The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (80 page)

Still, admittedly, she was more than a little curious about her elderly patient’s visitor. Anson Rathburn was an elegant, dapper old gentleman. His belongings – an exotic mélange of carved masks, primitive weaponry and foreign texts – suggested a life of adventure. There were also a few tintypes, some showing a smiling, handsome and young Anson Rathburn. But strangely, he had never spoken of his life before Winterview. She, as his hired nurse, had never presumed to press too invasively for details.

A sudden question occurred. How did Mr Rathburn know to expect a visitor? He had received no letter. No telegraph.

It was then she realized he did not simply look out the window now, at nothing in particular. His gaze was fixed on something there.

She crossed the room to stand beside him. Drops tapped against and drizzled down the panes, offering a distorted view of the grounds. The early spring rain had cleared the rolling, green lawn of patients, staff and guests, save for—

Stone benches lined Winterview’s central drive, and upon the furthest of these, nearly concealed by a thick canopy of trees, sat a dark-clad figure. The man wore a long raincoat and a wide-brimmed Western style hat that concealed most of his face, everything but a stalwart jaw and pursed lips. One leg was bent at the knee, its foot planted against the ground, while the other leg jutted straight on to the path before him. His hands rested against his thighs, completing a pose of pensive reluctance. Though difficult to tell much more from such a distance, she perceived a broad, well-turned pair of shoulders and fitted trousers over long, athletic legs.

“Is that your visitor, sir?” she asked, a bit breathlessly.

“It is.”

Excitement shot through her. Why? She couldn’t exactly say, other than that the “old friend” she’d imagined in her mind was very different than the apparently much younger man sitting in the rain outside.

“Would you like me to go down and invite him inside?”

Mr Rathburn smiled. “Not just yet.”

His answer relieved Malise. She supposed he was correct, and that his friend would come inside from the rain whenever he decided to do so.

And yet a half hour later, Mr Rathburn’s visitor had still not seen fit to call. He had, however, over time, moved from one bench to the next so that he narrowed the distance between himself and the front steps. Malise knew this to be so because she had passed by the window to steal a peek at least a half dozen times. Astoundingly, Mr Rathburn appeared to have forgotten all about him. He sat in his wheelchair at his desk, quietly reading. Another quarter of an hour passed before he lifted his blue-eyed gaze from the page. His eyes sparkled with humour.

“I do believe he must be soaked through by now. What do you say, Nurse Bristol?”

“That must certainly be true, Mr Rathburn.”

“Please do invite him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malise crossed the carpet, smoothing the folds of her white nurse’s apron, and turned the knob. The colder air in the hallway chilled her skin.

“Nurse Bristol?” he called.

“Yes, sir?” She paused, turning back.

“Don’t forget the umbrella.” He peered at her over his spectacles. “And his name is St Vinet.”

“Mr St Vinet,” Malise repeated, nodding. She took up the umbrella from the stand, and pulled the door closed behind her.

In the hallway, she glanced into the gilt-framed mirror, and caught a glimpse of herself: a brown widow’s peak, visible from beneath the centre fold of her white nurse’s cap; brown eyes, and a small, pale face. Invisible. She had long ago become invisible. It was why she didn’t pause for more than a glance, or to pinch her cheeks or smooth her hair. She had learned her lesson. A handsome man who charmed with smiles and sweet words was just as likely a monster as a Prince Charming. It was why she preferred the sanctuary of this place and the company of men too old and infirm to do her harm.

Winterview had once been a private residence and did not feel like a “hospital” at all. Though the pointed arches and exaggerated buttresses proclaimed it to be a gothic villa in style, certain modernizations had been made for the comfort of the wealthy, aged residents. One such modernization was the electricity and another was the lift. A metallic rattle and hum came from inside the shaft, indicating the elevator was in-use, so rather than wait, she descended down three flights to the ground floor. Here, a number of small sitting areas graced the far corners of an expansive tiled floor and a fire burned on opposite ends of the space, in two matched fireplaces. Finches chirped in large cages. A few residents and visitors occupied the lobby. A number of new nurses had been hired of late. Several of them followed dutifully behind Nurse Henry, the newly hired Head Nurse, making their way toward the kitchens. Her crisply issued instructions echoed in the cavernous space. Only at Winterview a few weeks, she’d already made her mark as a strict taskmistress. She expected perfection from her staff, and strict adherence to all rules and regulations. So far, Malise had been fortunate enough not to draw Nurse Henry’s attention or ire.

Nurse Alice, a round-faced woman nearly a foot shorter than Malise, carried a covered silver tray towards the stairs. Just two weeks before, she and Alice had become roommates, sharing a boarding house room in Chelsea on their nights off.

“Where are you going in that rain, Nurse Bristol?”

“Just outside to the drive. Mr Rathburn has a visitor.”

The young maid smiled. “Mr Rathburn? A visitor? Well that’s something, isn’t it? Good for him, I say. See you at the train station for the ride in.” Her smile stretched into a grin. “Tick tock, it won’t be long now. We’re almost free of this place, at least for a day.”

“Yes, I shall see you there.”

At the double doors, Malise paused. Mr St Vinet, the mysterious visitor would be on the other side. She assumed a pleasant smile and pushed through the doors –

The afternoon light dimmed.

Intense warmth touched her skin. She gasped in confusion. For a moment, it seemed a thousand dark wings fluttered around her, battering her, blinding her in shadows.

In the next breath, the sensation was gone, moved past her. She stood on the front steps, gasping, the umbrella gripped in her hand. Rain fell from the sky at a hard slant, splattering against her skirt and apron. She spun round to see what had pushed past her, fully expecting to see that dark flock of birds, but saw nothing.

Perhaps she had simply grown faint. She could think of no other explanation for the sensation of heat, weight and darkness that had passed over her so quickly, and then disappeared. Certainly that was it – a simple change of temperature, the shock of going from a warm hospital out into the brisk cold. Only she’d never been one to grow light-headed over such minor things, nor did she lace her corset too tightly, as some of the other nurses certainly did.

Water sluiced off the umbrella. Ah, Mr St Vinet.

She peered down the long drive. He was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the grounds, her heart slowly sinking into the pit of her stomach. Clearly he’d been reluctant to come inside and see Mr Rathburn, but to have simply departed without explanation? She prayed her gentle patient would not be terribly disappointed. She understood disappointment. The soul-deep, life changing sort. She wished the feeling on no one.

Inside, she climbed the stairs and made her way back to the uppermost floor. Weighted by regret, she turned the knob and reentered Mr Rathburn’s rooms. Voices touched her ears.

“Oh—” The exclamation escaped her mouth before she could stop it.

Mr Rathburn sat in his wheelchair in the small sitting area. His visitor, Mr St Vinet, sat in the chair opposite him, his hat on his lap. He had dark brown hair, worn just long enough to curl behind his ears. Raindrops glistened on his shoulders and dripped off the edge of his coat on to the carpet. Even seated, he towered over Mr Rathburn. She read agitation, even anger, in the rigid line of his shoulders, and the sharp downward turn of his lips. He glanced at her with the irritated expression of one confronting an unwanted intruder.

Mr Rathburn did not appear the least bit troubled by his guest’s demeanour. “Nurse Bristol, please be introduced to Mr St Vinet.”

She was staff. Truly just a servant. Not even a real nurse with formal medical training. A simple companion. As such, she had not anticipated a formal introduction. She half-curtseyed. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nurse Bristol,” St Vinet murmured, barely offering her a glance. But then his chin halted, and his eyes narrowed and he
did
look at her, and piercingly so, as if reading her every feature.

Heat crept up her neck and flooded her face.

He looked sharply away.

She returned the umbrella to its stand, and subdued the impulse to back out of the room and only return when she was sure Mr St Vinet had departed. It was his direct stare. Something in his eyes. It was almost as if he had reached out and touched her. For someone who had not been touched in a very long time, her physical and emotional reaction was unexpectedly profound.

She reminded herself of her position and her purpose in the room. “Sir, ought I to prepare tea?”

She did not return her glance to Mr St Vinet but felt the pinpoint heat of his gaze on her.

Mr Rathburn answered, “Thank you, Nurse Bristol, tea would be most welcome.”

A copper kettle warmed on the narrow metal shelf of the wall stove. The men spoke, but they kept their voices low, so their words remained unintelligible to her ears. Within minutes, she’d prepared the tea tray and returned to serve them.

“How could I not come?” St Vinet hissed, his jaw and mouth tensing even more than before. “You summoned me. I have never been one to deny my duty.”

Malise kept her expression bland as she lowered the tray to the marbled-topped table between them. A leather case sat on the carpet next to Mr St Vinet’s booted foot. It was the sort a doctor might carry on a house visit.

“Duty?” Rathburn steepled his fingertips and peered, half-lidded, at his younger companion. “You warm my soul with such heartfelt sentiments. You could have come before, you know, without my summoning you. Why did you not?”

A dry laugh rattled from St Vinet’s throat. “To see you like this? You
know
how I feel about
this
.” He pointed at Rathburn, zig-zagging his finger in agitation. “You, being pushed around in that damn chair, by a damn nursemaid, for God’s sake. And this place,” he spat. “It’s like a coffin. Your coffin. And you expect me to come and watch as you die before my very eyes, all because of
her
—”

Malise’s temper flared protectively, and she glared at St Vinet, not caring that he was a gentleman and she only the hired help.

Leaning forward to give him his cup of tea, she whispered, “Mind your manners, sir.”

His gaze, as grey as gunmetal, lifted to hers, and locked. Simmered. His cheeks were ruddy with emotion.

“What was that, Miss Bristol?” asked Mr Rathburn of her back.

A long moment of silence passed.

“No, Nurse Bristol,” murmured St Vinet, his nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated. “I require no sugar or cream. Thank you.”

Mr Rathburn interjected, “Miss Bristol, I’ve only just now realized the clock on the mantle says four-thirty, which I know very well is usually the time you leave for your day off. I have no wish to intrude upon your personal time. Please go on and do enjoy yourself.”

She poured his cup of tea and made sure he had a firm hold on the saucer before releasing it to him. “Are you certain, sir? I don’t mind staying.”

“As always, you have done more than your job requires and this old man is grateful for that. I’ve left coins for a hansom cab in the dish by the door.”

“Mr Rathburn, you oughtn’t—”

He raised his hand and shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of you walking in the rain.”

St Vinet listened to them silently, his hands curled into fists on his thighs.

Though she was curious to see what else would pass between the two men, she realized she had no good excuse to remain.

“Thank you, sir.” She took up her coat and bag, and the coins from the dish, and let herself out. “I shall see you Monday morning then.”

In the hallway, she buttoned her coat. She removed her nurse’s cap and replaced it with the small taffeta and straw bonnet she kept in her reticule. A narrow door led to the service stairs, and she descended to the ground floor, emerging into another narrow hall. The staff physicians kept their offices here, as well as the administrators of the facility.

“Nurse Bristol.”

It was Head Nurse Henry.

“Yes, Nurse Henry.”

“Please step inside my office.”

Malise did so, holding her reticule tight against her ribs. “Would you prefer that I sit?”

Nurse Henry’s eyebrows had been drawn on her forehead in brown grease pencil. The twin arcs crept up her forehead. She shrugged, and stated briskly, “Sit or stand, your choice makes no difference to me. What I have to say will not take long, so I will not dally with empty words. Plain and simple: your employment has been terminated.”

The word echoed in Malise’s head.