Nora closed her eyes to push out the memory of her mother’s shriveled arm and open eyes. It didn’t work. She shuddered. And yet… “I want to see it.” She wouldn’t believe until she assessed it herself. If there was anything else plausible… Horace had been wrong before.Rarely, but still…
Daniel steepled his fingers. “I need to study it as well. I haven’t seen a case in years. I only saw one body at the Sorbonne. Never the disease in action. I was far from London in ’32—” He cut off abruptly, his eyes dropping to his fingertips.
1832, the year Nora had lost everything. Most of the time she didn’t think of it—concentrating instead on her new life. Practically a rebirth. But the description of the withered body dredged up an old despair.
The tears she’d reserved to shed over Adams and the idiotic doctors threatened again—but this time for more visceral pains. She swallowed hard and stood. “I’m washing up now. Send for me when the body arrives.”
“Nora, I’m—” Daniel started, but she waved his attempted solace away.
“We should try to arrange a lecture—let as many students as possible see it so they recognize the signs. You’ll ask if the family will let us keep the body until burial?” That was usually Horace’s job—to coolly overlook the human suffering in lieu of science. Her words lined up in such an orderly fashion, as ifthey weren’t broken shards of glass in her throat.
Horace knuckled his chest—his angina again—and gave half a grimace. “One thing at a time. For now, let’s count ourselves fortunate there’s only one body.”
“So far,” Daniel said, then glanced carefully at Nora.
They’d laid her father to rest first. He was only one body.Until—
Horace glared at his fist, clenched tight on the handle of his cane. “I’ll write to doctors I know in Rotterdam, find out if it’s spreading there. But I haven’t heard anything. And it doesn’t seem to have survived the sea crossing.”
“Thank God,” Daniel whispered.
Nora glanced at his relieved face. He had no idea. Whatever he imagined cholera to be, she knew it was worse.
Chapter 8
“Aren’t you listening?”
Nora snapped her eyes up, realizing too late Julia was waiting for a response. She couldn’t even recall the original question. “I’m sorry. My wits are wandering today. What did you ask?”
It was Sunday afternoon, and she and Julia had escaped outside to enjoy a bit of quiet, seated on the lawn.
“Nothing. I was only saying how surprised I am that you’ve made friends with Queenie.”
Nora smiled and returned her gaze to the wombat sitting on her lap. Queenie—she had a name now, bestowed by Mrs. Phipps—looked up, clearly expecting Nora to resume stroking her back. The sun, sifting through the leaves of the nearby plane trees, struck glints in the marsupial’s dark fur.
“I also said you’ve been quiet the last two days,” Julia said with an amused smile. “But you didn’t hear that, either.”
“I’m sorry.” Nora pushed Queenie off her lap and watched her amble to the herb border, where she began digging with her enormous front claws. Maybe hungry? At least she wasn’t meddling with Mrs. Phipps’s roses. Nora didn’t think any of the animals would last here after trying that.
“She’s grown bigger,” Nora said. “Must have been a baby when they caught her.”
Julia dipped her head. The sunlight did lovely things to her too—gilding her bright hair—but now her features were in shadow. “Poor thing.”
They’d tried a cage on the lawn—Horace kept them ready for any interesting acquisitions—but Queenie preferred a shady stall in the carriage house.
“Nora.”
Julia probed with her blue eyes. They shamed the London sky. Nora had only seen that color in Italy, over the burnished hills—
“I’m sorry. I’m doing it again. My mind is wandering,” she apologized.
“I expect some quiet from you when you’re researching or preparing for a difficult surgery, but you’ve hardly spoken this week, even at meals. What’s troubling you?”
Nora ran her hand over the cool, shady grass, letting it tickle her palm. She wished she could untangle the knot of thoughts snagging in her brain. Dr. Adams, Daniel, the wasted body of that dead sailor… “Daniel and I are in a bit of a standoff.”
“No.” Julia crossed her arms and refused Nora’s explanation. “Not possible.”
“What do you mean,no? We are.” Nora leaned against the tree’s rough bark. “We’ve barely spoken more than civilities today.”
