Chapter Eleven

W hy were there so many people? And their incessant chatter—voices slicing through the air, bodies crowding her, menacing, filling the room.

A woman entered the chamber—the woman with the large nose with the wart on the end and thick lips who’d poked her awake yesterday. Or was it the day before? She carried a tray bearing a bowl from which steam arose.

An aroma filled the air—a not-unpleasant smell of…

Of what? As hard as she tried, the word wouldn’t form in her mind.

“Come now, young lady,” Mrs. Wart-Nose said in an overly singsong voice. “Why don’t we take a little broth? It’s beef.”

Beef— that was the word.

“We might feel better if we drink it this time, rather than let it go cold.”

We?

Why did she say “we” in such a condescending tone, as if speaking to a witless child?

Perhaps I am witless.

Words that should come easy failed to materialize in her mind, leaving her dumbstruck and unable to ask their questions.

“Don’t we like beef broth?” Mrs. Wart-Nose continued. “We can’t afford to be overly choosy when our health is at stake.”

Perhaps I don’t like beef.

What did beef taste like?

She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, scrabbling at the thin ribbon that led to the precious piece of her past. But, like a coin dropped into a well, it sank, giving a final flicker as it reflected the sunlight before disappearing into the darkness.

Mrs. Wart-Nose smiled, revealing yellowing teeth.

“Have we remembered our name yet?”

“Of course I remember. It’s…”

Her name hung in the air—a soft blur. She willed it to snap into focus, but the harder she strained, the blurrier it became.

“Never mind, child.” The woman patted her arm.

“Don’t touch me, you hag!” She balled her hand into a fist.

“That’s quite enough of that , young lady. I’ll not tolerate such behavior.”

The door opened, and a man stood in the doorway. The doctor—yes, that was it. And his name was…

It was on her lips, if only she could recall it.

He approached the bed, and she winced at the sight of him—the bruise below his eye and a line of scratches on his cheek.

“It’s time for our medicine.” He held up a phial.

Now he was patronizing her.

“It’s my medicine, not ours ,” she said.

“Very well—it’s time for your medicine.”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child!” she snarled. “Leave me alone—you shouldn’t be in my chamber.”

“I’m a doctor,” he said. “Like it or not, you’re my patient.”

“And we’ll speak to you in any manner we see fit,” Mrs. Wart-Nose said, “seeing as we took you in, and little thanks we’re getting for it. Look what you’ve done to my Gerald when he’s been nothing but kind toward you!”

“Wh-what I’ve done?”

The man touched his cheek. “Charlotte, my dear—we must make allowances. The young woman’s been through an ordeal. I’m sure she meant no harm. We all strike out when we’re frightened.” He smiled and resumed his attention on her. “Have you remembered your name yet? Or where you’re from?”

“Wh-where I’m from?”

“Can you describe your home, if you can’t recall its name? There’s a number of villages upriver.”

“Why upriver?”

“You were found floating downriver, so it makes sense to make inquiries in the opposite direction. I think—” He broke off.

“My dear, are you all right?”

The river…

Icy fingers rippled over her flesh, curling around her body like chains, binding her arms, swirling and forming a maelstrom of angry, dark liquid. She tried to draw breath, but the chains bound her too tight. Then the fingers gripped her shoulders, and she let out a cry.

“Forgive me, my dear,” the man said. “It must be very distressing.”

“Is she having a seizure, Gerald?”

“No, Charlotte, I believe the poor child was reliving the moment she almost drowned.”

She blinked, and a hot tear splashed onto her cheek. “D-drowned?”

“Don’t you remember? We told you yesterday.”

She closed her eyes, willing the memory to surface—a man approaching her, his thick body blocking the sunlight, hands reaching for her throat as she struck out in fear.

“No, I don’t.” She glanced about the room, with its dull whitewashed walls and bare floorboards. “I need to go home. Why haven’t you taken me home? I can’t stay here—this place is horrible.”

“Well, I’ve never heard anything so uncivil!” the woman cried. “After all we’ve done for you! If it were up to me, I’d turf you out to fend for yourself. It’s plain to see why nobody’s come to—”

“Charlotte, that’s enough!” the man interrupted. “Go see to the children. Leave our guest to me.”

Children— ugh . So that explained the cacophony earlier—the high-pitched shrieks and uncouth gaiety.

The woman scratched the wart on her nose. Then she set the tray beside the bed and exited the room.

The man placed the phial on the tray, then leaned forward. “May I?”

“May you what?”

He gestured toward her head. “I’d like to inspect your wound.”

She reached for her forehead, but rather than skin, her fingertips met cloth.

“Careful,” he said. “You had a nasty bump. The bones seem sound, but it’ll be tender for a while.” Then he hesitated. “You’ll not strike me again? We want to help—you must try to trust us.”

He placed his hands on her head, running light fingertips along her forehead, and she winced at the pulse of pain.

“Very good,” he said. “I think we can remove the bandage tomorrow.”

“And then?”

“We’ll see about getting you up and outside. You want to be well when you leave.”

“I doubt Mrs. Wart-Nose cares whether I’m well or not.”

The doctor’s smile slipped. “My wife may have been uncivil toward you, child, and for that, I apologize. But that’s no reason to treat her with disrespect. Where would you go if we hadn’t taken you in?”

“Home.”

“And where’s that?”

She paused, focusing on an image—a red-bricked building, an unkempt hedge, and a column of thick gray smoke spilling into the sky…

Then the image faded, consumed by the smoke. Another tear spilled onto her cheeks. But the sympathy she’d first seen in the doctor’s gaze had now gone.

“Exactly,” he said, with a sharp nod. “I’ll not turn you out—yet. But the time will come when we must decide on your future—that is, if nobody comes to claim you.”

To claim me…

She shuddered. Was she the property of another?

You will belong to me—utterly and completely…

A heavy voice, thick with lust and laden with threat, pushed into her senses, and her gut twisted with fear.

Where had she heard those words?

She glanced about, pain thickening behind her eyes. But the figure was a product of her imagination. The room was empty save her and the doctor.

“You’re distressed,” he said. “It’s to be expected—you’ve suffered a severe concussion. But you’ll soon recover. For now, you must rest. You can take some of my wife’s broth later.” He picked up the phial and shook a few drops onto a spoon. “Are we going to do as we’re told?”

She tried to shake her head, then groaned as pain flooded her senses. He held the spoon to her lips, and she swallowed, wincing at the bitter taste. Then, with a firm but gentle hand, he pushed her back onto the pillows.

“Sleep now,” he said. “The best remedy is rest.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but the words never came. The world slipped sideways, and she slid, once more, into oblivion.