Her body shuddered as cruel fingers poked and prodded at her, and she retreated deeper and deeper into oblivion—embracing it, welcoming it.
But just when the pain threatened to carry her off, a kind and sweetly caring voice would call her back. In her dreams, the woman cared for her as if she were a small girl—the mother Georgina had always yearned for, and just the dream of that was enough to keep her within the cocoon of unconsciousness.
At last, she forced her lids open.
“Georgina? My dear, can you hear me?”
Georgina burrowed into the downy mattress. She didn’t want to acknowledge the question, because the agony of merciless hands on her body would follow.
“Georgina?”
She tried to turn on her side.
Gentle hands held her down. “Your ribs were very badly sprained, my dear. It’s best if you lie on your back,” the voice murmured.
With sheer determination, Georgina opened her eyes. She squinted as a bright shaft of light penetrated a small windowpane, nearly blinding her. Rays of sun beamed off the satiny silver of the stranger’s hair. She had to be an angel. There was no other accounting for how she knew Georgina’s name.
Georgina forced words past her sore throat. “Am I dead?” She didn’t imagine angels would weigh anything, but still the mattress dipped under the plump woman’s weight. A wide, white smile creased her cheeks.
“You must feel pretty close to it, my dear, but no, you are not dead.”
Georgina flung her arm over her eyes to blot out the sunshine and a moan escaped. Her face felt like it had been used for a pummeling target.
The flutter of skirts indicated another woman had moved next to the bed. Georgina peeked through her fingers at the young woman now pouring water into a white basin at her bedside. With a crown of pale golden hair and kind hazel eyes, she didn’t look much older than Georgina.
She smiled at Georgina and rinsed a towel, handing it to the kindly stranger.
Georgina looked back at the older woman. “Who are you?” she managed past dry lips.
“You may call me Catherine. I’m a nurse at Bristol Hospital. Close your eyes.”
Georgina obliged.
“They were badly swollen,” Nurse Catherine explained. “But you look much better than when you first arrived.”
A sea of questions filled her. “Who? How…?” She didn’t know where to start. Georgina tried again. “How did I come to be here?”
There was a pause. “There will be time enough for questions later.”
“Please,” Georgina managed.
The woman hesitated. “A man brought you here.”
Georgina’s heart sped up. She shoved herself up on her elbows. The now-cooled compress fell into a damp heap at her side. She remembered a man sweeping her into his arms.
Adam! He’d come for her. “Adam,” she breathed.
Nurse Catherine’s brow creased. She waved off the young woman hovering at the bedside and gestured someone else over. “Do you remember Mr. Archer?”
White spots danced behind Georgina’s eyes and she tried to get air into her lungs. She dug her nails into the sides of the mattress and screamed.
Nurse Catherine’s voice could not penetrate the fog of horror.
She yelled until her throat burned and her lips were numb. But he didn’t go away.
The face of her nightmares. The stranger who had died on her kitchen floor, whose ghost had visited her after Father had beaten her, now stared back at her with solemn, violet eyes. “Hello, Miss Wilcox.”
Georgina clenched her eyes tight. A ghost back from the grave should possess a wrathful tone, not this gentle, quiet warmth.
“I didn’t die,” the ghost continued.
Her eyes opened. Not a ghost. A man. A very alive, very healthy-looking man. Her logical mind screeched in protest.
“You were dead,” she gasped out. “I saw you. I saw—”
“You didn’t see what you believed you saw.”
No. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She’d been there. She’d scrubbed his blood from the floor until her fingers had been raw and her own blood mingled with the imprint his body had left behind. “I’m going mad,” she said, the eerie acknowledgement chilling her to the center.
The man reached a hand out and she withered into the folds of her mattress.
He pulled back his fingers. “You’re not going mad.”
She bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. The sweet, salty drops fell unchecked. “No,” she said, this time more forcefully. “You were dead! You—”
“What happened after I was shot, Miss Wilcox?”
Her mind raced. Shouts of fury. Father had been enraged that she’d set him free. She pressed her palm into the side of her temple.
“They dragged you away, didn’t they?” he asked quietly. “They took you upstairs and they beat you.”
Tears blinded her. Fell in large rivulets down her cheeks. Jamie had dragged her across the kitchen by her hair. That had been the kindest thing done to her that day. The message Father had delivered in the form of raining fists of fury had been quite clear: no one’s intervention in their plans would be tolerated—including Georgina’s.
“I wasn’t dead, Miss Wilcox. I was very badly hurt. I nearly died, but as you can see,” he opened his arms. “I’m very much alive.” His kind eyes grew somber. “When they were beating you, I escaped.” He folded his hands together and looked down at them. “I’m so, so sorry that I did not help you. I had promised to help you if you freed me and I failed.”
She swiped the tears away, but the blasted drops continued to fall. For the past four years, she had flagellated herself with the lash of guilt because she’d failed the stranger in her kitchen. All along, he’d been alive. Giddy joy filled her until laughter blended with her tears.
“I want to help you, Miss Wilcox,” he said.
“Miss Wilcox needs her rest,” Nurse Catherine murmured.
Mr. Archer nodded and, with a deep bow, he left.
The graying nurse spoke. “He brought you here nearly a fortnight ago. He’s come by each day to ask after you. He’s sat by your side for many hours.”
Georgina collapsed against the pillows, turning her eyes away from the prying questions she saw in the other woman’s gaze. “Why?” Nathaniel Archer had been nothing more than a poor soul captured by her radical father. She’d cared for him and set him free. He’d received a bullet to the chest for her efforts.
“It would appear that Mr. Archer has set himself up as a kind of guardian, Georgina.” There was a question there. “And it would appear you are in need of guarding.”
“Why did he bring me here?” Georgina didn’t believe her delivery to Bristol Hospital was sheer coincidence.
Catherine rested her hand on top of Georgina’s head. “Over the years, you’ve provided some valuable information to the Home Office.” Her voice was a mere whisper that Georgina strained to hear. “There are many of us scattered around to help when needed.”
Georgina swallowed back a lump. All these years she’d provided details about her father’s plans—damning information that could have gotten him hanged. She’d believed there was no one out there concerned about her welfare, but that hadn’t been altogether true. Mr. Archer had been sent to help.