A Deadly Fortune

by Stacie Murphy

18

  Amelia woke in the dark to a hand clamped over her nose and mouth. Thrashing in terror, she clawed at the wrist until a familiar voice hissed, “Ow! Stop that!”

  She stilled.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  She nodded, her heart still racing. As soon as his hand withdrew, she sat up and flung her arms around him. “Jonas!”

  She felt him sag.

  “Thank god.” He returned the hug for a long moment before drawing back. “I’m sorry for scaring you. But I didn’t know what kind of state you were in. I couldn’t risk you screaming if you didn’t recognize me.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here. How did—” Amelia stopped as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She reached out and fingered the rough fabric of his orderly’s jacket.

  “So it was you I saw that day when—” She flushed as she recalled exactly where she’d been when she’d seen him.

  “Yes.” There was anger in his voice. “I was going to try to catch your eye, but at the last minute I realized I didn’t know how you would react.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said again.

  He squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry it took me so long. You were hard to track, and even once I knew you were here, I couldn’t get to you right away. But then tonight—”

  “Was a laudanum night,” she finished.

  His tone was disgusted. “For three of the wards on this side of the building. No one’s walking them. The nurses are drinking sherry in one of the parlors, and the orderlies are gambling in the staff room. They’ll eventually notice I’m gone, but we’ve got some time. This place.” He shook his head. “How in god’s name did you wind up in here?”

  Amelia huffed out a bitter little laugh. “I went for a walk.” She told him what she remembered about the figure in the park and the other incidents since she’d been in the asylum. “You were right,” she admitted. “My gift has changed. It’s different now.”

  Jonas whistled between his teeth when she told him about the vision she’d had of the fire and her subsequent discovery of the girl’s death.

  “I don’t know how I would have stood it if Elizabeth hadn’t been there.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” He covered her hand with his. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

  “Maybe not, but I should have tried.”

  “Let it go. It’s done, and you can’t change it. I need you focused. We’ve got to figure out how to get you out of here. A husband or another relative might be able to claim you, if you had one. I might have been able to mock up some kind of paperwork they’d accept, given some time, but—”

  “But you can’t play the part, since you’re known here now.” Amelia shrugged. “So we need someone else.”

  Jonas nodded, and she grimaced, thinking of their limited—and disreputable—circle of acquaintance. Except for Tommy, who obviously couldn’t do it, there wasn’t a one of them she’d trust to handle something like this.

  Hating the notion, but having no better idea, she took a breath. “I don’t suppose Sidney would—”

  Jonas interrupted. “He’s in Europe. He left a week or so after you disappeared.”

  Amelia gaped at him. Sidney had waited until she’d disappeared, and then up and left Jonas worried and alone? Outrage stabbed through her. She’d known he was no good, had wished to be rid of him. But like this? How dare he? Damn the man.

  Jonas went on. “I have a couple of ideas, but I can’t see how to make any of them work just yet. If we had someone here we could trust, then maybe.”

  Cavanaugh’s face flashed through Amelia’s mind. She dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. “I think it’s just us.”

  Jonas’s voice was determined. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve always managed before. We can do it again. Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.”

  Amelia stood and followed him to the door, the blanket wrapped around her. A pungent odor hung in the air, out of place among the mingled scents of lye and old soup and half-rinsed chamber pots.

  She finally placed it. “That’s how you got into the cell without waking me.” She swung the door a few silent inches. “You oiled the hinges.”

  Jonas patted one of his pockets. “I palmed a syringe a while back. I filled it that night, and I’ve been carrying it ever since.”

  Amelia smiled. The expression felt foreign after so long. “And the lock? Did you palm a key as well?”

  “Please,” he said in mock offense. “If I couldn’t pick a lock like this, I ought to be ashamed of myself. I’m surprised you haven’t done it.”

  She indicated her raggedly cropped hair with a wry gesture. “A shortage of hairpins. And besides,” she went on, as the humor leaked away, “without somewhere to go, there was no point.”

  They both went silent. A moment later, Jonas drew her into a crushing hug. “I was so worried,” he said into the top of her head. “I thought…”

  Amelia clung to him, blinking back tears.

  With a final squeeze he let go and turned to leave.

  “Jonas?” Her voice quavered.

  He turned back.

  “I have to—” She stopped, then continued in a rush. “I’m so sorry for what I said. That day. All of it. I never meant to—”

  He raised a hand. “I know. I forgive you. I’ll come back as soon as I can. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

  He squeezed her shoulder once, then left as he’d entered, closing the door and relocking it behind him. He padded back down the hallway and melted into the shadows.

  Amelia crept back to her cot. She closed her eyes and lay buoyant in the dark, tears of joy and relief sliding from beneath her lids and trailing unchecked down the sides of her face.

  19

  Six days later, Amelia found herself once again standing beside Mara in the washroom. The girl’s nocturnal silence had continued, but this was the first time Amelia had seen her up close in weeks. Mara’s face was still lined with grief, but the dense aura of misery that had once enveloped her seemed, if not gone, then at least lighter.

  Cavanaugh was responsible. His visits to the ward had continued without interruption after his confrontation with Mrs. Brennan. After his single lapse that day, the doctor returned to his habit of never looking in Amelia’s direction. It bothered her now in a way it hadn’t before.

  Both women’s eyes swung toward the washroom door as it opened. A nurse entered, carrying something under one arm.

  “Here.” She shoved the bundle at Mara, who dropped it with a muffled thump.

  “What—” Mara began.

  “Dress yourself, and be quick about it. You.” She turned to Amelia. “Help her. They’re waiting.”

  Amelia bent to retrieve the fallen items: a dress of dark, plain wool and a linen shift, along with a pair of sturdy black shoes.

  Mara removed her asylum shift with shaking fingers and drew the new garments on. They were ill-fitting but clean, and the girl plucked the fabric between her fingers as if she didn’t quite believe it was real. Her blue eyes were wide with uncertainty.

  The waiting nurse took her by the elbow and hustled her out of the washroom. Amelia hesitated, torn between curiosity and caution. Wherever they were taking the girl, it was nothing to do with her. And yet…

  She turned and hurried after them.

  The ward door was open. Cavanaugh stood just outside with a nurse, both of them wearing coats and hats. To Amelia’s surprise, Janey stood between them, similarly attired and directing a worshipful gaze in Cavanaugh’s direction. Mara and her escort approached, and he held out another coat and said something Amelia could not hear. At a nudge from the nurse, Mara turned and allowed him to help her don it, her face stunned and white. At his gesture, the waiting nurses stepped forward and began to guide the young women away.

  Amelia rushed toward them. “Where are you taking them?”

  Cavanaugh turned, and his eyes widened when he saw her. The nurse who’d brought Mara from the washroom hisse
d and grabbed Amelia’s arm. Amelia struggled against her.

  “Where are you taking them?” she asked again.

  Cavanaugh motioned for the nurse to release Amelia. “Go ahead and take the ladies down, please. I’ll be just a moment.” He turned back to Amelia. “They’re being transferred elsewhere.”

  Closer to him than she’d been in weeks, Amelia was startled to see how tired he looked. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes and lines of strain on his face she would swear had not been there before, even on the day he’d reeked of alcohol. What had taxed him so since that day?

  He raised an eyebrow, and she realized she’d been staring. She dropped her gaze, self-conscious. “Is it better than here?”

  With a glance at the ward nurse, who was approaching from her station beside the wall, he lowered his voice to reply, “Yes.”

  Amelia let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Good.” She hesitated. “Mara’s better than she was. You’ve helped her. It seems I misjudged you somewhat.”

  “Somewhat?”

  “Do you still believe me to be lying?”

  He flushed, and the careful mask of his expression slipped. “I don’t know.” His voice was so low it was barely audible. He wouldn’t look at her.

  A spark bloomed in her chest. Amelia’s throat went dry, and her voice, when it emerged, was hoarse and tentative. “Would you like to speak again?”

  For a moment Cavanaugh looked hunted. Or perhaps haunted was the more appropriate word. Then his jaw tightened, and he nodded once. “I’m overseeing the transfer today. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  20

  Andrew struggled not to fidget as Miss Casey seated herself on the chair beside his desk. He’d risen that morning with a belly full of snakes, half-sure he was being played for a fool and yet entirely willing to take the risk. He’d gotten off the ferry and gone directly to the isolation ward with no idea how to approach the conversation he was about to have. Since his discovery the week before, he’d barely slept. Now buzzing anxiety had pushed aside the dull fatigue.

  He followed Miss Casey’s gaze as she examined every corner of the room, from the stack of files on the table to the tray of heavy cream stationery with its silver pen holder and inkwell. The set was a gift from Susannah on his college graduation. Each of the pieces bore his initials, formed into an ornate, curling monogram. “Suitable for an educated gentleman,” she’d teased.

  The letters blurred. He swallowed and turned to find Miss Casey studying him no less intently than she had the room.

  He forced himself to sit, feeling, as he did, the outline of the tin of sweets in his pocket. He extracted them.

  “So that’s what you use to bait the ones who won’t talk to you,” Miss Casey said.

  He offered her the tin without speaking, and she took her time selecting a yellow candy before popping it into her mouth and closing her eyes in evident pleasure.

  The silence stretched between them.

  Her voice broke it. “Ask me what you really want to know.”

  “Is she here?” The words were out before Andrew could stop them. They hung in the air, absurd. Urgent.

  “No,” she said softly, never taking her eyes from his. “There’s nothing here now.”

  “But before. In your cell. There was?” It was only half a question.

  Her lips tightened, and her chin dipped a fraction. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have any control over it. It was only the second time I ever saw such a thing.”

  “The second? When was the first?”

  “Just before I was brought here.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve always had a degree of ability,” she began. “The second sight, clairvoyance, whatever you want to call it. For most of my life it was so slight it barely mattered. But about two months ago, something happened.”

  She went on, Andrew studying her expressions and the tone of her voice. A job as a medium in a tony Greenwich club, the injury, a long convalescence, and the discovery of her heightened abilities. She paused now and again, searching for the right word, the right way to explain something she readily conceded was inexplicable.

  A solitary walk in a city park. She stumbled a bit, trying to describe the phantom she claimed to have seen. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke of it, and the pulse at her neck beat faster. Her hands, folded in her lap, tightened until the knuckles went white.

  She spoke of waking in the asylum, of her fear and confusion, of her vain attempt to convince one of the doctors—Klafft, from her description—of her sanity. She described what had happened when she’d touched Mara’s hand, recounted for him what she’d seen while she was in the ward. And she told him, again, what had formed behind him when he came into her cell the first time.

  “Then you touched my hand, and you know the rest.”

  Andrew struggled to breathe. Her words seemed to have filled the room to bursting, swelling in their freedom and crowding against him on every side.

  It was madness, this story she told.

  And he believed her.

  It was clear there were things she was leaving out, places where she’d hesitated in the telling, gliding over details so smoothly he’d never have noticed, had he not been so utterly focused. He marked them. None of it mattered.

  The rational part of Andrew’s brain railed against it. He was a dupe, a fool. But on some elemental level, he knew she was telling the truth.

  He tried to hide it from her, standing as she finished and turning his face away, fussing with his jacket. But his trembling hands betrayed him.

  “You believe me.” Her voice shook, but the tone was certain.

  He turned back to her. Her eyes were wide, and her face was filled with color. Andrew swallowed, tried to focus his reeling mind. The words, when they came, were barely more than breath. “I believe you.”

  Something settled between them—an accord as fragile and shimmering as spider’s silk.

  Her voice, when she spoke again, was gentle. “Who is she?”

  “My sister, Susannah,” he said in a careful tone.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and took a breath. “Miss Casey—”

  “That isn’t my name,” she interrupted.

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m not Lina Casey. The cloak I was wearing when I was brought here used to be hers. It had her name sewn inside. I was in no shape to argue when I arrived. But I’m not Lina,” she said, leaning forward. “My name is Amelia Matthew.”

  “Very well. Miss Matthew.” Andrew rubbed at the back of his neck and blew out a sigh. “I admit I’m not certain what to do next. I’ve never…” He trailed off with a helpless shrug. “I’ve never imagined anything like this.”

  “You know I’m not mad. I don’t belong here. You have to let me go.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why not? You’re a doctor. Can’t you declare me sane and release me?”

  Andrew felt his face flush. “I’m afraid not. There are circumstances beyond my control. If there were some relation we could contact, someone who could legally claim responsibility for you, then it might be possible.”

  She grimaced and glanced to one side. She pressed her lips together with a little shake of her head. “There’s no one.”

  21

  One of the younger nurses appeared at Amelia’s door the next day, and she wasn’t alone. Jonas stood behind her. She’d seen him from a distance several times since his nighttime visit to her cell, but they hadn’t had an opportunity to speak.

  “Dr. Cavanaugh’s been delayed,” the woman informed her as she unlocked the cell. “I’m to fetch you to his office.”

  Amelia exchanged a quick grin with Jonas behind the nurse’s back as they followed her. They slowed, allowing her to get some yards ahead of them.

  “I told Cavanaugh
the truth yesterday,” Amelia whispered, watching the nurse’s back. “He believes me.”

  She’d felt odd when she finished telling him the story. Exhausted. Ecstatic. Nerves singing with relief and frustration. She hadn’t planned to be quite so forthright, but something about the look on Cavanaugh’s face tempted her into throwing the dice. The exhilaration of knowing he believed her had made it hard to fall asleep.

  “Do you think he—”

  Jonas fell silent as they approached another nurse in the main corridor. This one shot Jonas a poisonous glare. Amelia blinked, startled. Women never looked at him that way.

  She waited until the woman was out of earshot. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” The tips of his ears pinkened, and he avoided her eyes. “I needed some information about the nursing schedules.”

  “So you flirted with her?”

  “I may have done a bit more than that.”

  “And?”

  “And she may have walked in on me with one of the other nurses the next day.” He caught her look. “The first one didn’t know enough.”

  Amelia didn’t have time to reply before they caught up to the nurse guiding them, who was rapping on Cavanaugh’s office door. When there was no answer, she swung it open and peered inside.

  “Not here,” she grumbled. “As if I’ve nothing better to do than wait.” After another minute, she turned to look down the corridor and sighed. “You,” she said to Jonas. “Stay with her until the doctor arrives. Mind she doesn’t cause any trouble. I can’t be spending my whole morning standing here.”

  The woman left and, hardly able to believe their luck, Amelia drew Jonas into Cavanaugh’s office and nudged the door almost closed behind them.

  “So, in all this dallying with nurses, what have you found? What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” He frowned. “Does Cavanaugh really believe you?”

  “Yes. I’m sure of it. But he says he can’t release me.”

  “The word is he’s on thin ice here.”

  “I almost told him about you.” She’d nearly blurted out Jonas’s name when Cavanaugh asked if there was someone who could claim her, but she had stopped herself at the last second. Jonas had no legal claim to her, and he’d made his way onto the island under false pretenses. Amelia didn’t think Cavanaugh would expose him, but she couldn’t be certain. It wasn’t worth the risk.