Her Defiant Heart (7 page)

"Will she lose her toes?"

"It's too early to tell, but I don't think so. Her fingers are in better condition, although her wrists are abraded from the restraints." Scott scooted to the middle of the tub, reached in the water, and raised Jane's hands for inspection. The blisters were less pronounced. "It looks like sunburn, doesn't it?"

"I suppose," Christian said doubtfully. "Shouldn't you be trying to warm her from the inside out?" With his free hand he reached for the flask in the breast pocket of his jacket. "I've got something here that—"

"You give her even a whiff of that stuff and I'll break your fingers," Scott said bluntly.

"But—"

"I'm serious. Alcohol is the last thing she needs. The warmth it provides is only temporary, and in the main it's false. It eventually results in an increased loss of heat."

"Is that what passes for medical knowledge where you come from?" asked Christian. "I begin to see why you're so often at odds with Morgan and Glenn."

Scott shrugged. "I saved your leg, didn't I?"

Christian replaced the flask. "My leg. My life. And now you want my soul."

"No comment." Scott sat back on his heels. "Where is Mrs. Brandywine? I just sent her for towels."

"Should I get her?"

"No, stay where you are." Scott got to his feet and stretched his legs. He walked over to the fireplace and removed the kettle the housekeeper had set in the hearth. "I need to add some hot water. Can you move her legs a little to the side and make sure they stay there? I don't want to burn her."

As Scott was adjusting the temperature of the water, Mrs. Brandywine reentered the room. "Mr. Marshall, you shouldn't be in here," she said, setting her armload of towels on the seat of the rocker. She kicked at the braided hearthrug with the toe of her shoe, straightening out its curling edge. "You're a man and that poor child hasn't a stitch on."

Christian and Scott exchanged wry glances. "Your ability to state the obvious takes my breath away," said Christian. "You could make the same observation about Scott."

"He's a doctor," Mrs. Brandywine said tartly. "He has a purpose, you don't. It isn't decent that you're here."

"I don't think Jane cares who's holding her. In fact I would say she's probably grateful just to have someone keeping her above the waterline for a change."

The housekeeper snorted delicately and addressed the doctor. "I am sorry for the delay. There was a bit of trouble at the front door. A Dr. Glenn came by asking to see you. Apparently Mrs. Turner mentioned you might be here."

Scott frowned. "Glenn must have tricked Susan into saying it. She wouldn't have offered that information."

"I told him you'd been gone for hours. I don't think he believed me."

"It's all right. I'm certain you did fine."

Christian voiced his doubts. "She doesn't lie very well, do you, Mrs. B.? Some people have a knack for it, and then there's Mrs. Brandywine. She thinks it's a sin."

"It
is
a sin," she said firmly. "But in this instance I can live with it. I can tell you, I had half a mind to let him see
you,
Mr. Marshall."

"He asked?"

"Of course he did. Wanted to see for himself how you were getting on. I could have told him you were nearly three sheets to the wind, but I held my tongue."

"There's a wonder," he said. "What did you tell him?"

"I said you were sleeping comfortably and had left strict orders not to be disturbed."

"That never stopped you before."

The housekeeper's chin jutted forward. "But Dr. Glenn didn't know that."

Scott held up his hands. "Enough. I could use more assistance and less conversation. Mrs. Brandywine, will you steam the towels? I need them warm and moist. Chris, turn back the covers on the bed, and then help me get Jane out of the tub. I'll hold her." He set down the kettle and traded places with Christian. Scott gently brushed back Jane's dark hair at the temples and examined her ears. "This could be a problem," he said to himself.

"What's that?" asked Christian, pausing in turning back the covers.

"Her ears. They're blistered, too. The shirt she had wrapped around her head was not enough protection, not with her wet hair."

Christian swept back the sheets and blankets, smoothed the bottom sheet with his hands to warm them, and returned to Scott's side. "Let's get her into bed. How are you coming with those towels, Mrs. B.?"

"Just fine. You take care of your, er, end," she said, blushing to the roots of her graying hair as Christian eased Jane's legs out of the tub.

"Have a care with her feet," Scott cautioned. "That's it. Easy. Where's that nightgown, Mrs. Brandywine? We need to put her in it."

"Here it is." She plucked it off the back of the rocker. "None of the maids had one to spare and mine wouldn't suit, so I took one of Mr. Marshall's nightshirts." She glanced at Christian. "You don't mind?"

"I am going to pretend you didn't ask me that," he said. "That way I won't be insulted." He softened his words with a faint smile. "The towels, Mrs. B." When she was out of earshot he looked at the nightshirt and then at Scott, a question in his eyes. "Have you ever tried to
dress
a woman?" he whispered.

"How hard can it be?" Scott asked.

Christian knew evasion when he heard it. "Should I ring for one of the maids to assist Mrs. B.?"

Scott took the nightshift out of Christian's hands. "We'll both do this. Lift her head. Now slip this over her shoulders. Raise her arm. No, the other one first. Be careful of her hand. Gently... gently. Good. Now the other. Pull the hem down over her chest. There, we've got it now. I'll roll back this cuff, you do the other."

Christian was glad for Scott's chatter and the opportunity to keep busy. Perhaps no one would notice that his hands were trembling. Christian wanted to tell himself he needed a drink, but he knew it wasn't true. He had not descended so far into any bottle that he shook when he went without.

It was Jane Doe making his fingers shake. The woman was unconscious. She was ill, probably mad as well. Her skin, where it wasn't red and blistered, was as pale as salt. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair was tangled and matted. He felt sick to his stomach that he noticed other things about her.

Like her legs. The splendid line of her legs caught more than his artist's eye. He felt an unwelcome tug of man-to-woman attraction. He despised himself for that. And how was he supposed to ignore her breasts? They were lovely, pink-tipped and ivory-smooth. Strictly speaking they were a bit too large for the narrowness of her waist and ribcage, but they held a fullness that made him want to cup their underside, lift them, and... He was disgusting, he thought. He disgusted himself. His thoughts were disgusting. If Scott or Mrs. B. suspected what he was thinking, they would be disgusted with him.

"Did you say something?" Scott asked.

Christian blinked. Scott was regarding him strangely. Had he spoken any of his thoughts aloud? "What?"

"Did you say something?" Scott repeated. He took one of the warm, moist towels that Mrs. Brandywine held out to him and gingerly wrapped it around Jane's head, covering her ears with the wet heat. "I thought you were talking to me."

"No," Christian said. "No, I didn't say anything."

Scott frowned slightly, gave Christian a hard look, and then shrugged. "How about wrapping her feet? Don't rub them and don't break the blisters. We will leave the towels on five minutes before we replace them. Mrs. Brandywine?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Is there a warming pan somewhere in this house?"

"Certainly. I'll get it right away." She dropped the towels in Christian's lap. Ignoring his pained look, the housekeeper bustled out of the room.

"What's going to happen to her?" Christian asked after they had pulled the covers over Jane and retreated to the far side of the room. "Why doesn't she come around?"

Scott began steaming more towels using the kettle in the hearth. "She's had a shock," he said simply. "Don't forget all that's been done to her these last six weeks. Her mind is resting now, restoring itself."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't, not with any certainty. There's no hard, scientific evidence to support that belief, but I suspect it's true." He paused and added quietly, "I have to hope to God it's true."

Christian glanced over his shoulder at Jane, and then gave his friend a frank look. "You don't really know any more than Dr. Glenn, do you? This is all just a gamble. Your game may be a little more humane than the good doctor's, but it's still a game, isn't it? You're both using Jane as your personal blue-chip stake. You both think you know what treatment's best for her, and the truth is, neither of you knows a damn thing."

Scott flushed. "I damn well know that one doesn't need to repeatedly attempt to drown a person to cure a disordered mind. And don't put words in my mouth. I am not saying that Jane's a lunatic. Or at least she wasn't when she was brought to Jennings. Violent? Yes. Disoriented? Certainly. She was hysterical, confused, delusional and possessed of a scream that sent chills up my spine. It remains my best professional opinion that everything I observed initially was related to some drug she was given."

Christian remained skeptical. "What drug does all that?"

"A very common one," Scott said. His eyes narrowed pointedly on Christian, then on the outline of the flask in his pocket. "Alcohol. Ever heard of delirium tremens?"

Christian's applause was light and cynical. "Nicely done, Scott. You can be satisfied that your warning has been heard if not heeded. However, I don't believe for a moment that alcohol had anything to do with Jane's problem. So what drug was it?"

"Cocaine. Opium. Rat poison. Foxglove. Datura. There are a host of possibilities. The actual dose would make a difference. Something relatively harmless at a low dosage could account for most of Jane's symptoms in larger amounts. Or the drug may have been introduced into her system over time. It could have had an accumulative effect. Hell, Christian, it may have been something I've never heard of. I have no way of knowing with one-hundred-percent accuracy. I would have to do tests, and for those I'd need a sample. You can appreciate the fact that Jane wasn't admitted with any."

"How do you know the effects of the drug aren't permanent?"

"I don't."

"How do you know Glenn's treatments haven't damaged her mind?"

"I don't."

"How do you know it's not the pox?"

That question, at least, Scott was prepared to answer with more certainty. "Generally syphilis takes years to generate insanity. Anyway..."

"Yes?"

"She's a virgin."

Christian almost dropped the towels Scott had been piling in his arms. "What?" He shook his head. "You must be mistaken. Once I was alone with her in the treatment room, she attached herself to me like a leech. Trust me, she knew what she was doing. Jane's used to trading herself for favors."

"Desperation."

Christian snorted.

"I did a thorough examination shortly after she was admitted," Scott said, pressing his position. "It's routine. I had to rule out pregnancy and venereal disease." He paused a beat, and then asked offhandedly, "Is it so hard to believe that she could be a virgin?"

"Who ever heard of a virgin her age from the Five Points? They pimp children in that quarter."

Scott tapped the side of his head and smiled, indicating that Christian was finally beginning to grasp the right idea. "Makes one suspicious, doesn't it?" he said. "Could even lead one to believe that Jane might not be from the Five Points at all."

Christian followed Scott back to the bed. They began the process of exchanging the towels. "It's not enough, Scott."

"Not by itself, perhaps, but I told you how she came to be at Jennings."

"Dr. Glenn told me the same story."

"Didn't you find it unlikely that two of the Dead Rabbits gang brought her to the hospital? And why Jennings? It's not close."

"Perhaps the asylums turned her away."

"You are reaching, but go ahead. It makes my case stronger. I checked other hospitals. There were beds that night. More to the point, no one could recall anyone fitting Jane's description being brought in for admission. That's because the Dead Rabbits did not try. They took her straight to Jennings."

"Why?"

"For the same reason they do anything—money. They were paid."

"By whom?"

"Now there you have me." He gathered up the used towels while Christian covered Jane again.

"To what purpose?" asked Christian.

"I would imagine it was to get her out of the way."

Christian bent over Jane and rearranged the pillow so that her head and neck were no longer resting at an awkward angle. Satisfied that she was more comfortable, he turned away from the bed and sighed, thoroughly out of patience with Scott's thin explanations. "This is all about that book you read a while back, isn't it? The one about that woman in Illinois. What was her name?"

"Mrs. Packard."

"Mmm. Mrs. Packard. She was committed by her husband and—"