Chapter Seven

David had not seen Suzanne Raeburn since their conversation outside Balaclava, as she had departed for the north days later, and he and Elena had left shortly after. Fortunately, he had enough connections in the army and shipping that their exit was swift. They made the journey back to Portsmouth, and then he'd left for Bern upon reaching London after he sorted out the issue of a license.

Time had not dulled Suzanne Raeburn, though she looked like she had carried things back from Balaclava. Whether it was illness or weariness, he could not tell.

"Mrs. Raeburn, you look as radiant as last I saw you." He felt somewhat unsteady from climbing the stairs to the hospital and sought to cover his fatigue with good humor. Elena started to say something but stopped and remained silent. Something warmed in him as he gave thanks that she understood he did not want attention drawn to his difficulty with stairs.

"He's such a charmer. I shouldn't have let you marry him, Elena. You know how I told you not to trust handsome, charming men."

He often forgot about his face, but he couldn't think of himself as handsome anymore. Not compared to what he used to be. "Well, good thing I'm no longer handsome."

Elena gently swatted his arm. She reached up to adjust his hair, then let her fingertips lightly graze the left side of his face. He froze. This was her second time touching him in the past few days. This had to be progress.

"You're still rather handsome, my lord."

Even though he'd rather not think about his looks, he was delighted she found him handsome, and he forgot all about the stairs. It must have shown on his face because Elena looked as though she wanted to roll her eyes at him.

"Do not look so pleased, my lord. I am unsure of how I feel about handsome men." She lowered her hand. "I am not inclined to trust them."

He didn't know what to make of that, so he looked to the other woman.

"I might look a bit different from the last time I saw you." He couldn't keep the grin from his voice as he handed his cane to Elena to show how he could stand without it. Mrs. Raeburn looked genuinely happy for him, and Elena was beaming. As proud as he was of himself, of his own determination, he was struck by the realization that these two women were as much to thank for his life as all the doctors he saw abroad. If they hadn't built the hotel, if Elena hadn't been there when he woke up, he might not be here today. He looked at both of them, lost for words at how to thank them. For an English gentleman, he was better than most at recognizing and expressing his feelings, but that wasn't saying very much.

Mrs. Raeburn did not seem to mind his lapse as she went on. "While I am no doctor, I'm guessing that your body did much of the work, as your paralysis was temporary and not permanent. Though I suppose the doctors in Switzerland showed you exercises to help you relearn how to walk essentially?"

David nodded, not surprised that she was familiar with the workings of the clinic.

They spent the remainder of the day touring the various hospital wards. He was impressed by everything but particularly moved by the adjacent convalescent home for veterans of the Crimean War. He felt oddly humbled that he could walk about with his beautiful wife while many men lay in beds, missing limbs, or, he shuddered to think, so mentally anguished they could not return to their former lives.

At one point, when he had lingered in the convalescent home while Elena and Mrs. Raeburn had moved on, he dropped his cane. It landed with a sudden and loud clang that seemed to disturb one of the men from a bed, who looked around, shaking uncontrollably. David, who felt guilty for making the noise, grabbed the man by the forearm.

"Breathe," he commanded quietly. "Count backward from ten," he said, remembering one of the practices from the clinic. The man settled, took a deep breath, and then looked up. He was sweaty and pallid, but he glanced at David gratefully.

"Thanks, milord."

David was embarrassed by the distance the man put between them, but he did not know how to overcome it. Perhaps if he shared a small amount of himself…

"It helps me," he admitted. "When I lose my breath, I count backward from ten. Usually, before I get to one, I remember where I am."

The man looked uncertain but grunted in agreement after a moment. David pointed to an empty bed next to him with his cane. "May I?"

The man swallowed, then grunted again, and David sat. He saw the man's gaze go to his scars and his cane and judge him to be a fellow veteran as his wary eyes softened marginally.

"Hector McDaniel," the man muttered, "invalided out after friendly fire at Kersch."

David quickly decided not to give his title or military rank. It might make the man more comfortable. "David, uh, David Pierce. Got this." He rubbed his scarred temple. "Battle of the Great Redan." There was a pause as David tried to think of what to say, so he went with the first thing that came to mind. "Are you a good shot?" he asked.

Sometimes, David felt self-conscious as he had only arrived in Crimea in early 1855 when his regiment was sent as reinforcements, then he was wounded and invalided out by the end of the summer. He knew that the first fall and winter before that had been hell on earth, and McDaniel was fortunate to have survived his injury and disease. At the same time, David had spent that winter training with foreign mercenaries in Greece.

"I was." McDaniel looked uncomfortable. He gestured to his left arm, which David realized he had not moved this entire time. "But you need a working arm to aim. Even worse, my nerves are shot. If I hear a loud noise…I can barely get through the day."

David nodded. "I saw many men like that."

They sat in silence for a few more moments. David wanted to keep the man talking, as he appeared to stop shaking when he spoke.

"If I may ask," David started slowly. "Why did you join the army?"

"Military family," the man obliged him with a response. "Long line in the Black Watch. " The man looked at the ceiling above as if weighing his choice of words, then came to a decision. "I haven't written them that I was back. I write with the left, unnatural as it is. I can't hold anything in my right hand for long, either." He swallowed. "I don't want them to see me like this."

David remembered his dread in seeing Irene, that his scars and injuries might scare her, one of her few living family members. "I was afraid to see my sister again. But her joy in my being alive outweighed her discomfort at my injuries."

"But you don't shake as I do."

He had a point. "True. But I can't be in crowds anymore. I'm always scanning the crush of people, looking for ways out." He could see in the man's expression that it wasn't the same. "I know it's not equivalent. But if you ever change your mind, I'd happily write them for you."

McDaniel studied him for a moment. "All right, I'll return the question, why did you join?"

No one had really asked him that. His friends had tried to talk him out of it, but they never really asked him why he was purchasing a commission when he had a title and a business. He might as well be honest since he had never had the opportunity to say it aloud.

"When my father died, I was overwhelmed by the responsibility he left, even more than the grief. I suppose I wanted to escape." Many peers inherited a title when the previous one died, but few also inherited a business. Even though he had Aunt Sophie to help with the business side, shouldering the title and business responsibilities crushed him as a young man. He found himself acting rashly, living a libertine lifestyle. He engaged in drinking, casual love affairs, and carousing without a thought to the consequences, all in need of an escape from the suffocating responsibility he inherited with his father's death. Then, one morning, when recovering from a terrible hangover, he felt such an overwhelming disgust with himself that he knew he needed to get away.

"Good man, your father?" McDaniel asked.

"The very best. But he spent most of the end missing my mother."

McDaniel smiled sadly. "I always wanted to be a father like mine. But now…I don't know if I'll ever be one."

David had been in that position only too recently. It was not something one would often admit to a stranger, but being veterans of the Crimea inducted them into a unique brotherhood that was difficult to put into words.

McDaniel blinked momentarily, his eyes shuttering again as though he believed he had revealed too much to a virtual stranger. "I think I need to rest if you'll excuse me."

"Of course, I'll take my leave. If you ever change your mind about the letters, I'll be back."

David thought about offering his card, but for some reason, he felt that would put more social distance between them, so he just gave the man a nod and turned to leave. As he picked up his cane and walked away, he felt a new lightness he couldn't explain. Now, to find his wife…

****

Elena smiled and wandered away as her husband conversed with the shaking man. She had confidence that he did not need her at that moment. She wondered where Irene had gone off to since they first arrived. They usually stuck to the women's ward, as there was still a great stigma of women being alone in a room full of men, but with David's presence, it was different. Things were much more regulated here than in the Crimea, which was chaotic and a bit disorganized. As she enjoyed the peace of walking through a quiet hallway, she became aware of someone else in the hallway with her.

"Elena?"

Antigone, or Annie, Sprague was tall enough that Elena had to look up to talk to her. She was a striking girl, elegant and statuesque, with gleaming black hair and high cheekbones. In some ways, she looked less like an Englishwoman than Elena, as both their skin was much darker than what was fashionable, but Elena thought Annie looked much more beautiful than most pale Englishwomen she saw in ballrooms. Annie often visited with Irene, her dearest friend, once Irene had started accompanying Elena to the hospital. She had a strong constitution, able to calm the most belligerent patient in a soothing tone as if gentling a bucking horse. She was also frighteningly idealistic in a way Elena wasn't sure she had ever been, even when she was so young. But she had such a serenity about her that she almost convinced you to see the world as she did.

"I hear you met my father last night. I hope he didn't bore you with his studies." Annie took Elena's arm as they turned into a long hallway.

"No, but he did explain the origin of your name."

Annie made a face. "Yes, it is from a Greek tragedy. About a girl who dies for the honor of her family." Annie's face cleared, and she looked at Elena with curiosity. "Greece is not that far from your homeland. You did not learn the Greeks?"

"Some stories were passed on, but I don't remember many tragedies."

"Ah, I see." She paused as if absorbing the information, then went on, "No one ever calls me Antigone but for Lord Michael for some reason." Her cross expression gave away her thoughts on that particular gentleman, though Elena could not blame her. Whenever she saw them together, Lord Michael did seem to always try to pick at Annie's idealism. Elena would have to ask David about that.

"I always say there is truth in names, but in your case, I hope there is not. Though I could not imagine you acting without honor." Annie was so strong and calm. Elena could see her in a different life as one of those knights David liked so well.

As Annie blushed slightly at the compliment, Elena realized she could ask her about the Season.

"How are you enjoying your Season?"

Annie paused again as if she needed to weigh her words. "On some level, I am enjoying it, but in some ways, it is frustrating."

Elena looked up at her for an explanation. Annie sighed.

"I've never been out in society before. I've mostly been around my father and his friends. They are interesting people who study or travel. Nothing like the ton…" Annie stopped walking for a moment as if she had to steel herself before she went on. "I recently became aware of rumors regarding my birth, which may have changed how some gentlemen treat me."

Elena kept her eyes down to conceal her shock. Annie was the granddaughter of a marquess, had a large dowry, and was striking in her beauty. Elena had seen gentlemen fawning over Annie at several events. But then she thought back to the few occasions before David returned where gentlemen had propositioned her when she made the mistake of wandering into a secluded corner. Those gentlemen appeared to make certain assumptions about her marriage, likely deeming her a foreign trollop who had seduced her way to a title. She had been embarrassed and pretended not to understand what they were asking. She hoped Annie wasn't receiving the same kind of treatment, as she always sought to protect Irene and Annie at any event.

"Ah, yes, I understand how those kinds of gentlemen can be."

"It's so unfair. They can do whatever they want, and I must be above all reproach at all times." Elena glanced up at her and saw a faint redness on her high cheekbones that was no blush. "Apparently, someone started a rumor that my late mother had an affair with a peddler, cuckolding my father." She practically spat the last word. "And I was the result of that union. Because I'm so dark."

Elena wished she could take this pain away from her friend. "I'm sorry, Annie. I did not grow up in this society. I did not know how cruel they can be."

Annie bit her lower lip. "I hate it. I hate how many of them look at me. I might as well marry quickly to avoid society as soon as possible."

Annie looked so detached and sad as she spoke the words that Elena grabbed her hand. "I hope it is a good man you choose."

"I always wanted a hero who would slay dragons and right wrongs." She gave a small shrug. "I will just have to find him quickly."

Elena squeezed her friend's hand. "I hope you do." She thought this might be an opportunity to broach the subject of Irene.

"What about Irene? Has anyone started rumors about her?"

"Irene? I don't think so. I know the oldest families look down on her because the family is in trade, and Lord Grayston's marriage to—" Annie cut herself off as a look of guilt crossed her face.

"To me?" Elena asked, scared to hear the answer. "Have I brought her shame?"

"No!" Annie said fervently. "You have been above reproach. I suppose it was all so mysterious and sudden. People are curious about you. You're very…un-English. I think you're wonderful."

Elena looked away at the compliment. "The feeling is mutual." She frowned, thinking. "Then forgive me, I would not ask you to betray a confidence, but why does Irene look so sad?"

Annie looked to be deep in thought again, and she took a moment before she spoke. "She has not shared any confidences with me. But I noticed it, too. Knowing her these years, the most I can say is that this was never her dream. She never fantasized about a lord she would marry. She admired her brother or her aunt Sophie and wanted to take after them. She seems happiest when she is here or when she is making music."

Elena nodded absentmindedly as she shared that exact thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone walking swiftly by. Maggie, who was wiping her hands, stopped and waved at her friends.

"I haven't seen both of you together in a while. Where is Irene?"

"I think she was near David last I checked. He was talking to a soldier."

Maggie nodded solemnly. "I didn't know he was coming."

Elena smiled. "He wanted to see your mother. I forgot to ask her, when will she meet the queen?"

Maggie's expression darkened. "The date was postponed indefinitely. Apparently, some of the queen's advisors were concerned with the…optics of the meeting."

Elena's grim expression seemed to mirror Annie's face as she thought she understood the deeper meaning of what Maggie was saying.

"Are you relieved?" Elena asked. "You had been concerned about the meeting."

"Yes and no. I hate that she was denied greater recognition for her work, likely due to the color of her skin. I can't forgive them for that. But I am glad our funding and her position are not in jeopardy." Her jaw tightened. For a moment, Elena was struck by the intense hazel of her eyes, almost like amber. They weren't quite brown but not quite green. Unlike David's eyes, which were brown along the edge, but the center was green, like a changing leaf. She felt her heart stir as she thought of her husband's eyes, then wondered why she knew their color so intimately. Because he followed her with his eyes, a voice inside said, eyes that were both warm and searingly hot, that brought her comfort but also profoundly unnerved her when she thought of the hum in her blood when he gazed at her. Could she take a chance on desire again? Or had it been seared out of her by betrayal, by crude men who pawed at her late at night? She did not know. But she was afraid that she might owe it to herself to find out.

As Elena came out of her thoughts, Maggie continued. "I was on my way to set a young woman's bone. She came in bruised and bloody last night. Do you think you could help?"

Maggie's husband was an experienced consulting surgeon often called into emergencies. Maggie, like her mother, had grown up around healing, so she was often entrusted with tasks like setting bones. Elena knew she was asking Annie more than her, with her soothing, steady presence, but Elena felt great compassion for the young woman. "Why don't you go find Irene?" she said to Annie. "I'll help set the bone." Fortunately, even though she was now a baroness, she remembered her nursing skills from her time outside Balaclava.

Annie squeezed Elena's hand as she left, and Elena returned the squeeze. She could do this. Though why she had decided to was still a mystery to her. She was not one to volunteer to talk to new people. She often stuck to those she felt comfortable with. She could often hide her shyness under many layers, but it was there. Had always been there. Even in her village, she loved talking to those she was familiar with, but most of the people she had known her entire life. Anatole was the first person she'd ever taken a chance on, the first stranger she'd opened herself up to. And look how well that turned out.

She and Maggie walked toward the women's ward, which, like most of the other wards, did not offer patients much privacy to help the staff with sight lines. She had not thought of these things in Balaclava, as most of where she went, even the hospital, had been somewhat makeshift. Only now that she was in London did she see the full extent of what a hospital could be, although Mrs. Raeburn explained theirs was different from a specialist hospital or a hospital only for women. Often, women who came to the women's ward were escaping jealous husbands or lovers who had hurt them. Elena knew that bad things had happened to her, but she felt truly humbled when she spoke to some of these women, not daring to share or name her own unfortunate history.

"Who is she, Maggie?"

"She wouldn't say. She wouldn't say who hurt her either. Maybe you could talk to her while I look at her arm?"

Maggie led Elena to a young woman who couldn't be much older than Irene lying with her eyes closed. She had warm skin similar to Elena's, but instead of golden-brown hair, she had dark brown hair that was matted with dried blood. While much of her had been cleaned up, the blood had stayed in her hair. Elena had a sudden flash of the way to üsküdar, how her wound wouldn't heal. What the dried blood did to her hair, the smell of it. She had a moment where she almost cast up her accounts, as she had heard the British say. She steeled herself and looked for a chair to pull next to the cot.

"How'd you get that scar?"

The woman, who had just moments before looked to be asleep, spoke in a rasp. Maggie blinked, then quickly recovered and looked at Elena apprehensively. Elena wanted to talk to the woman to distract her from Maggie's inspection, but she hadn't been prepared to discuss her scar. But if it could help this woman…

"It was a man. He cut me."

"Why?"

From any other person, this would have been a great impertinence. Usually composed, Maggie looked offended for Elena's sake, but Elena felt compelled to answer. She gave Maggie a slight shake of the head. Why indeed.

"He said he loved me. But I disobeyed him. So, he said he would cut my face so that no one would ever want me again." Elena swallowed. "But I pushed him and ran, so he only got part of my face."

Elena took some perverse satisfaction in knowing she had beaten Anatole in this small way. And besides, if love meant jealousy, pain, and heartbreak, she did not know if she wanted anyone to love her ever again.

It had all happened so quickly, the glint of the knife, that feeling that time had slowed down and she had precious few seconds to save herself. She had been lucky that he stumbled and fell, off-balance from her pushing back. That gave her enough time. There were multiple ways back to her village, and fortunately, he did not follow her path, or if he did, it was after he had tried a different route. Or he had merely gotten caught up in the chaos that followed. But then again, Elena had never looked back.

The woman looked her over, not moving a muscle but examining her with her flat, gray eyes. Slowly, she uncurled a fist on her uninjured arm, stretching out her fingers. She studied her hand as she spoke. Elena could not place it, but like her, she did not talk like an Englishwoman.

"I know about that. I said no to a man last night, and he damn well broke my arm. He said no one would want a woman who can't use her hands."

Elena didn't know what to say to that, so she kept silent.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Elena shook her head.

"Me either. My grandfather came from Naples. And my mother's father. My other grandfather, I suppose. They all put me out when I ran off with an Irishman."

Elena opened her mouth and closed it. Once the woman started, the floodgates of speech opened.

"I know, we're all papists, aren't we? That's what I thought, too, but my family disagreed. Then, my Irishman had to get himself transported and…well, I've got to provide for the little one, don't I?"

Elena did understand. With no one in the world, there were few choices left for women who had been abandoned. She felt an odd, unexplainable connection with this woman, even though she did not know her name. She pulled up the chair she had found nearby and sat.

"My name is Elena. What is yours?" She had decided against giving her title since it meant very little in this instance.

"Annamaria O'Donnell." The woman's voice cracked slightly on her surname.

"Annamaria, this is my friend, Nurse Green. She wants to look at your arm. Would that be all right?"

Annamaria nodded and shifted gingerly so Maggie had access to her side. "Are you a lady doctor?"

Maggie shook her head, and she gently tested Annamaria's arm. "I'm a nurse. My mother and grandmother are healers, and my husband is a doctor. So, they trust me to set bones."

Annamaria seemed to accept this and turned her attention back to Elena. "You look like a fancy lady," she noted as her gray eyes took in Elena's dress, which was a plain lavender walking gown but well-made and of fine material. "I probably shouldn't even be talking to you this way. But you've been in my shoes. I can see it in your eyes. There was something worse than that fellow who cut you." Elena dropped her gaze, shocked that this stranger could tell that about her. "Forgive my bluntness, but when you live from day to day, it dims your social niceties."

Elena stared at her hands, her throat completely dry. Annamaria didn't ask a question—she just stated. In her candor, Annamaria had set something in motion for Elena. She had named something for her, and there was no going back.

"It wasn't as bad as what has happened to others," Elena felt her voice crack as she spoke, unable to look anywhere but her hands.

"That doesn't make it less terrible. Or easier to live with," Annamaria said gently.

Those words hung heavy in the air as Elena drank them in and let them slide around her soul. It slowly dawned on her that she had been surrounded by a fog for years, constantly feeling great sadness and anger about what had happened to her but unable to name it or acknowledge it, knowing that worse things happened to women every day. But she saw in that moment that minimizing what had happened to her didn't make it go away. In fact, it left it to fester, much like the wound above her eye had begun to fester until Mrs. Raeburn had found her and treated her eye. She suddenly felt close to tears.

"And I didn't say no." Her voice was barely audible in the ward, which was unusually quiet for the time of day.

"But you didn't say yes, did you?" Annamaria's voice made her glance up.

Elena shook her head.

Maggie, who had been quietly trying to fade into the background, touched Elena's shoulder. "May I speak to you for a moment?" They stepped away from Annamaria, promising they would be right back. Maggie continued, "Her arm is not broken, but her shoulder is dislocated. I need to pop her shoulder back into place, but it will be very painful. I hate to ask you to keep talking to distract her, but--"

"No, I like talking to her. It is lifting my spirit in some way." Elena hadn't realized how sick she had been in spirit, in how she thought of herself until she named it. But now she could say it and talk to this woman, who had done so much for her in just a few minutes to distract her from pain. They walked back to Annamaria, with Elena returning to her chair beside her, pulling back her long pagoda sleeve to hold the young woman's hand. Annamaria, whose jaw was slightly swollen, widened her lips, and Elena realized she was trying to smile. Maggie went to her left side.

"Do you, have you ever gone outside of yourself when…something bad happens to you?" Elena couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud. It was improper for a lady to discuss, but Elena had to know. She had to understand what had happened to her.

"It's the only way to get through it sometimes." Annamaria gritted her teeth, her fingers tightening around Elena's hand.

"Yes. As if you're outside of your body and yourself. Like you're watching from afar, like a ghost."

The understanding in Annamaria's eyes brought Elena great sorrow but also a kind of kinship she had never felt before. She felt overwhelmed and strove to change the subject.

"You have a child?"

"I have a neighbor watch her most of the time. I don't know what I would do without her."

Elena smiled and squeezed her hand. "Tell me about her."

"Where to begin? She has her father's eyes, blue as the sky. And his singing voice, oh, that man could make the angels—"

Suddenly, there was a great crack, and Annamaria gave a yell.

"It seemed like the right moment," Maggie said unapologetically.

Annamaria put her other arm to her shoulder and tentatively moved it around.

"I don't know if there is a right moment for that," she muttered.

"Do you wish to go to the police about the man who hurt your arm?" Elena asked gently.

"No point. They'd take one look at me and show me the door. I've tried getting help before, and it's been useless."

An idea suddenly occurred to Elena. She had to check with Sophie, who was due to arrive any day now, but as it took root, Elena felt in her bones that it was the right course of action.

"Annamaria, can you read and write?"

"Yes, my brother went to a school that a gentleman was running in our old neighborhood. I watched him practice during the day, then stole his books at night and taught myself." A flash of pride shot across Annamaria's face, but it left as quickly as it came. What a remarkable woman, Elena thought.

"When you recover, would you have any interest in working as a secretary?" Elena asked her. "I think it would pay well and might be less dangerous."

"Me? But my family threw me out when I eloped. I'm ruined."

Elena was taken back almost three years earlier when she tried to use the same excuse on David, how her life had changed since then. "Most women are if they are in the wrong circumstance. It will not matter, I believe."

"I don't know what to say…"

"I need to check, and I will bring your employer to see you in a few days, but if she says yes, would you like that?"

"Yes, yes, grazie my lady, grazie." Annamaria kissed Elena's gloved hand. It was an unfamiliar gesture here in London, but it took Elena back to her home for a moment.

Now Elena just had to talk to Sophie, but if Sophie had accepted her with open arms, she could accept this tough, funny woman, wouldn't she? Elena prayed she had not just made an empty promise and vowed to do whatever she could to bring her plan to fruition.