A Lady in the Smoke Read Free Page A

of mud on his face. His eyes darted to my forehead.
    He bent toward me. “You’ve a nasty cut on your head. May I help you? And is this your mother?” His voice, kind and steady, had a trace of an accent that I couldn’t place. Welsh, maybe. Or Scottish.
    “Miss, can you speak?” he asked insistently.
    “Yes.” It came out like a croak.
    He looked relieved. “Good. Are you hurt anywhere else, besides your head?”
    “No. But I’m not sure about my mother.” My throat felt raw, but I forced the words out: “She fainted.”
    He reached inside his coat and drew out a stethoscope. “Don’t worry. It’s quite usual in railway accidents. She probably just needs to get warm and take some stimulant. There’s a wagon nearby, come to remove people to a hotel at Travers. I’d like to get you both on it.”
    “Travers?” I repeated. “But that’s not on the railway line.”
    “No. You’re just a few miles north of Holmsted. But Travers is the closest town with lodging.”
    His stethoscope was different than the one our old family doctor used; his had only one earpiece whereas this man’s had two. Quickly, he placed one in each ear. With his right hand, he supported Mama’s shoulders, and with the other he applied the round end of the stethoscope to her chest. Deftly his fingers felt for her wrist, his lips moving faintly. His expression revealed neither relief nor anxiety, though I had the impression that he was practiced at keeping his face calm. It was a handsome face, with high cheekbones, dark eyebrows, and a full mouth, though his dark hair was too long to be fashionable, and it was clear he’d once broken his nose. The shoulders of his coat were stained dark from the rain, and his trousers were smeared with mud. I wondered how long he’d been out here.
    He tucked the stethoscope back inside his coat. “Have you tried to rouse her?”
    I shook my head. “I think she hurt her leg. I had to drag her most of the way here.”
    “You did a good thing, getting her away from the fire. The smoke can be poisonous.” He moved his hands to her ankles, felt them gently.
    “Is she all right?”
    “She has a bad sprain on her left ankle, but nothing’s broken so far as I can tell.” He looked again at my forehead. “I’d like to take care of that cut for you, so no infection sets in.”
    I reached up for my forehead, but he caught my hand at the wrist.
    “Don’t touch it.”
    I stared, alarmed. “Is it bad?”
    “Not at all,” he said. “A few stitches’ worth.”
    “Now?”
    “Yes. It won’t take long. Can you lie back?” He took a towel from his bag and folded it into a rough square. “Put your head here.”
    Watching him uncertainly, I rolled slowly to the ground, resting my head on the towel. But lying flat made me sick again, worse than before, and I turned away from him, retching into the grass. Mortified, I stayed turned away, even when I’d finished.
    “Take this.” Around my shoulder came his hand, proffering a damp handkerchief. “It’s all right. We’ll get you to Travers, and you’ll be fine.”
    I wiped my mouth and lay back, sweating and trembling.
    “I’m going to give you something that will make this easier.” He placed some cotton in a little paper cone and dribbled some clear liquid out of a green bottle. It smelled sweet, and dangerous, like Mama’s laudanum.
    “What is it?” Panicking, I tried to sit up again. “What are you doing?”
    “It’s a spirit, called chloroform,” he said patiently. “You breathe it in, and it’ll make you fall into a light sleep. As soon as I’m finished stitching—it should only take a minute or two—I’ll take it away and you’ll wake up. I’ve poured only the smallest dose.”
    He held the cone, waiting, but made no move to force it upon me.
    The idea of letting a stranger put me to sleep should have terrified me. But I looked into his face and saw both compassion and intelligence. And then he gave a smile, brief but