Mrs. Holloway moved into the room with the efficiency of someone used to taking charge in a crisis. "Now then, why don't you and Mary go downstairs and get some tea for yourselves? You look like you could use it. I'll take care of the young man here."
Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs Holloway cut her off with a gentle but firm look. "It's alright, dear. I raised three boys. This isn't anything I haven't seen before. And I daresay it'll be easier on everyone's modesty this way."
For a moment, Sarah hesitated. The idea of leaving Victor, even in Mrs. Holloway's capable hands, didn't sit well with her. But she had to admit the older woman had a point.
"Alright," Sarah conceded. "But please, call me if you need anything. And let me know as soon as he's settled."
Mrs. Holloway's expression softened. "Of course, dear. Now go on, get yourself warm and dry. I'll take good care of him."
As Sarah left the room, she cast one last glance at Victor. He stood where she had left him, shirtless and shivering, his eyes still distant. But for a moment, just a moment, she thought she saw his gaze focus on her, a flicker of recognition in their depths.
Then the door closed behind her, and Sarah was left alone in the hallway, her emotions a tangled mess of worry, relief, and something else she wasn't quite ready to name.
"Now then, young man," she heard Mrs. Holloway say as the door closed behind her, "let's get you warm and dry, shall we?"
Downstairs, Sarah found Mary in the kitchen, preparing a tray of tea and sandwiches. The younger woman looked up as Sarah entered, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.
"Is everything alright, Miss Whitmore?" Mary asked, her tone carefully neutral.
Sarah nodded, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Yes, thank you, Lucy. Mrs. Holloway is taking care of Victor now."
Mary brought the tea tray to the table, setting it down before taking a seat across from Sarah. For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the gentle clinking of china as Sarah prepared her tea with shaking hands.
"Miss Whitmore," Mary began hesitantly, "if you don't mind my asking... what happened? How did you and Mr. Mallory end up in such a state?"
Sarah took a sip of her tea, using the moment to gather her thoughts. How much should she reveal? The events of the day felt intensely personal, almost sacred in their intimacy. But Mary and Mrs Holloway deserved some explanation for the disruption they had caused.
"We were out on the river," Sarah said finally, her voice low. "There was an accident. The boat capsized, and we fell into the water." She paused, the memory of Victor's panic rising in her mind. "Victor... he didn't react well to the experience."
Lucy's eyes widened. "Oh my," she breathed. "How awful for you both. But especially for Mr. Mallory. He seemed so... disconnected."
Sarah nodded, her hands tightening around her teacup. "Yes, he... he's been through quite an ordeal."
They lapsed into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Sarah found her mind wandering back to Victor, wondering how he was faring with Mrs. Holloway. Part of her itched to go back upstairs, to be by his side. But she knew Mrs. Holloway was right - this was the best way to handle the situation.
After what felt like an eternity but was likely only fifteen minutes, Mrs Holloway appeared in the kitchen doorway. Her expression was calm, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes that made Sarah's heart skip a beat.
"He's settled now," Mrs. Holloway said, her voice gentle. "I've got him in dry clothes and tucked into bed. He's still not entirely... present, but he seems calmer."
Sarah stood, her tea forgotten. "Can I see him?"
Mrs. Holloway nodded. "Of course, dear. But first, you need to get out of those wet things yourself. Lucy, why don't you show Miss Whitmore to one of the other guest rooms and find her some dry clothes?"
As Mary led her upstairs, Sarah's mind was already in the room with Victor. She changed quickly, barely noticing what she put on, her only thought was to get back to him as soon as possible.
Victor was in the bed now, propped up against a mountain of pillows. The borrowed clothes hung loosely on his frame, making him look younger and more vulnerable than Sarah had ever seen him. His hair was still damp, sticking up in places where Mrs Howell had obviously tried to towel it dry.
But it was his eyes that caught Sarah's attention. The wild, unfocused fear from earlier had receded somewhat. Now, as he looked at her, there was a glimmer of recognition in his gaze.
Sarah moved to the bedside, setting the tea on the nightstand. "Thank you, Mrs. Howell. I don't know what we would have done without you."
The older woman patted her arm. "Think nothing of it, dear. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
As Mrs. Howell left, closing the door behind her, Sarah turned her full attention to Victor. He was watching her, his expression a mix of confusion and lingering fear.
"Victor?" she said softly. "How are you feeling?"
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, shaking his head slightly. His hands, resting on top of the blanket, were trembling.
Sarah's heart ached at the sight. Without thinking, she sat on the edge of the bed and took one of his hands in hers. "It's alright," she murmured. "You're safe now."
Victor's fingers tightened around hers, and he tugged gently, almost questioningly. Sarah understood the unspoken request. Kicking off her shoes, she carefully climbed onto the bed, settling beside him on top of the covers.
As soon as she was within reach, Victor turned towards her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His body was still tense, tremors running through him periodically, but his breathing seemed to ease as he pressed close to her.
Sarah wrapped her arms around him, one hand coming up to stroke his damp hair. "Shh," she soothed. "I'm here. You're not alone."
They lay like that for what felt like hours, Sarah murmuring soft reassurances as Victor gradually relaxed against her. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, the steady thump of his heartbeat where their chests pressed together.
As the adrenaline of the day finally began to wear off, Sarah found her own eyelids growing heavy. The rhythmic sound of Victor's breathing was lulling her towards sleep.
As Victor's breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, Sarah allowed her own eyes to close. Questions still swirled in her mind - about Victor's reaction to the accident, about the trauma in his past that had resurfaced so violently, about what all of this meant for their relationship moving forward.
But those were concerns for tomorrow. For now, Sarah was content to hold Victor close, offering what comfort she could through her presence. As she drifted off to sleep, one thought crystallized in her mind:
Whatever came next, whatever demons Victor was battling, she would be there. He wouldn't have to face them alone.
In the quiet of the old farmhouse, with the distant sound of the Thames flowing past, Sarah and Victor slept. And for the first time since their ill-fated boat ride, Victor's face was peaceful, the lines of fear and confusion smoothed away in slumber.
In the quiet of the old farmhouse, Sarah and Victor slept, their breathing synchronizing as they found comfort in each other's presence. And though Victor's dreams were still haunted by shadows of his ordeal, Sarah's steady heartbeat beside him kept the worst of the terrors at bay.
As the night deepened, Mrs. Holloway peeked into the room, a knowing smile on her face. She quietly closed the door, leaving the sleeping pair to their much-needed rest. Whatever had brought them to this point, she mused, it was clear that a bond had been forged between them - one that went far beyond mere friendship or business association.
In the gentle embrace of sleep, Sarah and Victor found a moment of peace, a respite from the tumultuous events of the day. And though neither was aware of it, this night would mark a turning point in their relationship - a moment when barriers fell away and the true connection was forged in the crucible of shared adversity.