I’d made him go to bed and crawled in to warm him with my body, but I hadn’t slept then, either. I didn’t feel the need of it. There were things that would need to be done when the day came; I could feel them waiting, a patient throng. William. The dead girl. And Jamie had said something about the girl’s young sister. . . . But for the moment, time was still, balanced on the cusp of night. I lay beside Jamie and listened to him breathe. For the moment, that was enough.
BUT THE SUN rose, as it always did.
I was stirring the breakfast porridge when William appeared, bringing with him a mud-smeared young girl who looked like a lightning-blasted tree. William didn’t look any better but seemed less likely to fall to bits.
“This is Frances,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice, putting a large paw on her shoulder. “These are Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, Fanny.” She was so fine-boned that I half-expected her to stagger under the weight of his hand, but she didn’t. After a stunned moment, she realized the introduction and gave a jerky nod.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” I said, smiling at her. “The porridge is almost ready, and there’s toasted bread with honey.”
She stared at me, blinking dully. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hair lank under a tattered cap. I thought she was so shocked that she was unable to comprehend anything. William looked as though someone had hit him on the head, stunning him like an ox bound for slaughter. I looked uncertainly at Jamie, not knowing what to do for either of them. He glanced from one to the other, then rose and quietly took the girl into his arms.
“There, a nighean,” he said quietly, patting her back. His eyes met Willie’s and I saw something pass between them—a question asked and answered. Jamie nodded. “I’ll care for her,” he said.
“Thank you. She . . . Jane,” William said with difficulty. “I want to—to bury her. Decently. But I think I can’t . . . claim her.”
“Aye,” Jamie said. “We’ll see to it. Go and do whatever ye need to do. Come back when ye can.”
William stood a moment longer, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the girl’s back, then gave me an abrupt bow and left. At the sound of his departing footsteps, Frances gave a small, despairing howl, like an orphaned puppy. Jamie wrapped her closer in his arms, holding her snug against his chest.
“It will be all right, a nighean,” he said softly, though his eyes were fixed on the door through which William had gone. “Ye’re at home now.”
I DIDN’T REALIZE that Fanny was tongue-tied, until I took her to see Colonel Campbell. She hadn’t spoken at all until that point, merely shaking her head yes or no, making small motions of refusal or gratitude.
“You kilt my thither!” she said loudly, when Campbell rose from his desk to greet us. He blinked and sat back down.
“I doubt it,” he said, eyeing her warily. She wasn’t crying, but her face was blotched and swollen, as if someone had slapped her repeatedly. She stood very straight, though, small fists clenched, and glared at him. He looked at me. I shrugged slightly.
“The’th dead,” Fanny said. “The wath your prithoner!”
Campbell steepled his hands and cleared his throat.
“May I ask who you are, child? And who your sister is?”
“Her name is Frances Pocock,” I put in hastily. “Her sister was Jane Pocock, who I understand . . . died last night, while in your custody. She would like to claim her sister’s body, for burial.”
Campbell gave me a bleak look.
“I see that news travels fast. And you are, madam?”
“A friend of the family,” I said, as firmly as possible. “My name is Mrs. James Fraser.”
His face shifted a little; he’d heard the name. That probably wasn’t a good thing.
“Mrs. Fraser,” he said slowly. “I’ve heard of you. You dispense pox cures to the city’s whores, do you not?”
“Among . . . other things, yes,” I said, rather taken aback by this description of my medical practice. Still, it seemed to offer him a logical connection between Fanny and me, for he glanced from one of us to the other, nodding to himself.
“Well,” he said slowly. “I don’t know where the—er—the body has been—”
“Don’t oo call my thither ‘the body’!” Fanny shouted. “Her name ith Jane!”
Commanders, as a rule, aren’t used to being shouted at, and Campbell appeared to be no exception. His square face flushed and he put his hands flat on the desk, preparing to rise. Before he got the seat of his breeches clear of his chair, though, his aide came in and coughed discreetly.
“I beg pardon, sir; Lieutenant Colonel Lord John Grey wishes to see you.”
“Does he, indeed.” This didn’t seem to be welcome news to Campbell, but it was to me.
“You’re clearly busy, sir,” I said quickly, seizing Fanny by the arm. “We’ll come back later.” And without waiting to be dismissed, I more or less dragged her out of the office.
Sure enough, John was standing in the anteroom, in full uniform. His face was calmly pleasant and I saw that he was in diplomatic mode, but his expression altered the instant he saw me.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted. “And”—glancing at Fanny—“who the devil is this?”
“Do you know about Jane?” I said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “What happened to her last night?”
“Yes, I—”
“We want to claim her body, for burial. Can you help?”