Page 5 of A Most Abhorrent Vessel

At my portico steps, I realise I forgot my keys on my bedside table. I feel embarrassed ringing the bell like a visitor. This has never happened to me before. I’m not the forgetful sort.

The door opens silently, revealing Godfrey behind it. Is there a look of surprise on his usually controlled features? He steps aside to let me in, then checks his pocket watch.

“Has anything occurred?” A hint of concern tints his words.

“No, I just…” How was I to explain this deviance from my usual routine? I was always so regular. So predictable. “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

“Shall I call for tea, or would you rather rest first?”

“I’ll just rest. Thank you.”

“Very well,” he says, closing the door behind me.

I take three steps at a time, locking my bedroom door behind me. I pace to the window and back. Then in small circles. How did I slip like that? Losing composure like a schoolboy. And in public, of all places.

I have a system. A well-practiced façade. It always works. For forty-six years, it’s worked. So what changed? Why today?

I distractedly remove my tie and drop it to the side. My coat follows next. It lands in a corner with a quiet thump. I feel anomalous. My breath escapes as if forced through a coil. My skin is the wrong size. I open the window, hoping the fresh air might help, but the feeling doesn’t subside. I remove my shoes, garters, and hose. Strip every artificial layer I so carefully planned to fit in. To look ordinary.

I shed it all until I’m left pacing in my shirt. I feel utterly ridiculous, roaming my own bedroom like a caged beast. Yet this strange feeling doesn’t subside. I pace for what seems like hours until I frustratedly shut the window and draw the curtains closed.

Still, my chest tightens further.

I tear my shirt off. I want to scream.

What is the matter with me? There is no reason for anger. The blunder at the barber’s was not enough to perturb me this much. What was this strange sensation gripping my being?

I burrow myself in my bed, hoping for relief. But the linens scrape like sandpaper across my skin. I toss them to the ground until I lie bare and alone on the mattress, scowling at the ceiling like a petulant child. I stare and stare as if I’m in a competition I can never win.

Suddenly, a knock on the door rouses me from sleep.

“What?” I growl.

No response comes but the sound of the knob being turned. The door, though, remains shut.

“Why are you bothering me? Can’t I have privacy in this house?” I shout loud enough to be heard on the other side.

“Excuse me, my lord, but I was concerned.” The voice comes through quietly.

I stand up, noticing I’m utterly nude. “Can’t I simply rest for a few hours?”

“It has been a day and a half, my lord. I was worried you might have taken ill.” Godfrey’s usually composed demeanour cracks at the edges.

A day and a half? How is this possible? I’m certain I only slept for maybe an hour. I approach the window. It’s still light out, maybe late afternoon, clearly many hours away from dusk. A quiet knock draws me back into the room.

Slipping on my dressing robe, I open the door. On the other side, Godfrey looks at me with a face full of concern. This is the most expressive I’ve seen him since I was a child.

“I’m sorry to bother you, my lord. I was simply…” he starts.

I interrupt him with an, “I’m fine.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling strangely caught.

“Are you certain you are well, sir?”

Why is he suddenly so insistent?

“Of course, I am. Do I not look well?” I ask.

His face makes it clear that I certainly do not look well at all. When I run a hand through my hair, I feel it sticking up all over my head.