The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER TEN.

                Pip opened his eyes to darkness. It took him a moment to remember what had happened the previous night. He was dressed, did that mean he was in his own bed?

No, thought Pip. He had spent the night with Oliver. As though sensing that his love was thinking of him, Oliver's arm suddenly tightened around his waist, and Pip realized that he'd turned over in his sleep, his back pressed to Oliver's chest. Waking up to darkness, in such a case, was no surprise. It was time to return to his own bed.

But Pip felt odd. Even before he attempted to push himself out of bed, he knew something was wrong. When he moved, his body felt like lead and there was a strange weight on his chest that he could not quite identify. He was breathing more heavily, and he felt an unpleasant warmth radiating from his own body. He touched his forehead with the back of his hand, and his brows furrowed.

Was he ill? He couldn't quite tell, as it was naturally very cold in the morning, and he felt a strong heat whenever he was with Oliver.

It doesn't matter, he told himself reasonably. If he had enough strength to stand, then he would have to have enough strength to work. It was as Lady Westcott had always demanded.

Slowly, and careful not to wake Oliver, Pip left his room and stopped outside the closed the door behind him, glancing around to make sure no one else had woken.

Pip rubbed his eyes. He looked towards Lord Westcott's door and knew he would be expected at his master's chambers by six. He went downstairs, glancing at the grandfather clock against the wall. Sleep, it seemed, did not want to fade this morning. Pip rubbed his eyes more furiously and squinted at the time. There was but an hour left before Lord Westcott would want him, so Pip decided it would not be worth it to sleep in his own bed now.

Instead, he washed his face and changed out of his clothes. He shuddered at the brief time he spent bare, and quickly threw on another coat over his first. It wasn't merely cold this morning, it was freezing.

The storm carried on, the rain pelting heavily against the roofs and windows. Pip did not dare sit on his bed for fear of falling asleep again, but he went back upstairs to the third floor, down the long hall, and stood by the wall beside Lord Westcott's door, watching the clouds outside.

Pip gazed out at the forest surrounding the manor and wished, not for the first time, that he could go back to the stream. With everything that had happened this past week, he hadn't found the time. He longed to feel free, to sit in the cold water as it ran around him, to feel the rocks beneath his bare feet and Oliver's warm body against his own as they breathed into each other's mouths, their hold on one another tight.

Pip shuddered quietly, pulling the coat tighter around himself. The thought of warmth very nearly had him crawling back into Oliver's bed for another few minutes of peace, though he refrained.

Soon, Pip could hear the other servants waking downstairs, the kitchens come alive as preparations for breakfast began. Smells of sweet pastries and boiled eggs would be wafting throughout the manor at any moment, and while it normally left Pip excited for breakfast, he felt only nauseous at the idea of it now. He couldn't imagine having the stomach for anything ever again.

He wondered if Lord Westcott was planning yet another visit to the Dalton home, if that was where he intended to go every morning, and found himself hoping against it. Yesterday, he might've liked the idea of seeing Alice again, having a friend to talk to with whom he could be honest about his love. Today, however, he not only felt aggravated at the idea of sitting on a coachbox in the cold, but he also feared passing along whatever ailment he was certain to have to the Daltons.