Secrets of the Heart (27 page)

A hand reached out and touched his cheek, interrupting his thoughts. “I will care. I will watch.”

“What?” Startled, he looked up. “Amanda.” The young girl who’d never spoken a word since killing her father. He understood now how someone might kill his own flesh and blood as Amanda had done. He imagined himself capable of such a gruesome act if his father still lived.
How could he have left Mother here to rot? Why didn’t he tell me she was still alive?
Devlin forced himself to push the dark thoughts away, afraid to examine them further, afraid they might destroy him.

“I watch,” Amanda repeated softly, her brown eyes full of sympathy and something else, understanding, perhaps.

“You
can
speak.” Devlin didn’t hesitate. “Amanda, thank you,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “Try to keep her as cool as possible. I must go now, but I will return as soon as I can.”

Amanda stared at his hands, then gently pulled away and sat next to his mother on the floor. “I care.” She applied a damp cloth to Elethea’s forehead. Amanda had a better bedside manner than most of the keepers. He hated that word
keeper
, as if these poor patients were no better than animals.

Devlin could not escape the stench of urine and disease as he searched the asylum. The acrid odor filled every corner of the asylum. Devlin’s impatience rose. He had to find Madeline. She was here somewhere.

Devlin continued through a long corridor that emptied into yet another room of the sick. Larger than the other rooms, this room held twenty cots arranged in a circle. A kind-faced woman kept vigil over the ill, hovering like a tireless angel of mercy and praying aloud as she ministered to all. He paused a moment, struck by her impossible task.

“I am Dr. Grayson and have only just arrived to assess the situation. How are you managing all these patients, madam?”

The woman wore a gray bonnet and dressed in a plain gray dress covered with a white apron smeared with the grime of the asylum and the filth of sick patients. “I find it easier to care for them like this.” She turned within the circle. “They are easy to reach, and I can quickly detect a problem that might otherwise go unnoticed.” She placed a cool cloth on the brow of a man whose face, riddled with pustules, resembled so many others.

“So I see.”

“May I help you?” The woman’s sea green eyes filled with compassion. “Noah told me we’d been blessed with the arrival of a physician. You must be the one.”

Devlin nodded, studying the circular arrangement of the cots with interest. “Yes, I am he. What is your name?”

“Mrs. Sharpe. I’m the primary keeper for the women.”

Devlin nodded his understanding. “How many keepers are here?”

“Six prayerful women, widows from the village, including myself, assist the female patients, and eight men aid the male patients. The rest fled when they could after the smallpox was discovered. They couldn’t be stopped. We have one hundred ten patients, and thirty of them have smallpox. Soon more will be affected.”

“I hate to ask more of you, Mrs. Sharpe, but would you look in on those in the far room at the end of the corridor until I get back? There is no attendant.”

“I will do so immediately, Doctor. Where are you going? Perhaps I can help you.”

“I must find a patient, Lady Madeline Whittington of Richfield. Do you know her?”

“How long has she been here? What is her appearance?”

“She was admitted yesterday and is a pretty young woman with dark curly hair.”

Mrs. Sharpe shook her head. “I saw her briefly, when she first arrived. I am surprised they would accept a new patient at such a time. I suspect she’s being kept in the area away from the pestilence.”

“Can you tell me where that area is?”

He listened as she gave directions. “Thank you.” Devlin quickly walked past the circle of infected patients and down another long, dark corridor. Through double doors at the end he found the area filled with inmates that showed no symptoms of smallpox. The staff and patients at the Guardian Gate Hospital were vaccinated against the disease; Dr. Langford made certain of it. Perhaps some of these patients were also protected from the disease.

Devlin wandered into a tiny nook. Nothing. Frustration filled him.
Jesus, help me find her.

He glanced at the full moon through a high, barred window, a morbid reminder that Madeline didn’t belong in this prison of madness.

He tried the door. Locked. Devlin peered through its tiny, dirty window to investigate. He squinted, trying to see beyond the door, but the filthy window hindered his vision. A sudden glimpse of movement caught his eye as he turned away. The abrupt action on the other side of the door left him bewildered. Had he actually seen something, or were his eyes fooling him?

He wiped the windowpane with his hand trying to get a better view. Two dark shapes wrestled in the moonlight on a tiny balcony. A large man harassed his victim.

“Stop!” Devlin gripped the bars.

The man froze and looked at him.

Devlin abandoned the window and put his shoulder to the heavy oak door, trying to force it open. The door refused to budge.
The fool on the balcony probably held the key.

A huge shadow fell over him. Devlin jerked away, ready to do battle. Recognition flashed. Andrew Wiggins. “Help me.”

Wiggins battered the door with several direct kicks. The sound of splintering wood rocked the silence, and the door crashed onto the balcony with a great thud. Wiggins grabbed the man who had retreated from his victim to seek escape and picked him up by the collar, tossing him through the shattered door and into the wall, where he crumpled into a heap.

Devlin hurried to the still form. He gently turned over her limp wet body. Panic seized him. Madeline lay outlined by the light of the moon. “Maddie. What did he do to you?”

Devlin cautiously picked her up in his arms, but the manacle, chained about her wrist, stopped him.

Wiggins did not hesitate. He reached past Devlin and grabbed the chain that held Madeline. Grunting with the effort, he pulled the iron from the wall. Wiggins carried the chain and followed as Devlin carried Madeline inside.

“Hold her,” he ordered.

Wiggins took a step back. A look of terror crossed his face.

“Take her. You won’t hurt her.” Devlin then gently transferred Madeline into Wiggins’s hesitant outstretched arms. Devlin removed his coat and spread it on the floor. “Lay her down here, and help me free her wrist.”

Wiggins grunted. “I’ll be back.”

Devlin turned his thoughts and attentions to Madeline. He felt her moist face and neck. She was hot, fevered. From exposure or smallpox? He prayed it was exposure.

Wiggins returned with a hammer and chisel.

“How did you gain access to those?” Devlin asked, both grateful and concerned.

Ignoring the question, Wiggins gently adjusted Madeline’s wrist, then went to work. The manacle fell away in moments under his skilled hands.

“What trade did you know on the outside before coming to Ashcroft?” Devlin asked, amazed.

Wiggins gathered the chains and towered over Devlin. “I was a blacksmith.” He walked away and disappeared down the corridor. Devlin silently thanked God for Andrew Wiggins.

Madeline groaned.

“Lady Madeline. Maddie. I’m here. I’m going to help you. Can you hear me?” Devlin asked, hoping for a response. None was forthcoming.

He wrapped the coat around her soaked garments and gathered her in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her fevered brow. “We’re going to get through this, Maddie,” he whispered into her ear. “We’re going to get through this together. God will help us.”

Devlin helped Madeline with the aid of one of the female attendants. In the privacy of one of the empty cells, as Devlin waited outside, the keeper removed Madeline’s wet clothing, dressed her in a simple gown, and covered her with a moth-eaten blanket.

“It’s one of the few decent blankets left in the entire asylum,” she informed him. “There’s not enough help to do the wash, and even if there were, there are few blankets.”

Devlin examined Madeline to determine if she had contracted smallpox. She tossed and turned, calling out for her mother, but her body showed no signs of a rash or blisters. “I don’t think the fever is from smallpox.” He let out his breath and sat down, relief filling his soul.

“A blessing indeed,” said the attendant, who placed a gentle hand on Madeline’s head and prayed silently for a moment.

“I must find someone to sit with her, but we need every capable person to assist with those infected.” Exhausted, Devlin put his head in his hands.

The woman’s hand dropped to his shoulder. “God will provide. I will stay with her until someone else can be found.”

Devlin forced himself to stand, secretly wondering if God would provide. It seemed hopeless. “Thank you.” He felt Madeline’s face and arms again for fever. She remained hot. “Try to keep her cool and continue to pray for her.”

“Of course. I will pray for both of you, and I will beg God to deliver us safely from this plague.”

Devlin had prayed before entering the world of medicine. He’d prayed for direction and wisdom, for God’s guidance. Suddenly he realized how much he’d come to rely on prayer and the peace it usually brought him. But today he found no peace.

He returned to the area where his mother lay ill, afraid a sheet covered her face or that her body burned with the dead in the insatiable funeral pyre outside the asylum.

Why didn’t these people have access to Dr. Jenner’s smallpox vaccine? This could have been avoided if only the appropriate precautions had been put in place… if only. However, with no physician to look after the patients, and someone like Sullivan managing the asylum, it was a wonder it didn’t happen sooner.

“Amanda,” he said gently.

The girl pressed a cool rag against his mother’s forehead and looked up.

“How is she? Any improvement?” he asked, hope skimming his heart.

“Same.” Amanda gently pushed a gray strand of hair behind Elethea’s left ear. “Same.”

“Thank you for taking care of her. You should rest now. It’s been a long day.” Devlin pulled out his pocket watch. “Almost midnight. I’ve been here only a few hours, but it feels like days.”

Amanda smiled wanly and gently continued her ministry of a cold cloth to his mother’s forehead.

Devlin knelt beside Amanda. His mother’s breathing seemed slightly improved. He studied his mother again. Sometimes before a person died, a patient would rally. And just when the family thought the worst had passed, the patient slipped away as though their soul were waiting for the right moment to depart.

“I’ll stay. You go rest, Amanda.” Devlin raised the young woman off her knees. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Amanda nodded and moved off toward a pallet not far away, where she chose to sleep for the night. She knelt and folded her hands in prayer. Devlin wondered what she prayed for and stretched out on the cold floor next to his mother and slept.

He’d felt as though he’d just closed his eyes when someone shook him awake. “What is it?” he asked, confused for a moment. Then he remembered and groaned. Back muscles wrenched in opposition to each other. He sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and discovered Mrs. Sharpe standing over him. “What’s wrong?”

“Lady Madeline is awake.”

Devlin breathed a sigh of relief. Gathering his thoughts, he looked at his mother. She continued to sleep peacefully.

Two more patients had lost their battles during the night. That made ten dead. How many more would be sick today? They couldn’t even cover the bodies for lack of sheets and blankets for the living. Outside, the death fire glowed ominously against the foggy gloom of dawn.

An eerie silence accompanied Devlin as he picked his way around sleeping patients and through the shadows of the corridors to Madeline. The bars on the windows increased his unease. A stone-faced guard let him through the rusting gate. He realized that he’d passed this way before, when he’d treated Wiggins’s wounds.

At last Devlin reached Madeline’s cell. A female keeper looked up as he entered the tiny cell, and Madeline turned to look at him from where she lay on a cot.

“Lord Ravensmoore.” She could hardly believe her eyes. He was here!