could have been anyone, not just the strong, quiet man beside her that was making her heart turn cartwheels.
Or maybe it was just the fear of the environment. She made use of their proximity to grip his coat in nerveless fingers. What had that Turpin guy meant by “a bruiser like Avery”? And what tourney?
She opened her mouth to ask him, but her train of thought was derailed when they crossed the road. The smell was awful, even worse than it had been before. Mud stood in the streets, fetid pools that made her wonder if they were just dirt and water or something else. The buildings, if she could be so generous, looked about ready to collapse at any moment. But the thing that made her want to close her eyes and not open them until she got back home was the faces.
There were thousands of them. Young, old, decorated with visible dirt or wiped clean, it didn’t matter, they all held the same expression—hopelessness. It saturated their gaunt cheeks, their pointed chins, but most of all, it haunted their empty eyes. It was like walking through a horror movie. She caught herself praying that Avery had never been among their number, although she knew better.
She curled her fingers tighter into his sleeve. “Avery, are you sure we should be here?”
“We’ve arrived.” He pulled free of her grip and opened the door for her. Damn it, how did he sound so calm? And why’d he have to let go of her arm? She ducked through the low doorway into a narrow staircase. The smell wasn’t as bad here, and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Even her normally strong stomach had been close to losing it at the conditions outside. How had he come through a life in this place?
The stairs creaked beneath their feet. At the top, Avery produced an ancient key and pushed it into the lock of the narrow door.
“Aunt?”
The only answer in the dim room was a hacking cough from the bed in the corner. The heavy, cloying scent of sickness and unwashed human filled the room. Avery moved inside, and Leah stuck close to his back. She didn’t want to be here. She should have stayed back at the house. She could have figured out how to handle herself on her own, couldn’t she?
No way to fix it now. She was in the middle of England with no way of getting back to Granville House except the man who was bending over a tiny bed by the room’s single window.
“Aunt, I am here.” His gruff voice was as tender as she’d ever heard it. A soft moan was the only answer from the rail-thin form beneath the covers.
Leah leaned to the side to get a better look at the woman.
A lank braid lay on the pillow. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin held the sickly pallor of the nearly dead. Her lashes, long and thick, rested on her sharp cheekbones. Apparently, the moan hadn’t been in response to Avery’s greeting at all.
Leah shifted her weight anxiously. This had once been a beautiful, strong woman. Now she lay here in this tiny room, dying all alone? Worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth, Leah looked at the rough floorboards. It really put her own life into perspective, and Leah didn’t care for the comparison. She’d been selfish and completely narrow-minded. But what could she have done differently?
The question seemed moot.
“How has she been faring, Mrs. Comstock?” Avery said as another woman entered the room behind them and dumped a bucket of water into the ewer.
“Millie is still breathing, Mr. Russell, but as to whether that’s a blessing or a pity I cannot advise ye.”
Leah watched as the thin, angry-looking woman wiped her hands with a rag. At least Avery’s aunt Millie had someone nearby.
Avery straightened. “I have brought more medicine for her.” He produced a small brown bottle from his jacket.
Mrs. Comstock took it from him and thumped the bottle. Leah bit her lip as the woman uncorked the top and poured a dose into a spoon.
“Mind yourselves,” she admonished as she bent over the sickbed. “You’ve no wish to be near when she swallows this draught, mark me.”
Avery turned away as Mrs. Comstock brought the spoon to his aunt. Leah reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him, but he pulled away.
Mrs. Comstock pried open the sick woman’s mouth and inserted the spoonful of medicine. Closing Millie’s jaw with one hand and massaging her throat with the other, Mrs. Comstock forced her to swallow the dose. Millie fought weakly, hands batting at Mrs. Comstock’s, but in her semiconscious state, there was no way for her to be a real deterrent.
The coughs began from deep within her chest, wet hacking sounds that made Leah wince. Once Mrs. Comstock was certain that she’d swallowed the medicine, she released the sick woman.
Then the real fight began.
Clawing at her throat, Millie heaved and hacked, almost seeming to want to vomit the dose back up. Leah took a step toward her, not knowing what to do but unwilling to stand by and watch the woman suffer, but Mrs. Comstock shook her head and held Leah back.
“She must bear it. It will be better soon.”
Now Leah knew why Avery had turned away so determinedly. There was no way to watch and not feel horrible at Millie’s condition. Taking her cue from him, Leah closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that the stranger’s suffering would somehow get better. In reality, though, she knew it was probably a lost cause. There was no real medical care here. Millie might have had something as simple as a cold, but it had obviously turned into something that could very well rob her of her life. Leah squeezed her eyes shut harder. She hadn’t wanted this. She’d wanted fun, an adventure, and if she found the love of her life, then great. She hadn’t wanted to stand at a stranger’s bedside as the stranger’s life slowly slipped away. The image of her grandfather popped into her mind’s eye, and she worked hard to keep from getting emotional. He was fine. There was nothing wrong with Pawpaw.
After long, tense moments, the coughing and gagging eased. Leah didn’t open her eyes, her lids glued shut with unease.
“There now, that’s better, isn’t it?” The sound of Mrs. Comstock’s movements drew Leah’s lids open. The woman moved around the small room, fetching a cool cloth and laying it on Millie’s brow.
“You can come closer now. The worst of it is over.”
Avery turned, and Leah followed him to Millie’s bedside. He knelt by the head of the bed, but Leah stood back, wanting to stick close to Avery for moral support but unwilling to interrupt what was obviously an emotional meeting for him.
“Aunt, I am sorry,” he whispered. He started to reach for Millie, but drew back his hand just before he made contact.
Leah looked away, swallowing hard. Her throat had gone curiously dry.
She stood in silence as Avery bowed his head at his aunt’s bedside.
This was hard. This was damned hard—and unexpected. She wasn’t a religious person, not really. She had beliefs, sure, but they seemed inconsequential when she was faced with a situation like this.
What was she doing here, really?
Millie’s heavy breaths seemed to echo in the small room. Mrs. Comstock ducked from the room, saying something about broth for Millie.
Avery didn’t respond, just kept his head bowed with his fingers only inches from his aunt’s.
Leah took advantage of the silence to analyze him.
His shoulders were tensed as he hunched over the bed. His whole body seemed rigid, like he was fighting a large wave of emotion that threatened to suck him under. Following an instinct that she didn’t really understand, she stepped closer to him and rubbed his back gently. As if in response to the strength she sent him, he took Millie’s fingers in his own.
Maybe this was her destiny. Maybe, Leah mused as she blinked hard to shove back the tears, maybe she was being shown Avery’s hell to make her grateful for what she had. For the love of Pawpaw and of Jamie, and of the rest of her family and friends. Or maybe she was being shown this so she could help people like this when she
