Page 51 of Once Bitten, Twice Mine

“Once the dress is back, I’ll let you hold it and caress it to your heart’s content.”

“Then I will die a happy woman,” she said as she returned to organizing Caroline’s wardrobe. “Mr. Andrews is good to you. Mostly, you know I don’t think he’s written you nearly enough since he’s been away.”

“Lucy, you’re supposed to gossip with me, not about me.”

She had taken to many of her duties as a lady’s maid fairly well, but Caroline believed she would never be broken of her gossiping. Even when she used her most admonishing tone, Lucy didn’t even look sheepish and just barreled on instead.

“I know he’s working, but even a quick note letting you know he was alive would be better than nothing.”

Now that she thought about it, it had been some time since Edgar’s last peculiar letter, but she hadn’t noticed. They weren’t even married, and she already felt like a bad wife.

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed, reaching into her pocket. “I nearly forgot; a letter came for you early this morning.”

Caroline took the letter from her and frowned at Dr. Murnau’s looping script. His handwriting was always difficult to read, but she could tell this letter was written in a hurry. There weren’t many details, but he asked her to get there at her first opportunity. It was still early, but she felt guilty that she wasn’t there. Especially since she hadn’t gone in the previous day either.

“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked softly.

“Get out my work dress. Dr. Murnau needs me at the hospital.”

Caroline said a little prayer that there hadn’t been much carnage while she was away.

* * *

Caroline held her cloak around herself like a shield as she stepped from the carriage onto the rainy street. The stone steps were slick, and she fought to keep her balance as she rushed up the stairs into the hospital.

Last time she was at the hospital, the ward was quiet because the patients were healing, but today the quiet was malignant. Something was wrong; she knew it in her bones as her heeled boots echoed on the tile floor. A quiet this deep was due to primal fear. Something that humans thought they vanquished with the creation of fire and living in structures instead of caves. Humans had only built the illusion of safety. Monsters could still get to them.

When she asked why the floors were tile, she was told it was because it was easier to clean. The drain in the middle of the room supported the idea of frequent cleaning. She didn’t want to think about what could have inspired that choice.

Of the dozen or so cots in the ward, only two were occupied. A nurse was spooning broth into one of their mouths as the other was so still on his cot he looked dead to the world. Neither man was Mr. Palmer.

“Miss Blythe, you’re dripping on the floor.”

Caroline turned to see the doctor. He looked like hell. His greasy hair was pushed back from his sweaty face. His jacket and vest were removed, and his once white shirt had been yellowed with sweat and dried blood splattered all over him. The blood was even evident on his black trousers.

Deep purple bags were beneath his eyes, and new lines had formed around his eyes and forehead. It had been less than forty-eight hours since she last saw him, but he looked as if he had aged at least a decade.

“My apologies,” Caroline said as she unlatched her cloak, looking around for a hook to hang it, but she didn’t see one nearby.

“Don’t worry about it.” Dr. Murnau waved a hand, and she left the cloak on. “In fact, I think you may be helping to clean the floor.”

Looking back at the floor, Caroline noticed the drops of water from her cloak diluting blood stains. “Would you like me to mop the floor?”

“No, the nurses will take care of it. I would like to see you in my office so we can discuss what’s happened these past few days.”

Caroline silently followed him with a knot in her stomach. She felt guilty that she spent yesterday in her wedding dress fitting while people here suffered and died. Even in the best of times, the doctor was frequently stretched too thin.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Blythe?” The doctor asked as he walked to the kettle on the wooden stove in his office.

“No, thank you.” Her stomach was too sour to hold anything. She sat in her usual chair with her hands clasped on her lap. The man moved so slowly she wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t slept in days.

“I’m sorry to have sent for you so early, but I needed you here to be a witness in favor of my sanity,” he said, easing himself behind his desk.

She blinked a few times as his words sank in. They were possibly the very last words she ever expected to hear from him, and she wasn’t sure if the doctor had cracked after all.

“How am I supposed to vouch for your sanity?”

“You’re here to convince me,” a soft male voice said from behind her with a rich timbre.