The Soldier: Part One (complete)

Corinne had never been blessed with patience - it was foreign to her anxious disposition. And due to having a rich family, doted on and spoiled by her loving parents, she never had to wait long for things anyway. Her father Xavier was a renowned doctor, while her mother came from a very respected family. It wasn’t until her mother died that Corinne grew out of her spoiled ways and learned to mend her own things, tend a garden, and help her father mind the books. But patience still didn’t come easy for her.

When war was declared, Corinne became engaged to a student of her father’s, Nathaniel St. Clair. When he was enlisted, she promised to wait for him. But then, her father, too, was called out onto the battlefields, his skills needed to save the young men fighting. Corinne was left alone at home, waiting in the suffering of her own anxious mind. She had heard stories and read the papers, no matter how much her guardian, Mrs. Rothchester, tried to keep from her. She waited by the windows, hoping to catch sight of someone, anyone, returning home.

“You sit by that draughty window all day, you’ll catch your death of cold!” Mrs. Rothschild fussed at Corinne, who was working her fingers to the bone knitting. She’d knit to distract her mind, any and every kind of scarf or blanket or hat, often donating her projects to families who needed the extra warmth.

“I won’t catch a cold, Mrs. Rothschild,” she sighed. “I’m fine.”

Mrs. Rothschild went to the window and closed the curtains. This earned her a scowl from Corinne, who stood and opened them again with a huff. “You know I have to see!”

“I know you have better things to do than fret all day. Watching a kettle doesn’t make it boil, nor does watching that road make anyone come home.” Mrs. Rothschild sighed, believing that Corinne would worry herself sick. “You need to get up and do something. What good is sitting here going to do anyone?”

Corinne set down her needles and glanced outside. It had rained all night, and now the slick, muddy track to the house was shrouded in thick fog. Her eyes focused on the fog, trying to project an image upon the gray that would take shape as a person. When she could not, she picked up her knitting again. She had heard stories of soldiers being turned into monsters, living weapons used to kill large numbers of men, while being oblivious to pain. The thought of it made her needles move faster.

Mrs. Rothschild sighed in frustration and returned to the kitchen to fetch Corinne’s lunch. The staff in the house had thinned since the war started. All the men had gone save for Mr. Rothschild, who was far too old to enlist, and Lewis the stableboy who was far too young. The Rothchilds’ daughter had gone to war as a nurse, and one of the maids had vanished in the night not long before the fighting started.

“How’s the girl?” Mr. Rothschild asked as he stepped away from the stove to fill the teapot.

“She still won’t leave that blasted window,” Mrs. Rothschild scoffed. “I fear she’ll go mad like her mother did.”

Mr. Rothschild shushed his wife. “Hold your tongue. She could be listening.”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you not hear me? She’s not leaving that window! I could talk all day about her mad mother and she’d never hear me here.” Mrs. Rothschild sliced some chicken, placing it on toasted bread. “How many chickens do we have left?”

“Lewis said five, but he knows where to get a rooster.” Mr. Rothschild answered.

Mrs. Rothschild sighed heavily. “It’s a choice between eggs and chicken now, is it?”

“At least with chickens we can get two, maybe three meals,” her husband answered. “Keep the bones, make the stock, and what’s left on the bones can be used for mash.”

“But eggs go in nearly every meal,” Mrs. Rothschild fretted. “I’ll talk to Corinne and see if we can spare something to get that rooster.”

“I don’t think Lewis will need money for this rooster,” Mr. Rothschild replied cheekily. “I think it’s more of a… scrounging situation.”

“As long as he doesn't get caught again,” Mrs. Rothschild grumbled. She had just picked up the tray when an ear-splitting scream rang through the house. She jumped with the tray, causing a teacup to crash to the floor.

“Mrs. Rothschild!” Corinne came racing down the stairs, skirts in her fists as she raced toward the front doors.

“Good lord,” Mrs. Rothschild grumbled irritably under her breath. “Calm down! You’ll break your neck!” She chased after Corinne, who had already thrown open the doors and was grinning from ear to ear. “Get inside! What are you on about? You gave everyone in this damn house such a fright with all your…” She stopped when she finally looked into the yard. The gate was open, and a carriage was coming to the door. “My word, it can’t be.”

Corinne broke free of her grasp, rushing out to the carriage as it came to a halt. She bounced with joy when her father’s face appeared. He emerged, stepping down into her wide-open arms. “Oh, my sweet thing!” Dr. Marfont sighed. “How wonderful to see you.”

“I knew it was you!” Corinne sobbed as she held him.

“Biscuit,” Dr. Marfont said gently to her. “I need you to go and prepare the guest bedroom for me.”

“What for?” Corinne asked. “Are you expecting someone?” She peered into the carriage, where a stretcher with a body on top had been laid along one seat. “Oh!”

Dr. Marfont nodded to Corinne. “This young man needs long-term care and there is nowhere else in this world I can care for him. I bonded with the fellow, so I brought him with me until he can heal.”

“I’ll go and fetch Mr. Rothschild to help you get him inside. Then I’ll make sure the guest room is prepared.” Corinne tried to peer more closely at the young man in the carriage, but all she could see was his arm and long, elegant hand.

“Thank you, Biscuit.” Dr. Marfont kissed the top of her head. “We’ll celebrate when I get him settled.”

“That would be wonderful!” Corinne quickly returned to the doors and took Mrs. Rothschild by the arm. “He’s brought an injured soldier with him.”

“We can barely feed ourselves, and he brings a soldier home?” Mrs. Rothschild scoffed. “I swear, he’s done this constantly since he married your mother.”

Corinne gave her a sweet smile. “We need to go and prepare the guest room, and my father needs your husband’s help to get him in.”

Mrs. Rothschild just rolled her eyes. “You go put up the guest room. I’ll hurry my husband along.”

“Thank you.” Corinne walked off down the hallway to the guest room. It hadn’t been used in ages, not since war started. The room was dusty and the air was stale, so Corinne opened a window. As she pulled back the covers on the bed, a spider crawled out and she screamed. She struck the bed over and over again with an ornamental pillow, but the spider had vanished.

“What was that noise?” Mrs. Rothschild came into the room, pulling the old sheets off the bed to put on new ones.

“Nothing.” Corinne was ashamed of her fear, so she didn’t bring it up and instead helped Mrs. Rothschild to change the bed for the soldier. “I wonder what happened to him?” she murmured. “It must have been something terrible if my father had to bring him here.”

“Best not to think of it. Lots of horrible things can happen during war. Gun wounds, amputations, burns…” Mrs. Rothschild shuddered and shook her head. “It’s best you keep your mind away from those things.”

Corinne looked up to the door as her father and Mr. Rothschild came into the room, carrying the stretcher. She scurried behind Mrs. Rothschild, keeping her eyes down as the two men lowered the stretcher onto the bed, allowing the young man to roll himself onto the clean sheets. “I don’t want anyone touching him,” Dr. Marfont instructed as he tucked the soldier into bed. “I will tend to his wounds and bandaging. All I need is for one of you to deliver his meals and medicine when I can’t. Other than that, he is not to be touched.”

“Is there something wrong with him we should know of?” Mrs. Rothschild asked. “It’s not a sickness or a rash he can spread, is it?”

“No, no, of course not,” Dr. Marfont sighed. “This young man is a hero! Saved his mates, but took a lot of shrapnel for it. He got infected from improper care, and that’s why he’s here now.”

Corinne peeked around Mrs. Rothschild, seeing the young man in bed with bandages all over him, including his face. “He looks so pale,” Mrs. Rothschild remarked.

“You would be too, after what he’s been through,” the doctor laughed. “Now, come along. Let’s allow him to rest in peace. I want to see my Biscuit.”

Corinne stepped out, racing into her father’s arms. “I’ve missed you so much!” she said as they left the room. “You hadn’t written in so long, I became terrified of the worst!”

“A lot of mail hasn’t been getting through. If you have not heard from Nathaniel either, that could be the reason.” Dr. Marfront went to the parlor, and groaned as he sank into a chair. “I haven’t had a seat since I went to the front line hospital,” he complained.

“Was it really that bad?” Corinne asked.

“Sometimes worse. There would be times I didn’t know that days had passed.” He settled himself and straightened his back. “I think things will be coming to an end soon. More talks of peace have been spreading.”

“We can only hope so!” Mrs. Rothschild enthused. “I’ll go fetch some tea. Do you need anything to eat, Doctor?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Rothschild. I want rest more than I want food,” Dr. Marfont sighed.

Once Mrs. Rothschild was gone, Corinne got up and sat at her father’s feet, placing her head on his lap. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Dr. Marfont stroked the top of her head gently. “So am I, Biscuit. I’m sure you won’t have to worry much longer either. Nathaniel should be returning home soon as well.”

“That would bring me such joy, to have everyone I love returned home.” Corinne sighed and glanced out into the hall at the closed door of the guest bedroom. “Who is he, father?” she asked quietly. “The soldier you brought home.”

“Lockwood is his name.” The doctor spoke almost dismissively. “I grew quite fond of him. He’s a good man, like I said. A hero.”

“Lockwood,” Corinne murmured. “What else do you know of him? Where is he from? What was he doing before the war?”

Dr. Marfont patted the top of her head. “There’s no reason for you to worry about that, my love. I just ask you to treat him kindly. He’s earned it.”

Corinne looked back at the door. Her father’s answers did nothing to placate her curiosity, and her mind wandered freely about the soldier. She pictured him standing tall and manly, with his long, graceful hands holding a sword or musket, fair and dark-haired, his features sharp but gentle. Like someone in one of her old books.

That evening after dinner, Corinne was tasked with delivering Mr. Lockwood his meal and medicine. She stood before the guest room door, wondering if she should knock, but she simply let herself in, gazing through the dark room. No candles or lanterns had been lit, and the space was shrouded in gloom. “Hello?” Her voice trembled. “I’ve brought you something to eat.” She stepped inside, seeing Lockwood’s shape in the bed, but no other features. “Sir? Are you awake?”

A deep intake of breath answered her call, and the blankets on the bed stirred. “That’s not a voice I am familiar with.” His voice was surprisingly melodic. “Who goes there?”

“Corinne,” she chirped. “Corinne Marfont.”

“The doctor’s daughter, then.” Lockwood murmured. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Corinne swallowed hard. “Are you hungry, sir?”

“I’m not sure,” Lockwood’s voice was strained. “I’ve not known myself since I was placed in your father’s care.”

“Should I light a candle?” Corinne offered.

Lockwood took another labored breath. “No. It’s fine this way. Don’t waste a candle on me, young lady,” he chuckled. “I don’t think there’s much left to see, anyway.”

Corinne set the tray at the bedside, then filled a glass with water. In the shadows she could see the outline of Lockwood’s head wrapped in bandages. She was afraid of him in a way, but her curiosity drew her near. “You poor thing. Try to eat something” She placed her hand on the pale, bare skin of his arm and he flinched, so instead she picked up the bowl of soup and stirred it. “I’ll help you.” Her hand shook as she lifted the full spoon into the air.

Lockwood sighed. “You’re very kind, but I can take care of myself.”

“Let me help,” Corinne insisted. “My father said…”

“I told him not to bring me here,” Lockwood said in a low voice. “I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. If I died, I died, and it would have been a blessing either way. Don’t fret over me, my lady. I do not ask for it.”

Corinne set the spoon back into the bowl. “Why would you want to die?”

Lockwood chuckled. “It’s not something I should discuss with you, my lady. I would hate to make you cry in any way.”

“Mr. Lockwood…” Corinne heard her father coming down the hall. She stood up, still holding the bowl of soup as he came into the room.

“Biscuit! You’re still here?” Dr. Marfront’s voice held a stern edge. “You don’t need to bother Mr. Lockwood, darling.”

“It’s fine, doctor,” Lockwood replied. “I don’t want to be bothersome.”

Dr. Marfont took the soup from Corinne. “Go on to bed, Biscuit. I’ll be taking care of Mr. Lockwood’s bandages now. You don’t need to be seeing this.” He led her to the door and kissed her cheek. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, father,” she said softly. She then peered back into the room. “Good night to you as well, Mr. Lockwood.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Mr. Lockwood sighed.

Corinne went to her room and prepared herself for bed, her mind spinning with questions about Lockwood - his soft, gentle voice, the wrappings on his face, his desire for death. They all cluttered her mind until it was very hard for her to find sleep. As the days went by, she insisted on being the one who cared for Lockwood. She took him his meals and administered his medicine, but while she had rehearsed countless conversations in her head, she could never muster the courage to speak to him. At least, not the way she wanted to.

“It’s so kind of you to look after me, my lady,” Lockwood said one day after she had given him his medicine. “It’s good to have a gentle touch here and there.”

“I promised my father,” Corinne said quietly. She wanted to say more, but she could barely answer him at all.

“It means the world to me, regardless.” Lockwood turned his head away towards the window. “It’s rained since I got here, hasn’t it?”

Corinne watched him, seeing dark hair through the wrappings on his head. His neck was long and elegant, and the curve from his to his shoulder was quite beautiful. His skin was so pale she could almost count the blue veins underneath pressing towards the surface.

“It was raining before you arrived.” Her eyes were focused on that expanse of flesh, so different from Nathaniel’s, which was bronzed, hairy, and sinewy.

“Was it?” Lockwood’s fingers moved back and forth along the coverlet, stroking it to feel the softness of the fabric. “It must be a boring time for you.”

“Not so much. I’ve been worried far too much these days to notice.” Corrine picked up the few dishes Lockwood had eaten from and set them aside.

“About your fiancé?” Lockwood asked.

Corinne stilled, tracing her finger around the rim of a teacup. “And my father.”

“Your father said he was a doctor, too. A student of his.” Lockwood turned his head so he could see Corinne. Her hair was down, falling in ringlets along her shoulders and back, and the deep red color and her dark brown eyes were the same as her mother’s. She had freckles all over her face, shoulders and chest, which she desperately tried to keep covered. She was small enough to be mistaken for a child. Dr. Marfont had said she reminded him of a rabbit, small, helpless and nervous. “You’re very lucky,” Lockwood said gently.

Corinne turned and gave him a weak smile. “Thank you, Mr. Lockwood.” She returned to his bedside, sitting down on the stool there. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“I’m sure you must have better things to worry about, my lady,” Lockwood murmured. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“It’s raining, so there’s not much else for me to do.” Corinne gave him another smile. “Besides, I’d hate to think you were lonesome here.”

Lockwood sighed heavily, but not from any pain. He sighed from a faintness in his heart caused by Corinne’s kindness and beauty. He had been drawn to stories of her told by Dr. Marfont, and seeing her outside his imagination made him even more fond of her. “Perhaps you could read a book to me?” he asked. “A chapter a day until the rain stops, perhaps?”

Corinne nodded. “Certainly. I’ll be right back.” She left the guest room and went across the hall to the parlor, where all the books were kept. She found one on the shelf that held stories inside about fairies, legends her mother had read to her when she was small. She returned to Lockwood’s side, turning to the first story. “There was a knight who had great strength because his soul was chained to the devil.”

Corinne would read to Lockwood every day after this, telling him story after story from the book. It helped to ease her nerves around him, and slowly, she began to talk to him more.

“I did nothing much before the war. I was a nobody,” Lockwood told her. “I worked for a large home, but it’s nothing worth talking about.”

“What sort of family did you work for?” Corinne asked.

Lockwood laughed. “I told you, it’s not worth talking about.” He reached out, placing his hand over Corinne’s. “They were good to me, but there was an accident that made me leave just before the war.”

“What happened?” Corinne was intrigued.

“Never you mind, my lady.” Lockwood squeezed her hand gently.

“Can you tell me about the war?” she murmured. “No one will let me know anything about it. They think I’m feeble or something.” She held onto his hand as if he could run away from her questions. “What did you do out there? Did you shoot someone?”

“My lady,” Lockwood started to say, but he held himself back. “What I did out there, the action in the field, I don’t think…”

“I want to know,” Corinne said urgently. “I hear stories and I don’t know what to believe.”

Lockwood sighed. “There are things you shouldn’t know, my lady.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s dark and ugly, even in daylight. There is blood and rot everywhere you look, lives destroyed, shadows made real. It’s not worth it to put that on your mind. I know how you linger on things.”

Corinne leaned in again and held Lockwood’s hand with both of hers. “I like talking to you. I like being here with you.” She smoothed her hand down his arm. “It’s nice having a friend around again. The house has been so empty for a long time.”

Lockwood sighed heavily. “Be careful how you touch me.”

“I’m sorry.” She moved a hand away. “Am I hurting you?”

“The opposite,” Locwood murmured.

Corinne’s heart throbbed inside her chest, and she placed her hand on him again. She stroked his arm, moving it to that expanse of flesh between his neck and shoulder. Lockwood moaned out of fear, turning himself closer to her fingertips. “I care for you, Mr. Lockwood,” she said softly to him.

“I care for you, Corinne.” His lips parted as she touched him. “But do be careful. Your hands are my weakness.”

She smiled with pride, slipped closer to him, and pressed a small kiss against the part of his jaw that was not covered by bandages.

Lockwood gasped. His mouth opened, and inside she saw the flash of sharp fangs hidden behind his lips. His tongue looked strange as well, almost as if it were split down the middle. He settled, turning his head away and clearing his throat. “I told you to be gentle.”

“I thought I was.” Corinne cupped his cheek, turning him back to face her. “Mr. Lockwood, forgive me.”

She pressed her lips to his. His body jerked, and his hand grabbed her arm harshly, digging into the skin. She pulled back, swooning from the kiss. “I can’t forgive you for that,” Lockwood rasped. He stretched out his long neck, kissing her again.

Corinne moaned softly, then pulled away as she heard voices down the hall. “Corinne!” Mrs. Rothschild yelled from the kitchen.

“Blast her,” Corinne huffed. “I have to go now.” She smoothed down her skirt then tried to cool her cheeks. She didn’t want to look too flushed when going to the kitchen.

“Take care now,” Lockwood said with a smile. “I’ll think of you until next time.”

Corinne smiled, waving to him with a cheeky smile on her face. As she entered the hallway, she came across her father. “Did you hear Mrs. Rothschild calling for you, Biscuit?” he asked.

“Yes, father. I was heading that way to help her in the kitchen.” She blushed, wondering if her kiss with Lockwood was still evident on her lips. She licked them, finding his taste was still there.

“I’ll be a little late,” her father said. “I have to change Mr. Lockwood's bandages and give him an examination. So don’t wait for me.”

“I’ll let Mrs. Rothschild know,” Corinne said.

Lockwood lay in his bed, taking short breaths. His skin crawled, and he looked down to see a spider on his chest. He raised his hand to strike it, but the spider crawled under the bandages on his chest. He struggled, clawing at the bandages in fear as his head spun and his vision blurred. He looked up to see the painting of Mrs. Marfont over the mantel glaring viciously at him. He shed tears, tearing at the bandages while sickness boiled in his core.

“Calm yourself!” Dr. Marfont came through the fog and held back his hands, forcing them down.

“Spider!” Lockwood gasped.

“Spider?” Dr. Marfont fought Lockwood’s hands back down again.

“Bandages…” Lockwood wheezed.

Dr. Marfont unraveled the bandages on Lockwood’s chest and the small spider fell out, scurrying across the sheets and disappearing under the bed. Lockwood fell back against the bed, shaking, trying to suppress his nausea. Dr. Marfont removed the rest of the bandages, exposing Lockwood’s bosom. “I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up.” He checked around Lockwood’s ribs and his breasts just to make sure. There were bruises and healing wounds, but nothing out of the ordinary. “Once you’re healed, I fear you’ll be discovered for what you really are.”

Lockwood laid there, breathing and shaking. “I’ll be found out for many things, doctor. Not just that.”

Dr. Marfront took his bag, pulling out the syringe and bottle of medicine. “Stay still,” he coaxed. “Same as always.”

He took Lockwood’s arm, injecting the medicine. Lockwood shook, grimacing and gritting his teeth through the pain. His veins pulsed dark, pressing tightly against the skin before fading away to blue again. “Doctor,” Lockwood croaked, placing his hand over his breasts to cover them. “Thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me every time. I don’t even think what I am doing is helping,” he sighed heavily. He took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He had met Lockwood several months ago in the hospital. He’d been working for days straight and was resting near the doors when a soldier was brought in by members of his squadron. He’d taken direct fire to allow his comrades to escape, and was somehow still breathing. Dr. Marfont took the young man in despite his exhaustion, giving him his own bed in order to operate. But the doctor was shocked to discover the soldier was a woman in disguise. He didn’t alert anyone else, but instead he operated, saving her life and promising to protect her - a promise which attached her to him as he returned home.

“You’re helping, doctor,” Lockwood assured him. “What I agreed to is what is hurting me.”

Dr. Marfont sighed heavily, rubbing his hands together before taking out clean bandages. He had Lockwood sit up, wrapping them around until there was no sign of his breasts. “War creates monsters,” he murmured. “I just wish it didn’t make them out of the ones we cared about.”

Lockwood took a deep breath. “Once I‘m better, I’ll leave.”

Dr. Marfont was quiet again. He wanted to keep Lockwood safe, but he also didn’t want to expose him to his family, his home. “Whatever works out best,” was all he could say.

Lockwood lay in bed after the doctor left, gazing through the thin bandages around his eyes. The light that came through the window seemed to fade to grey, and there was a shape standing there, a woman. Lockwood reached out, feeling nothing but cold air. They turned their head away and lay there, listening as the rain returned.