“My name is Rob. I am to take you to the hospital.”
“I do not understand,” Jane said.
“Ms. Wentworth sent me. I’m a runner from set. Her brother had an accident.”
Jane held the doorframe. “What type of accident?”
JANE’S FIRST RIDE in a horseless steel carriage went without ceremony. She rode in the passenger side while Rob, the runner from set (whatever that meant), steered the carriage to Bath Hospital. She commanded herself to marvel at the speed of it, the size, the air rushing in through the opened window. She ordered her mind to ponder how the engine was powered without steam. For some silly reason, it grew obsessed instead with the definition of the word accident in the twenty-first century. Accidents where she came from were whispered about rather than spoken of. They meant someone had lost a limb, an eyeball, or a head. But with all the advancements of two hundred years, with the steel buildings and train tubes, surely the big accidents had been wiped out, gone the way of the dodo bird. Accident probably denoted something minor now, like a cut from paper or a stubbed toe. Definitely nothing to vex oneself over. She cursed herself for wasting her debut voyage in a horseless steel carriage occupied by such thoughts.
THE BOY IN the red shirt deposited Jane at Bath Hospital and a member of staff showed her down a corridor. Jane had visited a hospital once before, at age nine, for someone to inspect her inflamed tooth. She and her father had travelled in a post carriage to Winchester, and her father had held her hand while the village barber, who also claimed the title of its doctor, relieved Jane of her left molar with a pair of pliers. She had not been fond of hospitals since. She hoped the physicians who treated Fred were gentler than hers, if only for his comfort.
Jane arrived at the room where Sofia waited. Sofia embraced her. Tears bathed her face. “I don’t know anything,” she said to Jane. “I haven’t seen him.”
“It was only an accident,” Jane said. “I am certain all is well.” Her voice sounded confident.
Jane and Sofia waited in silence. Steel boxes sat everywhere, beeping and ringing. Another member of staff, a nurse perhaps, escorted them after a time to the room where Fred lay. Jane felt annoyed. No stubbed toe or paper cut greeted them. Aside from a little bandage above his eye and one on his arm, Fred lay before them with naught a scratch on him.
Sofia embraced him. “What happened?”
Jane remained in the doorway and came no closer.
“Is my hair spiky?” Fred asked. He wore a short-sleeved white gown. Jane’s gaze fell to the floor.
Sofia pounded him with a fist. “We thought you were dead. No one told us anything!”
“I’m fine. Never felt better. Might go to the gym after this,” he said. Fred moved his eyes to Jane as Sofia spoke. He moved them back to Sofia again and made no other acknowledgment of her presence.
Jane felt foolish and out of place; she invaded a family scene. She wished she had not come.
A man entered the room. He had a bald head and soft brown eyes. “Which one is the sister?” he asked them. Sofia raised her hand. “My name is Dr. Marks.”
Jane observed the man. Doctors dressed differently now, it seemed. Where Jane’s own physician wore riding boots and a frock coat, this one wore green pajamas. Sofia seemed unconcerned by the nightclothes and shook hands with the doctor. He turned to Jane and held out his hand. “And you are?” he asked.
“Jane,” she replied. “I am no relation.” She shook his hand. Fred looked at her again.
“What happened, Doc?” Sofia said.
“Mr. Wentworth got a bit too close to some electricity,” Dr. Marks replied.
“He’s always been a bit daft,” Sofia said affectionately. “May we take him home?”
The doctor studied one of the boxes beside Fred’s hospital bed. It shone with lights of green and blue lines and beeped in a rhythm. He wrote something down with a self-inking quill and turned to the box again, then repeated this several times, watching and writing, as though the box dictated to him a song that he transcribed in his notes. “We’d like to keep him here for a few hours,” he said.
“Is that necessary? He’s acting his normal, annoying self and he looks healthy enough,” Sofia said. Her face pulled into a rubbery smile to show she was joking, but her eyes looked worried.
“We’d like him to stay,” he said with a smile. He finished his conversation with the box and left the room.
“Is it cold in here?” Fred shivered. “I feel like they turned the aircon up too high.”
“It’s always cold in these places,” Sofia said.
“Could someone get me a blanket?” he asked.
“I am not your maid,” Sofia said.
“I will go,” said Jane. Anything to leave the room.
“No, that’s okay, Jane,” Fred said. She searched his face for feeling. He stared into the distance.
“I insist,” Jane said, and started walking away.
Sofia stayed by the bed. “What are you looking at, Fred?” she asked. “Fred?”
Jane turned back. Fred stared at the floor for some reason. Jane followed his gaze. No point of interest presented itself in the spot where he peered, except a shiny white floor. His eyes lay unfocused. His body remained in the bed, but his mind seemed to have left the room.
“Fred?” Sofia called again. Fred lay his head on his shoulder and slowly closed his eyes. He did not move; he appeared asleep. Sofia pushed his shoulder, hard enough to wake him. He did not stir but continued sleeping. Sofia ran to the door. “Someone?” she called down the hall. “Help!”
A woman with strawberry hair entered the room. She addressed the steel box first. Then she moved to the patient. “Mr. Wentworth?”
