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A heart was a curious thing. So contradictory. The way it ached in both good and bad ways. The way it leapt with joy and ceased with sorrow. It could beat madly and wildly during both pleasure and pain. Currently, my heart was steady. Too steady, as I watched blood drip into a waiting bowl, the rhythmic splatters hitting in time with my breaths. Perhaps I was in shock. It was the only rational explanation for how calm I was.
The doctor must have felt my gaze on him, probing. He flicked his attention to me, his fingers covered in wet blood—Thomas’s blood—before returning to his patient. His name was Dr. Carson and he appeared to be one million years of age.
Each of his movements was slow and deliberate—an excellent trait in a doctor, but a horrible thing to witness when there were two people I loved in need of immediate attention. I wanted to shake him into action but forced myself to stand still, without any motion at all. Fearful of what I’d do should I begin moving.
He’d seen to Uncle first. I didn’t wish to consider how torn I’d felt when he’d made that choice. He dabbed at the wounds he’d made on Thomas’s forearm, his lined face tense. My grip on my cane tightened, as if I could crush my worry with my fist.
Worry wasn’t the only emotion I felt. The more I considered how someone had tried to murder Uncle and Thomas—and likely me—the brighter the flame grew in my center. Anger was good. It meant there were still things left to fight for. I nursed it, coddled it, begged for it to surface, to kindle the fire I needed to raze the murderer to ashes. There were no guarantees that either Thomas or Uncle would live.
If Thomas died…
The doctor cleared his throat, the sound annoyed, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d tried getting my attention. I shook myself from swirling thoughts. “Pardon?”
“Bloodletting is the best method to remove the poison,” he said, voice gruff. Like the pale-faced staff, he probably imagined I was the murderess. I was, after all, the only one unscathed. “He’s weak, though. I can’t remove any more without a greater threat.”
He tossed a dirtied rag into the second bowl of blood and I watched as he added a sharp-smelling astringent and set it aflame. Perhaps he worried I was a vampire or a bloodthirsty demon. As if I’d guzzle tainted blood even if that were true.
“Will he be all right?” I asked, shoving my treacherous thoughts away. “Is there anything else I can do?”
The doctor studied my face carefully. I did my best to hide each terrible thought, to soften my anger so as to not have it be confused with guilt. His eyes narrowed. “If you’re a godly woman, I suggest praying, Miss Wadsworth. There’s certainly nothing of this earth left for you to do.”
He snapped his satchel closed and left the room without another word. I didn’t bother watching him go. I remained at the end of the bed, guarding Thomas. His skin was so sallow—more pale and sickly yellow than I’d ever seen it before. Even when we’d nearly drowned in those water-filled traps under Bran Castle, when we’d been soaked through and freezing, he’d always gaze at me with that wicked half smile, his flesh flushed and vibrant with life.
Thomas Cresswell couldn’t die. If he did… a darkness so complete as to truly be terrifying welled up inside me. I did not know who I’d become, should I lose him. But Satan would tremble at my approach.
I watched his chest rise unsteadily, his lids fluttering as Uncle’s had earlier. I was grateful for the movement—it was the only indication he wasn’t yet a corpse. I waited to feel as if I’d crumble this very moment, in this very spot. I’d already lost so many people I loved; I feared I’d cave under the pressure of my grief. All I felt was rage, coal-burning, crimson-tinted rage. Heat seared down my limbs in fast-moving torrents, my hands clenched automatically. If I knew who’d done this, I would stalk him to the ends of the earth, consequences be damned.
Thomas rolled to his side, moaning. I stood there helpless, feeling like I was twelve years old again, watching my mother’s life fade until all that was left was the ghost of her memories. I’d prayed then. Begged God to spare her, to grant one blessing for me and I’d forever dedicate myself to Him. I’d promised anything, anything He could want in exchange for her life. I would have even given mine. God hadn’t spared me a second thought when He’d taken my mother. I had little faith He’d listen to my pleas now.
Thomas began shivering so hard it seemed as if he were convulsing. I rushed to his side and tugged a quilt up to his chin, though it was quickly thrown off as he thrashed around. He was mumbling, his words too low and garbled to understand.
“Shhh.” I sat beside him, doing my best to soothe his fit. “I’m right here, Thomas. I’m right beside you.”
This fact only seemed to unsettle him more. He tossed his limbs about, their motions stilted and jerking. Arsenic attacked the nervous system, and I feared the poison had reached its intended target. He whispered something, over and over, his body becoming more agitated with each exhalation he made.
“Thomas… please, don’t worry. Whatever you need to tell me can wait.”
He coughed, his entire body t
rembling once again. “R-rose… r-r-rose.”
I clutched his hand to my heart, hoping he couldn’t feel it breaking. His skin was as clammy and cool as ice shards. “I’m here.”
“H-hotel.”
“We’re in the home on Grand Street,” I said gently. “The one you and Uncle and I are borrowing from Grandmama. It’s that large one that reminds you of storybooks. Remember? The sort where witches brew tonics for bad children?”
Thomas sputtered, his voice no longer audible as his lips moved. I prayed then. A few quick words to a God I was unsure of. “Please, Lord. I beg of You. Do not take him from me. Heal him. Or if You cannot, grant me the ability to tend to him myself. Please, please, do not let this be how our story ends.”
A knock on the door killed what remained of my prayers. “Come in.”
The maid held up a covered tray. “It’s plain broth, miss. The doctor said it might be good to try and get some in them both.”
The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. This was the same young woman who’d served us our tea and tarts earlier. I refused to trust anyone until I discovered who’d poisoned my loved ones. “Did you make the broth?”
“No, miss.” She shook her head vehemently. “The cook did. She’s got a light course prepared for you… she thought you might not be too keen on eating something heavy.”
“Have you tried the broth?” I asked.
