increased even as the December sun diminished. He returned to his room at more and more frequent intervals, inspecting the lock each time to ensure its working order, until at last he would leave only to use the privy or bring food from the market or tavern. On those occasions, he became as a man pursued by demons—in truth, he seemed to see such creatures on the street.
His countenance, too, changed. He grew gaunt and ever paler, moving as if his limbs pained him, and the smell of onions followed in his wake from poultices applied to his joints. Around his head, he had tied a compress soaked in feverfew tea. His hands often shook and his teeth began to forsake his mouth, until the top lip curled over his gums. Gone was his cockiness, displaced by dread and a mounting tendency to blame all who lived beneath the Carson roof for his affliction.
On the eve of Christmas, he came to the west room of the Eagle. I’d scarcely settled myself at the hearth, with a gill of stout cider to warm my bones before the evening’s mummery in the streets of Williamsburg. Near at hand sat Alex Fisher, Will Knox, and Jim Parker, the latter sipping at a hot whiskey toddy to ease a stubborn croup in his throat. We awaited the arrival of Sam and young Tom to complete our troupe.
The hour being early, only a trio of lads shared the fire with the four of us. Talk was of Brennan’s mania.
“He came into the apothecary today,” Alex said, “asking after specific cures and the maladies that occasioned their use. I advised him to tell me of his ailment, so I could then say which physics might give him comfort. Comfort, he said, would not help him, but rather, knowing what would make him the worse.”
“Mad,” Jim coughed out, and all concurred.
“And when I put it to him that he might consult with Dr. Galt or young Riddick,” Alex went on, “he said Dr. Riddick might have saved him once, but could no longer be trusted since he took his bed from Widow Carson. ‘And with her,’ he told me. ‘The lot of them do.’ Brennan’s very words.”
Will laughed, a deep rumble in his spacious chest. “Your rent is a bargain, sirs, if it includes such service.”
The others joined in the mirth, saying, “I shall change my lodgings directly,” and “What does Mrs. Carson serve with dinner?” and, from Alex, “Ben certainly wishes it so.”
I chose to let them have their jest, to laugh with them and hold my tongue, but Jim spoke out, “Say nothing against the lady.” His tone was good-natured, though the firelight brought out the blush of his neck, and he hid his displeasure behind his tankard. “What other matron of this town would take John Brennan into her house and tend him in his illness as if he were kin? None would, that’s assured.”
“Aye,” came a quavering voice at our backs. We turned to behold Brennan standing in the doorway, or rather, leaning his weight upon the jamb. The hearthlight, a jovial gold on our faces, seemed ghostly upon his ill-shaven cheeks, and his eyes were sunken in shadow.
“Aye, she took me in,” Brennan said, his brogue bitter as rue. “Took me in when her husband was off in the war. Gave me a warm hearth and victuals while her Tom froze and starved at Valley Forge. Blessed me with her smile, while he could only gaze upon the likes of you.” He let forth the cackle of a lunatic. “Took me in, and now I must take myself out. A dollar to any man who assists me in the removal of my belongings from Mrs. Carson’s house.”
“I should assist you for no pay,” Jim said, rising, “and when your possessions are in the street, I shall be pleased to remove your hide as well.”
Brennan took a step back, bumping a serving lad passing behind him. “No, Mr. Parker. ’Tis not you I require, nor Mr. Dunbar, nor the others who scheme ag’in me. They come into my room, sirs, and poison my food and drink.”
Jim scoffed. “How can we do that? You lock your door always when you leave.”
“Perhaps
His countenance, too, changed. He grew gaunt and ever paler, moving as if his limbs pained him, and the smell of onions followed in his wake from poultices applied to his joints. Around his head, he had tied a compress soaked in feverfew tea. His hands often shook and his teeth began to forsake his mouth, until the top lip curled over his gums. Gone was his cockiness, displaced by dread and a mounting tendency to blame all who lived beneath the Carson roof for his affliction.
On the eve of Christmas, he came to the west room of the Eagle. I’d scarcely settled myself at the hearth, with a gill of stout cider to warm my bones before the evening’s mummery in the streets of Williamsburg. Near at hand sat Alex Fisher, Will Knox, and Jim Parker, the latter sipping at a hot whiskey toddy to ease a stubborn croup in his throat. We awaited the arrival of Sam and young Tom to complete our troupe.
The hour being early, only a trio of lads shared the fire with the four of us. Talk was of Brennan’s mania.
“He came into the apothecary today,” Alex said, “asking after specific cures and the maladies that occasioned their use. I advised him to tell me of his ailment, so I could then say which physics might give him comfort. Comfort, he said, would not help him, but rather, knowing what would make him the worse.”
“Mad,” Jim coughed out, and all concurred.
“And when I put it to him that he might consult with Dr. Galt or young Riddick,” Alex went on, “he said Dr. Riddick might have saved him once, but could no longer be trusted since he took his bed from Widow Carson. ‘And with her,’ he told me. ‘The lot of them do.’ Brennan’s very words.”
Will laughed, a deep rumble in his spacious chest. “Your rent is a bargain, sirs, if it includes such service.”
The others joined in the mirth, saying, “I shall change my lodgings directly,” and “What does Mrs. Carson serve with dinner?” and, from Alex, “Ben certainly wishes it so.”
I chose to let them have their jest, to laugh with them and hold my tongue, but Jim spoke out, “Say nothing against the lady.” His tone was good-natured, though the firelight brought out the blush of his neck, and he hid his displeasure behind his tankard. “What other matron of this town would take John Brennan into her house and tend him in his illness as if he were kin? None would, that’s assured.”
“Aye,” came a quavering voice at our backs. We turned to behold Brennan standing in the doorway, or rather, leaning his weight upon the jamb. The hearthlight, a jovial gold on our faces, seemed ghostly upon his ill-shaven cheeks, and his eyes were sunken in shadow.
“Aye, she took me in,” Brennan said, his brogue bitter as rue. “Took me in when her husband was off in the war. Gave me a warm hearth and victuals while her Tom froze and starved at Valley Forge. Blessed me with her smile, while he could only gaze upon the likes of you.” He let forth the cackle of a lunatic. “Took me in, and now I must take myself out. A dollar to any man who assists me in the removal of my belongings from Mrs. Carson’s house.”
“I should assist you for no pay,” Jim said, rising, “and when your possessions are in the street, I shall be pleased to remove your hide as well.”
Brennan took a step back, bumping a serving lad passing behind him. “No, Mr. Parker. ’Tis not you I require, nor Mr. Dunbar, nor the others who scheme ag’in me. They come into my room, sirs, and poison my food and drink.”
Jim scoffed. “How can we do that? You lock your door always when you leave.”
“Perhaps
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