Her creamy brow furrowed as they stopped in the shadows.
“That inscription at the top is Portland stone, it’s of a woman pouring healing oil on a sailor under the north star.”
“You do your homework, Daniel. What’s in there? You know.”
He flexed his hand to let the blood pump. “Someone who may have seen you. A good number of patients come through here. It’s my hope he remembers.”
“Three windows at the attic.” Her voice was airy, like petals aloft in the breeze. “Three on the second all in red bricks. You don’t see bricks, not this many in Kingston. Most everything is wood.”
His gut clenched. She’d started to remember, and his fears of losing her whipped his inside. “Ready . . . I’m with you.”
Her eyes were vacant, but she tugged him forward. His girl was brave.
His boots hit the cobblestone floor first, after her buckled slippers. The patter and stomp echoed to the mudded ceiling.
People milled about, not talking. All men, some finely dressed, who Daniel assumed to be physicians.
“The wards. I think that is what they called where the beds are.” Her voice was low, cracking. “Twenty were in the room.”
“Let’s keep moving, Jemina.”
They did and passed through an area where patients were received and ended up at a massive curved staircase.
Steeper and more twisting than Finchely’s, it gave Daniel pause.
“You need a bar at the top of your stairs to keep thepickney dem,the little ones, from toppling.”
“What, Jemina?”
She grabbed his coat, then wrapped her arm about him. “Take me out of here.” Her tone was breathy, the whisper harsh vibrating against his collar. “I beg of you.”
Her heart beat so hard, so loud, Daniel feared she’d pass out. “Yes.”
He turned her, and they bumped into a tall man with glasses.
She jumped and almost landed in Daniel’s pockets.
The physician looked at her. “I know you. St. Maur. The most belligerent patient I’ve ever had.” He glanced at her, hopefully admiring her smart carriage dress, perfectly coiffed chignon, and snappy bisque bonnet. “You came to your senses, I see. Cooperated and were released.”
“Something like that,” she said.
The physician reached up as if he wanted to touch her head, but Daniel stepped between them. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Phrenology, the study of skull structures is my specialty. I wanted to see if the lump on her head was permanent. She was a patient two years ago.”
“Dr. Scottson, I remember you.”
Fingers entwined with Jemina’s, Daniel used the union to motion to the man. “One question. Can you remember who authorized my client Jemina St. Maur to be transported to Bedlam?”
“Yes, never forget. Big man, coat too big on him. Williams . . . no Willingham. Said he was authorized by the family to commit you. Like I said, I’m glad you came to your senses. She wouldn’t cooperate. Wouldn’t fight for herself or accept the truth. Hope she listens better now.”
“No. But that is part of her charm.”
The fellow shook his head and disappeared in the stairwell.
Stepping in front of Jemina, he lifted her chin. “So that confirms one piece of our mystery. And that not listening is one of your flaws, mine too.”
“You listen better than I do.” She crushed his cravat, snaking closer. “Take me from here, Daniel.”
