Beckett stopped as his throat squeezed tightly. The panic and grief that he’d tried so hard to swallow for the past three days welled up within him so quickly that his eyes stung. He had to fight not to burst into sobs.
Noah was ill. He was very ill. And Beckett didn’t have the first idea what to do about it. If Noah had been afflicted with a stomachache, like the three little sisters, Beckett would have fed him peppermint tea. If he’d fallen and broken his arm, Beckett would have taken him to the nearest hospital. But it was Noah’s mind that was sick, and Beckett had no idea how to cure a broken mind.
Even though he would have given his own heart and lungs to do so.
Noah stirred slightly. “Why did you stop?” he asked in a weak, sad voice.
Beckett forced himself to breathe steadily a few times before saying, “I’ve just remembered that I have an appointment,” in a hoarse voice.
“Oh.” Noah’s single syllable reply held no emotion.
Beckett’s heart broke even further. He wouldn’t be able to hold himself together for much longer, and he didn’t want Noah to see him when he cracked.
He folded the page and closed the book, setting it on the bedside table, then slipped off the bed. From there, he bent over and kissed Noah’s warm cheek. Noah hadn’t bathed since going to bed after the incident at The Slope and he needed to shave, but Beckett didn’t care. He let his lips linger on Noah’s skin before making himself stand and take a step back.
He cleared the lump in his throat, then said, “I’ll be back shortly. If you need anything, Gardener and Miss Turner are here. And it’s a lovely day. Perhaps later we could go for a walk in the park. I still have your and Aurora’s kites downstairs. We could fly them.”
“No,” Noah said, hugging himself tighter under the covers. “I feel too squidgey.”
Beckett’s heart lurched hard at the use of their made-up word. Noah didn’t say anything else, even though Beckett stood there for far longer than was ordinary. He was desperate for the wild, high-spirited Noah who had spun his head around, swallowed him and made him come over and over, and nearly gotten him in trouble at the glassworks. The despondent Noah who had barely moved for days was just as frightening, but somehow harder for Beckett to handle.
He couldn’t hover any longer, so he turned and left the room. Three steps down the hall, and the miserable sob he’d managed to bottle up in Noah’s presence got out. He leaned against the wall, letting the mournful sound escape from him for a moment before clapping a hand to his mouth to stop it.
He didn’t know what to do. Every fiber of his being wanted to do something. Noah was in distress. His lover needed him. He needed someone to hold him and heal him, but Beckett was at an utter loss. Feelings of hopelessness that were stronger than anything he’d ever felt in his life weighed down on him, and he let his tears fall.
He loved Noah. He loved the man desperately, and that was how his love manifested itself. In desperation. It tore him apart atom by atom, but all he could do was watch everything fall apart.
“Sir, is there anything I could fetch for you?” Gardener’s kind voice startled Beckett out of his thoughts. “Tea, perhaps? Something for Mr. Cheevers?”
Beckett straightened and tugged at the hem of his jacket. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, then wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.
“No,” he said, then cleared his throat again to rid it of the lump that wouldn’t go away. “I think rest is best for now.”
Gardener looked at him with deepest sympathy. “Isn’t there anyone who could help?” he asked softly. “I know Mr. Cheevers doesn’t have any family here, but perhaps you could send them a telegram to London? Ask for advice?”
Beckett hated the idea of contacting Noah’s sister. By Noah’s account, the woman had been nothing but mean to him.
There was someone he might be able to turn to, though. Marcus Albright had behaved abominably toward Noah, but the man might have some insight into what could be done.
“There might be someone,” he said, pushing himself into motion and heading down the stairs, Gardener following him. “Gardener, I’m going down to The Slippery Slope to talk to Mr. Albright. If Noah revives or needs anything at all, you will see that he gets it, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir, of course,” Gardener said with a bow.
Beckett felt as though he were moving through molasses as he bundled in his coat and headed into the street. He didn’t want to waste time having his own carriage brought around, so he walked to Park Avenue and hailed a cab.
Less than half an hour later, he stepped out in front of The Slippery Slope. It was Sunday, and while much of the rest of New York was attending church services, the patrons of The Slope were worshipping at their own temple of sin. All the regulars, including Beckett’s closest friends, were already enjoying themselves with afternoon drinks and the entertainment Graham and Alonzo had hired for the day.
“Beckett! Where have you been?” Lawrence hailed him as soon as Beckett entered.
Beckett glanced around the club, tempted to ignore his friends, but he didn’t see Marcus anywhere, so he headed toward the table where the rest of the Frilly Knickerbockers sat.
“Has anyone seen Marcus Albright?” he asked without giving his friends a proper greeting. “I need to speak with him at once.”
Whatever hope his friends might have had for Beckett joining them in a drink were dashed. Their delighted smiles dropped to wary frowns.
“I’ll run and get him,” Robert said, rising and kissing Kelsey’s painted cheek before heading into the back.
Beckett was left glancing self-consciously at his friends. He knew what they thought of Noah and the feelings he had for him.