by L Rollins
He smiled. He’d already been thinking of her as Leila in his mind.
“You’d best call me Samuel.”
“Well then,” she reached out and took his hand. “Thank you, Samuel, for your help today.” She lifted the envelopes in her hand. “This very well may prove huge in finding a cure.”
Her hand in his made Samuel’s stomach flip. A thrill coursed through him, heady and strong. There was no denying that he was eager to truly be back at work; to truly have a goal he could get behind and work hard for.
But this, this rush and heat, this had nothing to do with finding a cure.
An urge to pull her close nearly overwhelmed him. But she’d said they were friends. The word, now that he said it again in his mind, was both exciting and disappointing. Both invigorating and dispiriting. Feeling such contrary emotions at once was messing with his equilibrium.
He shook his head and forced his mind back to what she had said about finding a cure. “Just know you can depend on me for anything else you need.”
With a smile and a polite farewell, Leila made her way back to the castle.
He turned toward his own home, but only took a half-dozen steps before stopping and turning. “Leila isn’t British,” he called after her retreating form. He’d said as much because he was curious, and not at all because he wanted an excuse to speak with her if only for a moment or two longer.
She turned toward him, a half smile tipping one side of her mouth upward. “It’s Arabic, actually, and it means ‘dark beauty’. My mother got it from her reading.” She gave him a little wave and began walking once more.
He watched her walk the rest of the way and enter the castle. Blast it all—that woman was up to far more than nursing patients and he hadn’t the first clue what it was. And worst of all, he was well on his way to being in love with her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“HE MUST KNOW I like him,” Natalie complained as she and Leila slowly marched up the stairs and toward their bedchamber.
Leila agreed with that statement—when Natalie decided to let a man know she liked him, she made sure he knew it in no uncertain terms.
“I’ve asked around,” Natalie prattled on, each word burrowing deeper into Leila’s already aching head. “He only moved here a couple of years ago when the factory first opened and he’s never been known to show any lady particular interest, nor has he ever been seen out with another woman.”
Leila paused at the top of the stairs. “Forgive me, who are you talking about?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Natalie’s volume only grew. “Alton Fowler—the factory foreman.”
Leila continued down the hall. “Of course, forgive me.” Was Natalie still hung up on him? Leila herself had followed the man a few more time the past week since sending the hair samples to Doctor Hopkins. But she hadn’t learned anything more—just like every other time she’d followed him before that.
He may have been the one to take and manipulate Victor, but she was certain he was an underling, working for whoever was behind the real drugging of Conques. The man only did what he was told, when he was told to do it.
“I kissed him last night,” Natalie continued, back to her earlier, complaining self. Either she had already forgiven Leila for her lapse in memory or she recognized that no one else was going to listen to her and so Leila was her best option. “You should have seen the way the poor man stuttered.”
Not needing Leila to respond, Natalie giggled. “He turned the brightest red I’ve ever seen. I told him he needed to walk me home so I wasn’t alone in the cold.” She sighed melodramatically. “But he refused.”
Every moment of the exhausting day dragged on Leila, pulling her down, weighing against her chest. At least she could put to rest the suspicion that Fowler the foreman was a lady’s man. Apparently, his declaration of love was in earnest.
“I’ve never known a summer to be so cold and I’m going out again tomorrow.” Natalie faced Leila fully, a sweet smile on her lips. “Might I borrow your blue coat?”
She was worried about looking good in a coat? Leila knew Natalie wasn’t concerned about the cold, but about how vibrant the coat color was—namely, how eye-catching it could be.
“You don’t seem disposed to use it,” Natalie muttered under her breath.
Leila folded her arms. “That’s because it isn’t that cold.” She didn’t have the energy to argue with Natalie.
Over the past week, Leila had been given several new patients. They were shoving mattresses into corners and between bed frames. Newly admitted patients seemed to be worsening at a quickening rate, making it necessary to move the worst patients to Crow’s Hall sooner than had been the norm.
Even worse, the patients from Crow’s Hall were being buried in higher numbers than anyone wanted to count.
And all Natalie could care about was a man who clearly wasn’t interested in her advances.
Deep fatigue loosened Leila’s tongue. “You shouldn’t force yourself on men, Natalie.”
“I do not force myself on them,” she said, her words sharp. “I let them know how I feel—which is better than you. All you care about is staying in line and being a good little girl.” Natalie threw their bedchamber door open, marched inside, and slammed it in Leila’s face.
Gracious—she must have hit a sore spot.
Well, Natalie truly ought not throw herself at men like she did. She was only asking to get hurt, or worse. Thus far, Fowler hadn’t made a move to take advantage of Natalie—much to Leila’s relief—but suppose he did? Suppose she ended up pregnant and unwed?
A woman in that situation inevitably ended up an outcast, no matter what station in life they came from.
Leila leaned a shoulder against the wall, not yet ready to enter her bedchamber and face a furious Natalie. Leila didn’t want to see Natalie reduced to begging for food on the street. Wasn’t it part of her responsibility, as a good friend, to help Natalie not end up in rags?
And, speaking of her responsibilities, Inez Winstone had been staying in the castle for nearly a week and they still had not spoken in private, though they’d both tried numerous times.
Inez had asked to be taken on a tour of the hospital part of the castle and had even asked a ‘random’ nurse, Leila, to take her. But Martha had insisted on joining them and occupying all of Inez’s time.
Leila had secretly slipped into Inez’s room to meet her before she retired, only to be accosted by Inez’s very protective lady’s maid.
Inez had talked highly of Leila to Claude and he agreed to have Leila join them for supper one night—which only made Martha more hostile—but Claude forwent the usual retiring for brandy and insisted on staying with the women the entire evening, despite Uppertick’s constant hanging on his arm.
Leila had managed to slip Inez more than one message, including all the letters from Madame Uppertick. It had been risky, but she was growing desperate. Still, she had not received nor heard anything back.
Leila was no expert spy. This was only her first mission. But she’d never imagined it would be so incredibly difficult to meet with someone alone. From the rumors she heard about the ton, men did it with women all the time and rarely had issues.
Had she a brother with a penchant for being a rake, she would have been sorely tempted to interrogate him on his methods.
Leila looked at her closed bedchamber door. She could either face Natalie or give meeting with Inez another chance.
Inez it was. She’d rather wait until Natalie was good and asleep before going to bed anyway. Plus, the longer she and Inez were unable to meet, the more people died from the waltzing flu. And the longer whoever was behind this got what they wanted.
Leila continued down the hall, pausing before the large portrait of Claude’s sister and the side table below it with the ornate red-orange vase and glass-and-steel orbs. That young woman had been born to a life of ease, just as Leila had. Except she hadn’t traded it in for a life of sneaking about and telling
secrets.
Even with all the anguish and stress Leila had put up with since coming to Conques, she didn’t wish her life back the way it was. Did any of the rich understand how truly aimless their existence was? What was the point of spending the day on needlepoint and gossip?
After working long hours over those who were dying, Leila could see what a waste her previous life had been. It was something she could never unsee.
She hurried down the hall. Inez likely wasn’t awake yet —it was barely six in the morning. But that meant her lady’s maids were most likely with the other maids in a different part of the castle. They likely were awake though, which meant it was likely safer to approach from the main hallway, and not from the servants’ quarters. Leila knew where Inez was staying and, blessedly, the hallways were empty.
That was yet another thing she hadn’t anticipated. When imagining herself a spy, she’d seen herself dodging earls and nosy women of wealth. Who would have guessed her biggest obstacles would have been the servants and maids? She’d heard of gossip spreading through the lower class, but she’d had no idea just how little went unnoticed by them.
Without knocking, Leila slipped inside Inez’s room and shut the door noiselessly behind her.
Inez was not in bed, but sitting at her desk, the gas light turned low.
“Leila!” Inez stood and rushed over, throwing her arms around her.
“Thank goodness you thought to come just now,” Inez continued pulling back from their embrace. “I have had a wretched time learning which room was yours.” Though Inez was always above reproach when about society, when it was only Victor or Leila, there were a few things she let slip. Such as language or even her choice of beverage.
Inez sat atop her bed and patted the mattress next to her, inviting Leila to sit. “Monsieur Martin is growing suspicious of my interest in you, I am certain. And if I don’t miss my mark, Martha is no dear friend of yours.”
“To put it lightly,” Leila said, sitting by her friend. It took nearly half an hour to tell all to Inez. Leila’s friend was steady and not prone to fits of worry. Even while learning of what the foreman had done to her husband, Inez listened without speaking a word, except to ask for clarification. She didn’t stand up and pace or twist her hands in dismay, but her brow grew steadily more creased as Leila’s tale went on.
She ended with telling of Samuel and their hope in Doctor Hopkins.
Inez pulled out her suitcase from where it rested under the bed. She opened it up and twisted a small pin that looked perfectly in place along the edging. The front popped off, and inside the secret compartment were Uppertick’s water-spotted letters.
“Thank you for giving these to me. They made for interesting reading. Just how did you get them?”
Leila backtracked and told that part of the story.
Inez’s expression remained thoughtful, though her eyebrow ticked upward once or twice. “It seems this Samuel Rowley has proven himself quite helpful.”
“I haven’t told him who I am or who I’m working for.” Leila would not want Inez thinking she wasn’t fit for duty; she knew how to keep a secret. Yes, she had admitted to Samuel that she was more than a nurse, but her instincts had insisted that if she claimed to be only what others thought her to be, Samuel would have seen through it instantly.
Sometimes it was best to let a little truth out so that the whole could remain a secret.
Huh, that was actually quite poignant. If ever this horrid mission ended—it was beginning to drag—she would have to tell Victor her own, new words-of-wisdom.
Inez closed her case back up and returned it, keeping the letters out between them. “I have heard of Doctor Hopkins. She’s known for the unusual and for stretching standards. Nonetheless, I have a close acquaintance, Lord Chauncey, who is adamant she is both brilliant and trustworthy and that all her results are authentic. I say we trust whatever we learn from her.”
Inez picked up a letter and eyed it. “It seems we may have a suspect already, thanks to your hard work.”
Warmth from the praise spread across Leila’s chest. “Yes, the letters do look bad, in light of all that’s happened here in Conques. Do you know much about Madame Uppertick?”
“No more than I’ve been able to ascertain since being here. Which, as luck would have it, is quite a bit. The woman is petty, clingy of Monsieur Martin, and quite willing to stoop low to reach her end.”
That was more than Leila was expecting to hear. Yes, the petty and clingy part she’d seen herself, but not the other part.
“Do you really think the woman capable of hurting, even killing, dozens of innocent people all for being spurned?” Leila had thought of the possibility multiple times and every time she came to the same ending. “I just don’t understand how a woman—or anyone—could cause such suffering all over a broken heart.”
“You don’t think anyone is capable of such an act for so little cause?”
Leila shook her head. “No. I think to be willing to perpetrate something like the waltzing flu, an individual’s motives would have to be bigger than unrequited love.”
She had been thrilled when she first found the letters and the threats inside them, but since then she’d begun to wain in her belief that Uppertick was the true perpetrator. “I’m just not convinced it’s her. I know I would never do something so horrendous over a man.”
“And that is the fallacy in your logic,” Inez said. “You would never do this over unrequited love. But that doesn’t mean another woman wouldn’t.”
Leila wasn’t sure she could stretch her mind that far. “So you do think Uppertick is the one?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. First of all, though she clearly is claiming loving her will solve all of Monsieur Martin’s problems with the waltzing flu, all the letters seem to be written after the flu began.
“She talks of the problem already at hand. She says more will die, not that eventually some will. I’m not saying she is the perpetrator, nor am I saying she’s innocent. I’m saying, for a woman like her, this may prove she has motive enough.”
Leila leaned back against the wide bedpost. “I still don’t think Claude snubbing her is motive enough.”
“Claude? Just how many men have given you leave to use their Christian names since coming to Conques?” Inez waved away her own question. “Never mind, just see to it you remain focused.”
“I swear I have. But getting in close with Claude seemed wise, since he knows more of what’s been happening here in Conques than anyone else.”
Inez nodded her head and for the first time, exhaustion and worry showed in the lines around her eyes and mouth. “I know. You were very innovative the way you got these letters and have shown much bravery in following the foreman.” Her voice grew soft and vulnerable. “Victor is all right, isn’t he?”
“I check on him every couple of days, as often as I can. He’s showing many of the signs of waltzing flu, but I can’t tell if he actually is being drugged the same way the rest of the town is, or if he’s being drugged with something different. The waltzing flu has so many various, seemingly unrelated symptoms, it’s hard to tell. But as of late, he doesn’t seem to be worsening.”
Inez’s hand stroked the large comforter on the bed, her gaze going to the smooth, unused side. “We’ll get to the bottom of this soon. Let’s decide on a better way to communicate and meet since if we’re found together it will assuredly raise hard questions.”
Leila sat up and once more embraced her friend. “We’ll figure this out. And we’ll bring Victor home safe.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DOCTOR HOPKINS’ RESULTS did not disappoint. A week prior, while Samuel was trying to find something to occupy his time around the neglected castle grounds, Leila beckoned him over.
She’d said that Doctor Hopkins had tested every one of the hair fragments in depth and the results were undeniable. Conques was suffering from mercury poisoning.
Leila’s first guess was that the mercury was
coming from the factory. Now, six days after that first conversation, a large detail from the French government along with multiple scientists were in town to tour the factory and decide if it was to blame.
Samuel knew Leila was not just another nurse; he wasn’t sure who she was. But he knew one thing now—she had connections in high places. Or knew people who did, anyway.
Not only that, but she’d been able to finagle his way into the group. He stood at the back of the party as they marched up the undecorated path to the factory entrance. Toward the front, with several prominent French officials, was Monsieur Martin himself and the visiting ladies, Madame Uppertick and Madame Winstone.
It was a shame that Leila herself could not come, but it seemed no one in the French government knew of her or her involvement. He’d overheard more than one passing comment on the secretive nature of their tip regarding mercury poisoning and the possibility that it came from the factory.
The officials stated in perfect confidence that their tip was good, so they probably knew who it came from and trusted the source. But they weren’t willing to divulge so much to Monsieur Martin or anyone else.
“They’re so elegant, don’t you think?” Amelia said, pointing to the two women beside Monsieur Martin.
No one seemed bothered when he’d brought Amelia with him. In a group this large, it seemed one more lowly peasant wasn’t enough to raise any eyebrows.
“Both elegant, but in no other way the same, I’d say,” Samuel replied.
The large doors opened and they all filed inside. It was colder inside the factory. Great metal walls rose up on all sides. The massive room was filled with the grinding, pounding noise of gears, conveyor belts, and pistons. It was like the Gearhound’s engine, only ten-times the size.
He noticed oil drippings on the floor and rust along more than one piece of metal. The same, but not nearly as clean or well-cared for. One could probably assume the people working here were not as well-cared for either, then.
