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I am so tired. My body aches; my head feels stuffed with cotton. I should like to lie down and sleep for days. I am too tired even to undress. I lie across my bed. The room swirls for a moment, and then I am fast asleep and dreaming.
I'm flying over darkened, rain-slicked streets, through alleys where filthy children gnaw at mealy bread thick with buzzing insects. I fly on, till I'm floating down the halls of Bethlem and into Nell Hawkins's room.
"Lady Hope," she whispers."What have you done?"
I don't understand. I cannot answer. There are footsteps in the corridor.
"What have you done? What have you done?" she shouts. "Jack and Jill went up the hill; Jack and Jill went up the hill; Jack and Jill went up the hill."
I'm floating away on her ramblings, floating high above the corridor, where the lady in the green cloak sweeps down the darkened hall, unnoticed. I'm floating out into the inky night over St. George's when I hear Nell Hawkins's faint, stifled cry.
I do not know how late I have slept, what day it is, or where I am when I am awakened by an anxious Mrs. Jones.
"Miss, miss! You'd best dress quickly. Lady Denby has come to call with Mr. Simon. Your grandmother sent me to fetch you straightaway."
"I'm not feeling well," I say, flopping back on the pillows.
Mrs. Jones pulls me to a sitting position."Once they've gone, you can rest all you like, miss. But for now, I'm to get you dressed and be quick about it." When I descend, they're all assembled in the parlor, huddled tightly over teacups. If this is a social call, it is not going well. Something is amiss. Even Simon isn't smiling.
"Gemma," Grandmama says."Sit down, child."
"I'm afraid I have some rather troubling news concerning your acquaintance Miss Bradshaw," Lady Denby says. My heart stops.
"Oh?" I say, faintly.
"Yes. I thought it strange that I wouldn't know of her family, so I've made inquiries. There is no Duke of Chesterfield in Kent. In fact, I was able to turn up nothing on a girl discovered to be of the Russian nobility."
Grandmama shakes her head."It is shocking. Shocking!"
"What I did discover is that she has a rather vulgar cousin--a merchant's wife who lives in Croydon. I'm afraid your Miss Bradshaw is little more than a fortune hunter," Lady Denby says.
"I never cared for her," Grandmama says.
"There must be some mistake," I offer weakly.
"That is a kind assessment, my dear," Lady Denby says, patting my hand."But remember that you too have been tainted by this scandal. And Mrs. Worthington, of course. To think that they opened their home to her. Of course, Mrs. Worthington isn't known for her sound judgment, if I may be so bold."
Grandmama gives her edict. "You are to have no further acquaintance with that girl."
Tom enters. His face is drawn and pale.
"Thomas? What is the matter?" Grandmama asks.
"It's Miss Hawkins. She took ill in the night with a fever. She will not wake." He shakes his head, unable to continue.
"I dreamed about her last night," I blurt out.
"Did you? What did you dream?" Simon asks. I dreamed of Circe and Nell's stifled cry. What if that was no dream?
"I--I don't remember," I say.
"Oh, poor dear, you're pale," Lady Denby says."It is very hard to hear that one has been duped by a supposed friend. And now your Miss Hawkins is ill. It must be a terrible shock."
"Yes, thank you," I say."I'm not feeling well."
"Poor dear," Lady Denby murmurs again. "Simon, do be a gentleman and help Miss Doyle."
Simon takes my arm and escorts me from the room.
