The inn was quiet, just as Matthew liked, but his head was spinning as he turned the sheets over his head in a bid to quell the growing megrim that wreaked havoc in his temples.

His eyes were still closed, and his mind was slightly tethering at the edge of consciousness, between this way and that. Dreams and reality. He shifted in the bed, thankful for the balance that the supine position gave. His body was sore and pulsing, and the warm spring air rustled the curtains.

Matthew nestled his head deeper into the soft pillows and drifted back into his dreams. For him, escaping reality was something that he did every day and he was proud of it. At least, it allowed his mind to wander past the confines of the new changes in his body. Before long, he traveled past the rose garden back in Mayfield and past the silvery glades misted over by fog. The dreams carried him far and fast, through time and place until he landed back where he started the night before.

In a nightmare.

He was back in the battle trench, his body stricken with fear. His eyes watched the other side – soldiers dressed in blue so dark that it looked like twilight and carrying bayonets. The acrid stench of gunpowder was in the air, and the heat was stifling. Matthew pressed himself into the mud, the only luxury, and antidote that they had against the sweltering heat. He liked how it soothed his burning skin, but his parched throat said otherwise.

His gun was hefted on his shoulder with one eye closed to aim, and all around him, the world ran by in a blur. The cries of fallen soldiers and the smell of death filled the air, and the blast of explosions around him was muffled and distant as if they were coming from another world.

Matthew prayed in the trench, hoping that he would live to see another day and return to camp to cold cornmeal and some milk warmed by the hot air. Sometimes, they had thin soup and when they were lucky, it was condensed milk and sardines. But luxury like that only came once in a while. And that meant a long time.

Around him, the battle continued. Cries and screams filled the air, and he waited there, watching, listening. He remembered the way one of the soldiers lay in the mud, both hands on his stomach blown open by a gunshot and the blood leaking from the injuries. His face had conscious serendipity as his eyes closed in death, a relief of the ravaged world around them.

Matthew could tell that soldiers from the other side were not  closer, as their gunshots carried a distinct louder sound that filled the air with screams. Ants crawled on him in the mud, but he remained, hoping that it would at least buy him some time till one of his comrades saw him and called the others to help.

He was about to move when it dropped. A small black ball, fated to kill him. It whistled when it landed, spinning precariously like a top. Matthew saw the death machine immediately and wanted to toss it back from whence it came. To do some damage at least. But never had he been so wrong.

He could still feel how his slim fingers closed around the ball, the searing flash of light that came after, and the pain that ravaged his body. All he heard was the explosion, and the pain followed immediately after. Matthew was a bloodied, mangled mass, just lying there in the mud and watching as the world tumbled by, unable to do a thing.

Blood pooled around him, mixing with the mud. Matthew screamed in pain, and soon, he was carried helplessly to camp, swimming in and out of muffled dreams and lucid reality.

He shot up immediately, his face clammy with perspiration. His eyes were wide open, and instinctively, he reached for his shoulder. Or what remained of it.

His left arm had been caught in the explosion, and part of his face as well. Matthew rubbed the gnarled stump with his other hand and let out a stream of air through his mouth. His face had healed nicely, but his hand would never remain the same. After the injury that turned his life around, he had been decorated and discharged.

Now, he lived his life far away from people. He stayed in the countryside, writing with his good hand and drinking bottles of liquor. The reclusive lifestyle fitted him like a glove, and most times, no one knew that he was in the estate except the butler, Robert.

Matthew wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew that he would be invaded by nightmares again. Like it had been happening for the past month. He woke up sweating, sometimes screaming and reaching for an arm that was no longer there. He woke up alone, unsaddled by responsibility, and left alone to his devices in the house. Only that this time, he was at an inn halfway from the estate in the countryside and on his way to London.

“Oh my days,” he cursed, rolling out of bed in his dressing robe.

The other sleeve flapped beside him in the breeze when he took his seat at the small desk in the room. The inn was not lavish by any standard, but Matthew had been sore the day before and his stump was so sore that he wanted nothing more than to rest. Staying confined in carriages only made his arm hurt, but he could not decline this invitation even if he wanted to. It was from his mother.

She arrived at the house two days ago, arms flailing angrily as she spoke. His brother’s birthday ball was coming up in a few days, and his mother wanted him to attend it. After the accident that took away his arm, Matthew did not even bother to attend any of the celebrations that came afterward. He did not want the ton gossiping about him, so he stayed where he knew that they would never see him. To spend the rest of his life away from the attention of the ton.

At first, he had not even agreed to go with his mother to London. But she persuaded him with her antics and emotional blackmail and in the end, he acquiesced. From the countryside to London was an uncomfortable journey, and though they were close, Matthew wished that he could tell the coachman to turn around and go back to the countryside.

Matthew wished that his mother had not persuaded him. She did not want him to miss out on the birthday ball when all he wanted was to miss it. They had conflicts from time to time, but these were often addressed in letters. So when she arrived unexpectedly, Matthew had no choice.

‘It has been three long years since the family was last together, Matthew,’ she had said, her eyes softening for a bit after her previous outburst of why he wanted to spend his life locked away. ‘I want us to be together. At least, for your brother.’

Quickly, Matthew took his bath and dressed up in light clothes. He did not bother with a cravat or neckerchief because the air was stifling enough. Also, making a cravat needed two hands, and he did not want anyone fussing around him. He hated the looks of pity directed at him, and he wanted nothing more than to change his present. Looking at himself in the mirror, pale blue eyes stared back at him.

He shivered slightly as thoughts from his time as a soldier came rushing back. His thoughts were diverted by a knock from the coachman.

“The horses have been readied, my lord,” he said, and when Matthew answered, he left.

Grabbing his coat and his other things, he left the inn. When he was about to leave, he paid the innkeeper for his services and added some extra to which the older man smiled.

His mother was already in the carriage waiting for him, and when she entered, she fussed over him and asked so many questions about how he was living alone that Matthew just wished the earth would open up and claim him. Frustrated, he rested his head on the velvet interior of the carriage and watched the rolling lawns of green.

***

Many hours later, the horses were meandering their way around the streets of London. Women dressed in fine and expensive gowns, while men were in tailcoats that were mostly dark colors. They crossed the road through Pall Mall Galleries and Matthew was reminded of when he came there to see the ornate sculptures and paintings. That felt like a lifetime ago now. A fleeting memory.

“Pray, you should reside in London,” his mother said, patting the reticule on her wrist. “We have plenty of space here in London for all of us. And once the Season ends, we can always return to the countryside later in the year.”

Matthew knew that this was a ploy to keep him trapped in London. And he could not let that happen. Not after all the staring faces and the gossip that spread around in a matter of days. He wanted no part in that. Only to live the rest of his life in peace and away from everyone except friends and family. And he did not have much of the latter.

“Mother, We have discussed this extensively, and my response remains unchanged. Even now.”

“London will get used to your presence soon enough and whatever gossip that might crop up will die down with time,” she persisted. “I desire for you to remain in London with the rest of the family.”

“Because I honoured your invitation for my brother’s birthday ball this time, does not mean that I will honour all your petitions, Mother. Even my visit to Town, which I surmise will be a very short stay, will raise wagging tongues,” he answered swiftly before she could say any more. “And I do not want to incite those tongues further.”

She sighed. “Very well, then. We are here.”

Truly, the carriage had stopped for about a minute or two and Matthew wanted to escape the confines of the vehicle almost immediately. His stump ached and even the slight movement sent a lance of pain through his arm. It was itchy even though still dabbed with powder and wrapped with silk bandages, and he wanted to have a warm bath and lots of sleep.

He stepped out of the carriage, steadying himself. Matthew had grown used to this life now – missing his sense of balance, and sometimes, he still felt as if his arm were there. The physician had called it a certain name, but Matthew had not even bothered to learn it. He was just grateful to be alive. He knew the flimsiness of human lives and how quickly they could be ended with the thrust of a bayonet or metal shrapnel that tore through limbs.

Matthew held his hand out for his mother. His muscles burned from sitting in one place for too long, and he groaned. This was one of the reasons why he never wanted to leave his house in the countryside. Having one arm gone came with a lot of unpleasantness and one of them apart from his latest ineptitude with riding was the pain that came with being confined to one position for a while. It hurt, but not enough that he could not hide it. At least, he had been through much worse.

His mother took his hand and used him as a support to get out of the carriage. Hot pain as searing as light spun through his body and it took a lot for him not to grimace. The shadows were getting longer – a sign that night was very well upon them and they hid his face from his mother.

When Matthew came back from the war with one arm, his mother stayed with him in the countryside for almost a year. She fussed over everything, looking at him with pity. But Matthew did not want to be pitied. He was responsible for his actions, and he wanted people to know that. That he had a choice to not have enrolled in the Army at all, but he wanted to at the time. After fighting the good fight, Matthew wanted to rest and not be treated like a child.

“Now that you are in London, you may as well grace us with a smile and put an end to your brooding,” his mother said, smoothing her skirts and whispering something to the coachman. “Consider taking some time to explore the Town and broaden your horizons beyond the limited view of the countryside seen through a small window.”

“I do not think there is much to see, Mother. I have already seen it all when I was growing up.”

“Then visit the club!” she raised her voice.

“And let the other men watch me as I fidget with my glass of brandy as I try to drink it. No, mother. I will not visit the club. I prefer the closed walls of a house. Like this one.”

They were at his mother’s – Elaine Eastwood, Dowager Countess of Mayfield – townhouse, and though it was called such, it was much larger than all of the houses on the streets. Shadows that came from the boughs of elm dappled the pavements, and soft birch dotted the sides of the house. A small garden of roses took up space before the house, and there was enormous space at the front. Enough to host a soiree that would hold about four dozen people.

“Will you have supper in the dining area?” his mother asked as he got to the bottom of the flight of stairs.

He shook his head. “Send it up. I desire to retire to bed early tonight.”

Matthew ascended the stairs with a lot on his mind. First, his brother was holding a birthday ball. Since they were children, George always had a penchant for extravagance. With him coming into his position as Lord Mayfield after their father’s passing, that penchant even grew worse. George hosted balls and gatherings at the slightest events, just like this one. Matthew had received numerous invitations over the months after he returned from war and he had not honored any of them. He deemed them too frivolous, but he did not want to tell George that. His brother had a bigger ego to match his extravagance.

He was a little surprised that his mother had indulged George this time. Usually, it was their father that threw balls, sometimes for absolutely no reason at all. Their mother never encouraged the reckless spending that came with all these balls and gatherings. There was the cost of polishing and clearing, the large bouquet of flowers that came from the most expensive florists in London, food and drinks, and a lot more. But it was a birthday ball, and George was turning thirty.

For someone who had been through the throes of war and had come close to death, it was a milestone worth celebrating, but not worth the fortune that would be spent on it. Matthew was at the top of the stairs now, his right hand clutching the balustrade to stop him from barreling back down. His feet were tired – they often were these days from his body’s imbalance – and after spending so much time in the carriage, he sensed a headache coming. It came almost every day now, especially after a long day, and he would just crawl into bed. Sometimes without even changing his clothes.

He entered his old room, and a sigh left his lips. Everything was unchanged, and it was just the way he left it when he told his parents that he would enlist in the Army. He had been sixteen at the time. Matthew could still recall that morning as if it were yesterday. The skies had been overcast with gray clouds, and the winds howled so much that it rattled the windows. His father was in the drawing room reading the morning papers that had just been delivered when Matthew told him about him joining the Army.

His mother was there too, complaining about some new tattle in the gossip sheets. None of them had been ready for the outburst and they took it rather badly. His father vehemently refused, saying that no son of his would throw his life away like that. His parents had no daughters between them, and being the second child always rubbed Matthew the wrong way. He was usually at the receiving end of George’s mischief and Henry’s skulduggery.

In the end, Matthew left the house without his father’s permission and ran away from home. And sometimes, he wished that he had just listened and stayed back. The only person that accepted his decision to enlist was his uncle, Edmund. After the explosion that claimed his hand and life, he could not return home, even though his father had passed on from a terrible illness shortly after he ran away from home. He stayed at Uncle Edmund’s mansion in the countryside for more than two years, and then his uncle passed too, claimed by the same illness that took his father. Not having any children of his own, Uncle Edmund bequeathed everything he had to Matthew, and it was quite a fortune.

Uncle Edmund owned a winery just south of Bath with a grape vineyard that spanned almost the size of an estate. He supplied wine for London’s finest, and Matthew was now the owner of a vast fortune. One he did not want, at least, if giving it all away would bring his uncle back. He missed the older man so much, and most times wished that he were still alive. Matthew still used his uncle’s past advice and had long given up on the past.

His secretary, Jack, was in charge of the winery now, and Matthew mostly spent his time at home. Flipping to his side on his old bed, he felt a wave of nostalgia warm through his veins. Night had fallen now, and from the silence in the house, he was sure that his mother had retired to her chambers. But Matthew could not sleep. His left arm was throbbing, and no matter what side he slept on, he was uncomfortable.

Tossing and turning, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to come. The silence of the house unnerved him and soon, he was back in the trench, his rifle on his shoulder. Matthew pushed himself away from the dream and returned to reality before the dream could get worse, and he would live his worst nightmare again. Unable to sleep, Matthew rose and donned his greatcoat to keep out the cold. And quietly, he slipped out of the house just as any remaining kind of light was being snuffed out.

***

Matthew walked around the streets of London for a long time, sticking to the shadows. London was usually ablaze with light at night, and that gave room for a lot of shadows. He passed by various mansions and establishments, and even once, he thought of circling back to White’s for a good drink. But he decided against it. Going to the gentlemen’s club would mean ingesting some brandy, and while he liked the taste of the liquid in his mouth, he detested the aftermath. He might indulge himself and get a little intoxicated. And word flew faster than pigeons in London.

In the end, he kept walking on the cobblestone streets, sidestepping the papers flying around in the dark. He kept on past closed shops that served as meeting spots for ladies and their prospective husbands, locksmith shops, and places where they sold expensive tea. Matthew thought about his life after the war, the denial that came from losing an integral part of himself, the recuperation and anger, the dulling of his senses with morphine so much so that the days rolled past in a whirlwind of dreams, pain, and a bitter sense of loss.

At last, his legs took him to the very place he did not think of visiting. James’ house. Matthew wanted nothing more than a nightly stroll, but when he got to the familiar mansion before him, he knew that it must have been fate. After being holed up in the countryside and speaking to no one except the maids, butler, and his secretary, he wanted some more companionship even though he refused to admit it.

Matthew pushed himself past the filigreed gates that were wreathed with blooming wisteria. They shimmered in the night, and with the flight of fireflies, it almost seemed otherworldly. Nothing like the cold ground and sleeping bags in war. But a home that looked comfortable and receptive.

James was a close friend of his and they met at the enlistment camp for new recruits. They bonded almost immediately, sharing a sense of kinship from being second-born children. Matthew and James were mostly side by side both in battle and at the camp. They shared everything together, and the other soldiers started to see them as brothers. When the explosion happened, James had been deployed to the tactical unit, the cavalry as they called it. And Matthew was part of the infantry doing the grunt work because of his physique and skills with the rifle and bayonet.

Then, he had been angry to be separated from James, but now, he was glad that his friend was not in the trench with him. Three years ago, Matthew had lost his arm and returned to the countryside. He exchanged letters with James through those years of solitude, and his greatest delight was in the fact that his friend kept him company with his long letters that took a long time to read. About a year ago, Lord Allden – whom James called Arthur – passed away, leaving the barony to James.

He returned home that year to assume his new responsibilities as Lord Allden. They still exchanged letters, and Matthew always made plans to visit, but canceled at the last minute. This was his chance for redemption.

The door opened after he knocked on it, and James was right there, a silhouette in the darkness. He leaned against the door with bored eyes, and his wavy hair fell across his face. As if he had just rolled out of bed.

“I can revisit if you want,” Matthew said quickly. “I saw that the lights were burning and decided to come over. I know it is late.”

“Hush, Matthew,” James laughed. “My butler has retired for the evening, and you came just in time for a drink. And I insist that you come in, despite your reticence. I might be a little tired, but not for an old companion.”

Matthew laughed and walked in. James led him down the hallway and past a long flight of stairs that he could almost not keep up with. When they reached the study, Matthew plopped on the chair with relief. James took his seat beside the window.

“How is the arm?” James asked. “Is that the reason why you have not visited London in more than two years?”

“Still painful even after all this time,” Matthew replied with a grin to dispel his friend’s concerns. “As you know, my uncle left me with a considerable fortune and I have been taking care of it. It has proven to be quite a challenging endeavour.”

“From what you told me in your letters, Jack is responsible for managing your inheritance. Are you just trying to avoid me in this matter?”

Matthew laughed. “More like avoiding the watchful eyes of the ton. Trust me, to even come back here has taken me a lot of courage.”

“I see,” James replied tenderly and rose to pour out some whiskey from a decanter into two glasses. “Then you will join me for a drink?”

Matthew knew that he could not refuse. Not even when he wanted to. But this time, he did not want to refuse. He was glad and shut his eyes when the amber liquid warmed his tongue all the way down to his abdomen. Like fire penetrating into his body.

He caught up with James on the events in his life, and they talked late into the night. Matthew showed James the stump that remained attached to his shoulder, and it had not been awkward in the list. When the clock struck midnight, they were laughing about a joke when they were in training and James had been too inept to shoot a rifle without shaking.

“So, do you have any events planned, Matthew? You should go out more often, you know. See the world in a new light.”

“I don’t know, Jamie,” he answered truthfully. “Apart from my brother’s birthday ball which I am sure not to miss, I do not have any plans to leave the Mayfair townhouse. I would not have even arrived in London if not for my mother’s pestering.”

James laughed. “Then you must understand when I say that my mother has been pestering me to bring a guest when coming for her soiree tomorrow morning. And thankfully you decided to visit. Who would I have taken along?”

“Is it not too soon?”

“No, it is not,” James waved his hand, the gold ring on his finger shimmering. “Besides, it is a soiree. What else does one need  besides clothes? We are not women.”

“Although I agree, there are numerous arrangements that need to be taken care of. I might not be a lady, but I did not plan any outings. I will…”

He was interrupted swiftly by James. “Never mind that. I insist. And if you happen to feel uncertain, I will be there to comfort you.”

Matthew laughed. “Just like I did when you had no knowledge of the workings of a musket.”

They continued catching up and getting drunk on whiskey and memories long buried.