Body shaking, she leaned forward to trace a finger around it. How—when—hadthathappened?
‘My lady?’ The door opened abruptly and another stranger, an elderly man this time, strode into the room, dressed sombrely in black like an undertaker, accompanied by the woman who’d just left.
‘Who are you?’ Florence spun around on the stool, then clutched a hand to her head as the buzzing sound returned with a vengeance. Worse, her mouth was so dry, it actually hurt to speak, as though the words themselves were scraping the inside of her throat.
‘Dr Pritchard, my lady.’ The man made a bow. ‘I’ve had the honour of attending you. I was just getting into my carriagewhen Nurse McKay here stopped me.’ He pulled his shoulders back and tugged at the hem of his waistcoat. ‘Permit me to say how heartened I am to see you awake. Might I ask how you’re feeling?’
‘I don’t know you.’ She threw a glance at the door, wondering if her legs were strong enough for her to make a run for it. Somehow she doubted it. ‘My doctor is called Ogden. He’s a friend of my father’s.’
‘I see.’ The man rubbed a hand across his chin, a strange, evaluating glint in his eye. ‘Would Your Ladyship care for a tonic? It might help to steady your nerves.’
‘No.’ She inhaled deeply, trying to get her frantic breathing under control. As much as she wanted something to ease her sore throat, she needed to know what was going on first. ‘And stop calling me that.’
‘Stop calling you what, my lady?’
‘That!My lady!’ She winced as the buzzing sound grew stronger again, accompanied by a sensation like hundreds of needles trying to push their way into her skull. If she wasn’t careful, the panic was going to engulf her completely. None of this felt like a dream any longer. It was much,muchmore like a nightmare!
‘Where’s Amabel?’ she asked, raising her voice in the hope that her friend was near by. ‘I need to see her.’
‘Amabel?’ Dr Pritchard sounded confused.
‘Yes. Miss Wadlow.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t been introduced to anybody of that name.’
‘But she must still be in London?’
‘Ah…’ A shutter seemed to descend over the doctor’s face. ‘Shemay be.We, however…’
Florence felt the colour drain from her face as he let the sentence trail pointedly away. Now that she thought of it, thestreets outside did seem unusually quiet. She couldn’t hear voices or hooves or the usual rumble of carriage wheels across cobbles. Slowly, she craned her neck towards the window. The view outside was of rolling parkland. She could see a small hill in the distance, with some kind of folly on top, but other than that, there wasn’t a single other building in sight. DefinitelynotLondon, not unless the house the Wadlows had rented for the Season had somehow been lifted up by its foundations and transplanted in the centre of Hyde Park. Again, distinctly unlikely.
‘Where are we?’ Her voice was reduced to a rasp. ‘What date is it?’
‘Rainton Court in Dorset, my lady, on the twelfth of July.’
‘July?’ Her stomach dropped. ‘But that’s a month from now!’
‘I’m afraid not, my lady.’ The doctor cleared his throat. ‘Would you care for something to eat? Or some tea perhaps? You need to regain your strength. It’s been three days since the…ah…accident.’
A cold draught seemed to blow through the room, chilling her through her white silk and lace nightdress, something else she’d never set eyes on before. ‘Whataccident?’
He didn’t answer, turning to address the nurse instead. ‘Please go and inform His Lordship of the situation. Tell him that I need to speak with him as speedily as possible.’
‘What accident?’ Florence repeated, louder this time.
‘Perhaps you might wish to return to bed, my lady?’
‘No, I do not wish it.’ She pushed herself back to her feet, keeping one hand on the dressing-table in case her ankles buckled again. Her whole body felt ice cold suddenly, as if her blood were freezing in her veins. ‘Iwishto know what’s going on. Why am I in Dorset? What accident? And who is this lordship you’re talking about?’
‘I think it would be best if he explains that himself, my lady.’ The doctor gestured towards the bed. ‘Now I really must insist…’
‘I amnotgoing back to bed!’ She took an unsteady step forward, beginning to feel desperate. Her ribs felt too tight and there was a lump rising in her throat, but she wasn’t going to cry. She needed answers a lot more than tears. And if she didn’t find out what was going on soon, she was going to start shouting. At the top of her lungs and at length until somebody gave in and explained everything.
‘There’s no call for hysterics, my lady.’
‘Who is he?’ She grabbed a hairbrush from her dressing table and flung it across the room. She had no intention of striking the man, but if he was going to accuse her of hysterics, she’d show him just how hysterical she could be.
‘My lady, I must protest!’
