No. Even if what she’d done was wrong—even if plenty of people didn’t do worse without consequence—no god worth the name would make a child pay for it. Besides, illness happened often enough without divine intervention. Children in the East End got sick all the time.
Children in the East End died of those illnesses all the time.
When Mina had gotten to her feet, the men had too. Now, when she turned to Stephen, she had to look up to meet his eyes. “I—”
“Colin,” he said, looking past her, “order a carriage for Miss Seymour. The fastest you can get. Have Polly pack her things. Quickly, too. I want her bags by the front door in five minutes. I assume you’ve nothing breakable,” he added to Mina.
“No,” she said, dizzied for a second. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not what we agreed. And I know there’ll be trouble with the wards.”
“Damn what we agreed. And damn the wards, too. The new moon’s safely past, and there’s Colin and myself to guard the place. Here.” He drew out his new wallet and removed a sheaf of banknotes. “Take this. Get your sister whatever she needs—medicine, food, a private room at St. Mary’s if it comes to that. If you need more, send someone here to tell me. If I can do anything, tell me. We don’t know much healing, I’m afraid. We’ve never really had to learn.”
The notes swam before Mina’s eyes: a rainbow of colors, the Queen’s eyes, and numbers that made no sense to her just now. It was far more than the cost of a carriage ride, though. She put the money into her coat pocket. “Thank you,” she said. “I—I’ll pay you back, if it’s more than—”
Out of nowhere, heedless of Professor Carter’s startled and disapprovingharrumphin the background, Stephen was grasping her shoulders, his hands painfully tight. His eyes blazed like a sunset. “Anything I have is yours, Mina.Anything. Whenever you want it.”
“The sentiment’s pretty enough,” said Colin from the doorway, “and I don’t doubt you mean it. But perhaps further elaboration could wait for another time. Miss Seymour’s bags are ready, and there’ll be a cab pulling up momentarily.”
“I’ve got to go,” said Mina, stepping away reluctantly: reluctant because of both what awaited her and who she was leaving. “I’ll come back, if—when—” Her throat caught. Her mind caught too, fearing to tempt fate by either too much confidence or not enough. “I’ll come back when I can.”
“Icouldgo as well,” Stephen began.
“No, you couldn’t.” Colin’s voice was calm and cold, even if there was more than a touch of sympathy in it. “You can’t do a damn thing there, and you have problems of your own here. People you’re responsible for too, Lord MacAlasdair.”
“He’s right,” said Mina, and managed a smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
Stephen wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, not for very long but forcefully enough to leave her breathless, her lips tingling. “Come back to me,” he said, when he finally let her go.
“Of course,” said Mina, and fled into the hall.
***
A short time later, though it felt like years had passed, she stood in a dark room and watched her sister. Florrie slept on her side as she always had. At first glance, she looked healthy enough, at least in the dark. Only by looking closely did Mina see the way her hair was plastered to her face with sweat. Only by watching for several minutes did she see how shallow Florrie’s breathing was and hear how she wheezed with each inhalation.
Mina closed her eyes. Almost immediately, she made herself open them again. She couldn’t hide from Florrie’s illness, and she shouldn’t if she could have.
“It’ll be all right,” Alice whispered at her side. “We’ve all been sick a few times, haven’t we?” But her voice lacked confidence, and the basin of water she carried shook a little. She swallowed and pitched her voice a little higher, toward the figure who sat at Florrie’s side. “Mum, Mina’s here.”
Mrs. Seymour looked up slowly. She stood, wrung out a damp cloth for the final time, and then picked it and the bowl up before she came over to the door. Encumbered as she was, she couldn’t embrace Mina, but she gave her a one-handed squeeze with what must have been the last of her strength. She looked exhausted.
She apparently wasn’t the only one. “You look all in,” she said to Mina. “I told your father it wasn’t so bad, but—”
“Doesn’t matter. I’d want to be here.”
“Both of you go downstairs,” said Alice. “And then to bed. I’ll sit up with Florrie, and Dad’s said he’ll take over when I’m knackered.”
“But I—” Mina began.
“Goon, dolt. You’ll make yourself useful before long. We all will. And you’ll both be more useful with sleep.”
“She sounds like you,” said Mina, reaching out to take the bowl from her mother as she went downstairs.
“Funny,” said Mrs. Seymour. “I was going to say she sounded like your Aunt Jane.”
It was good to laugh with family again, but the moment didn’t last long. It couldn’t.
“Professor Carter said she fainted this evening,” said Mina, as they reached the kitchen. Mrs. Seymour began to fill the kettle. Falling into old patterns, Mina emptied the bowl into the sink and started getting the tea things ready.
“She did. After supper. We thought it was nothing at first. A bit of a cold, maybe, or—well, I thought it might be female troubles, though she’s young for that. But we couldn’t wake her, and then the fever started.” Mrs. Seymour wiped at a nonexistent spot on the stove, keeping her face turned away.
