Charlotte shook her head.
Mrs. Moorling looked over and saw the dangling chain. “Someone’s let it down. Put that back up for me after I pass, will you? And please stay on the ground floor.”
Mrs. Moorling started up the stairs. Charlotte realized the matron would likely have given her a longer lecture had Dr. Preston not been waiting so impatiently. Charlotte sighed and reached down awkwardly over her bulky middle for the chain. She fingered the small engraved plaque that hung at the chain’s midpoint. The plaque read:Staff Admittance Only.
Well, there was someone up there who was not on staff and who was not happy about being there.
Why she stood there, she did not know. But she felt oddly rooted to the spot. A few minutes later, she again heard footsteps on the marble—duller male steps. She looked across the hall and saw Dr. Taylor approaching, peering at a document of some sort as he walked. When he looked up and saw her there, he smiled easily. “Good day to you, Miss Smith.”
“And to you, Dr. Taylor.”
“I say, this place is a tomb. Um, rather, I cannot seem to find anyone about. Have you seen Mrs. Moorling or Preston, by chance?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. They are both above stairs right now.”
He stopped where he was. “Are they indeed?” His expression was both thoughtful and perplexed.
“Mrs. Moorling was taking up some things Dr. Preston must have ordered.”
He lowered the document in his hands. “What sort of things?”
“If I am not mistaken, lances and such for bloodletting. I saw that at home on more than one occasion before Dr. Webb forbade it.”
His expression transformed from perplexity to alarm and, she thought, anger.
“Thank you,” he murmured tensely and jumped over the low chain easily and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He disappeared around the corner hollering, “Preston!” as he ran.
There was something troubling going on above stairs. Quite troubling. She thought to follow Dr. Taylor, but a quick look at that little plaque, still swinging from a flick of Dr. Taylor’s shoe, stopped her. That and the thought of Mrs. Moorling’s censure.
Charlotte walked quickly back down the corridor, past her room and to the servants’ stairs. Looking back and seeing no one, she opened the door and stepped in, closing the door behind her. She climbed the stairs as quickly as her taxed body would allow, and when she reached the top she heard the unmistakable sounds of Dr. Preston and Dr. Taylor shouting at each other, as well as Mrs. Moorling’s low, admonishing tones. But then the other voice sounded, the high, plaintive wail Charlotte had heard before. The cry seemed more distressed than ever, and the volume and panicked pitch of it were mounting by the second.
Charlotte cracked the door open and peered down the corridor. The windows up here were unshuttered, so the passage was light enough for her to see clearly. She could also hear clearly as Dr. Taylor exclaimed, “Good heavens, Preston. You have frightened her nearly to death.”
“I am only attempting what you hadn’t the courage to do.”
“Yes, and see how much it has helped her.”
“I was not finished.”
“Yes, you are.”
The fevered wailing rose again, and Dr. Taylor barked a command, “Get out of here, Preston. Now.”
“Fine. Moorling, come with me.”
Preston marched away down the corridor toward the main stairs, Mrs. Moorling following less assuredly behind him. Charlotte saw the woman glance back.
Dr. Taylor’s voice called out, “Mrs. Moorling, please hand me that sponge.”
“Mrs. Moorling, you will come with me,” Preston insisted. “That room is no place for you.”
Charlotte was surprised to see Mrs. Moorling obey the man. The two turned the corner and disappeared, Charlotte knew, down the main staircase.
“Mrs. Moorling!” Dr. Taylor’s voice had taken on new urgency. “I need you here!”
The wail broke off into short cries and curses and Charlotte heard the unmistakable sound of struggle.
“I need some help here!”
