You Must Remember This

Chapter Eight: Drunken Fights and Restless Nights (part 2)

Was it any wonder he could barely sleep? Nearly every time Colin closed his eyes, he saw it.

He'd been so damned distracted, so preoccupied by all Penelope wasn't saying on their long carriage ride. And angry with her, too. He could admit that now. No matter what he said, she kept insisting their friendship was over. He'd been a bit angry with El, too, considering Penelope actually wanted to speak to her...

"Eloise! Please... Wait!" Penelope called out.

Colin glared at El's back, rather annoyed that Eloise was simply walking away from something he'd spent six hours trying to get back. He'd been so caught up in his own resentment that he didn't even see Penelope starting forward until her foot was hovering over the top step, shining with ice even from where he stood.

"Penelope!" he shouted stupidly. He should have grabbed her then. Instead he wasted that precious moment before starting after her. "For God's sake! Don't—" He reached for her, his fingertips barely brushing the edge of her cloak, then gripping... nothing. He stared dumbly at his clenched fist as the screams began.

It was only when his mother grasped him that his horrified eyes slid to her body, feet on the top step, the rest of her sideways, her head resting just off the bottom step, blood puddling around it and spreading in the snow.

He didn't waste another second. Pen couldn't just lay there, not Pen! He only hesitated a moment when he bent to her, scooping her up so carefully, letting out a cry as her head lolled backward. "No!" He firmed up his grip, cradling her head as he carried her, trying to stop the bleeding, but it dripped from her head, warm through his fingers, as he rushed her into the house and upstairs, panting in panic and barely knowing where to go...

His mother, her voice shaking and breathless, yet decisive, directed him to the room that was to be Penelope's. The rest of the house seemed to follow, gathering behind them with some shouts of alarm, some sobs, some whimpers of growing terror... Or was that all him?

Later, Doctor Dorset had tried to quell the alarm, telling them all, in varying states of shock and grief, that head wounds only appear to bleed more than others. "It looks like more than it is and, believe me. It would be worse for her if the blood was not getting out," he'd said, though it did little to reassure anyone at the time, least of all Colin.

All he could see as he gathered her in his arms was the blood, stark even against the red of her hair and even more jarring against her scarily pale skin. It took a full day for her cheeks to regain color. It took even longer for him to stop seeing her blood on his hands.

"I waited too long too move. I let her slip away. My hands..." His voice barely choked out the next words, staring up at his sister now. "They didn't even catch her cape."

"How does that make it your fault?" Eloise was saying, her eyes hard. "How were you to know that she might fall? How is anyone ever to know that such a thing might..." She shook her head. "I was the one who stomped off like a child," she said, her eyes filling. "I was the one who didn't stop when... when she called after me. It was me she was trying to run after when she... when she..."

"El, no!" He stood and pulled her against his chest.

She was stiff at first. Eloise was always a bit stiff when people attempted to embrace her. He rather expected her to pull away, angrily swiping at her eyes because there was nothing El detested more than being caught crying. But then she slumped against him, gripping his vest and burying her sobs in his cravat.

"I never... wanted her... hurt," she said haltingly.

"Of course you didn't. No one thinks that."

"Deep down, you blame me," she sniffled. "You must. You... you barely ever let me alone with her."