The other man shook his head. "Don't thank me. Simply try to ensure that you don't need my attentions again in the near future, especially before you're back to have those stitches out."
Newbury laughed, causing his chest to burn with pain. "I'm not planning on it, I'll give you that much."
The Fixer smiled. "For men in our profession, Sir Maurice, that has to be enough. Good day to you."
"Likewise." Newbury watched as the man disappeared from the room, descending the stairs towards his workshop once again.
Rothford approached from the other side of the room. "If you'd like to come with me, Sir Maurice, I'll show you to our dressing room."
Newbury nodded and followed behind Rothford as he led him through a door, along a short passageway and through another door into a small room on the left. It was furnished with a wardrobe, cheval-glass mirror and dressing table. Rothford crossed to the wardrobe and opened the doors with a flourish. Inside, Newbury could see that it was filled with all manner of formal suits and dresses, white shirts and underclothes. He wondered how many 'visitors' the Fixer regularly received.
Rothford searched through the rack of clothes for a moment, before withdrawing a black suit on a hanger and holding it up beside Newbury. "There. I should imagine this will suit. I'll lay it on the chair over here." He draped it over the back of the tall chair by the dressing table. "Please feel free to help yourself to a shirt and underclothes. When you're decent you'll find me in the reception room at the other end of this short hallway. I'll organise some breakfast. Bacon and eggs?"
"Thank you." Newbury nodded, unsure what else to say. He watched as Rothford exited the room, clicking the door shut behind him.
Then, gingerly, he disrobed, eyeing his wounds in the cheval-glass. The line of bruised, puckered flesh that ran down the left side of him looked angry and sore. Yet, strangely, he felt decidedly more alert than he had in days. He supposed that had a lot to do with Dr. Fabian's miraculous healing compound. He made a mental note to attempt to find out the name of the flower it was derived from. It would make an interesting study, and he could do worse than to have a small amount of the compound available to him at his Chelsea lodgings.
Taking care to dress slowly so as to avoid pulling on his stitching, Newbury was soon feeling more like his usual self, and with the promise of eggs and bacon just along the hall, he realised he was absolutely famished. Finding a pile of his personal belongings arranged on the dressing table, he slipped these into the pockets of the borrowed suit and set off in search of Rothford, Earl Grey, and food.
Chapter Twenty-One
Veronica sat beside Amelia on a wooden bench on the grounds of the asylum, wrapped up against the chill. They were watching the other inmates as they circled the airing court like a flock of birds, each following the others as they walked, their feet crunching noisily on the gravel. Nurses kept a watchful eye from one end of the courtyard, gossiping amongst themselves and dressed in thick winter coats. Their breath plumed in the frosty air.
Veronica glanced at Amelia, who-even dressed in a heavy coat and shawl-was shivering with the cold. She put her arm around her sister, hugging her closer for warmth. Veronica knew that she shouldn't have come. She could think of a hundred reasons why she shouldn't be there that day, why she'd have been far better off staying away, yet none of them seemed quite as important as the reason she had finally given in and made the journey across town. Now, here, she could barely face her sister, who had been delighted by the unexpected visit and had clutched her brightly, kissing her fondly on the cheek. Tired and emotional after a difficult morning, Veronica had chosen to walk with Amelia in the gardens before broaching the true reason for her visit.
After Sir Charles had deposited her at her Kensington lodgings, Veronica had found herself alone in her apartment, her housekeeper out running errands around town. She had stripped out of her filthy clothes, poured herself a scalding hot bath, and sat weeping on the bathroom floor, her knees drawn up to her chin, tears streaking down her blood-caked cheeks. She sat like this for at least an hour, cycling through the full gamut of emotions, from relief to anxiety and then back again. She had been so terrified by those detestable creatures as they attacked the cab, trying to peel the door away to get at her and Bainbridge inside, that she had done little to aid in the battle. She cursed herself for being so weak. She was a strong woman, a fighter, but she had seen no way out of that dreadful scenario, and had almost given herself over to her fast-approaching fate, when Sir Maurice had appeared out of the fog and taken on the two monsters single-handedly, drawing them away from the cab. She felt ashamed that her first thought had been to flee, to get away from there as quickly as possible whilst she had the chance, to abandon Newbury to the monsters in an effort to save herself from harm. Reason had reasserted itself, however, and she had remained in the carriage, knowing that there was little she could do to help him as he fought the creatures in the fog-enshrouded street. She had come close to rushing out there to aid him when she heard him crying out in pain, but she knew in truth that she would have only served as a distraction and that, had she taken on one of the creatures herself, she would have surely lost out to its brutish strength and animalistic will.
The worst horror, however, had been seeing Newbury in such a desperate condition after he'd managed to make his way back to the cab. Even now she feared for his life, feared what this 'Fixer' character may do to him, and worse, feared that his words of reassurance regarding the revenant plague were simply that-words-and that before long he would succumb to the terrible blight and, regardless of how tightly she had tied his bandages and how well she had stanched the flow of his lifeblood, she would lose him anyway. She couldn't bear the thought that Newbury might transform into one of those horrifying creatures, and she knew that he, too, would rather die than let that happen. So she had resolved to visit Amelia at the asylum, to take advantage of her sister with a long list of difficult questions, and to try to ascertain what the future held.
Amelia was watching the other inmates as they went about their laborious routine. "Tell me I'm not reduced to that, Veronica. I feel like a little bit more of my life is sapped away from me each and every day I spend in this terrible place."
Veronica hugged her sister closer. "You're not, Amelia. You're not like that at all."
"Then why do I have to live like this? What have I done wrong to deserve to be locked up in here? It's basically a prison cell."
Veronica didn't know what else to say. "I'll get you out, Amelia. I promise. I'll find a way to get you out."
Amelia shifted slightly in her arms, and smiled. "I know you will, Veronica. I know it's just a matter of time."
Veronica looked at her sister quizzically. "Do you know something? Have you seen something in one of your visions?"
Amelia shook her head. "You know it doesn't work like that,
Veronica. I only remember snatches of what I see, dream-like sequences and unconnected images. In one of them I see you and I, walking down the street together, away from this place."
"Can I ask you something? Something I promised I'd never ask you?"
Amelia slipped out of Veronica's embrace, stiffening slightly on the bench. "What is it?"
"Have you seen what becomes of Sir Maurice? In the future, I mean." Veronica couldn't meet her eye.
"No. Nothing." Amelia shrugged. "Well, that is to say that I do not recall seeing anything. Why, what happened?"
Veronica was exasperated. She balled her hands into tight fists. "Try for me, Amelia. This is very important. Try to remember if you've seen him during a recent episode. Anything at all. Even just a glimpse."