“Try looking in a mirror and see for yourself,” Magnus said dryly.
Scotty hesitated, worry coursing through him when he noted the pity on Donny’s and Etienne’s faces. Frowning, he turned and walked into the bathroom and then closed the door. He could have just looked in the dresser mirror, but he wasn’t sure what to expect, and would rather see what was what while on his own.
“God Almighty,” Scotty breathed when he flicked on the light and saw his reflection. His long hair was gone, his scalp a mass of scars and still healing raw skin, and his face . . . He didn’t even recognize himself. The skin was the same mess as his head. It just looked like his scalp had slipped down to cover his face. His eyes were alarming too, a solid silver as the nanos tried to repair what the flames had apparently done.
Scotty peered down at his hands now, noting the same knotted skin there, and wondered that he hadn’t noticed it while he was dressing. He supposed he’d been distracted by so much company. Now that he was thinking about it, though, Scotty couldn’t believe he wasn’t in agony. Weren’t the nanos working to heal him even now?
A knock at the door drew his attention, and after a hesitation he said, “Come in.”
Magnus stepped inside and smiled at him sympathetically as he closed the door.
“Rachel thinks the tranquilizer works differently on you,” he said, meeting Scotty’s gaze in the mirror. “That for some reason your nanos fixate on flushing those from your system, rather than tending to anything else. So that when she gives them to you, the healing stops . . . which is why you are not presently unconscious. She thought it would be better for you to heal.”
Scotty let out a little breath of relief. “So it will heal?”
Magnus nodded, and then warned, “But once the nanos finish flushing the tranquilizer and set back to work on your skin, you will be in agony again.”
Scotty nodded, and asked, “How long until that happens?”
Magnus shrugged helplessly. “I would not guess it would be too long from now. After all, you are awake, so the worst of the tranquilizer must already be flushed from your system.”
Mouth firming determinedly, Scotty turned and opened the bathroom door. “Show me where Beth’s room is. I want to see that she’s all right before . . .” He didn’t bother finishing. They both knew he meant before the healing set in and he was in agony once more.
Donny and Etienne were gone when Scotty stepped back into his room. He wondered briefly where they’d gone, but didn’t ask. He merely followed Magnus into the hall. It turned out that Beth’s room was just across the hall and down a room. The door was open, and Magnus stepped up to peer inside, then relaxed and gestured him over.
Scotty moved beside him and peered cautiously around the door frame. This was where Donny and Etienne had gone, he saw. And it was why Magnus had relaxed. The two men made something of a screen, blocking him from being seen by anyone in the room, and, in turn, blocking Beth from his view. He could hear her speaking, though, and she sounded just fine other than her voice being a touch husky. Probably from the smoke she’d inhaled, or maybe the flames, or possibly even from screaming. It was hard to say without seeing her.
“You had sisters?” he heard a woman ask, and supposed it was this Rachel, the doctor and Etienne’s wife.
“Two. One older and one younger,” Beth answered, her voice soft with affection, and then on a chuckle she added, “I was the dreaded middle child.”
“Oh, God, the middle child is always trouble! All the magazines say so,” Rachel teased with a laugh. “What were your sisters’ names?”
“Ella was the older one,” Beth answered, and then added sadly, “She died of the ague when I was nine. Mom tried everything to save her—hot compresses, cold compresses, all the medicines she could get her hands on, but . . .”
“Ague was what they called fevers, right?” Rachel asked curiously. “I know it could be malaria at times too, but they also called anything with fever that, didn’t they?”
“Aye,” Beth admitted. “They just came on one day, fever and chills. She got hotter and weaker . . . Ella was fair burning up, but nothing would stop it. Ma even tried leeches.” She was silent for a minute and Scotty waited, thinking that her accent became thicker and her speech more antiquated when she spoke of the past. He’d noticed it happened when she was upset too.
“Ella used to act as barker for our mom at market,” Beth said suddenly. “She had such a clear beautiful voice. It was almost like singing.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what a barker is,” Rachel admitted.
“A barker calls out about the pies, selling them.” Beth paused briefly and then sang out, “‘Pies! Fine, fresh penny pies! Won’t you buy some pies, sir! A pie for a penny! Please, sir, won’t you buy the pies!’” She ended on a chuckle and then admitted, “I took over when Ella died, but I was never as good as her.”
“And your younger sister?” Rachel asked. “What was her name?”
“Little Ruthie,” Beth answered, affection clear in her voice. “She was a good one. Used to nap at Mom’s feet most of the time at market. Didn’t fuss and such as a babe. And stayed close when she got talking gibberish and toddling around.”
“Your mom took you all to the market?” Rachel asked with surprise.
“Aye, from the earliest I can remember. There weren’t day care then,” Beth said wryly. “So aye, Mom took us. We helped sell the pies. Helped make ’em too.”
Scotty leaned against the door frame as he listened, enjoying the almost lyrical sound of her voice and the happiness he heard in it.
“Penny pies, they were. The best in London. Everyone said so,” Beth added proudly.
“And your father?” Rachel asked. “What did he do?”
“Drank, mostly.” Her voice was cold now and completely devoid of emotion. “He was a drunkard. Beat me mom to get the coin from her for the day’s sales and then drank all night and slept the day away. He was a mean drunk too. Mom tried to shield us, but couldn’t always, and we learned to move quick when he started his fists in swinging.”
Scotty frowned at the picture she was drawing of her childhood. He’d seen enough men like Beth’s father to know how it would have gone. Her father would have been unpredictable, laughing and teasing one minute and then in a rage the next. With a father like that the day could go from good to bad in a heartbeat, and it was impossible to know when it would happen. It left the family in a perpetual state of crisis. They might be smiling and seeming to enjoy something on the outside, but inside they were always on the alert for that change, always on the verge of fight-or-flight.