Page 10 of The Bachelor Spy
“And the patients,” Nurse Wilson added pointedly.
Grace frowned. “And the patients. You understand?”
Zahra nodded solemnly.
“And she’ll need a bath. A thorough one.”
One of the nearby soldiers chuckled.
Another said, “I’d like to see that happen.”
To which Zahra’s eyes—strangely similar to the cat’s—narrowed with determination. “I shall see to it, Mama.”
Grace attempted to quell her smile at the moniker. As rare as those smiles but becoming more frequent too.
When Frederick had been called to war, it had taken Zahra months to find her smile again, let alone renew referring to them as Mama and Papa. Whatever Frederick’s leaving had caused in the little girl stung very deeply, perhaps reminding her of her lonely past of loss and abandonment.
And if Zahra’s pain was even close to what Grace felt at Frederick’s absence, she could completely understand the need for time to adjust. Though she never wished to become accustomed to his absence.
So she had to ensure she spent as little time as possible thinking about gunfire and cannons and poisonous gas wherever he was. And turning Havensbrooke into a hospital had helped. She’d been wonderfully busy. Too many things to occupy her every waking moment.
She drew in a breath to steady her sudden rise of emotions.
It was the nights that had grown so long.
Oh, how she felt in such a real way the ache she had read about in some of her favorite works of fiction. The longing for her beloved. The concern for his return.
These feelings had led her to reread Jane Austen’sPersuasionandSense and Sensibility(both full of longing with happy reunions at the end) and Dumas’Count of Monte Cristo(no happy reunion at all and rather an indifferent ending for a romantic) several times over, just to know she was not alone in her feelings.
Frederick had been recalled to his former position as a major in the Royal Engineers, stationed somewhere near Ypres—or at least that’s what his last heavily censored letter suggested through careful mentions of “dampness” and “bridge work.” Frederick had always been talented at getting messages past the censors through their private codes, though it did take Grace spending copious amounts of time researching to sort them out.
She paused on the thought. Perhaps that’s why he did it all along. He knew she’d enjoy the enigmas.
She almost smiled. What a lovely thought.
She sighed. What a lovely man.
Her palm went to her chest as the branching ache spread its familiar tendrils through her middle.Oh, how I miss him.
“Take her on, Zahra.” Grace nudged the girl toward the doorway. “I am certain Nurse Wilson, as well as everyone else, needs time to sort out this catastrophe.”
As Zahra disappeared with her new companion, Grace turned back to the chaos. She met Nurse Wilson’s gaze and knelt to gather up some of the scattered medical supplies. “I do apologize. Though in Zeus’ defense, he was only following his natural instincts. Can’t really blame a dog for being a dog.”
Nurse Wilson’s expression suggested she could, in fact, blame the dog quite thoroughly. “Perhaps, Lady Astley, we might consider keeping the dog out of doors, or at the very least away from the hospital wing? For hygiene purposes, if nothing else?”
“Excellent suggestion.” Grace smiled and placed the supplies on the tray, then turned toward the room. “Now, while you see to Corporal Jones’ bandages, I’ll help Private Jenkins rescue Corporal MacLeish’s cards from the tea situation.”
“Yes, my lady,” Jenkins said, his lips curling with a wink. “Perfect timing too, ma’am. MacLeish was winning against Ashford.”
MacLeish made some comment in such a deep Scottish growl Grace didn’t understand it, but from the widening grin on Jenkins’ face, it must have been some sort of insult.
It would be rather exciting to learn a new language. Zahra knew Arabic. MacLeish knew Gaelic. Grace had even heard Nurse Wilson speak French, Italian, and some other less familiar language.
Rather impressive for a nurse, actually. Grace made a mental note to ask about it sometime when the woman wasn’t glowering at overturned medical supplies.
“Lady Astley.” Mary, one of the housemaids, appeared in the doorway and dipped a curtsy. “May I speak with you, my lady?”
Ah, an escape from Nurse Wilson’s disapproving presence.
