“If it’s to be had,” Annette agreed, smiling at me slyly.
Part of me felt a little bad for leaving out the fact that the information we uncovered could buy my way to a life out of my aunt’s reach, but after Montoni confronted me about the hand I’d found, I was beginning to realize that some things were better left alone, and unsaid.
We arrived in the library to meet an expectant family. Count Montoni was seated before a roaring fire, wine glass in hand, looking as comfortable as could be. When he noticed me, his lips curved ever so slightly into a sneer. Henri and Blanche sat together on a sofa, looking a little more nervous. Father Schedoni was at the window, watching the sky. He was tall and thin, a coarse brown robe draped over his form. His hood was pushed back, revealing a man in his forties with salt and pepper hair and a neat beard. When he turned to face me, he offered a cold stare, and I had to suppress a shiver.
“It will be sundown shortly,” Schedoni announced, turning to the family. “You’d best retreat to your rooms. Annette, I trust you know what to do?”
Annette nodded and accepted a small leather case from the monk before gathering Blanche and leaving the room.
“I will show you what needs to be done,” Schedoni told me, all business. “I’ll be back for you shortly, Count Montoni.”
Montoni waved him off, and Schedoni led me and Henri from the room.
Henri looked pale. When I sent him a questioning look, he only responded with a tight smile.
Once we reached Henri’s room, Schedoni set a leather case down on a side table and gestured for Henri to get into bed. Henri took off his coat, revealing a short-sleeved cotton shirt underneath.
“Now,” Schedoni said, opening the flaps of the case, “I will give the count his first injection. You will need to give him an additional injection every two hours. However, if he seems to be worsening, particularly if the capillaries of his eyes burst, or you notice blood in his mouth, you may need to give him an injection sooner. So, you must remain vigilant.”
I stared in horror as Schedoni revealed a row of large glass syringes with metal plungers. Inside each needle was a black substance that seemed to shimmer in the light with a greenish hue. The monk removed one of the syringes and I retreated a step.
“Injections?” I echoed, my voice rising an octave.
Schedoni eyed me warily. “Yes. In the arm.” He tapped the syringe he was holding and squeezed on the plunger enough so that a small amount of liquid emerged. “Begin like this to expunge any air.”
I nodded, my eyes wide as he approached Henri and showed me where to feel on his upper arm for the proper injection site. I was sweating as Schedoni pressed on the plunger, emptying the contents into Henri’s arm.
“Like so. Very simple,” the monk said as he tossed the empty syringe into a rubbish bin. He glanced up at the darkening window. “Now I must see to Count Montoni. I would recommend a water basin and a cloth to attend to the accompanying fever. Try to make him as comfortable as possible. There will be times when the patient will be unable to speak or communicate his wishes.”
I watched, incredulous, as Father Schedoni strode from the room, leaving the patient in my care.
I turned to Henri and swallowed hard.
“You’ll be a great nurse,” he told me with a lopsided smile. “I have faith in you.”
I ran a hand back through my hair. “You should have sent for someone more experienced. Like Valancourt.”
Henri’s face darkened. “I don’t think I ever need to see that man again.”
I pursed my lips and stepped over to the needles, grazing my fingertips over them. “What is this?”
“Medicine.”
“Yes, but what kind of medicine?”
Henri didn’t answer but stared up at the ceiling. “I know you must hate me right now. I’m sorry.”
I watched him for a moment. I could tell he was trying to be brave, but he was fidgeting.
“I can feel it coming,” he said softly.
I approached him cautiously. “What do you feel?”
He grunted, and then his back arched. He huffed and fell back onto the bed panting. I gripped his shoulder, where I could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.
“Oh my God,” I said, drawing back. “I … I’m going to get some cold water. You just stay …”
I hurried from the room and down to the kitchens to fill a basin. By the time I returned, Henri’s shirt was soaked through with sweat. I grabbed a cloth and sat beside him, dabbing at his face and pushing the hair from his forehead.
