He was no polished gentleman, but he had taught me what a man of character was like. My experiences here continued to remedy my sheltered existence at an accelerated pace. Indeed, my opinions of life and everything in it had continuously evolved from the moment I had fled Norwood Hall.
Mr. Harvel dipped his head to me. “If Mr. Long dies in the night or if you have any trouble, send word to Mr. Thornbeck. He’s a vicar just outside of town and has a soft spot for the downtrodden. I can’t promise he’ll help, but it’s worth a try.”
I committed Mr. Thornbeck’s name to my mind. “I will.”
He took one last look at the stranger, lying on my bed, and said, “God bless you, miss.”
“Same to you.” I offered him a tired smile.
We bid each other goodnight, while Nora hurried to boil water and gather clean linen to tend to our guest. As soon as she left the room, I felt the pull return, tugging me nearer to Mr. Long. Shouldn’t I see if he was still breathing? I certainly should. After all, I was his rescuer. I crept to his bedside. There, I discovered that Nora had placed a second blanket over his offending bare feet.
I moved to the top of the bed, anxious to assure myself. Tilting my head to the side, I waited. His chest moved up and then down again. I clutched my own chest in relief. He was still with us.
Which meant I had other problems to consider. Squeezing my eyes shut, I contemplated the web of trouble I had spun for myself. What was I doing alone in a man’s room? No answer would satisfy Mother, God rest her soul. But I had tried to do what was right, and that alone must be my focus.
And now I really ought to leave.
Even as I thought to move, my own breath felt dependent on his, and I could not bring myself to do so. I had the strangest sensation that I was connected to the man before me. But why? Perhaps he was indeed Irish, and somewhere deep within me pulsed the same blood my family had tried to hide from Society. Or perhaps he was running from something, just as I was. Would I ever know?
Regardless, I had learned much about the fragility of life. My books had been a poor teacher in this regard. No scholar could explain why the night had unfolded as it had. It was no coincidence that I had heard this man’s strangled pleas, or that Mr. Harvel had returned to help, or the timing of the available rooms. Because of these precisely aligned events, we could now call for a doctor without risking my reputation further, and this man would receive the aid he required. There was a strong possibility that all my mishaps and mistakes had led me to this exact moment—a chance to make the smallest difference in someone’s life. Call it fate or fortune—I was meant to save this man.
And perhaps, in saving him, I might yet find hope for myself.
Nora came up beside me. “I will see to ‘im, miss.”
Her words broke the spell this stranger’s presence had over me.
“Thank you, Nora.” With reluctance, I surrendered my vigil to her and determined to keep a respectable distance down the corridor. With each step toward the door, I ached for the man behind me to live through the night. More than any grand independence or endless knowledge I had yearned for, this one wish fevered in my mind.
“My dear stranger,” I whispered to him in parting. “You must not give up.”
Chapter 5
Atlas
Writhing pain awakened me. I moaned and trembled. The intensity of feeling overwhelmed all my senses, and I almost missed the footsteps approaching. I attempted to open my eyes, but heaviness weighed them shut. I fought against the suffocating darkness, needing to understand why I hurt so badly. Finally, I glimpsed a ray of light. Blinking with some effort, the images blurred before me. My confusion grew. What was wrong with my eyes? A brief memory of my attackers assailed me, followed by a jolt of lightning to my skull and a wave of intense heat.
I wasn’t dead yet, but this might be purgatory.
“Help.” The word scratched from my throat.
“Mr. Long?”
I could barely make out the words spoken to me. It sounded as if my head was under water.
A cold liquid touched my lips and poured down my burning throat. I gulped desperately, choking myself. My coughs and sputtering made my head implode with more pain. Blackness ebbed at my limited vision until I could no longer remember what came next.
I don’t know how much time passed until I awoke again. I was shivering—cold to my very core. This time, instead of blurriness when I opened my eyes, there was only darkness. Fear lanced through my chest. I reached for my eyes, one of my arms obeying and the other protesting in pain. Was I now blind? Would I never see the world again? My fingers brushed against a strip of linen. I pulled at it, anxious to see again.
A hand clasped over mine. “You mustn’t touch the binding until your eyes heal.” My hand was pulled back down to my side. “It’s wonderful to see you awake. How do you feel?”
My fingers curled over soft flesh, the petiteness in my hand matching the feminine voice. She was warm, and her touch soothed my trembling.
“Mother?” Even as I said it, I knew it was not her. Mother had never been overly affectionate. But nothing about how I felt made any sense. I could not grasp a coherent thought.
“Not your mother, just a friend. The doctor has given you laudanum to help you rest until you are healed, but it can make a person confused too.”
Laudanum . . . no wonder I could not stay awake or concentrate well. I did not recognize this woman’s voice no matter how hard I thought about it. Who was she? “My head . . .” I muttered. It hurt like the devil.
