7. The Hospital
THE HOSPITAL
Alex
After almost four years spent living on the streets, I’d learnt something about myself: I was a cold-hearted bastard, and I liked it.
Stealing wasn’t a problem for me. It didn’t cause any moral upset. Lying? A piece of cake. It came naturally to me. I lied even when I didn’t need to. Cheating? If it could save my neck, why not?
Lifting a wallet was a job I’d always taken seriously. Ladies, gentlemen, rich businessmen—they were all equal in front of my stealing skills. There was some justice in that.
Yet Miss Harlowe’s offer of help had shocked me more than the blow to the head her father had given me.
On any other day, if I met someone like her on the street, I would steal her purse, but her candour was disarming. And puzzling. I’d never met anyone who wanted to help me without wanting something in return.
But I only knew how to cheat, steal, and be aggressive to protect myself. How was I supposed to behave with someone as kind as she was?
I tried to ignore the burning in my neck as I walked towards Harlowe House.
Elegant ladies walked past me, and I had to focus on being good not to reach out and snatch a gold brooch or a silk bag. Old habits. Not very old, actually.
I straightened my jacket when Miss Harlowe came out of the house. Her rich blue afternoon gown and matching hat made her sapphire eyes shine.
She smiled when she saw me, and I lost my train of thought.
“Miss.” I flinched when another annoying pang bit me.
Damn wounds. I’d never been clumsy. My ability to eat depended on how fast and agile I was.
What I lacked in muscle strength, I made up for with quick feet and a sharp mind.
But I’d tripped and fallen over in the garden shed.
Strange. The worst thing was that the incident was blurred in my mind.
I wasn’t completely sure a spiky tool was the culprit. I was missing something.
She looked alarmed. “Are they worse?”
“They burn constantly.” I put a hand on my throbbing neck.
“We’d better hurry. We’ll catch an omnibus to Paddington.” She started to go, but I didn’t follow her.
“I don’t mind walking.” My pockets were empty, but she didn’t need to know that.
Her gaze narrowed to a slit. “You’re lying.” Absolute certainty rang in her voice.
“You sound like a copper.”
“Tell me the truth.”
Telling the truth, no matter how small, was against my principles, and a man needed principles. “The omnibus stinks.”
“The truth.”
Damn. I was a good liar. How did she catch me? “I don’t have the money to pay for the omnibus.”
“I do.”
“I can’t pay you back today. You’ll have to wait until next week.” The money I’d set aside so far was for Riley so he wouldn’t kill me.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Going to the hospital was my idea.”
“But I’m the sick one.”
“Let’s go. There’s no need to argue.”
We walked along the shiny pavement of Mayfair, past houses I would never be able to live in, not even as a servant.
When we climbed into the omnibus, nausea left a bitter taste in my mouth as the wounds throbbed harder. Miss Harlowe didn’t seem to fare better. She kept toying with something in her hand while taking deep breaths.
“Is something the matter, miss?”
“The omnibus is crowded.” Her voice shook. “I don’t like crowds.”
“Bond Street was crowded on the day we met.”
“Yes, but I had more space. Here people are too close. I can’t block… It’s difficult.”
I stepped aside from the quiet corner where I was standing. “Move there. I’ll stand in front of you, so you’ll be protected by the walls.” I could afford this small kindness. Just this once.
She looked surprised. “Thank you.”
We switched places, and she stared at me as if I were a hero. If she only knew. As the omnibus rocked and jolted, we didn’t talk. Every time our gazes met, we whipped our heads in opposite directions.
She moved towards the door. “That’s our stop.”
She hurried out, her face tense, and I followed, wishing to say something that would impress her. Another pang distracted me.
The rookery brimmed with people ready to slit my throat, diseases I couldn’t even pronounce, and venomous critters from the sewers. Yet a gardening tool had got me. I didn’t even like gardening.
If I died because of these stupid wounds, I would never forgive myself.
She slowed her pace in front of a marble slab carved with the names of the people who had died during the flu outbreak. There were thousands.
My memories were still fresh. The burning fever, the chills, and the stench of death would haunt me forever.
“So many,” she whispered. “My mama was among them.”
“I’m sorry. My family died as well.” I skimmed the slab.
“Father died first, and to think I believed he was immortal. Mother seemed to get better only to get worse. Odette became delirious and died in the fever hospital. I didn’t even attend her funeral.
She was buried in a communal grave. I’m the only survivor.
” I scoffed. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Why me?
My sister was cleverer and kinder than I was.
My mother didn’t have a bad bone in her body.
My father had worked hard all his life.” My voice cracked.
I blamed the infection. It made me soft.
“Alex…” She stretched out a hand, but I moved out of her reach.
The last thing I needed was pity. It was useless. I’d received plenty of it in my life, and I was still starving.
“I talked too much.” I blinked. “I didn’t mean…” To upset you. But I didn’t say that.
Her kindness was contagious, and I wasn’t sure kindness would serve me well in the rookery.
She folded her hands in front of her. “You can hide all you want, but I know you have a good heart.”
I was about to make a joke, but I changed my mind. She was being kind, and her kindness deserved some respect.
“Thank you.” I didn’t look at her.
The last person who had told me I was good had been my mama.
She remained silent as we headed to the hospital. I shoved my hands in my pockets, not sure whether I should say something.
Miss Harlowe exhaled between her teeth when we stepped into St. Mary’s Hospital.
The building needed a fresh coat of paint, new stairs, and clean windows.
Someone must have bled half to death in the entrance hall where a large brown stain spread across the floor.
And the deep scratches on the wooden benches didn’t bode well.
The hall was packed with all sorts of people—wailing, weeping, and sleeping. Two nurses were wrestling with a man who was shouting bloody murder. The smell of carbolic acid mingled with that of unwashed bodies and poverty.
Miss Harlowe’s chest rose and fell quickly as she held something golden in her clenched hand.
We weaved our way through the packed hall to a reception window.
A strong whiff of fresh blood had my head turning.
My nostrils flared. The scent was like a balm to my burning throat.
I searched for its source. For a split second, my mouth watered, and a wave of sudden anger flared up inside my chest. I wanted to shove all those people aside to find the one who was bleeding and then sink my—
“Are you all right?” Miss Harlowe stared at me with worry.
I blinked and took a few deep breaths. What the hell was happening to me?
“I need to see a doctor.” I faced the nurse at the window.
“You don’t say!” She scribbled something in a ledger. “Name and reason why you need a doctor.”
“Alexander Hart. I have infected wounds on my neck.”
She studied me. “Do you have a profession, Mr. Hart?”
“I work for Viscount Mansel.” There. She wouldn’t send me away, would she?
She turned towards Miss Harlowe. “Can you confirm that, miss?”
A fine layer of sweat glistened on Miss Harlowe’s skin. “I do. Mr. Hart is employed by my father. And I can vouch for his character.”
“Excellent.” The nurse wrote something else. “Take a seat, Mr. Hart. A nurse will call you when a doctor is available.” She handed me a ticket with a number on it. “Keep it until you are called.”
I took the ticket and traced my steps back through the hall with Miss Harlowe as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to smell blood.
“So much pain.” Her breathing became troubled.
“Too many people like on the omnibus.”
“It’s too…” She gasped and tottered on her feet, paling.
“Careful.” I took her arm to steady her, but she shook violently. “Let’s go outside. If you faint on this floor, you’ll get the clap, and it’ll be difficult to explain to your father.”
She put a hand on her stomach. “Don’t be so crass.”
“I can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.” I helped her onto a bench in a small park just outside the hospital.
She leant into me, and the urge to protect her roared to life from some remote corner inside me. I hadn’t felt anything like that since my family had died.
“There you go. Better?” My voice broke a little.
Her face turned green. A new quiver shook her. She bent over to the side and started retching, emptying her stomach behind a bush. I put a hand on her forehead as she threw up. Not sure what the hand did, but my mother had done the same thing whenever my sister or I had thrown up.
She shook again. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I slept under bridges. I ate a sandwich found on the pavement. I can handle this.” I handed her my handkerchief when she finished.
She shivered like a newborn fawn, and her breathing sounded like that of a hardened smoker. And then she started twitching on the ground.