white jacket.
'With Mrs. Wheeltapper's permission,' said Burton gently, 'I would like to ask you about the events of last night, when John Speke was removed from the sanatorium.'
The old widow patted her lodger's hand. 'Is that all right with you, my dear?'
'Perfectly,' answered the nurse, with a trace of imperiousness in her voice. 'I will answer any question as best I can, Captain Burton.'
'I'm happy to hear that. Perhaps you could tell me what occurred?'
'I'll tell you as much as I know. I came on duty at midnight. My shift is from twelve until six. I was assigned to Lieutenant Speke, my duty being simply to sit with him and monitor his condition. Forgive me for being blunt, Captain, but he wasn't expected to live for long; the left side of his face and head were extremely badly damaged. The presence of a nurse was not entirely necessary in a medical sense, for there was nothing that could be done to save him, but it is our practice never to leave a dying man alone in case he recovers himself in his final moments to make a statement or request or confession.'
'I understand.'
'I passed four hours reading to him and was then interrupted by a man who entered the room.'
She paused and put a hand up to her throat, took a breath, and continued, 'I cannot describe him. I cannot see him in my mind's eye. I remember-I remember only his soft tread as he came in, then-I-I-'
Droplets of sweat appeared on Sister Raghavendra's forehead. She bit her lip and pulled at her collar.
'Did I faint?' she asked. 'But why should I have done so?'
'What is your next clear memory?' asked Burton.
'I was-was, um-I was inside the entrance by the reception desk, wheeling a trolley past it, and, somehow, I felt satisfied that Lieutenant Speke was in good hands.'
'Whose?'
'Well, I thought his family's but-I-I don't know!' She lowered her face into her hands.
Mrs. Wheeltapper stroked her tenant's arm and crooned wordlessly.
Sir Richard Francis Burton had not only listened to the girl's words; he'd also been absorbing her accent, and with the phenomenal skill that was his, had identified her-or at least her family-as native to the Mysore region of Southern India; specifically, to the Bangalore district.
He now spoke to her in her own dialect: 'You have fallen under a spell, young lady. I recognise the signs, as you, a nurse, would recognise the symptoms of an illness. The presence of a newly opened bottle of laudanum on your dresser suggests to me that you are suffering from a headache. This further leads me to believe that you've experienced a traumatic shock and the memory of it has been sealed within the depths of your mind. Believe me when I say that it will do you no good if it remains there, hidden away like a festering cancer. It must be sought out, exposed, and acknowledged; confronted, subdued, and defeated. Sister Raghavendra, I possess the power of magnetic influence. If you permit it-if you place yourself under my protection and send this worthy old woman away-I may be able to break through the spell to discover that which is concealed. My intentions concern only your well-being; you should fear neither me nor my skill as a mesmerist.'
The nurse looked up and her exquisite eyes were wide with wonder and delight.
'You speak my tongue!' she exclaimed, in her own language.
'Yes, and I know Bangalore. Will you trust me, Sister?'
She reached out her hands to him; he leaned forward and took them.
'My name is Sadhvi,' she breathed. 'Please help me to remember. I don't want to lose my job without even knowing the reason why.'
'Here,' interrupted Mrs. Wheeltapper, wheezily. 'What's all this? I'll brook no hanky-panky in my premises! And what was all that gobbledygook? Not sweet nothings, I hope; not bold as brass in front of a poor old widow woman!'
Burton smiled at her and released the nurse's hands.
'No, Mrs. Wheeltapper, nothing like that. It just so happens that I know the sister's town of birth and speak her native language. She was moved to hear it again.'
'It's true,' put in the nurse. 'You cannot imagine, Mrs. Wheeltapper, how it gladdens my heart to be so reminded of my childhood home!'
The old lady threw up her hands.
'Ooooh!' she cried, with more life in her voice than Burton had heard yet. 'Ooooh! How lovely! How wonderful for you, my dear!'
'It is! It is!' Sister Raghavendra nodded. 'Ma'am, I feel positive that you can trust the good captain to behave with the utmost decorum. I would speak with him awhile, if you don't mind, in my own tongue; of his travels in my homeland. It would be dreadfully boring for you. Why not continue with whatever you were doing? I smell cooking- were you performing miracles in the kitchen again?'
The landlady raised a gnarled hand to her veil and tittered behind it.
'Silly girl!' she chortled. 'You know very well that Polly cooks to my directions and inevitably adds her own special ingredient: utter incompetence!'
The three of them laughed.
'Mrs. Wheeltapper,' said Burton, 'a few months ago the monarch honoured me with a knighthood. I can give you my word that I would never tarnish that title with any act of impropriety.'
Even as he spoke, Burton wondered whether he could trust himself to keep such a promise.
'Good gracious!' the old widow cooed. 'A knight! A `sir' in my own home! Well I never did! I never did indeed!'
She reached up and lifted her veil. The baggy, liver-spotted face beneath, as ancient as it was, had obviously been attractive in its day, and was made so again by the unrestrained smile that it directed at the famous explorer. Two teeth were missing, the rest were yellowed, but the pale blue eyes twinkled with good humour, and Burton couldn't help but grin back.
'Forgive me!' pleaded the widow. 'I treated you like a common visitor when you are obviously a man of culture, as was my dear Tony, may he rest in peace. I shall give you both your privacy!'
She stood.
Burton got to his feet and escorted her to the door.
'A gallant gentleman!' she sighed. 'How lovely!'
'It has been a delight to meet you, Mrs. Wheeltapper. I shall talk with Sister Raghavendra awhile, then depart-but may I call again some time? I know of the 17th Lancers and would be very much interested in hearing of your late husband's service with them.'
A tear trickled down the old woman's cheek. 'Captain Sir Burton, sir,' she said, 'you are welcome to call on me whenever the inclination takes you!'
'Thank you, ma'am.'
He closed the door after her and returned to Sadhvi Raghavendra, who, in truth, was the real reason he might consider a repeat visit to 3 Bayham Street.
'What do you know of mesmerism?' he asked as he sat down.
'I saw it practised many times when I was a child,' she replied.
'Are you scared of it?'
'No. I want to know what it is that I can't remember. If that means placing me in a trance, so be it.'
'Good girl. Wait a moment-let me pull this chair a little closer.'
Burton shifted the armchair until he was sitting face to face with the nurse. He looked her in the eye and spoke in her language.
'Allow yourself to relax. Keep your eyes on mine.'
Two pairs of dark, fathomless eyes locked together.
'You have long lashes,' said the girl.
'As do you. Don't speak now. Relax. Copy my breathing. Imagine your first breath goes into your right lung. Inhale slowly; exhale slowly. The next breath goes to the left lung. Slowly in. Slowly out. And the next into the middle of your chest. In. Out.'
As her respiration adopted the Sufi rhythm he was teaching her, Sister Raghavendra became entirely motionless but for an almost undetectable rocking, which Burton could see was timed to her heartbeat.
