Free A Lady in the Smoke by Karen Odden

and she smelled of the rose-scented soap she always favored.
    “I’m so glad that you’re all right,” she murmured. “It must have been dreadful beyond words.”
    Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I nodded into her shoulder, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But how are you here so quickly? Were you in London?”
    She drew back. “I was visiting my cousin Mary. She’s only just in Wickland. Deborah”—Deborah was Mrs. Ellsworth’s Christian name—“sent for me straightaway when she got your letter.”
    “So you interrupted your visit to come here. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s no matter at all,” she replied, picking up her satchel and bringing it into the room. “I’m glad I can help.”
    She set her case on the floor, removed her gloves and cloak, and went to my mother’s side. Very gently, she lifted my mother’s hand from the counterpane, taking her pulse the way Mr. Wilcox had shown me. Mama stirred faintly and her eyes flickered open. She saw Jane and seemed to recognize her, but then she closed her eyes again.
    “Has a doctor seen her?” Jane asked under her breath.
    “Yesterday morning,” I whispered. “His name is Wilcox. He gave me some medicine and instructions.”
    She let go of my mother’s hand and picked up the packet of tea from the side table.
    “For her digestion,” I said softly.
    “That’s very good. Often doctors forget the complications that can result from extended time in bed.” Next she unscrewed the lid of the jar.
    “It’s strong,” I warned her hastily.
    She took a faint sniff of the mixture. “Camphor and some lavender, to keep the blood circulating.” She replaced the lid. “You’ve been applying it?”
    “To her arms and legs, yes—but not her left ankle. It’s badly sprained.”
    She nodded approvingly as she set aside the jar; but her expression sobered as she picked up the brown vial, and she looked at me with surprise. “Is this laudanum?”
    “Yes. But he only ordered it because she’s been taking it regularly.”
    The two delicate furrows between her brows deepened. “Why?”
    I hesitated. “Her nerves. But we left her usual bottle on the train, and Mr. Wilcox says to deprive her of it entirely could be dangerous. He asked me to give her just enough to keep her symptoms away. I gave her a teaspoon last night, but none this morning.”
    Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
    “Do you think he’s wrong?” I asked anxiously.
    “No, he’s quite right. I just wish she weren’t taking it in the first place. I suppose Dr. Martinson was prescribing it?”
    I nodded.
    Jane had never much liked Dr. Martinson’s methods, but she held back what she might have said, turned away, and picked up the small bottle of drops.
    “He told me to administer those if her pulse rose above one hundred and five per minute.”
    She nodded. “A bromide, no doubt.”
    “I gave her some twice yesterday,” I said uncertainly.
    She set the medicines back in a row and smiled. “It’s exactly what I’d have done. Have you been turning her, so she doesn’t get bedsores?”
    “A few times. One of the maids has helped me.”
    She laid her hand on my arm reassuringly. “You’ve done beautifully.”
    I let out a breath of relief. “She’s been eating a bit. She managed some broth and toast at lunch and dinner. And I’ve been reading to her. The doctor—actually, he’s a railway surgeon, not a doctor—he said it might help take her mind off what she might be remembering—or not remembering.”
    Jane gave me a puzzled look.
    “She hasn’t spoken a word since the accident.”
    Her expression became understanding. “Shock, no doubt. I’ve seen it often enough with soldiers.”
    I glanced at my mother’s pale face. “Do you think she’ll recover?”
    “I don’t see why not. But it may take a while. The laudanum will complicate things.”
    “That’s what Mr. Wilcox said too.”
    She gave me a small smile and looked up at the bandage on my head.