arm is draped languidly over the edge of the mattress.
Too late. He is always too late.
He opens his mouth to cry out his rage and despair and helplessness to an uncaring world . . .
“Calm yourself, Mr. Winters. You are dreaming again. I will ease the currents just as I did last
time. Go back to sleep.”
He has heard this gentle voice before. He trusts it now. The dream images evaporate, leaving a
sense of peace unlike any he has known since he was sixteen years old.
He drifts back down into a deep healing sleep.
9
“HE WILL BE FINE,” LUCINDA JONES SAID. “THE BALM THAT I gave you will ensure
that no infection takes hold while the wound closes. Be sure to apply it twice daily. I will also
leave you the ingredients for a tisane that will encourage healing. Make certain that he drinks at
least two cups a day, morning and night.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” Adelaide said.
She smiled at Lucinda across the width of the bed. Griffin was asleep again. She did not sense
any of the nightmarish energy that had ebbed and flowed throughout the long night. He lay
against the pillows, eyes closed, dark hair matted with dried sweat. He was nude to the waist.
The bandage that covered his shoulder was fresh, the inside layers saturated with the therapeutic
balm that Lucinda had prepared.
Immediately after the doctor had left, Adelaide made the decision to send word to the newly wed
Mrs. Jones, requesting a consultation at the earliest possible hour. She had not been at all certain
that there would be a response but she could not think of anywhere else to turn. The doctor who
had closed the wound had scoffed at her concerns about infection. He was a good man, Adelaide
had concluded, and quite deft with a needle and thread, but he was of an older generation. He
gave no credence to modern notions of medicine.
“It was very kind of you to come out at such an early hour and in this dreadful weather,”
Adelaide said. “I cannot tell you how very grateful I am. The doctor got the bullet out and I
insisted that he clean the wound quite thoroughly but I have seen such injuries before. I know
what can happen.”
“You were wise to be cautious.” Lucinda closed and buckled the satchel that she had brought
with her. “In my experience, infection often proves more lethal than the original wound. But I’m
sure he will recover nicely.”
“It is a relief to hear you say that. My housekeeper tells me that you possess great expertise in
such matters.”
Lucinda contemplated Griffin. Behind the lenses of her spectacles, curiosity glinted in her eyes.
“I must say, I’m amazed at how quietly he is sleeping,” she said. “It is as if he had been given
some opium concoction, but I do not detect any indication of the milk of the poppy.”
“I have some small talent for dealing with pain,” Adelaide explained.
Lucinda nodded, unsurprised. “Yes, I can sense that you possess some psychical ability, Mrs.
Pyne. Do not worry overmuch about Mr. Winters. It is obvious that he is endowed with a very
strong constitution.”
Adelaide looked down at Griffin’s broad, bare chest. So did Lucinda. There was a short pause
while they both contemplated Griffin’s strong constitution.
“Yes, indeed,” Adelaide said. “Very strong.” She cleared her throat and hastily pulled the sheet
up to cover Griffin’s chest.
Lucinda smiled. “Nevertheless, he will no doubt be in considerable discomfort when he does
awaken. Men can get quite surly under those conditions.” She opened her satchel again and
removed another packet. “I will leave you something for the pain, just in case. Mix a spoonful
into his tea or a glass of warm milk.”
“Thank you.”
Lucinda buckled the satchel again and hoisted it in one hand. “Very well, then. I must be off.”
“A cup of tea before you leave?”
“Unfortunately I must decline. My husband is waiting for me in the carriage. We have
Too late. He is always too late.
He opens his mouth to cry out his rage and despair and helplessness to an uncaring world . . .
“Calm yourself, Mr. Winters. You are dreaming again. I will ease the currents just as I did last
time. Go back to sleep.”
He has heard this gentle voice before. He trusts it now. The dream images evaporate, leaving a
sense of peace unlike any he has known since he was sixteen years old.
He drifts back down into a deep healing sleep.
9
“HE WILL BE FINE,” LUCINDA JONES SAID. “THE BALM THAT I gave you will ensure
that no infection takes hold while the wound closes. Be sure to apply it twice daily. I will also
leave you the ingredients for a tisane that will encourage healing. Make certain that he drinks at
least two cups a day, morning and night.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” Adelaide said.
She smiled at Lucinda across the width of the bed. Griffin was asleep again. She did not sense
any of the nightmarish energy that had ebbed and flowed throughout the long night. He lay
against the pillows, eyes closed, dark hair matted with dried sweat. He was nude to the waist.
The bandage that covered his shoulder was fresh, the inside layers saturated with the therapeutic
balm that Lucinda had prepared.
Immediately after the doctor had left, Adelaide made the decision to send word to the newly wed
Mrs. Jones, requesting a consultation at the earliest possible hour. She had not been at all certain
that there would be a response but she could not think of anywhere else to turn. The doctor who
had closed the wound had scoffed at her concerns about infection. He was a good man, Adelaide
had concluded, and quite deft with a needle and thread, but he was of an older generation. He
gave no credence to modern notions of medicine.
“It was very kind of you to come out at such an early hour and in this dreadful weather,”
Adelaide said. “I cannot tell you how very grateful I am. The doctor got the bullet out and I
insisted that he clean the wound quite thoroughly but I have seen such injuries before. I know
what can happen.”
“You were wise to be cautious.” Lucinda closed and buckled the satchel that she had brought
with her. “In my experience, infection often proves more lethal than the original wound. But I’m
sure he will recover nicely.”
“It is a relief to hear you say that. My housekeeper tells me that you possess great expertise in
such matters.”
Lucinda contemplated Griffin. Behind the lenses of her spectacles, curiosity glinted in her eyes.
“I must say, I’m amazed at how quietly he is sleeping,” she said. “It is as if he had been given
some opium concoction, but I do not detect any indication of the milk of the poppy.”
“I have some small talent for dealing with pain,” Adelaide explained.
Lucinda nodded, unsurprised. “Yes, I can sense that you possess some psychical ability, Mrs.
Pyne. Do not worry overmuch about Mr. Winters. It is obvious that he is endowed with a very
strong constitution.”
Adelaide looked down at Griffin’s broad, bare chest. So did Lucinda. There was a short pause
while they both contemplated Griffin’s strong constitution.
“Yes, indeed,” Adelaide said. “Very strong.” She cleared her throat and hastily pulled the sheet
up to cover Griffin’s chest.
Lucinda smiled. “Nevertheless, he will no doubt be in considerable discomfort when he does
awaken. Men can get quite surly under those conditions.” She opened her satchel again and
removed another packet. “I will leave you something for the pain, just in case. Mix a spoonful
into his tea or a glass of warm milk.”
“Thank you.”
Lucinda buckled the satchel again and hoisted it in one hand. “Very well, then. I must be off.”
“A cup of tea before you leave?”
“Unfortunately I must decline. My husband is waiting for me in the carriage. We have
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