“Unfortunately?” Albert asked, as he approached one of the beds. “Why is that particularly unfortunate?”
The workhouse master gave Albert a long-suffering sort of look. “Newborns can hardly do useful work to earn their keep,” he said. “It’ll be nothing but a drain on us as soon as it is born.”
“How terrible for you,” Dora said evenly, before she could stop herself. Albert shot her a sideways glance, but she saw a mute, frustrated agreement behind his normally-warm eyes.
George Ricks looked down at her condescendingly. “I didn’t realise you’d be bringing ladies with you,” he told Albert. “They’re far too soft for this business. Nothing but trouble, mark my words.” Before any of them could respond, he added: “I have other things to tend to. You can call in one of the inmate nurses if you like.”
As he left the room, Dora stepped closer to Albert, watching him as he opened his leather physician’s bag. He peeled away his gloves, tucking them into the bag; this revealed the silver glint of his right hand, which was very fascinating to look at. “I must admit, I now aspire to be troublesome,” Dora told him. “That unpleasant man truly begs to be caused trouble.”
Miss Jennings sniffed beneath the scarf she wore about her face. “Soft indeed!” she said. “I’d like to see that man try to run a proper nursery, and then call women soft. This sickroom is a terrible mess.”
It was the first time the woman had evinced anything other than polite greetings or neutral murmurs of agreement in their presence so far. Dora found herself pleased by the hint of contrariness in her character. “It is, isn’t it?” Dora said. “I am sure that we can do something about it, though there is little to be done for the lack of space. The bedding certainly requires changing.”
Miss Jennings turned to Albert. “There must be laundry in this place,” she observed. “I can smell the lye, even from here.”
Albert nodded, and Dora saw pleasant surprise growing upon his face. “This workhouse handles local laundry for a fee,” he said. “The laundry is downstairs, in a basement area. The smell creeps up from there, I’m afraid.”
Albert directed Miss Jennings to one of the inmate nurses—an older woman named Susan, who had a distracted gaze and shaking hands. The two of them headed downstairs to fetch some fresh sheets, and Dora realised shortly thereafter that Miss Jennings had neatly accomplished Auntie Frances’ request and left Dora quite alone with Albert in the process.
“I am very sorry for all of this,” Dora told him promptly, as Albert began inspecting the patients one by one. Occasionally, he would ask her to help a patient to sitting position, or to hold his bag while he worked. “I will do my best not to be a bother. But I should also warn you that Miss Jennings is supposed to give me a wide berth so that I might touch your hand and seduce you, or something silly like that.”
Albert shook his head incredulously. “This all seems very ridiculous,” he told her. “I was aware on some level just how far society mothers are willing to go to snare husbands for their daughters... but sending you to a workhouse, Miss Ettings? Have your guardians no appreciation for your safety?”
Dora glanced around herself idly. “I do not know if they truly appreciate the conditions here,” she said. “Pleasant-mannered people do not speak of ugly things, after all.”
Albert shot Dora a surprised look, and she realised that she had more-or-less repeated something that Elias had said to her. “I nearly forgot that you had seen Elias yesterday,” Albert said. “He must have made his usual sort of impression.”
Dora considered that. “I believe that he did,” she said. “Though I begin to think that he made a very different sort of impression upon the countess than he did upon me.” She frowned to herself. “I did not realise you had saved his life during the war. It makes sense, of course, given your relationship. That is why he made you that arm, isn’t it?”
Albert glanced instinctively down at his right hand. It was utterly smooth—nearly normal-looking, but for its unnatural material. “I suspect so,” he said. “But Elias will claim that he did it in case I should need to perform surgery on him again. He does not like to admit to generous impulses.” Albert looked back up at Dora, and she saw surprise in his eyes. “That I saved his life is not common knowledge. Did Elias tell you that himself?”
Dora shifted on her feet. “He did... in a way,” she said slowly. “More by accident than anything.” She did not enjoy the idea of explaining to Albert how personally she had witnessed his past. “It’s the war that he’s angry about, isn’t it? All of that awfulness, and the fact that people refuse to speak of it?”
Albert took a deep breath. Now, he really did look uncomfortable. “Elias is angry about a great number of things,” he said. “And I am sure that he would tell you about all of them at length, if you were to ask him. But he holds onto that anger in a way that is both highly productive and terribly miserable.” He chose his next words very carefully. “I think that Elias has been angry now for so long that he is scared to let it go—I think he is scared that it would make him too complacent, and he might become all of those things which he so despises in others.”
Dora nodded slowly. She had not known the Lord Sorcier as long as Albert had, but this sounded very accurate. “I find that awfully sad,” she murmured, and she could not help but glance
