He thought of the children piled like puppies around the stove, and his heart ached as he realized they’d wake expecting news of a new baby, but instead would be faced with a funeral.Again, the father’s eyes flashed in his mind.I don’t understand. I just don’t understand. How can a baby be so healthy one moment and dead the next?The injustice of it hit him like a freight train. Mark gasped for air, fighting the wave of anger and grief that washed over him. It didn’t feel right to have such a visceral reaction to someone else’s loss. He wasn’t the baby’s father. What right did he have to break down into sobs in the middle of the street?
Oh, God. That’s what he was doing. Tears streamed down his face. His breath came in ragged gasps as he raced ahead to catch up with Ellen and Amelia.
“You shouldn’t be alone after this,” Ellen was saying to her friend.
Amelia snorted. “Youshouldn’t be alone.” She sounded angry and hard.
Ellen surged to catch up and linked arms with her friend. “We’re going back to the dispensary with you. We’ve all had a shock.”
How is Ellen the calmest of us all?Mark could barely remember to swallow, he was struck so numb. He trailed the women, finally catching up with them as a hansom cab rolled to a stop.
A life. A baby gone, for no good reason. He wasn’t ill, he wasn’t weak. Just a thrice-damned cord around his neck.Mark thought of the drawer he’d spied in the corner of the room, lined with newspaper print and swaddling clothes, waiting for the newborn. It wouldn’t be used.
Mark moved mechanically, helping both women climb into the cab. Ellen reached into her cloak absently and clutched the locket. His heart seized. If he climbed in that cab he might pass out. He needed space, he needed to walk.
“Are you coming?” Ellen sounded unsure.
He shook his head, more tears scalding his cheeks.
“I don’t think any of us should be alone,” she began, but Mark scrubbed his face with his hand and walked away.
He didn’t know where he was going. His feet carried him up and out of the slums, back toward Mayfair. He stumbled past the mansions of Berkeley Square. How senseless this was. Babies shouldn’t die. Parents should never have to see their children die. It was the deepest perversion of life—not that death existed, but that death stole those newest to life.
His hands opened a wrought iron gate, and he tripped over a tree root.
He’s dead, he’s dead. He’ll never wake up. He was born asleep and will never wake up,echoed over and over in his mind.She’s dead. She’s gone and I never had a chance to meet her.With a sob, Mark flung himself on the ground beneath an elm tree. He was barely able to make out a small, gray tombstone in front of him.
Constance.
Mark gasped for breath but felt like he’d inhaled knives instead. They shredded his lungs, his heart, his soul.You’re gone and I never had a chance to meet you.He curled on the ground and wept.
Chapter Seventeen
Ellen rubbed her eyes and yawned. Disoriented, she looked around and recognized Amelia’s one-room flat above the dispensary. Easing up, Ellen glanced down to see Amelia curled on the bed beside her.
The night came flooding back. Groaning, Ellen brushed her hair out of her eyes and stood. The two women had stumbled back to Amelia’s apartment. Ellen had made tea, they’d drunk it, and then collapsed on the bed. Neither had made it under the covers. Amelia had lain down, silent and self-loathing, and Ellen had lain beside her, hollowed out and emotionally exhausted.
Now, Ellen tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirts and bodice and then took the empty teacups to Amelia’s wash bucket. She felt bruised all over—and not just emotionally, though her heart was the sorest.
A knock came at the door. Ellen sighed, trying to put some life in her face, and opened the door. “Yes?”
A young woman with rich, sepia skin and brown, expressive eyes stood in the doorway, a small, wrapped package in her hands. “Hell—oh.” Her broad smile drooped. “You’re not Amelia.”
“I’m Ellen,” Ellen replied, too tired to think of a better response. She fought back a yawn.
The woman peered over Ellen’s shoulder into the small room and could probably make out the two dirty teacups and beyond that, Amelia asleep on the bed. “I-I wasn’t aware she had company.” She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. “I just came to-to?—”
Ellen took in her clothing: the pale purple dress with puffed sleeves, the severe bun of her glossy, black hair, and the crisp white apron. “You’re a nurse.”
The nurse was already backing toward the stairs, eyes wide with embarrassment.
“Wait.” Ellen put out a hand. “Are you the nurse from St. Pancras? Amelia’s been talking about you, and I’ve wanted to meet her friend.”
The nurse paused. “You’re...her friend?”
Ellen bit back a smile at the hope in the woman’s voice. “We work together. I suppose you’re here to see how things went last night? I came to help after you left.”
She nodded.