A Deadly Fortune

by Stacie Murphy

  “Perhaps.” Cavanaugh’s voice was thoughtful. “But she doesn’t have your gift.”

  Amelia made a derisive noise. “We don’t know if my having my gift will be any help. Elizabeth is as capable of talking to patients as I am.”

  Jonas looked skeptical. “The more people we involve, the more likely it is that someone finds out what we’re doing.”

  “I’m willing to trust her discretion,” Amelia said. “Elizabeth isn’t stupid. She’s not going to walk through the halls shouting Julia’s name. She’ll understand the stakes.”

  Both men looked unconvinced, and Cavanaugh opened his mouth as if he were about to object.

  Amelia spoke first, her voice stony. “Elizabeth has a right to make this choice for herself. Who are you—either of you—to take it away from her?”

  27

  An unexpected wave of relief swept through Amelia when Elizabeth appeared at the mouth of ward seven after dinner the following evening, an orderly guiding her by the elbow. Amelia had Jonas and Cavanaugh watching over her, but they didn’t wake each morning in the wards. They didn’t wait for their portion at mealtimes, hoping whatever they were given wouldn’t be too spoiled to eat. They weren’t dressed in clothes worn thin by institutional soap and countless other bodies. Didn’t worry that a careless word spoken to an irritable nurse would earn them a slap—or worse, a needle in the arm and a day lost in drugged slumber. Sympathetic as they were, neither of the men could understand.

  Elizabeth did.

  Amelia hadn’t realized how much that mattered until now. Perhaps help in searching wasn’t the only reason she’d been so insistent. She swallowed hard against a sudden thickness in her throat and waved for the other woman to join her.

  Elizabeth smiled as she approached. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” Amelia said, making room for Elizabeth to sit. “You’re well? Did Dr. Cavanaugh explain what we’re doing? Did he show you the photo of Julia Weaver?”

  “This morning,” Elizabeth said. “Of course I’ll help search. That poor woman. To take a mother away from her child like that. I can’t imagine what her family must be going through.”

  “Did he also tell you about…?” Amelia stopped, uncertain. Elizabeth had a right to know exactly what her husband had done, but if Cavanaugh hadn’t already broken that bit of news, the middle of the ward might not be the place for it.

  “About Daniel?” Elizabeth’s expression went grim. “He did. I feel as though I ought to be shocked, but I can’t quite manage it. I realized months ago he had no intention of coming back for me.” She sighed. “Do you know, the bit that hurt the most was finding out that Daniel sold the house. My house. I was born there. Both my parents died there.” Her face tightened, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

  Amelia put a sympathetic hand over Elizabeth’s.

  The din of the ward vanished, and her vision went black. Shadows flickered behind her eyes. Amelia gasped, involuntarily tightening her grip on Elizabeth’s hand. The shadows became sharper, color flooding them until they were as vivid as life. Two frozen moments, caught in a balance so fragile that it seemed a feather’s touch would send them tumbling.

  Elizabeth, appearing in a train window as it began to roll away from the platform. She waved to someone, smiling.

  Elizabeth, pale and still on an asylum cot, her eyes open and staring at nothing. A hand brushed them closed.

  The images seared themselves into Amelia’s mind in an instant, and then they were gone. Amelia blinked, and Elizabeth was alive and looking at her anxiously.

  “Amelia?”

  “I’m all right,” Amelia said in a thin, breathless voice. She leaned against the wall, her heart pounding, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples in a vain attempt to quiet the maelstrom growing in her mind.

  Much as she wanted to deny it, she could not. She knew what she had just seen.

  Two futures. Two possibilities.

  And in one of them, Elizabeth would die.

  28

  Jonas arrived to escort Amelia to Cavanaugh’s office only moments later.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning as they stepped into the hallway.

  Still reeling, Amelia drew breath to tell him what she’d seen, the words jostling one another in their urgency.

  Before she could speak, the ward nurse called out to Jonas. Suppressing a look of irritation, he returned to confer with her, leaving Amelia just outside the door. As he bent his head over a file, Amelia’s eyes strayed past him—to Elizabeth, still seated on the bench and looking at Amelia with an expression of mild concern. Amelia forced the corners of her mouth up in what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she attempted to corral her thoughts.

  They had to get her out of the asylum. Quickly. Perhaps Cavanaugh could do something. But if he couldn’t—

  Amelia’s eyes snapped back to Jonas as he stepped away from the nurse. If Cavanaugh couldn’t get Elizabeth released, they could use Jonas’s plan to do it.

  Relief flooded through her. Just as quickly as it arrived, however, it drained away, and a tiny ripple of apprehension spread through her chest. Jonas had a plan—to free Amelia. He would not be happy about using it for someone else. But surely he would see the necessity. He would agree once she explained. Amelia was almost certain of it.

  Almost.

  Amelia’s heartbeat, which had begun to slow, accelerated again as she acknowledged the little sliver of doubt. It was possible—just possible—that Jonas would refuse. Not because he didn’t care if Elizabeth died. But because he wouldn’t want to waste—and yes, that was how he would see it—his plan on someone else, not if he could convince himself it was unnecessary.

  Jonas rejoined her. “What were you going to say?”

  Amelia swallowed, her mind scrambling. “I was about to tell you that I know how we can get Cavanaugh to help with the escape,” she said. “Now. Not in a month.”

  “What?” Jonas’s voice was sharp. “How?”

  In all their years together, Amelia had never lied to him. Her next words could break something between them she would never be able to repair.

  She hesitated for an endless second, then took a breath and forged ahead. “I can tell him that when I saw Elizabeth today,” she said carefully, “I had a vision. That if she stays at the asylum, she’ll die. That we have to get her out, and that we’ll have to use your plan to do it. And then…”

  “And then when he agrees, we use it to free you instead.” Jonas considered for the space of a few steps, then nodded. “It could work. If you can make him believe it.”

  Amelia knew her resolve would break if she looked at him. She kept her eyes pointed forward and forced her voice to steadiness as she replied. “I can make him believe it.”

  * * *

  “You’re certain?” Andrew asked, realizing even as he did so that it was a stupid question. Amelia hadn’t been still for a moment since arriving in his office, and the air around her fairly radiated tension. He sighed and put a hand to his head. “All right. Then we have to get her out. But before we take such a risk, let me try another way.”

  “What other way?” Jonas asked, suspicion in his voice.

  Andrew explained. Since his confrontation with Harcourt, he’d had taken to using Tyree as a go-between, mixing his proposed discharges in with the other doctor’s. Once or twice, it had actually worked. Elizabeth’s record at the asylum, unlike Amelia’s, was unremarkable. She was a good candidate.

  “But if Harcourt or Tyree was involved in bringing her here, they’ll know she’s been discovered,” Jonas said.

  “But they won’t have any reason to think I’ve discovered the plot,” Andrew said. “All they’ll know is that I’ve run across a patient I judge is fit to be released. And at any rate,” he added, “there’s no way I’m agreeing to do it your way without at least trying mine.”

  Jonas looked as if he wanted to press the issue, but he subsided at a gesture from
Amelia, who studied Andrew’s face for a moment, then nodded.

  Andrew took Elizabeth’s file to Tyree that afternoon.

  The other doctor returned less than an hour later, looking apologetic.

  “He refused,” Andrew said. “Why?”

  Tyree, leaning against the doorjamb of Andrew’s office, lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “He did not say. I presented the case and suggested we discharge her. He skimmed the file and declined. It didn’t look to me as though he gave it much consideration, but I did not feel I could argue. We can try again in a few months, if the patient remains stable. Perhaps he’ll see reason then.”

  A few months. If Amelia was right—and Andrew had no reason to doubt her—Elizabeth Miner didn’t have a few months.

  Andrew realized Tyree was looking at him, and he arranged his face in what he hoped was an unconcerned expression. “Thank you for trying.”

  Tyree studied him for a moment, then spoke again, his voice careful. “I do not wish to pry, but I feel I must inquire. You seem burdened. Is it this case alone, or is something weighing on you?”

  For a moment Andrew wavered. Over the past few weeks, his life had become more complicated than he’d ever imagined. Ned’s visit and his search for Julia Weaver. Amelia and her uncanny abilities. Jonas and his deceptions. What a relief it would be to confide it all to someone.

  But he couldn’t.

  Even if Tyree weren’t involved in the scheme—and Andrew couldn’t believe it of him—the other man hadn’t seen the things Andrew had. He would think Andrew was losing his grip on reality. In fact, Andrew realized, that was why he was asking. Tyree had seen one colleague go down a melancholy road, and he was likely afraid Andrew was following in his footsteps.

  Andrew forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  “If you’re certain.” Tyree seemed unconvinced. “But please remember, if you want to talk, I’m just down the hall.”

  * * *

  Amelia examined the interior of the heel of bread, frowning. She dug out a dark speck and studied it more closely. It had legs. Her stomach lurched, and she set the bread on the bench.

  “If you’re not going to eat that,” the woman next to her said, “I’ll take it.”

  Amelia handed it over. She was too anxious to eat anyway. She’d spent the past two days fretting that her deception would be discovered and clinging to Elizabeth’s side like a burr, worried to the point of illness that something would happen before they could get her away. Jonas had been unable to prevent a flash of relief from crossing his face when Cavanaugh told them his attempt to get Elizabeth released had failed. Thankfully, Cavanaugh hadn’t seemed to notice. The plan was moving forward.

  The only one who didn’t know was Elizabeth herself. Amelia grimaced. For all her fine words about Elizabeth having the right to make her own decisions, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell her friend what she’d seen of her future.

  The meal finished, the women began to line up two by two for the Promenade. Amelia took her place beside Elizabeth.

  “I need to talk to you,” Amelia began.

  At that moment, Cavanaugh entered the ward, an orderly behind him, and began making his way down the line. He looked nervous.

  Amelia’s chest tightened. Surely not already. She had thought it would take Jonas another day or so to get ready. Cavanaugh swept his eyes across the line of women. They stopped on Amelia, and he dipped his chin in a tiny nod as he neared.

  It was time.

  “I’m sorry about this,” she whispered to Elizabeth, then drew back a hand and slapped her friend full in the face. “Slut!” Amelia shouted as Elizabeth lifted a hand to her cheek, staring at Amelia in shock. Amelia shoved her, raising her hand as if to deliver another blow. Elizabeth instinctively raised her own hands in defense.

  “Here now,” Cavanaugh cried, catching her by an arm and pushing her toward the orderly. “We’ll have no fighting. Take them both up to isolation while I finish here,” he told the man, who hooked his other hand around Amelia’s arm and pulled her along. The nurses scowled at them as they left.

  The orderly locked them into cells in the isolation wing and departed.

  Late that afternoon, Jonas pushed a cart full of chamber pots through the ward, swapping dirty ones for clean. As he replaced Amelia’s, he shifted his eyes in her direction, then looked significantly at the bowl in his hands.

  The remainder of the afternoon passed at a crawl. Amelia fidgeted in her cell and waited, resolutely avoiding looking at the chamber pot. She forced herself to swallow her dinner. The water in her mug had a familiar bitter tinge.

  Amelia couldn’t suppress a wry grin—it had also been a laudanum night the last time she and Elizabeth had been brought to isolation after “fighting” in the wards. The awful pain in her face had made her glad enough for the drug that evening. There’d been a death on the ward that night, too—the old woman who called for her cat. Amelia’s grin faded, and she shook off a chill. Tonight’s outcome would be different.

  Had Jonas known the ward was going to be drugged? It would make things easier.

  Amelia tipped the mug onto the mattress. She watched as the tainted water soaked into the thin material and waited for the ward to quiet. When the last of the light faded, Amelia slid from the cot. She knelt beside the chamber pot and considered the supplies within.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it before, but the reality of what she was about to do settled in her stomach like a rock. In freeing Elizabeth, Amelia was giving up her own best chance at escape.

  Unless.

  Amelia’s breathing went ragged. It wasn’t too late. She’d never gotten the chance to tell Elizabeth what they were planning. There was nothing stopping her from using the supplies for herself, just as she’d allowed Jonas to believe she would. Cavanaugh would be furious, but once it was done, he would probably play along.

  And Jonas would never have to know she’d lied to him.

  Amelia had the keys to her freedom at her fingertips. Longing surged through her. Perhaps there was time. Amelia could leave now, and if they could somehow get Elizabeth out soon after.…

  Amelia shook her head, disgusted with herself. She knew what she had seen and what it meant. She could leave.

  The price was Elizabeth’s life.

  Still, the yearning was there, sly and seductive. Shame stabbed through her, bitter as gall in her throat. Who was she, to even consider trading another woman’s life—her friend’s life—for her own freedom?

  Amelia buried her face in her hands and crouched, shaking, in a pale beam of moonlight streaming through the window across the hall, childish anger at the unfairness welling in her chest until she thought it might choke her. In that moment, she hated them all. Elizabeth, for her need. Jonas and Cavanaugh, for forcing her to choose between betrayals. Herself, for her susceptibility to temptation.

  And, most of all, her damned, damning, unwanted, unasked-for gift, for bringing her to such a pass and ripping away the fiction of her own righteousness.

  Uncounted minutes passed. Finally, Amelia dragged in a shuddering breath and lifted the lid from the pot, her decision made.

  29

  Andrew loitered in the hallway, holding a stack of files, near enough to the entrance to the ward that anyone coming out would be sure to see him.

  His heart thumped against his ribs. His sweating palms left damp, softened impressions in the margins of the case notes he was pretending to read. Every instinct screamed that this was a mistake. It was never going to work.

  Andrew had always believed Jonas’s plan to free Amelia would fail, even as he agreed to help them make the attempt. He had always accepted that they would get caught and he would lose his job for his role in the scheme. But at least under the terms of the initial bargain, they wouldn’t have tried it until after they found Julia Weaver. Losing his job wouldn’t have mattered—would have been worth it, even.

  But now everything would be ruined. They’d be
caught trying to free Elizabeth. Andrew and Jonas would be fired. Andrew would have to tell Ned that Julia was here but that there was no way to get to her. And Amelia would be trapped. It would all be for nothing.

  Why, why had he agreed to do this?

  Andrew struggled to maintain his composure as he waited for someone to raise the alarm. He flicked his eyes at the door, then dragged them away, trying to calm himself. What was taking so long? The breakfast service should have started by now. If no one—

  A muffled shriek rang out from behind the metal door. Andrew started at the sound, and one of the folders began to slide out of the stack. He fumbled to catch it before it hit the floor and looked up as the heavy door to the ward all but burst open. A white-faced, pale-haired orderly hurtled out into the hallway. The man caught sight of Andrew.

  “Doctor! Come quick!”

  Andrew swallowed. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s blood everywhere, Polly won’t stop screaming.… She’s got to be dead.”

  “Who?”

  “One of the patients, she’s—” The orderly stopped, looking ill. “I don’t know, I only took the one look and then ran to get someone. You have to come!”

  Andrew turned toward his office, feeling like the world’s worst actor. “Let me put these down and get my medical bag.”

  The orderly’s face was grim. “You won’t need it.”

  He led Andrew to the mouth of the ward and all but shoved him through. He did not follow.

  “I’m not going back in there.” He turned and walked away.

  Andrew watched him go and tried to prepare himself. What on earth could have provoked such a reaction? He’d asked for the particulars of the plan, but Jonas refused to tell him.

  “It’s better if you don’t know,” he’d said. “Just make sure you’re near the ward tomorrow morning.”

  Andrew peered down the hallway. A nurse leaned against the wall across from an open cell door, her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking. She must have been the one who’d screamed. She’d stopped, but the entire hall still felt as if it were hanging over the edge of some terrible cliff, as though a tiny shove could tip the whole place into hysteria.