London Shadows (#1 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Eleven

                  

He was dead and in hell. He had to be if the throbbing ache in his head and the stench of carbolic acid was any indication.

Please, not a hospital.

Westman cracked an eye open and awoke to moonlight streaming in through a dusty window pane. No, it was neither hell nor a hospital ward. And he was still very much alive. A sharp stabbing sensation in his hand made him suck air through his teeth and he sat up with a start, regretting it when more pain tore through his side.

"You're awake. Oh, but do be careful, the needle is sharp."

He turned his head to find Sophie smiling beside him in the glow of a lamp, a needle and black thread poised between her bloodied finger and thumb. As he sat up in the unfamiliar bed, the sheet slipped down to expose his bare chest and bandaged torso.

"Who undressed me?" he demanded, then winced and put a hand to his temple.

Her face flushed with embarrassment. "Well, it wasn't me, if that's what you're thinking. I'm merely here to sew you up."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Mr Blinks took them away to burn them. They were soaked with blood. Truly, there was no hope of saving them."

To his relief, he still wore his talismans. He never took them off, after all, one never knew when a simple protection charm might be needed. He tried to relax while Sophie worked on the seam of sterilised, stitched skin.

"I'm almost finished," she reassured him.

A look around the sparsely furnished room revealed a bowl of bloody water, a glass bottle of the wretched carbolic and a red-stained cloth on a dresser. "Where are we?"

"My uncle's house. It was Mr Blinks' idea. He said you'd murder us if we took you to the hospital."

"He was right. I think I'd rather take my chances with Blinks playing surgeon."

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. "And here I was, convinced that Freddie Westman was a fearless knight in shining armour. You can't be afraid of hospitals."

She was teasing him, he thought sulkily. But he most likely deserved it. He had, after all, made fun of her intellect and bookish hobbies. "Clearly, you've never been to one."

"I hear that most of London's hospitals are very clean and efficiently maintained."

"Is that what you hear? Well, it's not the soap or efficiency that concerns me. The selling of corpses to local anatomists is a lucrative market, don't you know?"

"Mr Westman, what are you talking about?"

"Foul play." Ever since he'd read an article about a respected London surgeon's underhand dealings, he had carefully avoided calling upon the services of any medical professional. "The poisoning of patients, then selling their bodies to medical students for a bit of extra coin."

Sophie looked aghast. "Why, I never heard of such a thing. I think you're being unreasonably suspicious."

"Don't you read the newspapers? It's happened before and I'm not taking any chances."

"Hold still please," she instructed, and he felt another little jab of pain.

He watched the needle before his gaze wandered to her face. She was naive about the realities of life, but he found that strangely endearing. Then he recalled what she'd witnessed in the library and a wave of guilt ran through him. She'd glimpsed inside his world of darkness and monsters.