“He survived the operation,” Sister Madeline spoke up, breaking the tense silence. She slowly sat up and focused bloodshot eyes on Tia. “I can’t guarantee that he will pull through the rest of the day. I had to remove a part of the liver that was damaged.”
Tia shuddered at the picture the nun was painting. “Is there anything I can do?”
The older woman smiled sadly. “Yes.” She got to her feet and walked to a bureau in the corner of the office. She unlocked it and removed a blood-stained cloth. Back in her seat, she unwrapped the cloth and Tia found herself looking at the familiar mask. “He wanted you to know his identity in case he passed on.”
“But he’s not dead.”
“We’ll only know if he lasts until noon,” Sister Madeline said softly. “But until then, I think you should sit with him for a while. It will bring him great comfort.”
Tia inhaled deeply. “I’ll see his face.”
“I know. I have asked that he be moved to a private room that can only be accessed by other nuns and myself.” She held out a key to Tia. “This is for you. Now let me go show you where he is.”
Like a sleepwalker, Tia followed the nun down several hallways until they reached an area that stated clearly that access was prohibited for non-hospice staff. Sister Madeline reached for the bundle of keys, which was sewn to her habit by a string and opened the door.
“You need to keep the door locked at all times. This was clearly an assassination attempt.” Her face was serious. “His men are keeping the hospice under surveillance, but anyone can slip in during visiting hours.” They walked a short distance and came to stand before a closed door. “This is as far as I’m going, Tia. Talk to him. Some people have confessed to me that they could hear their loved ones talking to them when unconscious and that it helped them to fight to get better.”
Tia nodded and watched as Sister Madeline walked back the way they had come. It was only once the nun had locked the hall door behind her that Tia opened the door and stepped inside. The room had two chairs for visitors, a small bedside table, which carried a carafe of water and glass, a Bible and a lantern. She turned to the only other feature in the room; the bed. The lantern was turned down low, thus, casting The Maverick’s face in shadows. She walked closer, her heart thudding in her chest. Whereas he always seemed to tower over her, he now looked smaller and vulnerable lying in the bed. As she neared the bed, she consciously made the choice to not look at his face immediately. Instead, her eyes took in his covered body, from his toes and slowly up to his legs and hips, before they came to rest on his chest and broad shoulders.
Did she really want to know his identity? What would it change? She closed her eyes. But he had wanted her to know. Wait! Why did he want her to know his true identity? She slowly opened her eyes. He wanted her to know so that she would remember him were he to die. The full understanding of the man’s last request made her eyes fill with tears. He needed some small sense of acknowledgement for his selfless role in having been the champion of the voiceless for so long. Tia found herself weeping softly for the man she had never really known. After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes.
“I will look at your face and if it so happens that you need to leave this physical plane, I want you to know that you will be remembered.” She reached for the lantern and brought it over to the bed. The light fell on the pale handsome face, framed by raven strands and highlighting high cheekbones and beautifully sculpted lips.
A strange squeaking noise infiltrated her quiet study of the man’s face. Tia was surprised to find that her hand was trembling so hard, that the lantern handle was squeaking in her unsteady grip. She quickly placed the lantern on the table and on shaky legs walked over to the chair. She sat in numbed silence; her eyes fixed on the outline of the man on the bed.
She was filled with so many questions, but only one stood out prominently. How could she not have known? Despite both personas having been so different, her reaction to them had almost been identical. She should have known something was off. But then there were their auras. The one would hum with barely concealed danger, making even Tia want to run for cover. The other was a self-assured intellectual, who shied away from the spotlight. Tia bit down hard on her jaw. Even then, she should have known. She should have delved deeper into the mystery that was Lord Benedict Pope, the Marques of Trenton.
***
Tia didn’t know how long she had been staring at the unconscious Benedict Pope, but the appearance of Sister Madeline with a breakfast cart, was a welcoming diversion. She was aware of the nun’s surreptitious glances as Tia helped herself to some of the strong tea, ignoring the eggs and toast. She doubted her system would welcome any food so soon after the past hours of emotional chaos. She was sipping from the tea, her eyes again drawn to the bed.
“He came to me a few times after he ran into you here.” Sister Madeline murmured as she took a break from eating her breakfast. Tia glanced at her, the nun quite deftly reading the question in Tia’s eyes. “I knew who he was from the beginning.”
Her interest piqued; Tia turned to the nun. “How did he…all this…start?”
“He wanted to change people’s lives. Wanted to give them more than just an existence of violence and fear.” Sister Madeline took a sip from her tea. “His exact words were that he wanted to give the young ones better role models. And he did.” She smiled. “As long as it wasn’t him.”
Tia smiled too. Sister Madeline liked Pope. It was there in her voice and the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for the older woman to operate on Pope, knowing that he could die on the table any moment. He could still die. She didn’t want to go there and she quickly took a long sip from her tea. There were too many jumbled thoughts bumbling around in her head, she didn’t need more dark ones.
“How did the two of you meet?”
“Over a bullet wound in his gut.”
Tia almost spit out the mouthful of tea she had taken a few moments before. “I beg your pardon.”
“For him to take over the underworld, he had to evict the old bosses. It ranks quite high as one of the bloodiest periods in the gangland wars. The slums were a warzone, with more dead bodies turning up than our morgue could accommodate.”
Tia stared at the nun in stunned silence. “Wh…When did all this happen?” How come no news of the gang wars reached her ears?
“Maybe five or six years ago.”
“That’s quite recent. How…? I mean how is it possible that we didn’t hear anything about it?”
Sister Madeline looked sad when she spoke again. “The affairs of the poor rarely affect the rich and powerful, milady.”
Tia felt hot under the collar of her dress. The truth was not an easy pill to swallow. She had always treated her serving staff well and with respect, but after these past months, she had come to realize that it was a drop in a very large bucket. So much more needed to be done to ensure that the poor and disadvantaged could live with dignity. Pope knew it and tried to make a difference. She looked at Sister Madeline.
“I know, and I will make work of it to petition the queen on behalf of the poor.”
The tired blue eyes lit up and Tia felt so small for not having thought about it before. The old nun placed her hand over Tia’s. “That will be greatly appreciated. Now, let me see how our patient is faring while you go home and get back to bed.”
Tia looked at the bed then back at Sister Madeline. “I can have someone bring me a set of clothing. I’m sure there must be a bed…”
“No, my dear. I’ll need you to take over from Sylvie later in the afternoon.” The nun’s hand was soft as she cupped Tia’s cheek. “You need time to process everything. You’ve handled the discovery of his true identity quite well, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t need time to come to terms with it.”
She is right, Tia thought as she looked at the older woman. Instead of sitting here, staring at Pope, she could try to find out who did
this to him. She needed to find out who was Pope’s right-hand man.
“You said that his men were watching the hospital. Could I meet with one of them?”
***
The ride over from the hospice to Alcott House went by in a haze. Tia was struggling to keep her eyes open. It seemed that the realisation of a warm bed waiting for her at her end destination, was too much for her body to resist. She snuggled closer to Burton and he pulled her closer immediately. She inhaled his familiar scent and groaned. He had been waiting for her outside the hospice all this time and the sight of him had made her fall into his arms in relief, not caring who witnessed her meltdown. By the time they reached home, London was awake and buzzling. It took all her energy to put one foot before the other as she climbed the steps to her home. She was barely awake enough to greet her staff as she struggled on. At the foot of the stairs, Burton came to the rescue, by sweeping her up in his arms. She gave him a sleepy smile as he carried her to her suite.
***
It was almost noon when Tia woke and made her way down to the dining room. Burton was already seated having breakfast. He rose when she entered and Tia served herself before she went to sit opposite him.
“Good morning, did you sleep well?” Burton enquired gently, his eyes dark with concern for her. “You were utterly exhausted earlier.”
She sipped from her tea and nodded. As tired as she was last night, she had woken after only two hours of sleep and rested in bed, as thoughts of Lord Benedict Pope preyed on her mind. She had searched her memories for scenarios where she should’ve been able to make the connection between the reserved noble and the feared Maverick. She specifically mulled over the evening she had met him at the soup kitchen. He had been so comfortable amongst the people, and they with him. One question had plagued her for most of the night. What was it about the man that he could so effortlessly straddle the two social domains and fit in so well? Sister Madeline had been right. She will need time to process all this before she could even be close to making peace with Pope’s true identity.
“Tia?” Burton’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Are you sure you’re well?”
She realised that she still had her teacup in her hand and slowly placed it on the saucer. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing, Burton.” Once the words were out, Tia was surprised by them herself. Burton looked bewildered
“I don’t understand. What do you want to do?”
“I need to do something.” Tia felt her resolve strengthen slightly. “I need to find the person who did this to him. He would’ve done the same for me.”
Burton pushed his plate away from him, his appetite obvious gone now. He leaned back in his chair. “Because he’s a man, Tia, and he can afford to wander the streets of the slums late at night looking for an assassin.”
Tia felt her face gradually heating up as she glared at Burton. What she wanted to do wasn’t so farfetched. History was filled with women who, against all odds, had been able to accomplish far more than finding a would-be assassin. They had led armies, ruled powerful kingdoms and matched their male counterparts on many more occasions to earn a place in history.
“Is that it? Because I’m a woman, I can’t do what a man can?” She was disappointed in Burton. He knew that she hated when men raised this particular argument to limit or diminish the potential of a woman. She slowly came to her feet; her voice was thick with hurt when she spoke again. “I, as a woman, have achieved more in my short lifetime than most men I know.” She grabbed her cup and drained it. “I won’t allow a man, any man, to place restrictions on how I live my life.”
As she stormed out of the room, she could hear Burton surge to his feet. She loved him and she probably always will, but from this moment on, she didn’t need his input in any of the choices she was going to make. Not until he realised how his regressive attitude had hurt her. She passed the butler on her way and requested that the carriage be ready for her departure while she rushed to her room to get ready. When she came down the stairs, Burton was waiting for her. She brushed passed him.
“I’m going to the hospice.”
“I want to come with you.”
Tia turned to look at him. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Why? So you can keep an eye on the poor, defenceless woman, perhaps?”
“No.” Burton’s voice was soft, but firm. “So I can be close to my sister, because I love her.” He walked past her and got into the carriage. Tia took a deep breath as she slid into the seat opposite from him. He was staring out of the window as the carriage rode down the street. They were a few blocks away from the hospital when Burton spoke again. “I’ve noticed four men following us.”
Tia sat up straight at the news. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve always suspected that he had you followed, now I know that he does.”
“What does that mean?”
Burton shrugged and looked at her. “I’ll make contact and find out who is the second in command.” Tia held Burton’s dark gaze. “I’ll try to set up a meeting as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.” Tia wanted to hug him, but knew it was too soon after their argument. They needed to talk and they will. She looked away. Burton only looked out for her, but he knew her well enough to know that she was her own woman. Maybe their earlier argument might serve as a reminder for him. The carriage came to a stop before the hospice. Burton helped her out and for a moment, they stood in awkward silence, looking at each other.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said quietly before he got into the carriage and rode off. Alone on the steps of the hospice, Tia became aware of being watched and she cast a quick glance around. Since it was a church-run institution and intended for the poor and destitute, it was located in an area easily accessible by its intended patrons. The street in front of the hospice was part of the hub of the less affluent part of the city. It was lined by vendors and small businesses that lured an abundance of people to the area. But as she swept her gaze over the scene before her, nothing stood out as odd or vaguely suspicious. With a sigh she entered the hospice. She became immediately aware of the frantic energy in the place. A nun ran past her to intercept a gurney with a bleeding man on it. She looked around in surprise. What happened between the time she left here and now? When another gurney, this time with a motionless young man on it, was pushed by her, Tia remembered something that Sister Madeline said last night. When The Maverick took over, he had to eject the old bosses. The same was happening now. With The Maverick out of action, the new boss was cleaning house. Which meant that most of the men being wheeled past her were Pope’s men. She was caught in the middle of a gang war and Tia was not going to sit this one out. She approached a harried-looking nun.
“How can I help, Sister?”
The nun pointed to a trail of blood leading down the hallway. “It grieves me to say, milady, but the priority now, is to get that cleaned up to avoid it becoming a slipping hazard.”
Tia nodded. “If I can get a bucket and rag, I’ll clean it up, Sister.” Tia followed the nun and within a few minutes was busy on her hands and knees cleaning the floor. She found herself being directed to the general hall where she was instructed to change bedding and administer medicine while most of the nuns were in the emergency rooms seeing to the influx of patients. It was two hours later when she was pulled away by one of the nuns and a lukewarm cup of tea was pressed into her hand. Afterwards, it was back to emptying bedpans and bathing babies.
***
The pain was almost unbearable when she moved, so Oasis decided that moving was not something that she needed to attempt immediately. Lying still, she listened to the sounds and movements around her. It was a trick she had learned from Gentle Dove, a beautiful Sioux girl she had met through Caleb. The three of them had spent their youth living through many adventures together. The daughter of a celebrated warrior, Gentle Dove had learned a number of lifesaving skills that she had taught her two gangly friends when they went on overnight rabbit hunting trips
. In turn they had taught her how to use a gun. Their outings became less frequent as Gentle Dove became older and began to draw more attention from the proud braves. Her father was eager to see her mated and within a few weeks, she was married and a few months later was expecting a child. That put a definite stop to their forays into the wilderness and a few visits under the jealous supervision of Gentle Dove’s husband had become few and far in between. But the skills Gentle Dove had imparted, had saved both hers and Caleb’s lives many times over.
A soft sigh nearby, made Oasis stiffen slightly. She opened her eyes lightly and perused her environment through the slits. The off-white room and sharp smell of disinfectant could only mean that she was in a hospital. The fact that her chest felt like a horse was sitting on it, was a clear indication that Sister Madeline had been hard at work on her again. Being unconscious had kept the pain at bay, but awake, her whole body almost throbbed with it now. She opened her mouth to alert whoever was in the room with her, but no sound came passed her parched throat. Oasis swallowed and tried again, this time a soft croak escaped her lips and she heard the chair creak as the person came to their feet. The haggard face of Sister Madeline came into view.
“Good to see you’re awake, milord.” The nun smiled warmly. “You must be in need of some pain reliever right about now.”
Worlds Apart Page 13
