He ignored me and left the drawing room without so much as a backward glance.
Blast and curses! I hadn’t even told him the most important part yet, that the boy’s attacker was the same girl who grabbed my arm at the docks. The mantel clock began to chime the tenth hour. Henry would be back soon, hopefully cooled off and ready to discuss how best to track down the miserable wretch. Not that I wanted to seek her out, but it was imperative we discover her true identity. Only then would we know the reason behind my burn and the boy’s sudden sickness. And, heaven forbid, if there was any connection with Mr. Chubais as Henry suspected.
My head pounded like the dickens. Pushing up from the sofa, I went to the kitchen in search of some willow bark to brew. Both Fannie and Sophie were still awake and promised to bring a tea tray upstairs as soon as it was ready. Returned to my room, I placed the basket on my bed and began pacing, my feet barely keeping pace with my mind. Back and forth, I crossed and re-crossed the room, trying to sort out everything that had happened tonight.
Henry was angry. Nothing to be done there other than give him time to calm down and to realize that I had no choice about healing the boy, or any other person for that matter. Certainly, he would feel better once I returned from the Otherworld, my power replenished. If any resentment still lingered, I knew just the way to win a full reprieve.
I glanced at the basket and smiled. Julian was a godsend. Tomorrow I would write a note thanking him for his diligence in locating the passageway. I would also request another visit. As a leath’dhia, he needed to know what happened to the boy tonight. Try as I might, I could find no rational explanation for the sudden sickness. Which left the irrational—or the supernatural.The facts were fairly straightforward. The boy had been strong enough to be out walking unassisted, his breath unlabored and his face free of pustules when he first stopped in front of Cate’s townhouse. Then the girl appeared and a mere touch had brought him to the ground. Seconds later, he was overtaken by the pox, teetering on death’s edge.
I absentmindedly brushed a hand across my burned arm. A few seconds passed before my brain registered the complete lack of pain that usually accompanied even the slightest touch. The skin also felt smoother, without a trace of blisters. I glanced down in search of the red mark. Squinting, I moved closer to the fireplace and turned my arm from side-to-side. The skin was unblemished, returned to how it was before the wretch had grabbed me. I stared in shocked disbelief. It was impossible.
A knock on the door made me jump. Fannie came into the room with the promised tray. “Here ye go, miss, a strong pot of willow bark tea. Would ye like it by the fire?”
“Yes, please,” I said, still distracted by the discovery. It couldn’t have been my doing. From Brigid’s first descendants, my kind had lacked the power to heal ourselves. In that regard, we were very much human, meant to live and die just like everyone else.
She placed the tray on the side table near the hearth, then filled the sole porcelain cup with the steamy brown liquid. “Is there anything else ye be needing tonight?”
“No, thank you, the tea is all.” I reached for the cup without affording any attention to the motion. My fingers fumbled against the side, sloshing hot liquid over the rim. Startled, I pulled my hand back and blew on the scalded skin.
Fannie hurried back to the table and started mopping up the mess. “Ye look a shade past frothed milk, miss, if ye don’t mind me saying. Have ye grown light-headed again? I’d best fetch Lady Dinley. She’d like to know if yer to have another fainting spell.”
“There’s no need to disturb her ladyship.” My mind whirled for a plausible excuse to explain my nervous behavior. “I just had a fright when you knocked on the door. Different house, different sounds is all.”
She gave me a kind look. “Ye’ve nothing to worry about in this part of London, miss. Lady Dinley’s residence is far too new for any spirits to be walking about yet. Her late husband built it for a wedding present, though he weren’t given much time to enjoy it, dying as he did in a carriage accident so soon after they married.” She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Now other parts of London aren’t so fortunate and I’d wager half a crown there’s all sorts of unnatural things to be found. Take Tyburn Gallows. There’s a place I’d not be walking around in the dead of night. Nor anywhere near the Tower. From what folks say, it’s the most haunted place in all England.”
At first, I’d hardly been listening, but mention of the Tower got my attention. “Do you mean the White Tower?” Once a royal residence, the White Tower now served primarily as a prison for notable persons, and it was where James had hoped I would reside while in London.
“Aye, miss, it’s one and the same.”