“We’ve got to calm him,” Daniel said as he fumbled with the restraints.
“If you tie him down, he’ll only fight more.” Harry gripped the man’s shoulders. “Sam.” No response from the fixed eyes and large pupils. “Sam.” He modulated his voice, making it level and low. “Mr. Robbins sent me.”
Sam jerked, searching for the voice. Harry leaned closer, putting a hand on his sweating, shivering cheek. Daniel reached up for a wrist, finding the thundering pulse. Too fast to count.
“Mr. Robbins says you can keep your job as a crimper. He sent over a bottle of wine to celebrate.”
Sam’s nostrils flared and his eyebrows lunged together. “What?”
“Yes, a bottle of wine to celebrate your job. He’ll be that upset if you don’t toast him.”
A glowing ember of hope ignited in Sam’s pupils. A fragile flame, but still…
Daniel was ready, grabbing the half-filled glass of port andchloroform mixture. “To Mr. Robbins,” he said. “And your job as a crimper.”
Sam stared, the terror ebbing from his face. “I keep my place?”
“Yes, of course.” Daniel smothered a twist of guilt in his gut as Harry pressed the bottle into the man’s hand and guided it firmly to his mouth.
With a strange smile, Sam accepted the dose and swallowed. Instantly, Harry’s stiff shoulders lowered in relief. Another sip. Another swallow. Sam’s shaking limbs slowed, quieted. So did his pulse.
“You need a good night’s sleep,” Daniel prodded. “This will help.”
“Sleep,” Sam repeated sloppily, his furrowed brow relinquishing its fear. His gaze slid across the ceiling as if watching a seabird slowly circle the room. After a quiet minute, Sam gave a loose sigh, and his eyelids fell.
Daniel planted his wooden stethoscope against Sam’s thin chest. “It’s slowing down,” he announced.
Harry exhaled. “It was going like a steam engine about to blow.” He looked the man over, watching as the mottled purple faded from his face. “He’ll need a dose of spirits every hour until the shock wears off. The only remedy for putting down the bottle too fast is to take it up again, in moderation.”
“You saved his life,” Daniel reassured him, troubled by the profound weariness in Harry’s voice.
Harry looked beyond the door to the hall where the wife waited, out of earshot. “For now. Is it cholera?”
Daniel found the chamber pot beneath the bed, dread rising when he saw the small white pieces floating at the top.Once cholera tore all the bile from a body, it continued to strip away the intestines themselves until the only thing expelled was water and tissue fragments. “Dammit,” he whispered. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
But could they go home? If infected, they risked the entire household—Horace, Nora. Daniel took another step back, holding his hand over his mouth and nose, keeping his inhalations shallow.
“What about his poor wife? The little girl?” Harry whispered urgently.
Daniel chewed the skin of his cheek, face grim. “We’ll give them instructions and check back when we’re prepared. We need clean handkerchiefs and something to fight the miasma.”
“And in the meantime?” Harry stared accusingly.
“We can’t save them all,” Daniel reminded him.
“I’m not talking aboutall. I’m only talking about one mother and a baby girl. They deserve better than this.”
Daniel knew not to argue. Turning away, he stoppered and tucked away the bottle of chloroform. Mrs. Healey stepped back into the room, the child only whimpering now. Her eyes riveted to her motionless husband. “Is he safe?”
Anything but.
Before Daniel could share the diagnosis, Harry spoke up. “He’s going to need constant nursing with a small sip of wine or beer every hour, along with a cup of tea. Absolutely no milk or cold water. Do you understand?”
She nodded with startled eyes. “What is it?”
“The hallucinations are alcohol withdrawal. That’s why heneeds the spirits.” Harry paused, his eyes shining in the low light. “But he has…” The word wouldn’t form.
“He has a case of cholera,” Daniel finished quietly, clinically, hoping to ward off her shock.
