Page 7 of The Marquess of Secrets

What was this man doing in the bowels of the earth attending to the underprivileged?

“Sister Monica claims you are unwell? Could you describe what’s wrong?” he asked.

A coughing fit overtook her, which no doubt summed up her current health. Even she could hear the rattle in her chest.

The doctor leaned in, the stethoscope held in his gloved hand.

“May I?”

Pulling aside the collar of her frayed blouse, he listened to her chest.

“Take deep breaths and exhale.”

“Pneumonia?” she asked.

The doctor gave her a look as if surprised. “A correct diagnosis. A mild case. You shall remain here for five days, keep warm and fed, rest, drink plenty of fluids, and the congestion in your lungs should lessen. In the meantime, Sister Monica will take your history and ascertain how we can assist you. Do you have any medical knowledge?”

It took all her inner strength to hide the look of panic. She’d given too much away.

Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “No. My—mother died of something similar. Weak lungs run in the family.”

At least that was not a lie.

“But you do have some education? I ask as your speech indicates such, as does your clothing.”

Despite the threadbare condition of her clothes, they revealed her once middle-class standing. Or former standing.

“A little schooling,” she replied wearily.

“You’re exhausted. We have a pallet and blanket for you. Come, I will assist you to it, and you can rest. When you awake, Sister Monica will give you willow bark tea to bring down your slight fever.”

He reached for her bundle, but she cried out and grabbed it, clutching it to her. “I’m sorry. I will not touch your belongings. Will you allow me to take your arm?”

Oh, his voice was soft and deep, his eyes kind and solicitous. Why couldn’t Lydia have met a man like this instead of John Huntsford?

She nodded, and the doctor helped her to a pallet not far from one of the stoves. Once the doctor assisted her to lay on the bench, she again used her bundle as a pillow.

Doctor Damian covered her with a patched but clean blanket, and a soft moan escaped her lips from the sensation of actually lying flat in a modicum of comfort.

“Sleep. No one will disturb you the rest of the night. No one will rob you as we have volunteers who roam the area to keep it safe. I’ll come and see you again tomorrow night.”

“Thank you, Doctor….”

But he was already gone, like a wisp of smoke.

Lydia’s eyelids lowered, and she fell fast asleep, warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks.

And more importantly, she felt—safe.

Chapter 3

“Doctor Damian, may I see you a moment?”

Harrison followed Sister Monica to the small makeshift office they arranged in the corner, consisting of eight-foot-tall planks acting as walls and a temporary door. Once they found themselves alone, he tore off his mask and cap. Besides Sister Monica, only Sister Agatha knew his true identity.

“My lord, you’ve been down here five hours without a break. I insist that you sit, and I’ll bring you a bowl of ham stew and a piece of bread while we discuss the summaries.”

With a weary sigh, Harrison plopped onto the old desk chair. “You have a valid point, Sister. The stew and bread are welcome.”