Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [5]
As I watched, her dark-gold lashes fluttered and lifted, disclosing eyes of an exquisite deep blue. They stared dreamily about for a time, and then fixed themselves on my face. The girl’s expression changed; a touch of color came to her thin cheeks, and she struggled to sit up.
“Be still,” I said, putting her down with one hand and beckoning Piero with the other. “You have fainted and are still weak. Partake of some nourishment, if you please, before we proceed to further measures to relieve you.”
She tried to protest; her helpless state and the circle of staring, unfriendly eyes clearly distressed her. I was perfectly indifferent to the observers, but since she seemed embarrassed, I decided to rid myself of them. I told them to go. They did so, except for the indignant gentleman whose coat was over the girl.
“Your name and hotel, sir,” I said, cutting short a loud protest. “Your coat will be returned later this evening. A person of your excessive bulk should not wear such heavy clothing in any case.”
The lady by his side, who had the same rotund outlines and hard red face, exclaimed aloud.
“How dare you, madame! I have never heard of such a thing!”
“I daresay you have not,” I agreed, giving her a look that made her step back. “I do not doubt that it is too late to awaken in you any faint sense of Christian compassion or normal human emotion, so I shan’t try. Take yourself away, madame, and this—I can hardly say ‘gentleman’—this male person with you.”
As I spoke I was administering bits of food from my basket to the fallen girl. The fastidious manner in which she ate, despite her obvious hunger, confirmed my assumption that she was a lady. She seemed better when she had finished a piece of bread and the remainder of my tea; and since the crowd had retired to a distance I was able, with Piero’s assistance, to raise her to her feet. We then proceeded, by carriage, to my hotel.
II
The doctor I summoned assured me that my diagnosis had been correct. The young lady was suffering from starvation and cold only. There was no sign of infection, and she was recovering quickly.
A plan had taken shape in my mind, and I considered it, striding up and down the drawing room of my suite, as is my habit when engaged in thought. It did not take me long to reach a decision. Frail as the girl appeared, she must have a stout constitution in order to have resisted, in her weakened state, the putrid air and water of Rome. Clearly she had no friends or relatives to whom she could look for relief, or she would not have sunk to such a state. Equally clearly, she could not be left in that state.
Having made up my mind, I went to tell the young lady what was to be done.
She was sitting up in bed, taking soup from the hand of my maid, Travers. Neither of them appeared to be enjoying the process. Travers is a living contradiction to the theories of the physiognomists, for her face and shape do not at all reflect her personality. She is a round, cheery-faced little person with the soul of a dried-up old spinster. She did not approve of my taking in a “stray,” as she would have said, and her sour look expressed her feelings. To be fair, that was the only way in which Travers could express her feelings. I do not permit verbal complaints.
“That will do,” I said. “Too much food might be ill advised at present. Go away, Travers, and be sure you close the door tightly.”
When she had obeyed, I studied my patient and was pleased at what I saw. My flannel nightdress was considerably too large for the girl. She would need clothing—dainty, delicate things, to suit her fairness—garments of the sort I had never been able to wear. She