Free Burton & Swinburne 1 - The Strange Affair Of Spring Heeled Jack by Mark Hodder Page B

please.”
    He followed her into a small and sparsely ornamented chamber and sat in the armchair to which she gestured. She and Mrs. Wheeltapper settled onto the sofa.
    He noticed a statuette of Ganesha on the mantelpiece; a nurse's headdress had been thrown carelessly onto a table; a small bottle of laudanum on a dresser.
    Sister Raghavendra sat with her back held very straight and her hands folded gracefully on her lap. She was still in her work clothes: a floor-length, high-collared, and long-sleeved pale grey dress over which she wore a short white jacket.
    “With Mrs. Wheeltapper's permission,” said Burton gently, “I would like to ask you about the events of last night, when John Speke was removed from the sanatorium.”
    The old widow patted her lodger's hand. “Is that all right with you, my dear?”
    “Perfectly,” answered the nurse, with a trace of imperiousness in her voice. “I will answer any question as best I can, Captain Burton.”
    “I'm happy to hear that. Perhaps you could tell me what occurred?”
    “I'll tell you as much as I know. I came on duty at midnight. My shift is from twelve until six. I was assigned to Lieutenant Speke, my duty being simply to sit with him and monitor his condition. Forgive me for being blunt, Captain, but he wasn't expected to live for long; the left side of his face and head were extremely badly damaged. The presence of a nurse was not entirely necessary in a medical sense, for there was nothing that could be done to save him, but it is our practice never to leave a dying man alone in case he recovers himself in his final moments to make a statement or request or confession.”
    “I understand.”
    “I passed four hours reading to him and was then interrupted by a man who entered the room.”
    She paused and put a hand up to her throat, took a breath, and continued, “I cannot describe him. I cannot see him in my mind's eye. I remember-I remember only his soft tread as he came in, then-I-I-”
    Droplets of sweat appeared on Sister Raghavendra's forehead. She bit her lip and pulled at her collar.
    “Did I faint?” she asked. “But why should I have done so?”
    “What is your next clear memory?” asked Burton.
    “I was-was, um-I was inside the entrance by the reception desk, wheeling a trolley past it, and, somehow, I felt satisfied that Lieutenant Speke was in good hands.”
    “Whose?”
    “Well, I thought his family's but-I-I don't know!” She lowered her face into her hands.
    Mrs. Wheeltapper stroked her tenant's arm and crooned wordlessly.
    Sir Richard Francis Burton had not only listened to the girl's words; he'd also been absorbing her accent, and with the phenomenal skill that was his, had identified her-or at least her family-as native to the Mysore region of Southern India; specifically, to the Bangalore district.
    He now spoke to her in her own dialect: “You have fallen under a spell, young lady. I recognise the signs, as you, a nurse, would recognise the symptoms of an illness. The presence of a newly opened bottle of laudanum on your dresser suggests to me that you are suffering from a headache. This further leads me to believe that you've experienced a traumatic shock and the memory of it has been sealed within the depths of your mind. Believe me when I say that it will do you no good if it remains there, hidden away like a festering cancer. It must be sought out, exposed, and acknowledged; confronted, subdued, and defeated. Sister Raghavendra, I possess the power of magnetic influence. If you permit it-if you place yourself under my protection and send this worthy old woman away-I may be able to break through the spell to discover that which is concealed. My intentions concern only your well-being; you should fear neither me nor my skill as a mesmerist.”
    The nurse looked up and her exquisite eyes were wide with wonder and delight.
    “You speak my tongue!” she exclaimed, in her own language.
    “Yes, and I know Bangalore. Will you trust