Chapter 12

twelve

E DITH TRIED TO concentrate on the list of drugs that needed a fresh supply. The dispensary in St. Brigid Hospital had tall, oppressive shelves, dark walls, and only one window. Not exactly cheerful.

Adding to the list the quinine, she couldn’t even write without being tormented by her thoughts. She should see Perry. Absolutely.

The message she’d sent to him didn’t convey what she wanted to tell him, starting with the whole truth. He’d encouraged her through the years of her fake studies. He ought to know his admiration for her was misplaced. Yes, she’d go right now. No more excuses. If she really wanted to change her life, she had to start with Perry.

As difficult as it was, it was the only way to turn a new page in her life.

She put the list down and untied her apron. Everyone said that Condy’s fluid was odourless, but she could swear to catch a pungent whiff of the purple-coloured disinfectant when she left the dispensary. The white walls and bright light in the hallway caused her to blink after the darkness of the dispensary.

“You need to focus!” The angry voice of a nurse came from one of the patients’ rooms.

She paused to peek inside. A nurse was sitting next to the bed of Mrs. Richards, a woman who had suffered a head trauma similar to Perry’s.

“Oh, enough for today.” The nurse scraped her chair back and left a bowl of soup on the nightstand. “I have work to do.”

“Is something the matter?” Edith glanced at Mrs. Richards’s pale and tense face.

The nurse wiped a large stain of pea soup from her apron. “It’s taking me too long to help Mrs. Richards eat her lunch, and she isn’t cooperating. I have my round to finish.” She strode out of the room, muttering.

While Edith appreciated the nurses’ hard work, every patient needed proper attention and care; that was what her father had taught her.

You must be quick in the operating room to save a life, but outside of it, everyone needs time, respect, and patience .

Edith sat on the chair the nurse had vacated and took the bowl. “May I?”

Mrs. Richards gave a jerky nod.

Holding the bowl with one hand, Edith helped Mrs. Richards take a spoonful. Mrs. Richards’s arm shook, sending drops of soup on the bedsheet. Her eyes reddened with tears.

“A friend of mine suffered from your same condition,” Edith said, taking another spoonful. “It took him time and patience, but now he can do everything.” She helped the woman again. “The trick is to take as many pauses as you need.” She stopped Mrs. Richards’s hand. “Move again when you’re ready.”

Pausing and starting again, Mrs. Richards managed to swallow the spoonful without spilling the soup.

Edith squeezed the woman’s hand. “Excellent. Try again.”

An hour later, the stained bedsheet showed Mrs. Richards’s effort, but the bowl was empty.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Richards stammered but not as seriously as Perry had used to. She blinked fresh tears, and emotion tightened Edith’s throat. “It’s difficult.”

“It is.”

Mrs. Richards sighed. “I must get b-better. My husband isn’t earning enough. I don’t know how we can… the children…” The rest of the sentence was incomprehensible so much she stammered.

But Edith could guess what the woman meant to say. She hugged Mrs. Richards, worried about the woman’s future. Perry’s condition had taken years to improve, but he could afford the best specialists and a Swiss clinic. Mrs. Richards was a tailor’s wife and a seamstress herself, but she wouldn’t be able to work for a while.

“…children have not enough food,” Mrs. Richards said. “We have debts.”

The two sovereigns Valentine had given Edith were still in her pocket. She’d meant to give them to Marianne to repay one of the many loans Edith had enjoyed, but she’d changed her mind.

She handed the two gold coins to Mrs. Richards. “I don’t mean to offend you, but please, accept these.”

Mrs. Richards shook her head. “C-can’t pay back.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She put the coins in Mrs. Richards’s palm and closed her hand. “Do it for me.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Richards’s voice cracked.

After Edith changed the dirty bedsheet, she sat on a bench in the corridor, wondering how she could help Mrs. Richards. For now, she ought to talk to Perry. A flurry of dark-red velvet distracted her.

Marianne marched towards her, her lips pressing in a grim line. “Come with me for a walk.”

“Actually, I was?—”

“Now!” Marianne said before striding towards the exit.

Edith jolted. Marianne shouting an order was a first. In a hurry, she retrieved her coat from the anteroom and put it on.

Marianne and her maid waited for her outside the hospital. Since Marianne had become a viscountess, talking to her alone was impossible. Her lady’s maid followed her like a shadow, often glancing at Edith with a disapproving stare.

“Here I am,” Edith said.

“To the park where no one can hear us.” Marianne headed to the small park in front of the hospital with the determination of a general going to battle.

“What is it?” Edith asked once they stepped into the park.

Marianne turned to her maid. “I need a moment alone with my sister.” After the maid moved away, Marianne said, “I really don’t know what you were thinking.” She sounded like their mother.

Edith was at a loss. There were many things she’d done without thinking. She was spoiled for choice. “What do you mean?”

“I saw it.”

“Saw what? What are you talking about?”

“The painting.”

A moment of utter shock caught Edith. The whole world seemed to have gone silent and still. Aside from a distant buzzing in her ears, she didn’t hear anything. What Marianne said couldn’t be possible.

“I…”

“I knew it.” Marianne took a few deep breaths, but she didn’t look calmer. “It’s you in that painting. At first I thought, I hoped I was mistaken, but your reaction dispels any doubts. Goodness, Edith. What were you thinking?”

Panic left a pungent taste in her mouth. That was it, the moment when all the lies she’d spun for years came crashing down on her.

“It’s not…where did you see it?”

“The National Gallery, by chance. I was curious to see the paintings in the restricted section, thinking they were about protestors or other political matters. Never mind. The point is that there were many similar paintings, all by Mr. Carter, and yours stood out. The Star Maiden.”

Edith’s pulse slammed in her veins. “Mr. Carter said he wouldn’t sell it, wouldn’t show it to anyone. He promised.”

“Well, he lied. But there’s more. After I saw the painting, I left the gallery to talk to Thomas. I wanted to buy the painting before someone else did. But when I returned, it was gone.”

“Heavens.” So much for overcoming her fears. So much for starting over. She’d made a mess, and no, she couldn't blame Valentine or Daphne. She didn’t need help to destroy her life. “What can I do? Marianne, I swear. I had no intention of putting you in trouble.”

“You always say that, don’t you?” Marianne pointed a finger at her. “You do whatever you want without thinking of the consequences.”

“I was told the painting wasn’t to be exposed.”

Marianne ignored her. “We must find out who bought it. Do you realise what will happen if people recognise you? I might be mistaken for you, for goodness’ sake. Thomas would be furious. Why did you do it?”

“It was because…” The reasons she’d agreed to pose seemed rather shallow now.

“You silly girl.” Tears glistened in Marianne’s eyes. “Mother is worried about you. She told me you’ve lost appetite, and some days you don’t leave the bed. Father barely talks to you. And all this for what? Your personal enjoyment.”

Edith lowered her gaze. Dozens of thoughts twirled in her mind. None of them pleasant. For someone who chased only enjoyment, she wasn’t happy at all.

“The situation is serious.” Marianne took Edith’s hand. “Your behaviour reflects badly on all of us. I knew that sooner or later, you’d start a scandal.”

“There must be something I can do.”

“Edith.” Marianne’s tone became sharper. “Think about Father. Even his reputation would suffer, and what will you and Mother do when his patients don’t want to see him because his daughter posed naked for an artist?”

“I’ll do everything to prevent a scandal.” She sounded scared to her own ears, but she wanted to reassure Marianne a little. Surely, something could be done to avoid a catastrophe. “Listen, I’ll go to the gallery and find out who bought the painting. Then I’ll convince the buyer to give the painting to me or…something else. I’ll work to get the painting from the buyer. I’ll do anything to get it back. I promise.”

“I’ll come with you.” Marianne patted her pocket. “I have enough money to bribe the whole lot of attendants at the gallery.”

Edith had to admit that, without Marianne, she wouldn’t have had a hard time dealing with the staff at the gallery. The attendant was adamant about the fact a client’s privacy was paramount. The gallery would never, ever, under any conditions, reveal a client’s name. He threatened to send for the police if Edith insisted.

Marianne kept talking though. “You must understand. We’re two ladies in need of assistance, and you aren’t behaving in a very chivalrous fashion.”

The attendant was flustered. “My lady, you must understand. I have my orders, and our clients are exclusive ones.”

“This is a matter of life or death,” Edith said. “Do you want someone’s death on your conscience? You must believe us when we say it’s of utmost importance that we find the person who bought the painting.”

The man fiddled with his collar. “Please, my ladies, my job is at risk.”

“We won’t tell anyone you helped us.” Marianne handed him a few banknotes.

Dash it. Edith would need to repay her sister, not only for today’s bribe. “Please,” she said.

The attendant gazed around before pocketing the money. “I’ll leave the register open and unattended on the counter for a few minutes. If you take a peek at the list of buyers in the left column, it won’t be my doing.”

The moment he stepped away from the counter, Edith grabbed the register. The titles of the paintings were in alphabetical order. Astrea… Astrea… there she was. Sold for five hundred pounds and bought by…

“Oh no.” Edith grabbed the counter for support.

Earl of Ravenscroft. Not him. Anyone but him.

Marianne read the column as well. “That’s good news,” she said. “He’s a good friend, isn’t he? You’ll have only to ask him to have the painting back, or even better, to destroy it. Goodness, I’m so relieved.”

No, Edith wasn’t.