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“Then,” he finally continued, “the government closed the hospital’s doors in 1920 due to lack of federal funding and reopened a year later as a private general hospital. I was back here by then, thankfully.”
Pure relief was a more effective pain reliever than the doctor’s ministrations and medicines. I inhaled shakily and smiled, grateful for the doctor’s help and the mercy of this information.
Dr. Hannigan hadn’t been present during my admission.
“That should do it.” He finished wrapping and patted my hand gently. “There you are, Millicent. All set. Not too bad, right across the meaty part of your hand here. It bleeds like the devil but heals quickly. You’ll be right as rain in no time. Do be careful. In my experience, keeping all your fingers is helpful in life.”
I thanked him excessively, and he bristled with the pride of an old doctor who cared about his work, then picked up his bag and returned my thanks for the company. As he made to leave, trailing promises to check in again in a few weeks, he paused, worry creasing his brow.
“Millie, let me know if you continue having trouble sleeping. Insomnia can be an unexpected evil after a time.”
“I promise.”
Satisfied, Dr. Hannigan tipped his hat and said goodbye.
I sighed and set to work gathering the broken pieces of the plate, feeling stupid. As I was cleaning, Ms. Dillard appeared and shooed me away somewhat viciously.
“You’ll cut yourself again, silly child.”
“Ms. Dillard,” I responded more forcefully than I intended, causing her to stop and glare at me in offense. I softened my tone. “I’ve been wanting to tell you. I feel awful having so much free time when the professor is away. I’m being paid as a member of staff here, and I should be doing something. Will you please let me help you in the kitchen?”
She opened her mouth and then shut it again.
“That’s quite nice of you,” she said at last.
“I grew up in a kitchen.”
“A poor girl, were you?” She kept busy, folding shards into the bloodied napkin, unbothered by the gore.
Determined to make nice with this cold woman, I barreled on.
“No, the opposite. But the kitchen was the safest place in my house, and our cook was a mother to me.”
Ms. Dillard’s eyes went queer, the red stained linen clasped in her hands.
“I don’t need help in the kitchen,” she said briskly, turning to leave.
I ceded defeat, the throbbing in my hand making me too irate for further patience. Just as I resolved never to speak to this woman again more than I must, she called to me, and I turned to find her standing with the kitchen door half-open, her face turned only slightly so I might hear her but not see her expression.
“If you’d really like a way to make yourself useful, check with me some other time. I’m sure I can find something.”
Without waiting for a response, she stepped away and closed the door.
This was a breakthrough. My previous worries were momentarily overshadowed by the relief of my secrets being safe and the joy of tentative fellowships being formed. Despite the burn of the cut in my palm, I was elevated. I had a better chance of facing whatever this assignment delivered as long as my secrets were safe and I wasn’t alone.
Chapter 11
I peeked into the library and found it blessedly empty. Though I’d been practically forbidden to go there without the professor present, I was desperate for something to distract my attention the way the doctor’s presence had, but Ms. Dillard had no time for me, and Felicity had disappeared. I decided to return to the gardens and wander until I found Rodney. I’d bother him for a chat and pass some of the afternoon. However, it felt too strange to brazenly seek out the groundskeeper, so I plotted to borrow a book and take it as my excuse.
I was looking for a place to read, I would say and avoid any embarrassment of seeming I was chasing his attention. Not that Rodney wasn’t a beautiful man whose attentions I’m sure would be nice.
Imagining the groundskeeper’s golden hair and robin’s-egg eyes tricked me into thinking of a darker head, darker eyes, promising things I was frightened to have but wanted so badly. The memory of his tongue on my neck began to shatter my resolve, and I almost turned around and left the library straightaway, but gave myself a stern mental shake.
The man had been drunk. He was probably still in bed with a terrible headache and no memory of last night. Better for all and especially for me. Still, I didn’t take my time in the task I’d come to do. I hurried to the bookshelf where I’d shelved several titles concerning the Good Folk after uncovering them from their piles. One title in particular had caught my attention, and I searched for it now, running my fingers along the spines, squinting in the dimness as I’d had no courage to turn the lights on.
Celtic Nightmares: Monsters and Mayhem in Myth
Aha.
