"Oh, very rare. Exceptionally so. Say, have you had any other skin complications later in life? I would love to ask you—"
"Not tonight, Dr. Bethel," Mae said gently, in a tone that suggested an unspoken addition ofnot ever.
"You know," Dr. Bethel said as soon as her back was turned to put away the last of the drying rags. "It might mean you're even safer than the rest of us from all sorts of things floating about in the air."
"In the air?" Roland repeated, a little disgusted.
"Oh," said Dr. Bethel, frowning. "Well, some think so."
Mae reappeared and ushered everyone out, withdrawing the clinic keys from her apron pocket before she tossed it into the hamper next to the door. She blinked as she pulled the door closed behind her, pausing to take in the effect of the new torches burning on either side of the door.
“There will be a few more installed tomorrow, it looks like," Dr. Bethel observed, pointing at the metal bases that had been installed farther down the wall. "Oil cloth should burn for a good few hours too, but it'll be a pain to replace every day."
"Hopefully we'll only need them until the end of summer," Mae replied, frowning as she clicked the door shut and rotated the key until it made a reassuring clanking sound. "Winston, do you know the way home? I should have asked if you wanted to stay another night in the ward. I can open back up if you like."
"I know the way," he said quickly, reddening as he glanced furtively at the other kits. "But I'm going to stay and watch with the other boys for a time, doctress."
"Watch?" Mae repeated, narrowing her eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Rotating patrol," Roland muttered, stuffing his fingers into his pockets. "They'll be relieved in a couple of hours. We just want eyes on the clinic in case your vandals come back."
She turned to him, her lashes casting long, thin shadows down the apples of her cheeks, and pursed her lips as though she wished to vocalize many sharply tipped thoughts at him. Instead, she took a deep breath in through her nose and shook her head. "Fine.
"Until tomorrow," she said, nodding at them and turning toward Soho, gathering up her yellow skirts in her freshly washed and oiled hands, her skin gleaming under the torchlight and flashing at the knuckles like gemstones in invisible rings.
"You're walking home alone?" Roland asked, softly but not without shock. "In the dark?"
"It is not yet dark," she observed, glancing at him. "But yes, I walk home at night. It is not far enough to justify the cost of a hackney. Sometimes my grandfather is with me, but tonight he had to leave early to catch the fishmonger, lest my grandmother divorce him for forgetting again."
"Do you ... are you ..." Roland stammered, glancing at the street and then back at her, his brow furrowing farther each time. "Will you ...?"
"Good night, Mr. Reed," she said pointedly, and turned to leave.
He watched her for the space of five breaths before he took a step after her, but Dr. Bethel reached out and touched his arm lightly.
He looked over at the old man with indignation, thinking he was being stopped from seeing to the safety of this woman, whose very person had just been threatened in paint on these very walls.
The doctor chuckled. "Wait until she turns the corner," he suggested. "Or she'll catch wise."
Roland squinted at him but gave a curt nod and did as suggested, only setting off once the doctor's aged hand slid off his sleeve. Oddly, the man had grabbed him right over the scar on his forearm.
Had it stopped itching as the day had gone on?
He frowned as he slipped shadow to shadow in Mae Casper’s wake.
He wasn't sure.
Almost as though he was antagonizing the damned thing by thinking about it, it tingled, making him give an annoyed rub over his sleeve to silence it.
She turned again, this time down a narrow runoff ditch that cut between two streets. A shortcut, yes, but also a dangerous chokepoint if she was being followed.
He grimaced. She was being followed, wasn't she?
That yellow dress she was wearing stood out in the low twilight. A wise choice for avoiding accidental collision with carriages, but perhaps not the best thing to wear to evade ne'er-do-wells in the shadows.
This time he almost chuckled at the thought. He couldn't follow her down that ditch, so he'd have to cut around.
This would be easier if he already knew where she lived.
