“If you’ll just give me your name, sir, I will tell him that you called.”
Woozily Tommy waved a hand and peeled away from the gates. He picked up his duffel bag, turned, managed a couple of teeteringsteps forward, then collapsed facedown in the road.
Chapter 41
Tommy McBride
Bright white ceiling above him, bright white bedsheets and walls; with a stab of horror Tommy woke in the featureless roomand believed he was inside Noone’s house. Silently panicking. Wide eyes darting about. The bed was iron-framed, with a hoodlikecanopy blocking his view on either side; he was wearing somebody else’s nightclothes. But on the opposite wall was anotherbed, empty, and there was a low hum of voices somewhere. Grimacing against the pain, Tommy levered himself onto an elbow andrealized he was in a hospital ward.
Down he sank, onto his back. The last thing he remembered was speaking to that butler—he had no memory of falling, or of howhe got here. He opened his nightshirt gingerly. Peeked at the wound on his arm. It had been cleaned, and resutured, and lookeda lot healthier than before. He checked the bedside for his possessions but there was no sign.
“You’re awake. Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. McBride.”
Footsteps coming closer, a brisk clip of heels. The nurse opened the canopy and put a hand on Tommy’s forehead, nodded curtly,took his wrist and checked his pulse. She was older than him, perhaps mid-forties, with short graying hair and a kindly roundface, and though she looked nothing like her, reminded Tommy of his mother somehow.
“How do you know my name?” he rasped. His throat was dry as hell.
“Your travel documents.”
She arched her eyebrows knowingly, let go of his wrist, and from a trolley fetched a cup of water that she held to his lips. When he’d finished drinking, she dabbed his chin like an invalid; Tommy pushed her away and tried to rise.
“Where are my things?”
“In the back. Please, just relax.”
“I need to go.”
She eased him down by the shoulder. “Mr. McBride, you’ve had quite the fever. You’ve been very lucky, in fact. No sepsis organgrene—you should be thankful you’ve still got the arm.” Her eyes flicked to his missing fingers. “You’ll just have to settleyourself. It’s important you get some rest. I’ll come back and check on you again in a little while. Perhaps see if you’reup to some food.”
“Please . . .” He reached up and touched her sleeve. No strength at all in his grip. “I can’t stay here. Bring me my clothes,my tickets. I have to leave.”
“Out of the question. Look at you. Still a little delusional, I would say.”
“Please . . .”
She half-turned from the bedside. “I will let your friend know you are awake. Perhaps he can talk some sense into you.”
The words came out strangled: “What friend?”
“Such a lovely man. What I would call a proper gent. Tall chap, very well-spoken, well-dressed. Sat by your bedside for hoursthis morning, talking to you quietly, he hardly ever stopped. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s very concerned aboutyou, obviously. Said I was to call him the minute you came round.”
Tommy lurched upward, fighting off the sheets. He swung out his legs and planted his bare feet on the cool floor tiles, thenurse fussing over him but he waved her away. He stood and swayed a moment, found his balance, found her eyes, and, jaw set,lips tight, told her, “Don’t call that man. I’m as good as dead if you do.”
She considered him carefully, her bluster gone, like she finally saw his fear for what it was. “What on earth do you mean?”
“He’ll kill me—do you understand?”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”
“Yes. Was it him that brought me in?”
“You came in a carriage. With a housekeeper, I think.”
“But he was here this morning?”
“First thing. Has he threatened you? My goodness, it wasn’t him who . . . ?”
She nodded to his wounded arm. Tommy said, “In a way.”
“Well then we must call the police and report him. He would have signed in when he visited. I’m sure we have a name.”
Tommy took hold of her shoulders with both hands, staring at her intently, his voice barely a whisper as he said, “Trust me,you don’t want to get any more involved. Just . . . bring my things, let me leave. Give me an hour to get away, then callhim, tell him I ran. Thank you for taking care of me, but it’s best for everyone—you included—if I just go.”
After a pause she nodded timidly, turned, and walked away. Past the nurses’ station at the entrance to the ward, a brief exchangewith her colleague standing there. The other nurse left the station. Tommy sank onto the bed. He was both restless and exhausted,his heel tapping the tiles, his fingers drumming the bedframe. Along the row an old man was staring at him, unblinking, withvacant glassy eyes—from the look of him, he might easily have already been dead.
The nurse brought his boots and duffel bag, placed the bag on the bed and told Tommy to hurry, her colleague would be backsoon. Frantically, he dressed. She turned her back while he was stripping, scooped the nightclothes from the floor. Tommyshrugged on his jacket, pulled his boots on, no need for a sling. The shoulder felt far easier than it had done, stronger,more of an ache than that sharp flash of pain. He flicked through his travel papers and pocketed them, then went scramblingthrough his bag again. “Is this everything?” he said.
“Yes. Is something missing?”
The revolver, but he could hardly say it. “No, it’s fine. What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
Tommy smiled. “My sister was Mary. She’d have been like you, I think.”
“I’m far too old for flattery, Mr. McBride. And I have the nagging feeling you’re playing me for the fool here.”
“It’s not like that. Thank you.”
“You do
