It was wonderful. She had never put any credence in silly romantic novels, but nothing in her life had prepared her for that experience. No wonder even the poorest, most wretched girl of the slums could cling to her man and forget her surroundings for a moment.
She had invited him inside for a last cup of tea in her conservatory, but he had smilingly declined. “I have an appointment at the Exeter Club that will keep me well past midnight,” he had said, regret in his voice. “Much as I enjoy the peace of your haven.” But he had accepted an invitation to dinner tomorrow, which would be the first time he had ever accepted an invitation to a meal in her home.
Surely this was significant!
Of course it is! You felt that kiss—you saw his eyes!
She laughed out loud, right there in the hallway, and twirled in place for the sheer pleasure of it. She couldn’t possibly feel any more giddy than that kiss had made her!
But she stopped in mid-twirl; Gupta needed to know that she would have a guest for dinner, so that he had plenty of time to prepare. Never mind how many times he had been here before; tomorrow night she wanted to impress him!
She paused in the dusk-filled hall and listened carefully; there was definitely someone moving about in the kitchen. She followed the sounds, to discover Gupta himself puttering about in the kitchen, putting freshly risen bread into the oven.
“Gupta!” she said as he straightened. He turned and saluted her, smiling slightly. “Master Scott will be taking dinner with us tomorrow night. Do you think you can accommodate a guest?”
Gupta met her eyes, and smiled broadly as she colored up.
“So, the Captain Sahib has at last begun courting you!” he said, as proudly as if he himself had been responsible for it. “Good! And after my meal, he will make the proposition!”
“Proposal!” she corrected, laughing and blushing at the same time. Although a less honorable man might well have made a proposition before this! “Really, Gupta, you can’t expect the poor man to propose marriage just on the strength of a single dinner!”
“He is a bachelor, yes? He eats in his club, or out of stalls, terrible English food, boiled to tasteless, fried in pools of grease, covered under gravy that is full of lumps and grease and tasteless! He will eat a fine dinner, he will have a fine whiskey as the punkah-fan makes a breeze, and he will think about going home to his little, little room, which is hot and smells of boiled cabbage, and he will make the proposal. Besides,” Gupta added thoughtfully, “there are certain spices—”
“Which I very much doubt will be needed!” she said hastily. “Just have Gopal make us a good dinner, please, Gupta. I’m sure you are right about that—”
“Of course, mem sahib,” Gupta chuckled. “And there will be a dinner of the sort that Sahib Doctor your father gave to his important visitors. Besides, you would not care to think later that the proposal was due to spices.”
Nor to anything else except how well the two of us are in accord, she reflected, as she thanked him smilingly and turned back to her office.
Although, as a whole, the girls of the street were not good at making and keeping appointments, they were anxious enough about the things that Maya could offer them that they were at least prepared to try.
As soon as the lamp in her office came on, she heard the bell ring. Gupta came from the kitchen to answer it, and her office door opened immediately.
“Well, Norrey!” she said in surprise as her “pet pickpocket” slipped in past Gupta and flopped wearily down into the chair. “What brings you here?”
Norrey was in a state of dress that most would likely consider to be “half naked.” She wore nothing but a thin camisole or corset cover over nothing at all in the way of underthings, a dingy pink petticoat showing a pair of bare ankles and feet in stained green satin slippers, and incongruously enough, her treasured hat. Maya frankly envied her as Norrey’s chosen wardrobe looked very much cooler than Maya’s.
“Cough,” Norrey said gloomily, and followed it by a demonstration, which unlike her performance when she had first come to Maya, sounded quite genuine. “Can’t sleep, an’ it’s cruel ‘ard on a gurl what needs t’be quiet in ‘er work.”
“Let’s have a look at you, then,” Maya said, making no comment on the “work.” She brought Norrey into the surgery and gave her a thorough going over, but she feared the worst.
And her fears were justified. “Norrey, you have tuberculosis,” she said flatly. “White lung.”
“Oh Gawd.” Norrey did not break out into tears, as Maya had half feared she would. She only seemed resigned. Evidently she had already come to that conclusion on her own. “Wot’s t’ do, then? Nothin’, I s’pose.”
Maya hesitated. She had come to know Norrey over the past few months; she was better than her surroundings, and had a rude sense of honor. She had certainly been better than her word with Maya. Not only had she made it known on the street that anyone touching Maya, her servants or her house and office would be courting more trouble than any petty thief could withstand, she had brought Maya more than one little street waif for treatment who would otherwise not have come on his or her own.
“What would you do for a cure?” Maya asked cautiously. “Would you be willing to let me try something?”
Norrey looked at her with disbelief mixed with a little—just a little—hope. “Wotcha mean?” she asked. “There ain’t no cure.”
“What if there were?” Maya replied: “What would you do?”
Norrey laughed, bitterly. “Well, if there wuz t’ be be some kinder mir’cle, an’ if summun wuz t’ give th’ loiks a’ me a mir’cle, well, reckon I’d let y’ do whatever.”
“Remember that,” Maya said, “because this may hurt a lot.” And before Norrey could move, Maya caught up both her hands in an unbreakable grip.
This would be the first time she had ever tried to heal a disease. She had strengthened people who were failing, she had even encouraged surgical incisions to close faster, but she had never tried to drive out a disease before.
If I don’t try, I’ll never know if I can.
This was the safest possible place to try. There were no observers, no doctors to wonder at what had happened if she succeeded or what she was doing while she tried, and she was behind strong shields.
Norrey tried to pull her hands away, her eyes widening. Maya stared into Norrey’s eyes and willed her to be still.
The girl froze, then relaxed, and stopped resisting; her mouth relaxed, and her eyelids drooped, although her eyes did not quite close. In fact, she seemed to have been hypnotized, though how could that be?
Never mind. If she could strike that cad Parkening down with her mind, perhaps she could hypnotize as well.
I feel like Svengali… if, when I am finished, she begins singing “Sweet Alice,” I think I may scream.
She reached deeply into the earth beneath her for that magic which was hers alone in all of London, so far as she knew; the action was second nature to her now. The power flowed into her, sweet and golden as honey, stronger now than it had ever been before—as if the power itself wanted her to heal this child.
Very well, then; if that’s the case, I am much obliged, I’m sure.
She poured out the power into Norrey, flooding the darkness in the girl’s lungs with light. The disease was like a pernicious growth, a dark and creeping vine that choked out everything it encountered, stealing the breath and life for itself.
The darkness resisted, but she sensed its roots were not deep, and she pushed harder against it with the golden light, not burning it out, but uprooting and withering it before it could take root again. Little by little, it gave ground, retreating, shrinking in on itself. Relentlessly, she pursued it, and as it retreated, leaving raw and damaged flesh in its wake, she laid down a honey-glow balm that healed the lungs before they could scar.