grumbled.

Lena had gone to Rolley, he put an arm around her in a reassuring hug, and he answered

Jamie.

"Don see why that should make any difference."

"Well, it’s her fault isn’t it? She allowed herself to be followed down here. Those men were after her."

"And you think she don’ know that? You think that ain’t what she been telling herself all night? And do you know what that feels like Jamie? To feel responsible for someone who been nothin but kind to you; to be responsible for them getting hurt." He paused, "for them dyin’?"

Jamie looked down, slowly moving her head back and forth.

"What do you think she been doin’? Prayin maybe - or whispering to him why he should live - or maybe just being with him - just so he ain’t alone. Do you think that’s hurtin’ him any? If Vincent lives, well, then it won’t make no difference if it’s her or one of us with’im, will it? But if Vincent..." Rolley drew in a painful breath, "don’ make it. Well, I least then, that woman Rose, maybe it will help her make peace with it."

Jamie glanced up at Rolley and then away again, ashamed.

Diana was sitting as if she had been drugged, tired and numb, her mind revolving over and over again on her mistake. She could not believe that this was happening. She thought about everything she and Vincent had endured. So much, they had been through so much, and now to have it end like this. And Rose was right, the idea of leaving Jacob an orphan was unspeakable.

But then she realized - something in the room had changed. Something... the air itself? Diana remembered being on the beach at Coney Island once just before a hurricane struck. She remembered the dark, fast moving clouds being pushed ahead of the wind and the rain. She remembered how the top layer of sand was lifted up and swirled about her ankles. But what she remembered most was the texture of the air -the charged atmosphere. She could feel it.

That was precisely what Vincent had described to her. The presence he told her of - that was all around him - in him. And here it was now, here in the room.

Diana lifted up her head, looked at Vincent’s body. Was she dreaming?

She rose and gazed at the woman kneeling by his bedside. She could not see her face. Diana leant forward until she could. Rose was looking into his face intently, breathing steadily. Diana turned to stare at Vincent, his chest was rising and falling in tandem with the inhalations of the woman beside him - as if, as if she was breathing with him - for him.

Diane reached for his hand. It was warm.

She literally staggered back, she could feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Vincent had told her it was Catherine’s presence he felt. But that wasn’t it. That’s not what this was. What it was - it was this woman’s love for this man.

It was an entity in and of itself. It took up space in the room - a tangible thing. Diana could feel it rising off the woman in waves. As powerful a force as any in nature, as a hurricane, as an earthquake, as a tidal wave. It was inexorable, overpowering, humbling; she stood in awe of it, and it shook her right down to her bones.

She, Diana, had felt something for him too. She was touched by him, enamored of him, excited by him. But she did not love him like this. This was something she has never felt herself, never witnessed before, never even dreamed of.

"Catherine." she whispered.

What other explanation was there? But it couldn’t be. Diana attended the funeral. She saw the body herself. It wasn’t possible.

She approached Catherine again, knelt beside her.

"Rose, I need to go above for a few hours. I need to find something out. But I need to ask you first, what exactly happened over the abyss?"

Catherine briefly described the events. Diana sat silent for a moment.

"Rose. You are telling me that after he killed the first man, and when he went after the second, that’s when you tried to save him, when you disarmed the gunman."

"Yes."

"But...weren’t you frightened?"

"Of course. But what choice did I have? He was firing on him."

"I mean - weren’t you afraid of Vincent?"

"Vincent? Diana, you didn’t see the look on those men’s faces. One of them, he was going to cut me up with a knife, and he was going to enjoy doing it."

"I understand that. But...you had just watched Vincent literally tear a man to pieces. Weren’t you afraid he might do the same thing to you?"

Catherine’s attention had reverted back to Vincent. But now she turned on Diana. Diana was shocked. Her soft voice had gone hard. She sounded harsh, angry almost.

"Vincent would never hurt me!"

Diana drew back, totally discomfited.

"No, of course not. But, but how could you’ve known that? You said you didn’t realize it was him until you heard him speak. How could you have known?"

"He came to save me."

"Yes, he did. But you saved him before you knew that."

Catherine was shaking her head, totally dismissing what Diana was saying.

Diana stood up, there was no sense in continuing the conversation. Rose was refusing to concede the obvious. A wild looking thing, half human, half animal, totally unknown to her, had enacted a gruesome killing in front of her eyes, and yet she, in the space of a minute or two afterward, twice saved his life. It made no sense.

"I’m going now." She told Catherine gently, "Maybe you should take a break too Rose. You could probably use some sleep."

"I won’t leave him."

No. Of course not. Diana asked herself if she honestly thought that she would. Diana rose, perhaps she would stop in Father’s chamber first - let him know what was going on. But as she started down the corridor she saw Rebecca coming from the other direction.

"How is he?" Rebecca asked.

"Better, I think." Diana told her. "Much better."

"Really? Oh, thank God." Rebecca was so relieved Diana could see it as a physical reaction.

"Rose is still with him. I need to go above for a bit." She hesitated. "I’ll be back as soon as I can. Rebecca, if it would be all right, I’d prefer Rose not be disturbed. She’s had a long night, but I don’t think she is going to leave him until she knows he is completely out of danger."

"I was just going to check in on him. I won’t disturb her."

"Thank you." Diana was truly grateful. She moved to go but then turned back.

"Rebecca, what did Catherine Chandler look like?" Rebecca was bewildered by the question.

"I saw pictures of course, mostly with her face in stitches though, could you describe her to me?"

Rebecca is baffled, but she answers: "Fair, of Scandianian descent I would guess. Average height, she had light skin and hair. Slender. And she had these changeable eyes, sometimes gray, sometimes green."

Diana almost felt as if she was becoming dizzy. She asked, just above a whisper. "Did she have any marks on her, any scars?"

"Yes. You know that - from when Vincent first found her. She had that scar on her cheek - right here. Why are you asking these questions Diana?"

Diana shook her head. "I’m not sure. I’ll be back as soon as I can."

Rebecca looked after her, concerned. Then she continued on to Vincent’s chamber. The air was warm. She looked at the large earthenware basin where the fire had been lit. But it had burned away, only gray ash remained. And the atmosphere, she thought she could detect a faint odor of blooming hyacinth and lilac.

Diana was right. Vincent was sleeping peacefully; she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. His color had returned. She spun around and headed for Father’s chamber.

 

He was at his desk rummaging through his medical bag when Rebecca ran in.

"I’m just coming. I cannot believe I actually fell asleep. I suppose it was complete exhaustion. But you shouldn’t have let me slumber so long. Is there any change?"

"Yes."

Father stopped, barely breathing.

"He seems better ." Rebecca said.

"Does he?"

"Diana says so. And he certainly looks improved." Father placed his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, not good enough. He reached out and hugged her.

"I thought, I thought this time we had really lost him."

He snapped his bag shut with alacrity and headed for the stairs. Rebecca followed after him, informing him of Diana’s departure.

"Father, that woman Rose is still with him, kneeling at his bedside. Diana asked me not to disturb her." Father looked a little surprised.

"And Father" Rebecca continued, still following him. "she asked me the strangest question."

"What question?’

"She asked me to tell her what Catherine Chandler looked like."

Father halted, flummoxed himself. "Is anyone still in the kitchen?" He asked.

"Everyone. Most of us couldn’t sleep. William is cooking up a storm."

"Good then, perhaps you could get him to make me a cup of tea."

"I can do that Father. And some toast maybe. You should eat something."

"Yes. I think I could. I’ll be in Vincent’s chamber."

Rebecca headed for the kitchen. Father couldn’t help thinking about what Peter had said last night, right before Diana had interrupted him. What was it? That the resemblance Rose bore to someone was uncanny. And why would Diana ask a question like that, at such a time?

Father could feel it too. Before he even entered Vincent’s chamber, he had the same sensation that had aroused Diana. He hesitated in the doorway. He could see the difference in Vincent from there. And he could see the form bent over the bed. The fine, light colored hair that was falling over Vincent’s own. There was something almost familiar. Father wondered why his heart rate had begun to increase. He entered the chamber, moving to try and see her face but the hood was pulled too far forward.

He approached the bed. "Rose" he said gently. "Rose dear, I don’t mean to trouble you, but I need to examine my son."

The woman lifted her head and turned toward him.