“A few hours ago. We came here to treat her rheumatism, not kill her!”
Theo put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “She won’t die, sir. She needs rest and fluids, but she’s not feverish. That’s a very good sign. I’ll have the staff bring up a restorative, and your wife must drink as much of it as possible.”
The man nodded. “Is it food poisoning, do you think?”
“I don’t believe so,” Theo said. “Travel can weaken the body’s defenses, so it’s possible she picked up something along the way. I’ll come back in an hour or two to check on her and do some tests. But as long as she stays hydrated, I believe we can have your wife back on her feet in a day or two.”
This seemed to defuse some of the anxiety in the little room. Perhaps he had learned a thing or two about bedside manner after all.
He found his porter waiting for him in the hallway with a large, covered pitcher.
“Thank you. Make sure that stays full, will you?” The porter nodded gravely. “Oh, and I don’t think I ever caught your name.”
“Porter.” Theo must have looked confused, because the man smiled at him reassuringly. “My name’s James Porter. It’s easy enough to remember. Or you can call me Jim. And I’ll take care of things here, Doctor.”
Three cases so far, all with the same startling symptoms. Theo needed to get samples from the hotel’s water supply. If Dr. Greyson thought that the St. Alice’s reputation would suffer because someone dared to utter the word cholera, he was in for a real shock if patients began dying from it.
Theo ordered tea with breakfast to ensure that the water had been boiled. As he ate his porridge, he jotted a list: cisterns, pumps, water pipes, springs, drains, streams, latrines. He racked his brain for more, but damn it, he was a doctor, not a plumber. With proper discretion, he could get samples from within the hotel easily enough. But what if the source of the problem lay somewhere outside in the town? He couldn’t exactly walk up to everyone he met and say, “Good morning! Have you or any of your loved ones experienced any sudden vomiting and diarrhea? No cause for alarm. Lovely weather we’re having.”
He needed someone who could talk to people without raising suspicion. Someone who knew the layout of the town in great detail. He needed someone he could trust and who would be trusted by others. His list of candidates was very short. There was, in fact, only a single name. Theo took another sip of his tea.
Blast. It looked like there was going to be grovelling in his immediate future.
• • •
Haggling for provisions this morning had provided the perfect outlet for Ilsa’s pent-up disappointments. She’d negotiated a penny a pound off the bulk price of onions and even gotten the butcher to throw in some eggs for free along with the roasting chickens.
Laden with the spoils of her victory, she made her way down the boardwalk. As Jo’s confinement drew nearer, more and more tasks had fallen to Ilsa, and it was all beginning to feel like too much to handle. But the shopping was one chore she didn’t mind doing. Jo, as the mayor’s wife, had to play nice and leave generous tips, but Ilsa wasn’t bound by such rules. The general store’s clerk in particular was a pompous windbag who loved to deliver monologues on the proper way to do anything and everything. A sweet smile and a few well-placed compliments, and Ilsa could name her price. Her dance hall training came in handy sometimes. And besides, sharpening her haggling skills was good practice for when she had suppliers of her own. Every chore she took over from Jo was both a distraction from her plans and a small lesson that would help her own enterprise thrive.
“May I speak with you?”
Ilsa’s daydreams of haggling ruthlessly with Vancouver merchants were interrupted by someone touching her shoulder. Theo. So the universe couldn’t grant her this one moment of victory. “You may not.”
“May I walk with you, then?”
“You may walk wherever you like.”
Theo haltingly fell into step beside her, his cane clacking on the planks. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I know I’m always apologizing to you, but I behaved badly.”
“Again,” she said. “You behaved badly again.” She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His cheeks were pinked from the effort of keeping up with her, highlighting the dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Not that she cared. She was annoyed. And annoyed people did not notice the boyish freckles on their annoyer’s cheeks. Still, she slowed her pace.
“Yes, again,” he agreed. “I can’t seem to help but foul things up.”
She sighed. He was maddeningly sincere. Like a puppy dog that didn’t mean to destroy your favourite shoes and wants so badly to do better, but for which shoe chewing was simply an uncontrollable instinct.
“I never intended to insult you. I spent so many years imagining all the terrible things that could have happened to you, I guess I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that you’d been fine all along. Better than fine. And then I assumed you were spoken for. So I was surprised when . . . ” he trailed off. “None of that is an excuse for losing my temper. I’m sorry.”
And now she felt guilty, too. He might be at fault for most of last night’s debacle, but she should at least own up to her own part in it. “By spoken for, you mean Nils Barson?” He nodded, looking miserable. “Nils and I are good friends, but we are only friends. He’s never been interested in anyone for as long as I’ve known him. And he’s off trapping fur all winter, so he smells like a muskrat half the time.”
“But you spent all night dancing with him. You were flirting.”
Ilsa shrugged. “He’s a good dancer. I’m a good flirter. And”—she gathered her courage—“and I may have wanted to make you a little jealous.” Theo brightened immediately, whether from the news that she was not madly in love with Nils or that she’d cared enough to want to make him jealous, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps both.
She couldn’t suppress a smile. “I suppose it worked a little too well. I just wanted to show you that I was happy here. And successful, I suppose.”
“That’s all I ever wanted for you.” They walked a few more steps in silence, and he added, “I’d like us to be friends again, Ilsa. I’d like that very much.”
Maybe she was weak. Maybe she was an idiot. “As long as you’re in town, we may as well be civil. But you can’t keep sulking and snapping at me. I’m not your servant, and you can’t treat me like one. Agreed?”
“Agreed. I promise, this will be the last time I have to beg your forgiveness.”
She laughed. “I doubt it.”
He smiled back. “You’re probably right. But I’ll try.” His expression became serious. He lowered his voice and leaned in a little closer to her. “Now, if I’m out of the doghouse, I wondered if you might help me with a sensitive matter.”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. He’d just finished assuring her that he never meant to insult her, but there were a limited number of topics a grown man would consider “a sensitive matter.” Theo took her arm lightly and steered her off the boardwalk and into a narrow little alleyway between two buildings. She braced herself for something awful, or awfully awkward.
“You really can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” she said.
“I need to find out if anyone in Fraser Springs has suddenly taken ill,” Theo said quietly. “And I need your help getting samples from all the water sources in town.”
Well, this was definitely more intriguing than the price of onions. Not as intriguing as if he tried to kiss her again, but interesting nevertheless. “Why?”
“Because . . . ” She had to lean in to hear his whisper, and the sensation of his breath on the tiny hairs of her ear sent a shiver through her. She ruthlessly suppressed the feeling. Theo was her friend now. Just an ordinary friend, like Owen or Nils. “Some people at the St. Alice are sick. Very sick. I think it’s a waterborne illness, but Dr. Greyson won’t even let me take samples from the patients. So I need to be very discreet. If this gets out
, it could cause a panic. But if there’s something in the water supply, I need to find it sooner rather than later.”
“What kind of sickness?”
“Vomiting and severe diarrhea.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t heard of anything like that going on, but I’ll ask around. Is there anything we should do at Wilson’s? Jo can’t afford to get sick, not this far along with the baby.”
“Boil your drinking water. But you can’t tell anyone why until I know if there’s a real threat. Maybe you could just say that you saw the water was a bit cloudy?”
“I can do that. If Jo—if anyone is at risk, I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“If you could get me a few samples from some water sources, I would be eternally grateful.”
“And you need to know if anyone outside of the St. Alice is sick in the same way?” He nodded. “Okay. How should I reach you?”
“You can send a note to me at the hotel,” he suggested. “Anonymously.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance. If you start getting messages from secret admirers, somebody will stick their nose into that before you can blink.”
He thought for a moment. “Could we meet in person? The spa in the hotel basement is empty after hours.”
So they were back to sneaking around. Just like old times. But she had already pushed her luck by going to his room alone. If anyone had seen her, her name would be volleyed along the town gossip lines for months. “Did you hear that Ilsa Pedersen was seen entering Dr. Whitacre’s hotel room?” would become “Did you hear Ilsa Pedersen was caught stark naked in Dr. Whitacre’s bed? She’s an infamous hussy, you know.” Which would somehow become “Ilsa Pedersen has been boldly seducing men all over town, never taking no for an answer.”
It was probably proof that she should avoid Theo altogether. Plenty of men would be happy to be seen in public with her. All the same, she couldn’t afford to sit by and watch her friends and neighbours become sick.
“I can slip out after supper. And there won’t be as many people out and about after dark.” Fraser Springs was usually quiet after eight, but not so closed down that her presence in the street would be remarkable. “Prop open the boiler room door, where they make the coal delivery, and I could meet you there.” He nodded, his green eyes intense behind his spectacles. “I might need a few days to ask around. Would Sunday be too late?”
“I don’t think so, no. So Sunday night, eight thirty?”
“Sunday night,” she agreed.
“Thank you,” he said, touching her shoulder. “I owe you. Truly.”
She never learned. Not thirty minutes ago, she had never wanted to see his face again, and now she’d agreed to do favours for him and sneak around with him after dark.
This was what she got for wishing for more excitement in her life.
• • •
Buoyed by Ilsa’s cooperation, Theo returned to the hotel and managed to stealthily retrieve water from three different sources. Dr. Greyson would be having his nap—the old man referred to it as his afternoon recess—by now, giving Theo plenty of time to put the samples under the microscope.
When he opened the office door, however, two faces stared back at him in surprise: Dr. Greyson and Mr. Morse sat on either side of the wide desk that took up the majority of the room’s space. Dr. Greyson’s hands were curled white-knuckled around his cane, and he was red in the face. Morse’s whole body seemed coiled tight, like a spring.
“Teddy!” Dr. Greyson barked. “Where the devil have you been?”
“Good afternoon,” Theo said, trying to recover from his surprise. “My apologies. I didn’t realize you were in conversation.” He took a step backwards.
Morse noticed the test tubes in Theo’s hand. “Wait a moment. What are those?”
“Uh . . . ” Theo looked down. “Water samples, sir.”
“They’re nothing,” Greyson blustered. “Since I have expressly forbidden wasting time on science experiments.”
Morse took one of the glass vials out of Theo’s hands and held it to the light. “What, precisely, are you testing for, Dr. Whitacre?” The calm in his voice was edged with warning.
“Contaminants,” he replied carefully.
“Contaminants. I see. So you disagree with Dr. Greyson that my guests are experiencing a bout of stomach flu?”
There was no good answer. “I think that, in cases of sudden illness, one can never be too careful. I am merely trying to eliminate the possibility of other causes.”
Morse’s voice remained even, but Theo could see the muscles of his jaw tensing. “Causes such as?”
Theo sighed. He could feel Dr. Greyson’s anger radiating at him. “I believe it might be cholera, sir.”
“Nonsense!” Greyson exclaimed. “Young doctors see every horse as a zebra, always looking for the most exotic option.”
“Given that the patients do not present with fever or muscle aches, I cannot in good conscience accept that this is merely a case of influenza. It’s irresponsible to ignore the possibility of an outbreak of something worse.”
Morse had begun to pace while the two doctors bickered. “An outbreak. So one of my overpaid doctors thinks the fact that six paying guests are puking their guts out is no cause for concern, and the other is ready to declare my hotel a festering cesspool. Wonderful. You’re both lucky it’s not peak season.”
“If I may . . . ” Theo began.
“You may not!” Greyson said.
“If you’re about to tell me I’m the captain of a plague ship, I don’t want to hear it.” Morse snatched the rest of the samples from Theo’s hands. “You need to spend more time with your patients and less time with test tubes. And you,” he glared at Greyson, “are lucky that whatever sugar water he’s prescribing seems to be working a damn sight better than your bloodletting, because . . . ” He bit back the remainder of his sentence. “The two of you had better get this under control. Quickly, or you’ll both be on the first boat back to Vancouver.”
With that, he strode out of the room, the test tubes still clenched in one fist. Greyson held on to the back of his chair, staring at his hands. Theo steeled himself for the dressing down.
But the old man just sighed and waved him towards the door. “Get out. You’ve done enough.”
Theo could deal with accusations and lectures. Shouting no longer bothered him. But this casual disregard was something he’d never encountered before. It should have been a relief, but somehow it felt worse.
“Yes, sir,” he said softly and left the room. Maybe Greyson was right, and that he was wrong about the possibility of cholera. The older doctor had decades of experience. He had seen epidemics before. But if he was so confident it wasn’t cholera, why did he care if Theo wasted a few hours of time staring down a microscope? Was he worried that something else might be discovered? Or did he just dislike modern methods—or Theo—in general?
The doubt only added to the frustration of his thwarted testing. He would have to replace the water samples Morse had confiscated. Perhaps Ilsa would find something of value, and he wouldn’t need the lab tests at all. If nothing else, at least he seemed to be back in Ilsa’s good graces. That alone kept the day from being a total loss.
• • •
Ilsa’s purchases weighed her down with each step as she continued her errands. She should have told Theo to go to hell. She shouldn’t have talked to him in the first place. Even their brief conversation had drawn stares and little whispers from people on the boardwalk. Theo seemed oblivious, but she knew that look so well. Even here, away from Vancouver’s elaborate social stratification, no one could look at them together without getting a gossipy glitter in their eyes. Even though she was no longer wearing an itchy wool costume or a frilly hat, Theo probably still saw her more like a maid than a friend: running errands for him, doing the difficult work he couldn’t do himself, up for the occasional quick kiss in an empty room.
But she’d agreed to help, and now she had
a potential epidemic on her hands. How on earth would she get the answers to Theo’s questions? It simply wasn’t a natural topic to bring up with the baker, or the cobbler, or the boy at the counter of the dry goods store. Happily, it didn’t take long for the answer to appear. Mrs. McSheen stood at the entrance to Wilson’s Bathhouse, adjusting her hat. This one was made of crushed velvet and covered with silk vines and floppy artificial leaves. A bunch of purple glass grapes on the brim shivered with each step.
Ilsa squared her shoulders. Theo had no idea how much he was going to owe her for this. “Mrs. McSheen!” she called out cheerfully. “How are you today?”
Mrs. McSheen stopped and the little glass grapes tinkled. She gave Ilsa a look that could only signal Deep Moral Outrage, which happened to be Mrs. McSheen’s default mood. “I would be a far sight better if that employer”—she emphasized the word as if it were foreign to her—“of yours weren’t so stubborn! A baby due at any moment, and where do you think I saw her just yesterday?” She paused long enough for dramatic effect but not long enough for Ilsa to attempt an answer. “Walking. Walking along the street, publicly, where anyone could see her.”
Ilsa gave her a sympathetic grimace. “That’s why I’ve taken over most of the shopping,” she said, nodding down at the heavy packages in her arms. “Mrs. Sterling really should be in bed.”
“It’s obscene, is what it is.” Mrs. McSheen gave no indication that she had heard Ilsa. “Why, when I was expecting, I did the correct, Christian thing and stayed indoors the minute I started to show, and saw visitors at proper calling hours. All my female friends and relatives have had proper confinements. Everyone knows it’s not healthy for a woman to exert herself when she’s in the family way.”
Where Ilsa had grown up, women had cleaned fish and hauled nets right up until they gave birth, then returned the next day with their newborns swaddled to their chests. Apparently, some of the things “everyone knows” only applied to the wealthy.
She nodded sympathetically anyway. “Actually, Mrs. McSheen, I’m glad I’ve run into you. And just in time, too!”
The Infamous Miss Ilsa Page 11