Chapter Text
For all his nerves leading up to the rally, Adelaide had to admit, Arthur was on a roll.
After getting over his minor fumble at the start, he quickly found his footing. His voice was swelling and confident as he commanded the stage, taking them all on a journey through his expertly written campaign speech (truly, brava to whomever had been responsible for the final draft). Up to the peaks with stirring imagery, and down into the valleys with rousing, emotive language that harkened to the legacy of the past, but also spoke of the possibilities of the future. He delivered it like he was born to do so, and though she could not say their personal politics were in total alignment, Adelaide watched her new brother-in-law with some measure of pride.
To be quite honest, to see him doing so well was a relief, like the lifting of a weight that’d settled in some time over the last number of weeks as they entered the short campaign and everyone’s anxiety began to build. Though no one wanted to admit it, the family were all on-edge. It had become a near-tangible thing, lurking in the corner of every drawing room they inhabited and over the surface of any dinner table like an unsavoury film atop a jug of milk gone sour.
At first, attested to by Edward’s tired grumbling when he finally made it home of an evening, it’d been over the very real worry of Arthur doing something to fuck it all up again. Though, to his credit, from her own perspective at least, he did seem to be making a concerted effort to get his act together this time round. No mention at all of train tickets or wardrobes or anything of the sort, save from the mouths of his opponents’ campaign teams.
But then, in the previous few days, when she was sat down and informed of the quite credible threats being made on Arthur’s life the tension blackened, shedding any notion of superficiality and taking on an altogether more sinister, stomach-churning quality.
The shift must’ve shown in Adelaide’s face, as all of a sudden, Edward’s hand had reached to envelop her own. His voice softened as he went on to explain that ‘...on the basis of some trustworthy intelligence’, they had reason to believe the upcoming campaign rally may be earmarked for some kind of targeted attack by the Fenian Brotherhood. That of course every conceivable measure would be taken to guarantee the safety of everyone in attendance, but that as a result, none of the women of the family were expected to be present on stage for any of it.
She’d resolved quickly not to think any more on where such trustworthy intelligence had come from, though she could make an educated guess, and to instead be grateful they’d gotten prior warning at all, however it came. She and Edward had found a kind of equilibrium with all of that anyway, at least for the moment, stood side by side in the brewery’s courtyard, shrouded by the darkness of night but softly lit by the light of the moon. Theirs was a situation layered with complexity, but it was something for which they both claimed some degree of responsibility. Beyond their confessions, her genuine and deeply-held affection for him hadn’t changed, and she'd found he was almost more free in expressing his own towards her now that they’d laid everything out on the table as a solid foundation to work off of as they learned how to live with each other; be with each other. How it would all work after the dust settled.
However, as a more pressing matter of concern, the thought of leaving the boys up there alone at the rally in such conditions set about that queasy feeling once more. It was only for how grave Edward’s expression had turned in the muted dimness of the sitting room, really only a slight variance from the natural sternness he so regularly exuded, but one that she saw clear as day, that she had not rejected such a notion outright. Instead, she’d slipped her hand out from under his and took it in her own with a reassuring pat, and a promise to speak with Anne and Lady Olivia as soon as possible.
When it came down to it, they found themselves in unanimous agreement that there was simply no other option than to stand by the boys, together, united as a family. For better or worse.
They were apprehensive, though, of course. Anne, either less so or was simply better equipped at hiding it. But on the day of reckoning, Adelaide had travelled with Lady Olivia to the venue, and though she buried it beneath razor-sharp wit and deflective retorts, the tension could not be fully expunged from her voice.
“Adelaide, darling, we must arrange to go shopping together sometime soon,” Lady Olivia had commented, her gaze snapping away from the carriage window displaying Dublin’s streets as they trundled through them, drawing them ever-closer to what she couldn’t help but feel was the precipice of something. The two of them hadn’t been sisters-in-law for long, and with all the upheaval had not really had a chance to properly get to know each other. Right here, though, at this moment, there was a kinship, at least.
Adelaide’s face crumpled in confusion. Slight surprise, even, for the heavy, pensive silence that’d settled between them to be broken so abruptly. Clothing and accessories couldn’t have been further from her mind at that moment.
Lady Olivia’s expression did not change, but for the raising of one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Whose funeral is it?” she said, by way of an explanation, her eyes flicking down to Adelaide’s rather unlavish black dress in the more functional, modern style she tended to favour.
It succeeded in shaking an unexpected laugh out of her, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d have said Olivia almost looked self-satisfied.
“I’m afraid I have little patience for shopping of most kinds. Gowns and all the fittings associated, in particular," she explained. "My mother’s a strong-headed woman, if she had no luck with me, I don’t fancy your chances.”
Lady Olivia echoed her smile, looking back out the window again.
"And for what it's worth, I do like my attire."
Lady Olivia rolled her eyes. "I will get you in something that isn’t black, beige, or the most boring shade of blue if it kills me.”
“And to the funeral of whoever and whatever has to die in the attempt…” Adelaide smirked. “I shall certainly have something to wear, at least.”
Just as soon as Arthur found his feet in the delivery of the speech, everything seemed to go relatively smoothly. At the point where he made reference to the growth of the business since their father’s passing, of nurturing that success with compassion as well as thrift, Adelaide felt a flutter of pride.
110 new social homes, all within hearing distance of St Patrick Cathedral’s bells.
Unable to stop herself, she leant forward and gave Edward’s shoulder a short little squeeze of recognition. He glanced back, catching her eye, and they shared a brief twitch of a smile.
A handful of seconds later, though, something changed, the energy of the room lurching threateningly, like a ship on choppy waters. On the slightly raised platform of the stage, Adelaide was far enough away from the crowd that it wasn’t immediately apparent what exactly was going on, but she quickly caught on that some sort of skirmish had broken out. Her heart leapt into a gallop, but she swallowed hard against the urge to visibly panic, willing her face into calm as she tried to focus back in on Arthur’s speech. The police had it in hand - Rafferty too, God help them - and no one else on stage appeared to be panicking. She even looked to Byron, whose gaze she noticed was fixed solely on the disruption, but he hadn’t moved an inch from his perch.
What happened in the following seconds, she’d remember only really as a blur of sound and frantic motion. Her blood spiking at the shrill shriek of the whistle.
And then-
BANG.
She flinched, and for that one singular millisecond where her eyes had been closed, she’d actually thought it was the sound of someone’s cane striking the ground. Someone older, not quite so steady on their feet, caught up in that sudden commotion that’d broken out and who had slammed their stick down for balance. Failing that, one of the vendors, perhaps, that’d been selling merchandise who’d dropped one of their wares. In any case, something insignificant such as that.
When she’d inevitably look back on the moment for years to come, she’d cringe at her own naivety.
Lady Olivia let out a short, sharp scream beside her, and the sound cut Adelaide to the quick, bringing everything into startling, devastating clarity as her eyes opened again. What she saw turned her veins to ice.
Arthur diving to the ground just a moment too late.
Her own hand suddenly wet with a misty, crimson spray where it sat in her lap.
Edward slumping to the side in his chair with an undignified grunt, suddenly struggling to hold himself upright, his hand flying up to try and grasp at his shoulder.
It’d happened.
It actually happened.
He’d been shot.
He’d been shot.
Not Arthur; Edward had been shot.
Adelaide’s brain would not cease uselessly repeating the phrase in time with each rapid heartbeat, her horrified disgust threatening to choke her if she let it permeate any further than that surface-level recognition. Before she could allow herself to fully process the thought, however, or the eruption of sound and movement the shot had provoked around them, her muscles acted instinctively first, as if under some divine, otherworldly influence. Without thinking, she dived forward to catch him before he could fall out of the seat.
With a firm grip across his shoulder blades, she quickly encouraged him onto the ground, flat onto his back, as much out of fear of any possible attempt at a second hit as of him potentially losing consciousness. Looking at him now, with his face draining colour, his already pale complexion left ashen and waxy, and his breath stuttering in his chest, escaping him in harsh, exhaustive pants, it looked like a distinct possibility. Particularly when he couldn’t keep his eyes off his shoulder, which was gushing blood at an alarming rate.
What was she supposed to do?
What could she do?
What-
When Adelaide was a little girl, being the relentlessly curious child that she had been, she’d had an unrepentant habit of raiding her father’s personal library when she’d made her way through everything in her own personal stash of books, one her parents were never quite able to keep replenished with how fast she tore through them. In the process, she’d ended up studying an old military text outlining optimal first aid practices in battlefield scenarios.
Though it’d been years upon years since she’d last picked it up, it was unbelievable what distant images buried deep in your memory could be thrown into the light by panic alone.
With one particular page of the tome in mind, railing against her instincts to steer clear of the wound and leave it be, as well as her revulsion at the thought of hurting him any further, she gritted her teeth. No, the bleeding had to be stemmed until an actual doctor could get near him. There was nothing else for it. Pressing the heel of both her hands against it as hard as she could, her stomach jolted at the spasm of pure agony that creased his face with the pressure. She looked around desperately for help, but her vision was nothing but a sea of feet and frantic bodies caught in some violent, cataclysmic riptide.
When she looked back down, Edward’s eyes, usually so calm and precise, were wild, blinking rapidly as he looked around himself before settling on Adelaide’s face and they locked eyes. She’d never seen such an expression on him, never thought it possible for him to look quite so vulnerable and open, so shaken and out of control. There'd been a time when she thought his stare cold and calculating, when she’d only really known him from afar, and had understood that to be the general opinion of others as well. With time, though, she can come to know its warmth.
He seemed to anchor his gaze with hers, bringing a wobbly hand up to grasp at her wrist.
“Dodo?” he stuttered. “What the fuck?” He tried to move enough to crane his neck up to look around again, but she directed him pointedly back to the floor with firm hands.
In any other instance, in any moment in any world other than this one, she would’ve chuckled with sheer incredulity at him swearing at her. It wasn't something he'd ever done. Each word only seemed to deplete his energy further, though, inch by gut-wrenching inch.
“It’s okay…” Adelaide shushed him, and when she spoke she had to try and get the words out around her heart in her throat. “You’re alright, stay down…”
Edward’s eyebrows furrowed, and it was like she could see all the inner cogs working to fully process the realisation through his mind. “It was for me. I’ve been shot.”
Against all odds, a humourless huff of laughter rose in her chest, both chiding and completely unbidden. “Yes, you have been. But you’re going to be okay, just look at me and keep breathing…”
“I-Is everyone else okay?”
“Yes,” she said immediately, even though she couldn't say she knew for sure. “Now shush, and just breathe…”
She knew they’d made sure a medic was on-hand; where on Earth was he? Lost in the crowd? Held back by police? Fled for his life? She’d look if she were not suddenly held hostage by a strange, mystical notion that if she broke their eye contact, looked away from him now, his gaze would be unseeing when she looked back. She didn’t need to look to sense the chaos still raging.
It took imploring him to breathe to realise that she barely was herself.
“Edward…?”
As if from out of nowhere, Arthur suddenly appeared in her peripheral vision. Not a doctor, but someone at the very least.
“Edward!”
Crawling over, he crouched down at Edward’s other side, mouth agape in pure shock, eyes shining as he stared at him. She might’ve instructed him to take over from her, his hands a damn sight bigger than hers and likely capable of a significantly greater power, if his greenish hue did not make him look so evidently like he was about to be sick at any moment. In any case, she realised she couldn’t stand the thought of moving her hands and releasing the pressure even for a second in order to switch places, or of dislodging Edward’s grip on her wrist, so maybe it was just as well.
Instead, Arthur shielded him from view of the baying crowd. He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak further, but no more words came out, the typhoon of emotion swirling in his eyes clear in even just the one glance Adelaide managed to spare him. Sliding one hand under his little brother’s head, he used the other to card his fingers through his hair, the affection in the motion striking Adelaide as inherently natural if long-unpractised, and for some reason it made her heart ache all the more.
“God…” Edward groaned painfully, letting his increasingly slow, heavy-lidded gaze flit over to his brother, words slightly slurred through chattering teeth. “...things must truly be dire to see you this sentimental. I’d prefer if you were dumping whiskey in my face to keep me awake.”
A ghost of amusement passed over his features, she had to suppose it must’ve been some kind of inside joke between them, but disappeared as quick as it came when another wince came over him. “Can we get a fucking medic?!” Arthur finally managed to choke out, if only by forcing it as loud as he could, and with all the air in his lungs.
After what felt like an age, but in reality couldn’t have been more than mere seconds, there was a flurry of thudding footsteps approaching from behind, and a figure finally appeared over her shoulder. The doctor himself was clearly shaken by the attack, his face drawn and pallid as he took in the now quite bloody scene, dropping down beside her just as someone else grabbed her by the arm from behind.
She got the impression the doctor must’ve said something to her, but she couldn’t hear it over the roaring in her ears. Before she knew it she was being hauled to her feet, a fierce terror gripping her chest at the sudden distance between them, a grip that transformed into a crushing weight when his hand slipped away from her wrist.
“Edward–” She didn’t know what she was trying to say, or convey to him. Whether it was a question, command, or a plea, something between either or something else entirely, it barked uselessly out of her throat like it was all she could now say. “Edward.”
Her call succeeded in commanding what was left of his waning attention as the medic got to work, his tired gaze following her as she was resisting being shuffled away. There was something in it, though, that gave her the sense he understood her, and she felt an inch of the franticness she was feeling abate.
“Go on,” he insisted, voice weak as he echoed her reassurances from before. “It’s okay. I’m alright…”
It wasn’t perfect, but for all their marriage’s nuances, they did not lie to each other. It was enough to let her give a shaky nod and be escorted a step closer to the back of the platform.
If it’d been chaos before, downright pandemonium had now erupted in the hall. Forced to fully bear witness to it now, Adelaide felt like she’d just emerged from being underwater. Between frenzied screaming, people lying flat to the ground, and others fighting each other in a stampede toward the exit, it was like nothing she’d ever seen before; something straight out of a nightmare. Police had swarmed the crowd, extra officers running in from out the front of the hall with batons drawn, like ants on a fallen breadcrumb. People were being arrested left and right, others beaten senseless. Did that mean that they hadn’t actually identified the shooter? Had they managed to get away? She did not know who or what she was looking for, but still she searched the crowd.
On one last sweeping glance before being led to the steps at the back of the platform, Adelaide suddenly froze, locking eyes with a woman in the dead centre of the mob. With such flaming red hair and a degree of beauty she could only describe as ethereal, it would have been hard to miss her anywhere she went.
She’d never seen her before, nor had anyone divulged to her what she looked like, but instantly, Adelaide knew who the woman was. It must be her; it could only be her.
Time itself and the world around them seemed to slow to almost a complete halt as they blinked at one another, mutually trapped in the moment, before the woman - Ellen - dragged her stare back to the flurry of activity on the far right side of the stage. Her face was alight with a plain, open-mouthed horror that seemed to lock her to the spot, her stare lingering like she couldn’t quite believe what’d just happened.
However, she was permitted no more than a brief couple of seconds to internalise the scene. All of a sudden, a police officer appeared and roughly seized her by the shoulder, yanking her towards him so he could force her other arm behind her back, and her wrists into a waiting pair of handcuffs.
Immediately, the spell was broken and the roar of the crowd rushed back into Adelaide’s ears as she watched the now apprehended woman struggle against the restraints, her expression turned thunderously indignant, imbued with a blazing fury.
“I haven’t done anything! Stop! I haven’t fucking done anything!”
Adelaide felt the hand that was on her own arm tighten then, pulling her onwards to the back of the stage, and she found she had no willpower left to do anything but allow herself to finally be led the rest of the way to the steps. She tried to steal one last glance at Edward before she went, resigned to the fact that she was now to be at the mercy of other people for news of his condition, but between Arthur, the doctor, and now Rafferty as well who had since joined the fray, she could not even see him.
So her head whipped back up, searching, but the woman was gone.