by Forbes, Kit
Mrs. O’Connell placed her arm around me again and held me firm. “No dear, you need to get some sleep and a decent meal under your belt. We can’t have you laid up, too. You can’t nurse him if you need a nurse yourself. He’ll be all right for a few hours. Come on. Go up to my flat and have a nice long rest.”
***
While my body felt rejuvenated from the sleep and grew stronger from the hearty stew Mrs. O’Connell fed me, my mind was weary. But that weariness turned to confusion when my father arrived.
“You’re to come home, Eugenia. Your mother has gotten herself into quite a state with worry of the dreadful goings on. She could have been harmed last night; you could have been harmed last night. Have you any idea how close you were to the first murder scene? Too close. Far too close.”
“But Mother was the one who branded me a filthy whore and said I belonged here. You certainly agreed.”
Father gripped the handle of his walking stick so tightly I thought his knuckles would pop through the fabric of his gloves. “We were all angry, Eugenia. We all said things in haste. We’ve had ample time to calm our nerves and think things through. The fact of the matter is that I shall not allow my daughter to keep herself in dangerous circumstances. Besides, your mother has taken ill and needs you there to look after her.”
“Surely Phoebe—”
“She needs a nurse. The best way to get her over this fatigue is prolonged bed rest. She’s as pig-headed as you and won’t rest on her own. I’ve prescribed laudanum to be given at regular intervals. It’s a small precise dosage and I don’t trust Phoebe to get it right. She’s never been as bright as you.”
With a quick, bitter laugh, I shook my head. “You want me home because you need my services. I’m acceptable now because I’m of use to you and Mother.” I gave him a long, harsh stare. “Ironic isn’t it? You’re asking I prostitute my nursing skills in return for comfortable room and board, to get back into your good graces?”
“Eugenia!”
I heaved a sigh and walked to look out Mrs. O’Connell’s parlor window to the cold, foggy street below. The sound of Father’s “oh bother,” and a gentle creak of the old chair broke the silence. He was leaving. This wasn’t an offer he’d make again. My spirit tried to keep me firm in my resolve but the lure of my own comfortable room reached out a seductive hand and gripped my tired bones.
“All right. I’m come home at least temporarily. To look after Mother.” I turned when Father exhaled a slow breath I took for relief. “But I have a favor.”
“What?”
“I’d like to stop at the hospital. Mrs. O’Connell said Mr. Stewart was attacked and injured last night. I’d like to check in on him.”
The quick downward cast of Father’s glance threatened to make tears well in my eyes but I held on to my composure. “Is he desperately ill?”
“The fever hasn’t broken. There may be fluid collecting in his lungs…”
***
Mark
It was so dark, so deadly quiet. It’s like I was trapped in a box and the air was running out. The silence was cold, scary and I concentrated on trying to hear myself breathe or listen for my heartbeat, something to make me know I lived. I was alive, wasn’t I? If I was thinking I had to be alive. That’s the way it worked, right?
The blackness took over. I don’t know how long I was stuck there. I thought I heard my dad somewhere really far away. Pissed off as always. I heard a guitar, a real one, not like the thing I’d found. I tried calling to Dad but it’s like the darkness swallowed everything again.
A strong chemical got in my nose and made me want to sneeze but that came and went the way my dad did.
I tried to move, wanted to sit up but I couldn’t. I felt like a cement block held me flat. And I hurt inside. It was like I was drowning. I tried to cough, to suck in air, but it was so damn hot and dark.
Always dark.
After a while I stopped trying to think and escape it. I let the quiet pull me in, let the blackness cover me.
Chapter Thirty
Mark
The chemical smell was back. Strong as hell; it made me cough. Crap. That hurt. But I had to cough; I had to get the crud out of my lungs. I heaved myself onto my side, sucked up the pain, and kept coughing. I spit the thick nasty stuff out and froze at the sound of a somewhat pissy, “Well, that’s unfortunate. The new girl just swabbed there.”
It took forever to get my eyes to open and flipping onto my back made me hurt all over. The heavy darkness was gone but it was still kind foggy, fuzzy, something.
“Hello there, Mr. Stewart. I’m so glad to see you back with us.”
“Genie?” Was that raspy whatever my voice?
“Well yes, I suppose we did progress to a given name acquaintance, didn’t we?” she said with a goofy smile before kneeling down to wipe up the crap I’d spit out. She set a metal pan on the floor then stood and walked away.
I felt stuck in a Tim Burton flick again as I tried to move my arms. It seemed they were bolted down or made of lead or both. Finally I got my hands up to my face, though my right shoulder hurt like a bitch.
Eyes darting around, I saw other beds with guys older than me. A disgruntled gray-haired nurse walking around the other side of the long room gave everyone the eye. Genie came back carrying a glass of water and I noticed she wore regular clothes so I guessed she wasn’t my nurse. She asked if I wanted to sit up. I cursed myself really fast for saying yes. I was stiff everywhere and hurt so badly, like waking up after being drunk and passed out for a day.
Before I could ask where I was, the coughing hit me again, bringing his good buddy shooting lung pain along for the ride. Genie got the white pan and set it on my lap.
“We may as well leave it there for now.” She touched my forehead like my mom used to do when I was little then pulled a wooden chair to the side of the bed and sat. “You’ll be receiving a group of medical students shortly. You’ve been quite the star attraction of their ward training the past weeks.”
“Weeks? How long have I been here and where exactly is here?”
“You’re at London Hospital. You’ve been here for two weeks since the night—”
“The murders.”
Genie looked a little surprised then something else, maybe ashamed, but she pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “I’ve had word sent to the police station. I imagine your uncle will want to question you—”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “Oh, not that shit again.”
That cranky old nurse gasped and gave me a look of doom as she made her round on my side of the ward.
Genie waited until Nurse Doom left before speaking. “They think you may have been attacked by the murderer and left for dead. Do you remember anything of that night?”
“Not a lot. My head feels like it’s filled with sand. So, if I’ve been out of it for two weeks, it’s October?”
“Yes. It hasn’t quite been two weeks. Today is Wednesday the tenth. Sunday will mark two weeks exactly.”
“So, was he caught? The killer?”
“No. It’s been madness out there. Police everywhere, pulled from all over. Many of them are in plain clothes, and not being acquainted, some have even arrested one another for looking suspicious and out of place. The Vigilance Committee has its own patrols. Inspector Fraser said they’ve made many arrests. We’re all a bit on edge and waiting for it to be over.”
I took a sip of water, trying to remember if that kidney being mailed to the Vigilance guy had happened yet. I also tried to think back to the last thing I remembered. I recalled the cold, the rain, jacking up my ankle. Jack. Right. “How’s that friend of yours? What his name? Jack?”
A male voice answered from behind me. “Dr. Palmer, if you don’t mind. And I’m doing quite well, thank you for inquiring.”
I watched him slide around the bed with a couple minions in tow.
Genie stood and moved the chair back against the
wall. “I’d better be going then. I’m so glad you’re on the mend, Mr. Stewart. I’m sure you’ll be well enough to go home in no time.”
“Barring any unforeseen setbacks,” Palmer added.
That smile of his was way too snarky for my liking but Genie vanished like a phantom and Palmer and his medical minions started prodding and poking, followed closely by Genie’s dad who did it all over again to make sure they’d come to the right conclusion I figured out about two minutes after waking up.
I’d live, no doubt thanks to the wonders of modern vaccinations and the herd immunity I’d brought with me.
That didn’t do much to fix my ankle though or stop the burning ache in what I learned was a stab wound to the shoulder. And I wondered if I could get my hands on peroxide or alcohol or something to kill any germs he might have purposely put in there just now to give me an infection that would kill me since his Plan A had been such an epic fail.
I needed to get out of this place and fast.
***
Genie
“Oh, that’s smashing news, dear. I’m so glad he’s pulled through at last. You’ll have to pop over and let Mr. Gurov know.”
I took a sip of the tea Mrs. O’Connell offered when I arrived. “I don’t think I’ll have time. I’ve really got to get home. Mother will be waking from her nap soon and we’re sure to have a guest for dinner.”
“Dr. Palmer again?”
“Yes.” I forced a smile. “Do you have any more apple tart I might be able to buy for dessert?”
Mrs. O’Connell tried to strike up further conversation about the state of my relationship with Jack Palmer but I extricated myself as politely as I could and headed for home. The very last thing I wanted to do was dwell upon him.
I handed the tart off to Sarah when I returned home and went up to check on Mother. She was gone. I tore down the hall and threw open the door to Phoebe’s room. My sister was sprawled gracefully upon a small divan reading a book. “Where is she? Why weren’t you watching her? Good Lord, Phoebe, it was only for two hours, am I not even allowed that to myself?”
With an exasperated huff, Phoebe set her book aside and sat up. “Did you check the privy? Perhaps she’s soaking in the tub? Honestly, Eugenia how far could she have gone since Father took away her shoes? Why did he lock away her shoes?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
I raced from Phoebe’s room and checked through the house inside and out. I was rushing back upstairs when the attic door creaked open and Mother appeared, looking calm and quite presentable, sans footwear, in one of her good day dresses. “Are you all right, Mother? Whatever were you doing up there?” I went to her and gently took hold of her arm. “Would you like to sit in the parlor? There’s a lovely bit of afternoon sun coming through the garden doors.” I closed the door and lead her down the hall.
“I looked through some of my old things from my days with the Nightingales. I was much like you then, Eugenia, so young and full of the drive to perform good works and save the lives of brave young men.” She stopped walking. “And I did—for a time—but ultimately I failed. I was failed. Your father thinks I’m mad, you know.”
“Nonsense, Mother. He knows you’re simply exhausted from all the good works you still do at the hospital, especially at the infirmary.”
Mother nodded. “I am tired. I think I’ll have another lie down. And perhaps more of my medicine to help me sleep.”
Once Mother was settled, I returned to Phoebe’s room, this time knocking and waiting for her to grant me entrance. “She was in the attic reading through some of her old nursing things.”
“I told you there was nothing to worry about.”
“I suppose.” I closed the door then went to sit on Phoebe’s bed as I used to do when we were girls. Pulling off my shoes, I stretched out upon the soft yellow counterpane. Turned to the side, head propped on my hand, I wondered aloud. “Do you think Mother would be different if she’d remained one of Miss Nightingale’s nurses? I honestly don’t see why she didn’t try. It isn’t as if she raised us single-handedly once we were weaned.”
Phoebe exhaled a long sigh, closed her book, and mimicked my pose. “A wife’s duty is to run her husband’s household and take her place in society. I think Father has been far too lenient with her and her hospital visits. Honestly, out on a midwife call in Whitechapel when she took ill?” She shuddered. “It’s a good thing Dr. Palmer happened upon her when he did and brought her home.”
She paused and grinned at me. “Speaking of Jack Palmer. I imagine he’ll be joining us for dinner again?”
“Apparently.” My voice sounded flat. “He’s here all the time, he’s taken to going to church with us. Whatever will I do if he asks me to marry him?”
“Accept?”
“But I don’t love him.”
“But you like him well enough.”
I plucked at the fabric of the spread beneath me. “He’s pleasant enough, intelligent, and a decent doctor, but shouldn’t there be more, some spark of excitement between us?”
Phoebe laughed. “He’s got the spark down below for you. Haven’t you noticed?”
When the meaning sunk in, I gasped, felt my cheeks enflame but then burst into a fit of giggles. Phoebe did, too, and it was wonderful to hear her laugh again. But then her laughter and smile died. She became the morose widow once more. “I was in love with Arthur and look where it got me. He didn’t look at me the way Jack looks at you. He sees you and you alone.”
“I think he sees a loftier career via Father’s contacts.”
Phoebe sat up. “And this is why marriages based on ‘love’ are pointless. They are transactions to benefit both parties. Jack gets a leg up with his career and you get a handsome, successful husband who can provide you with a comfortable life.” She paused then gave me a long look. “You can’t tell me you don’t appreciate a comfortable life after your brush with independence.”
There really wasn’t much I could say to refute that, was there?
Chapter Thirty-one
Mark
This wasn’t a hospital, it was a prison caught up in a nasty disinfectant containment bubble. I needed to get out of here but I couldn’t even get up to piss without being shadowed by a nurse or a male attendant. Okay, so I could barely get up at all thanks to their crappy sprain treatment, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t been hurt and broken bones before. If they’d have at least given me two real crutches I’d have been long gone. But no, I got to use some lame single crutch thing that was little more than a stick. And it was too short and threw me off balance.
At least my chest didn’t hurt so much when I coughed and the slime that came up wasn’t all thick and green anymore. While the stab wound on my shoulder was achy, I figured it hadn’t gotten infected, no thanks to Dr. Jackenstein. I hated that poser. When Genie’s dad or any other of the old geezer big shots were around, he was Mr. Professional Doctor, but when it was just him and the students or the nurses, his true self came out loud and clear. He was a total condescending douche to the patients. He had an old guy with one arm on the verge of crying at least once since I’d woken up.
And, he was a total effing liar. How else could I explain the crap he spewed during his “bedside chats” when he breezed through on the excuse to check my progress? To hear him tell it, he was turning into the Trambleys’ adopted son.
I decided to get the truth. I caught a glimpse of Genie walking down the hall with her mom. For a minute, I debated whether to try and talk to her because Mrs. Trambley seemed a bit out of it, maybe not stoned out of it, but she didn’t look too good. Was she sick? In the end, I decided to hell with it because I needed to know. Correction, I needed to let her know what Dr. Jackhole said about her behind her back.
The ward nurse and the attendant were puttering around some new patient so I took advantage of their distraction to heave myself out of the bed and half hop to the hallway with my too short crutch. The end of the
hall where Genie and her mom were talking to some old guy seemed four blocks away but I hobbled my way down there, calling out Genie’s name in a loud whisper.
She seemed distracted and a frazzled about her mom. But when she saw me she let go of her mother’s arm and hurried toward me.
“Should you be out of bed? What are you doing?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She glanced back to her mother. “Mother isn’t well. I can’t leave her alone. I shall try to come and visit you tomorrow.”
“This will just take a minute.”
She pursed her lips, breathed a sigh, then gave another quick look to her mom before tugging the sleeve of my long nightshirt. “Let’s move over here.”
We stood in an alcove beside a short wooden bench.
“I’ll cut to the chase.” I shifted, put a little weight on my bad ankle. The stabbing pain was only a long, agonizing achy-burn. “That guy, Palmer. You ought to stay away from him. He’s bad news.”
“And you know this how? Did he not come and hold your hand to ease your suffering?”
What got into her? “He’s just not to be trusted, okay? He treats the nurses and patients like dirt until your dad or one of the other staff doctors is around. He’s sucking up to you to try and get ahead here. I just know it.”
She gave me a long look, her cute mouth narrowing to a thin straight line.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall behind me followed by one of the male attendants calling my name.
Genie frowned. “Go back to your sickbed, Mr. Stewart, and leave Jack alone.”
The attendant caught up to me and clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, you.”
I came this close to whacking him with the crutch but stopped myself. I stood where I was until Genie rejoined her mother and turned down another corridor.
I definitely needed to get out of here. My luck being what it was only Palmer could give the order to cut me loose. I thought of trying to sneak out in the middle of the night but they took my clothes. Oh, it was nice of them to have my stuff washed after I was brought in but they didn’t need to lock my things away until I was discharged. I had a long inner debate about skipping out in this crappy nightshirt, but it was cold out there. Last thing I wanted to do was chance getting pneumonia this time, not with my last chance to get the Ripper coming up in two more weeks.