The Hanging Noose

Thirty-Eight

Dottie stayed at Arrow House. She didn't want to leave Charlie alone, not with Tommy grieving. So she found a spare bedroom and piled in with Eliza and Charlie, wrapping them up in blankets and lighting the fire. She read to them as they dozed off, then found herself distracted with a book against her thighs, underneath her arms were Charlie and Eliza, both nestled in to her and reaching across to touch each other.

"It will be good for the baby to have a sibling," Reggie says pulling down his tie as he stares at Dottie, who seems to be in her own world as she stares at the book shelf, "yeah? I'll let you heal, obviously, but then we'll try again. See if we can make a boy."

"Reggie... I-I don't think that's a good idea. I'm struggling with the pregnancy, let alone having a baby and being pregnant." She sympathises, her attention being drawn back to Reggie.
"Besides—"

"Sweetheart," Reggie says, his face completely softening, "look, we don't have to think about this right now, do we? We've got loads of time together."

Dottie nods, agreeing whilst watching his every step. He walks towards her, placing his hands soothingly on her shoulders.

"I'm going out tomorrow to get some more baby clothes, would you like some more books? I know you've read all of them already. Maybe you would like a few dresses, hm?"

Dottie nods again.

"Yeah? Get you some new makeup as well. Tomorrow, you can make yourself pretty again. We can have a date night."

"Where?"

"Oh sweetheart, still in the house," Reggie confirms, "you're too ill to go out, baby. You need to stay in. You heard what the doctors said, didn't you?"

Dottie nods again, however her bottom lip sticks out. As if she's sulking. Reggie lifts one hand of her shoulder and grasps hold of her chin, pulling her mouth open.

"Take that look off you face. You look like a greedy whore. Is that what you are?"

"No."

"No? So take it off, and smile, eh? Be good, Thea girl. Now go get started on dinner."

Dottie shakes her head from the memory, trying to ignore the sound of Reggie's voice hissing in her ears. She looks down at Eliza. She's thankful. Every time she looks down at her daughter, she can't see him. She can only see her mum. Eliza is how Dottie imagines Polly once looked, with her doe like eyes and her freckles dancing over her face. There's clear traits passed from grandmother to granddaughter. They both have the same glare, and the same mischievous smile.

Dottie strokes away some of Eliza's frizzy hair from her face. She uses her free hand to close her book before she runs both hands over her face, itching away at her skin.

"Dorothea, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Doctor Smith, Reggie's brother."

A spaced out Dottie looks at the man in the white coat. He's tall, with a chiselled jawline. He has a suit on underneath his white coat, it's clear from his shirt and his tie popping out of the white trench coat. Apart from the similarities, Dottie can sense the doctor and Reggie are the same, the same wickedness.

"Reggie's brought you to me because he's worried that you're unwell. I understand you're struggling with the pregnancy, yes?" He asks, taking a seat opposite Dottie, who sits besides Reggie holding on to his hand in a tight vice like grip.

When Dottie doesn't answer, Reggie responds.

"She's been vomiting, she can't keep anything down. Plus she's been hearing things. Seeing things in her dreams, that's when she does sleep. I fear she's going crazy."

Doctor Smith nods his head, looking directly at Reggie. "How far along is she? Has she been going outside?"

"We think she's around three months," Reggie answers, squeezing Dottie's shoulder in a mock comforting way. "She has. She's been travelling in to Small Heath most days."

Doctor Smith nods again. "Right. I suggest you keep her indoors. The fresh air does nothing for sickness, if not it will make it worse." He looks back at Dottie, "Dorothea, I understand you've seen doctors before me? Ones that called you hysterical?"

Dottie looks at Doctor Smith with teary eyes. She rubs her stomach, as if trying to comfort herself.

"Don't worry, I won't be sending you away," Doctor Smith reassures. "I believe women can become ill when they're too focused on society, so what I believe you will need to do is keep yourself in your house, until the sickness stops at least. Once the sickness stops, then the voices should stop."

"What if they don't?" Dottie croaks out. "I'm tired... constantly... I'm paranoid, I think someone's following me every two seconds... I'm always crying."

Doctor Smith looks back at Reggie who subtly nods his head. He looks back at Dottie.
"What I'm going to do, Dorothea, is give Reggie some medication for you. It's a powder form, it's to go in water. You'll take a glass of it every day, twice a day, until the baby is born."

"Will it harm my baby?"

Doctor Smith shakes his head. "No. But I also suggest, you don't have any visitors. They will mess with your moods, they will cause you to be unstable. Do you understand, Dorothea?"

When Dottie doesn't answer, Reggie squeezes her shoulder.

"What about my mum?"

The doctor looks back at Reggie for a slightly second before returning his gaze to a spaced out Dottie.
"You need to put yourself first. This stress isn't good for the baby... you don't want to loose the baby, do you? No? Good. Now follow my instructions. I will be in touch with Reggie, so don't worry, and Reggie has your best interest at heart."

Dottie bolts up. Reggie's voice swims around her head. She yawns, scratching her scalp before looking down beside her, seeing Eliza and Charlie both fast asleep beside her. She crawls out of bed, careful not to wake either toddler ip before stretching. She scratches at her legs, pulling at her skin. She looks down at the toddlers again before pulling on her dressing gown, wrapping it around her. She then moves the spare pillows and blankets to the floor, making the wooden floor softer if either toddler was to roll out of bed. Once wrapped in her dressing gown, she decided she was going to find Tommy. For two reasons. She wanted his permission, granted him being in a better headspace, to tell Charlie about Grace. And two, and wanted to make sure he was okay. Make sure he had eaten and had slept.

She left the bedroom, silently closing the bedroom door behind her. She found Tommy in his office, staring at a photograph again with a cigarette between his fingers. He grunts when he sees Dottie.

"Have you told him?" He asks, watching her as she takes a seat in front of him.

She shakes her head. "No... I wanted to make sure you were sure you want me to tell him."

Tommy nods. "I do... listen, Dottie. I'm thinking of taking the wagon, and go to Wales. There's some business I have to do." He says, placing the cigarette between his lips.

Dottie raises an eyebrow. "Business?"

Tommy nods, inhaling his cigarette. "Mhm. You in, Dots?"

Dottie tilts her head. "What kind of business? The kind Mum hates?"

He shakes his head. "No. It's to do with Grace's death."

"Arthur killed the man, Mum said," Dottie says frowning. "What other business is there?"

"I need to speak to a woman. She's a gypsy, before you give me that look. I need to speak to her, and she's in Wales. Now Johnny Dogs is coming, and I would like if you came with us. Charles loves you, will do him some good if you're there."

Dottie hesitates.

"You won't be in danger, Dots. Plus I think it will be good if you talk to this woman."

"Why me?"

"She can tell you stuff, stuff Polly can't. Now what do you say?"