Page 13 of Ghost of the Ton

“Wh-who…” Mia’s throat caught, and she coughed.

A light hand caressed her forehead. “There, there, ma’am, be steady now. Here—take this.”

Something cold and hard was pressed against Mia’s lips and she jerked back.

“It’s just a little water,” the girl said, her voice a gentle caress.

Mia took a sip, letting the cool liquid trickle down her throat. “Where am I?”

“The hospital at Wolseley Heath,” the girl replied. “We’re all right glad you’re here. We thought you were destined for the—”

“Hush, Tilly!” another voice said. “That’s enough. The young lady doesn’t need to hear it.”

Another face appeared, wrinkled and lined with age, from which steel-gray eyes twinkled with kindness.

“Sorry, Mrs. Ford,” the girl said.

“I told Dr. McIver you were a strong ’un,” Mrs. Ford continued, “but he wouldn’t believe it, fond of you though he is. He’ll be right glad to see you when we give him the news.”

“I-I’m alive?” Mia croaked. She tried to move, but her arms lacked any strength.

“Tilly,” the older woman said, her voice carrying an air of authority.

The younger girl wrapped her arm around Mia’s shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position, while the older women plumped up the pillows behind her. Mia cast her gaze about. Her neck ached as she moved her head, but she had to see—had to know whether the world around her was real, that the women spoke the truth.

She was in a small chamber. Though it contained three beds, only hers was occupied. Other than a table beside each bed and a chest of drawers beside the door, there was no other furniture in the room. The wall opposite was white and plain, save for a nail, below which she could discern a faint rectangular outline, as if a picture had been removed after residing there for years. She inhaled and caught a pungent odor of vinegar and herbs.

“Am I alone here?”

“We have no other patients with smallpox,” Tilly said, “not since Miss Merrill were laid to rest. Dr. McIver’s ever so particular about the risk of infection.”

No doubt he was, given that the odor in the bedchamber was strong enough to ward off the Grim Reaper himself.

The older woman took Mia’s hand. “How are you feeling, my dear? Could you take some water? Or soup? We’ve some broth in the kitchen. It’s very light so shouldn’t overwhelm you. You can’t have eaten for days.”

Mia glanced at the window. “H-how long…?”

“How long have you been here? Ten days, at least. You were in such a state of fever when you arrived that I told Dr. McIver he shouldn’t have tried to move you, but it seemed as if you had to leave London, so he brought you here. It’s a miracle you survived the journey—there was a right downpour the day you arrived. You were soaked through, but the coachman refused to help move you, fool that he was. Luckily Tilly here’s a strong girl, aren’t you, Tilly love? Dr. McIver would have carried you himself if it weren’t for his rheumatism that always plays up in the wet weather. I’ll say that he’s the most…”

She rattled on, and Mia sank back into the pillows and closed her eyes, relishing the sound of the woman’s voice.

I’m alive…

She smiled and let out a sigh.

“Bless me!” the woman cried. “Here’s me prattling on and you’re needing that soup. Tilly, run along to Mrs. Miggs and ask her to set aside a bowl for the lady.”

Lady? I’m no lady.

But Mia had neither the strength nor the inclination to respond. Any such argument seemed insignificant compared to the knowledge that she had cheated the Grim Reaper.

Tilly bobbed a curtsy, then exited the chamber.

Mrs. Ford gave Mia’s hand a reassuring pat. Mia lowered her gaze and caught her breath. The back of her hand was covered with marks of varying colors ranging from angry red to pale pink.

“Don’t you be fretting about those,” Mrs. Ford said in the stern, professional tones of the accomplished nurse. “We’ve a salve for that. Tilly’s been applying it ever since you arrived.”

Mia lifted her hand and inhaled the aroma of lavender and chamomile.