Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Ellen rubbed her eyes and yawned. Disoriented, she looked around and recognized Amelia’s one-room flat above the dispensary. Easing up, Ellen glanced down to see Amelia curled on the bed beside her.
The night came flooding back. Groaning, Ellen brushed her hair out of her eyes and stood.
The two women had stumbled back to Amelia’s apartment.
Ellen had made tea, they’d drunk it, and then collapsed on the bed.
Neither had made it under the covers. Amelia had lain down, silent and self-loathing, and Ellen had lain beside her, hollowed out and emotionally exhausted.
Now, Ellen tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirts and bodice and then took the empty teacups to Amelia’s wash bucket. She felt bruised all over—and not just emotionally, though her heart was the sorest.
A knock came at the door. Ellen sighed, trying to put some life in her face, and opened the door. “Yes?”
A young woman with rich, sepia skin and brown, expressive eyes stood in the doorway, a small, wrapped package in her hands. “Hell—oh.” Her broad smile drooped. “You’re not Amelia.”
“I’m Ellen,” Ellen replied, too tired to think of a better response. She fought back a yawn.
The woman peered over Ellen’s shoulder into the small room and could probably make out the two dirty teacups and beyond that, Amelia asleep on the bed. “I-I wasn’t aware she had company.” She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. “I just came to-to—”
Ellen took in her clothing: the pale purple dress with puffed sleeves, the severe bun of her glossy, black hair, and the crisp white apron. “You’re a nurse.”
The nurse was already backing toward the stairs, eyes wide with embarrassment.
“Wait.” Ellen put out a hand. “Are you the nurse from St. Pancras? Amelia’s been talking about you, and I’ve wanted to meet her friend.”
The nurse paused. “You’re...her friend?”
Ellen bit back a smile at the hope in the woman’s voice. “We work together. I suppose you’re here to see how things went last night? I came to help after you left.”
She nodded.
“Come in,” Ellen invited. She glanced over her shoulder to see Amelia stretching in her sleep. “Amelia could sleep through a train barreling through her flat, but I bet she’ll be up soon. I’m sure she’ll want to see you.”
The woman hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
Ellen beckoned her in, curious. “Is that for Amelia? She’ll be so disappointed if she misses you.”
Finally the woman nodded and stepped forward. “My name is Jiya.” She stepped inside and set the package on Amelia’s tiny table, unwrapping the paper to reveal a loaf of spiced bread. “How did it go?”
Ellen sighed, rubbing her temples. “Not good,” she said in low tones. “Mrs. Carlson’s labor didn’t end until dawn, and the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck three times.”
Jiya blanched. She glanced at Amelia, who tossed in her sleep. “Is she…?”
“Not doing well. Blames herself, though how is anyone supposed to know about the umbilical cord?” Ellen sighed, feeling it down to her toes. “I’m glad she has a good friend like you to help.”
Jiya nodded, not meeting Ellen’s gaze.
Amelia made a choking sound on the bed.
Both Jiya and Ellen turned to see her awake, sitting up, fingers clutching the covers, and her eyes wide. “Jiya!” she blurted.
Ellen looked to Jiya.
Jiya smiled hesitantly. “Good morning. Er, afternoon?”
Amelia looked to Ellen. “Is it after noon?”
“Mrs. Daugherty told me not to trouble you if you weren’t awake yet,” Jiya said apologetically. “I should probably go.”
“No! Uh, stay. Stay!” Amelia’s hand went to her hair, trying to smooth sleep’s tangles from it. She looked at Ellen. “This is Ellen, my friend and colleague. She works with the infants and she pays my rent for me.”
Ellen smiled. “It’s a joint effort.”
“It’s nice you’re so close.” Jiya glanced between Amelia and Ellen.
“Ellen was resting here because of how late we stayed out, but she has to go home. And check on her husband.” Amelia tried valiantly to get off her bed with grace and aplomb. “She has a husband.”
“I heard you might have ideas for soliciting medical supplies and donations?” Ellen said.
Jiya blinked and looked at Amelia. “I…suppose?”
“We’re still working out the plan,” Amelia assured them both.
“I’ll leave you both to it. I probably should go check on my husband.” Ellen rose, privately amused at the display. She said goodbye as she walked out the door, but Amelia was still reeling from waking up to Jiya in her flat and didn’t notice. Ellen’s suspicions were right. Jiya was very pretty.
At the bottom of the stairs, she bumped into Mrs. Daugherty.
“Morning.” Mrs. Daugherty peered over the rim of her spectacles. “I gather it was a long night. When I came this morning, I looked in on Amelia and saw you both asleep, still dressed.”
Ellen gave her a summary of what had occurred. “Amelia didn’t mean to sleep so late. I’m sure there’s a score of patients upset and waiting.”
The old woman shook her head. “If they have something serious, I’m telling them to go to the Royal Free Hospital. If they can wait, they’re coming back tomorrow.”
Ellen smiled. “Amelia’s not going to like that.”
“They hardly pay anyway, so it’s no loss to her profits.
” Mrs. Daugherty turned back to whatever she was grinding in her mortar.
“I know you’re curious, so I’ll go ahead and tell you the O’Malley children are settled in Spitalfields with one of their father’s cousins.
I met them, and they seem nice. The cousin runs a rag shop with his wife.
Their oldest is grown and in school to be a Nightingale nurse, I believe.
” She paused, looking Ellen up and down.
“You go home and rest, too. I’ve got the dispensary covered today. ”
Ellen was so tired she didn’t even protest. She stumbled to a cab, gave the direction, and stumbled into her own home.
“Madam!” Gaye wrung his hands as he opened the door. “Thank goodness it’s you. We have all been wondering where you’d gone and if we needed to call the police.”
Ellen shook off her cloak and other winter garments and handed them to the elderly butler. “My husband knew precisely where I was.”
He shook his head. “We don’t know where he is either. We’d hoped he was with you.”
Ellen’s heart lodged somewhere in her throat. “You don’t know where he is?”
Gaye, clearly frustrated at the circles the conversation was going in, shook his head again. “We’ve had no note, no word, and I’m considering the police at this point.”
Did he leave me? The thought was a punch to her gut. Last night was too difficult. I shouldn’t have let him come. I’ve scared him off. Ellen forced her shaking hands to still. “I am ready for the midday meal. Is Cook able to prepare it earlier than usual?”
Gaye blinked. “But.”
“We parted ways around dawn,” Ellen said. “I’m sure he’s just socializing at White’s.”
“He doesn’t have a membership at White’s, madam.”
She fought the rising panic. He left. He left. He left me. Again. She couldn’t bear her heart breaking a second time. “If he’s not back by teatime, then we’ll send word to his brother and see about next steps.” That sounded calm and reasonable, right? Not like her heart was cracking?
Ellen had a bath, changed into new clothes, and ate lunch by herself in the dining room. Her fear and anguish slowly turned to anger. How dare that man leave me? After promising we had all the time in the world together!
She reflected on what she could remember from last night.
Amelia had known, based on the baby’s faltering heartbeat, what the outcome probably would be.
Ellen remembered little more than going out and staring at the wall.
Her all-encompassing emotion from last night was bone-weary sadness.
The sadness that kept her in bed for nearly seven months after Constance.
The sadness that made it seem completely pointless to get up and get dressed each day.
It scared her, that melancholy. She’d clawed and fought her way out of it, when she realized she could honor Constance in better, healthier ways than staring at her bedroom wall for the rest of her life.
Sometimes it crept back at her, the black edges of melancholy, during certain times of the year, like the end of May.
Usually, it caught at her whenever she was around another woman’s stillbirth.
Like last night. And she’d kept it at bay, mostly because of Mark’s presence.
Perhaps she’d missed something from Mark because of her struggle. He’d cried, she remembered. He’d been so distraught that she’d become the leader of the three of them. And he’d been too upset to get in the cab with her and Amelia.
Now Ellen didn’t know what to feel. Sadness? Betrayal? Worry? Was he falling into a pit of despair because of what he’d witnessed?
At the end of dinner, Ellen decided to find Luke.
She could’ve sent a message, but her feet tapped the floor and her hands twitched at her sides.
Knowing the servants would be scandalized by a lady running her own message, she quietly slipped on her walking boots, heaved her winter gear on, and left after whispering where she was going to the footman.
Instead of crossing into SoHo, where Luke lived, she went the opposite way, deeper into Mayfair. Ellen didn’t know where or why she was going, she just knew if she was going to search and find Mark, she needed more peace of mind before she confronted him.
After fifteen moments, Ellen touched the wrought iron fence before her reverently.
She hadn’t meant to come here. Maybe her soul needed to rest with Constance nearby.
Ellen stepped inside the cemetery and saw a man’s form resting against the elm tree in the back corner.
Her steps slowed. A drunk? Is he ill? She peered into the shadow, the dim winter light not giving her much illumination.
He was sitting directly beside Constance’s headstone, his back to the tree and his legs drawn up, knees supporting his arms.