Dead of Winter - James Goss [24]
A hand rested on my shoulder. I looked up, gulping. It was Madame Bloom, staring emptily down at me, absently patting her hair in place with her free hand. Her other tightened its grip on my shoulder. She smiled.
‘Good evening, Maria, my love. We have been ever so worried about you.’
A Letter from Mr Nevil
St Christophe
6th December 1783
Octavius, my dear fellow!
Well, stop the clocks and blow me down with a feather! The cure is working. I have no idea how, but it’s honestly miraculous. I feel so much better. I can almost run up stairs and (don’t tell a soul here this) I can puff away on my pipe without feeling like it may be the last thing I’ll ever do.
It’s marvellous – I have only the haziest memories of the cure starting to work, but I tell you – tomorrow I am trotting down to the beach with the rest of them for more Fresh Sea Air.
I pottered into the lounge and caught myself whistling a jaunty little tune. The Glum Sisters were sat there – Helena and Olivia Elquitine, sawing away at some mournful ditty. They laid aside their instruments at my approach. Helena immediately began scribbling her wretched sums, while her busty sibling engaged me in polite conversation.
‘You seem much improved, Mr Nevil,’ Olivia ventured.
‘Thank you, madam, you are too kind. You seem pale still.’
Oddly, I noticed myself flushing slightly when talking with her. Most unaccountable.
She demurred. ‘It has been a while since I have received any treatment.’
‘Ohhh,’ I said, turning my face down. ‘I had no idea that your case was so sadly advanced. You have my condolences, madam.’ Bit of a facer, that. What do you say to a filly when she tells you she’s coffin-bound? I regarded her, looking for signs of her imminent demise, and instead noticed for the first time that Olivia Elquitine was, well, a fine figure of a woman. Pale as porcelain.
Helena looked up from her scribbling and frowned, her face more pinched than ever.
‘My sister,’ began Olivia, looking embarrassed. ‘She still receives treatment. But for some reason… my situation… I am afraid Dr Bloom hasn’t selected me for the cure.’ She coughed, and, for the first time I heard the tell-tale rattle. ‘But he has been most kind.’ She paused. ‘Yes, most kind…’
I suddenly felt like a heel for gloating at my improvement. I laid a hand on hers, gently. ‘Oh my dear,’ I said, feeling a tenderness towards one worse off than myself. ‘I am so sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you,’ Olivia said, and for a moment, I detected more than simple politeness in her features. Odd woman. By candlelight she no longer looked quite so monstrously plump – instead she seemed rather pleasingly ample. I became acutely aware I was still holding her hand, and looked away, embarrassed.
We sat there in silence for a while, the only sound the scratching of her sister’s pen as she worked on her sums.
I shall keep you updated on any further progress in my condition.
Your delighted servant,
Henry Nevil
What Amy Remembered
Prince Boris’s door burst open. We were rescued!
‘Did someone call for a doctor?’ cried Dr Smith, staggering in. ‘Sorry I’m late, shoulder-charging a locked door, actually a lot harder than it looks.’ He winced, then looked around the room, heroic and mad, and then his eyes settled on me and lit up. ‘Hello Amy! Oh, I am so pleased to see you.’ And he hugged me, right there and then. ‘Goodness me, you smell great.’
I could have kissed him. Actually I did, and then pulled back slightly. ‘Careful, cheeky!’ I protested. ‘I have a husband.’
‘Do you?’ Dr Smith blinked, puzzled for a second. He regarded me, staring right into my eyes until I felt a little uncomfortable. ‘Oh yes, I suppose you do.’
‘So she keeps saying,’ muttered Prince Boris from the bed.
‘Tell me about it,’ Dr Smith yawned and made yap-yap-yap gestures with his hand. ‘He’s a nice enough lad if you like your orange squash very weak.’ He made a face, the rude boy, then turned