Chapter Five
A low, steady hum vibrated through Mia’s body, which rocked from side to side, as if she were riding a ship across an ocean in a storm. Though darkness surrounded her, the pain that gripped her body refused to fade.
Perhaps Reverend Staines had spoken an untruth when he said that all pain ceased the moment a soul entered heaven.
Or perhaps she was destined for hell…
The hum separated into a multitude of voices, perhaps demons ready to claim her.
“She stirs.”
A voice spoke, gentle and feminine, in contrast to the harsh cackles she’d expected. But perhaps that was how demons ensnared unwary souls, promising softness before delivering retributions for the sins committed in the mortal life.
“Ma’am?”
A hand touched her cheek.
Mia whimpered and opened her eyes. But rather than the fires of Hades, a bright white light filled her vision.
“A-am I in heaven?” she whispered.
A blurred shape appeared. Mia blinked, her eyes stinging with moisture, until the shape came into focus to reveal a young girl dressed in a neat, plain pale-blue gown and apron.
From beneath a starched white cap, wisps of pale-blonde hair peeked out, forming curls that seemed to glow in the sunlight.
She leaned forward to reveal a face with soft blue eyes and elfin features.
It was the face of a girl.
“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.
“The marks will fade in time, though they might never disappear completely…” Mrs. Ford’s voice trailed off as she lifted her gaze to Mia’s face. Then her eyes narrowed as if it pained her to have given offense, and Mia caught a flicker of pity in them.
She lifted her hand to her face, and Mrs. Ford caught her wrist.
“No, my dear. Leave it a week or two, when things have improved.”
Mia lowered her hand. “Fetch me a mirror, Mrs. Ford.”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“Please.”
A sheen of moisture gleamed in the nurse’s eyes. “Are you certain?”
Mia nodded. “I count myself fortunate to be alive,” she said. “I was never a beauty. My ambition was to become a doctor. As far as I’m aware, one doesn’t need to be beautiful to treat the sick.”
“Very well.”
Mrs. Ford rose and approached the chest of drawers.
She opened the topmost drawer and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth.
Then she unwrapped it to reveal a mirror the same size and shape as the mark on the wall, a thin chain suspended along the back.
The mirror facing toward her chest, she approached the bed and paused, then placed it in Mia’s hands.
Aware of the pity in Mrs. Ford’s eyes, Mia turned the mirror, slowly, until her reflection came into view.
The face that looked back was thinner than when she’d last seen it.
And paler. Perhaps that was why the marks that adorned her skin were so prominent.
She turned her head to one side and back, taking in every sore, every scab.
Almost as soon as her gaze fell upon each one, it burned and itched, and she fought the yearning to tear at them with her fingernails.
The resignation in the face threatened to dissolve, and Mia set the mirror aside before the first glimmer of despair became visible.
Mrs. Ford returned the mirror to the drawer, then pulled out a shawl and draped it over Mia’s shoulders.
“Right,” she said, in the manner of a general rallying troops on a battlefield, “I’ll go and see where that soup’s got to.
Tilly’s such a chatter-mouth, I’ll wager she’s gossiping in the kitchens just now, telling them all about your recovery.
But we can forgive her, can’t we? It’s not every day a patient recovers from smallpox.
Oh, you cannot imagine how delighted Dr. McIver will be! He’ll want to visit you himself.”
Mia smiled at the older woman’s joy. “Thank you, Mrs. Ford.”
“It’s no trouble, Lady MacLennan.”
Mia’s stomach clenched at the woman’s address. “I-I beg pardon?”
“I said it’s no trouble, Your Ladyship.” Mrs. Ford dipped into a curtsy. “I’ll leave you in peace, now, and will send Tilly in with your soup.”
Before Mia could respond, Mrs. Ford exited the chamber, closing the door behind her.
Lady MacLennan…
A voice—the same voice that had faded in and out while she’d waited for Death to claim her—pushed itself to the forefront of Mia’s mind. Deep and rich, it echoed through her bones.
Thank ye, lass. I’ll not forget what ye did for me. And I’ll ensure that yer name will live on in the hearts and souls of the people of my home.
She lowered her gaze to her hands once more, and her breath hitched as she caught sight of the thin gold band at the base of the third finger of her left hand.
She lifted her hand to get a closer look, turning it one way, then another.
Then she clasped the ring between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand and rotated it.
She closed her eyes, and two emerald pinpoints flickered in her mind—two bright eyes staring at her through a thin white muslin veil.
Sweet heaven!
Not only was she alive…
…she was married.