A-Splendid-Ruin(59)

“Come away from there, Kimble,” Gould called.

I stepped into the chaos of the room and the noisomeness that the window had cleared for the briefest of moments. Josie rocked by the fireplace again. Millie spat repeatedly on the carpet. The dark-haired girl who’d torn at my coat watched me with a wide, unblinking stare that made my flesh crawl.

Nurse Costa was back at the door. She’d taken the button, the proof that my uncle had been with my aunt in her last moments. I was not foolish enough to believe it was proof of anything now. Only my uncle knew what it meant. Only he and I. But it was a reminder that I was not delusional, a reminder that what I’d seen was real, and without it, what might I start to believe about what had happened? What might I become? I’d seen how easily my thoughts and words could be twisted. I could trust no one. I had to have that button. The nurse would surely give it back to me if I asked nicely.

I stood before her.

She didn’t look up from her cards. “Go back to your bed.”

I didn’t move.

She slapped a card down. “Are you deaf? I told you to go back to bed.”

“I wanted to thank you for saving me from Josie.”

Now she looked up. I saw no recognition in her eyes. “What?”

No doubt such things were frequent enough to forget.

“When she tried to strangle me.”

The nurse returned to her game. “You’re welcome. Go back to bed.”

“I would like my button back please.”

“What button?”

“The gold button you took from me. It was on the bed, remember? It was mine, but you took it.”

“It’s my job to take all possible weapons.” She spoke it as a much-recited rule.

“How could it have been a weapon?”

“Why, it could’ve choked someone.”

“I assure you I had no intention—”

“You could’ve shoved it down someone’s throat. Or even your own.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

She set down the deck. “Go back to your bed.”

I held my ground. Without that button, I might truly go insane. “I will. When you give me the button.”

The bells rang. Stiff, staccato chimes, so loud it sounded as if the bell tower were right above our heads. The other women in the ward responded like animals in a zoo, on their feet, lining up at the door.

The look in Costa’s eyes should have warned me. I should have gone to stand in that line. I should have forgotten about the button. Instead, I stayed put, and Costa called, “Gould! Miss Kimble here is asking for special treatment.”

“Special treatment? No. I just want—”

“She’s new, Costa,” Gould said mildly as she came up beside me.

“Then it’s better she learn quickly,” Costa said with a sneer. “The filth that came out of her mouth! She needs a lesson.”

“Maybe just a warning this time,” Gould suggested.

“Are you questioning me?” Costa’s dark eyes hardened. I felt the silent struggle between them, and then Costa’s triumph when Gould looked away. “I thought not. Go on now. I’ll send O’Rourke.”

I was wary when Gould led me from the room, but I didn’t yet know enough to be panicked. The other women filed downstairs. The gamy smell of boiled beef mixed with all the other scents of the place in a sickening mélange, and still my stomach growled with hunger.

“It’s time for lunch, isn’t it?” I asked.

“You’ll get your meal.” Gould’s words were cloaked in a deep weariness.

She stopped before the door to the toilet. I said, “I don’t need to use it, thank you.”

She ignored me and pushed it open, escorting me inside. I gagged at the stench emanating from the wood, rotted in places around the toilets lining one wall. Porcelain sinks were corroded. Paper bits adhered to the floor. Something had splashed onto the walls and stained them. Someone had vomited recently and missed the toilet.

“I really do not need to use this,” I insisted.

At the far side of the room, beneath the window, was a chair. I’d assumed it was for a nurse waiting for a patient, and so I was surprised when Gould pulled me over to it. “Sit down,” she demanded.

The chair too was filthy and stained. “I’d rather not.”

At that moment, the door opened again and Costa came inside with O’Rourke, who carried a tray.

“Go on to the dining room,” Costa instructed Gould with a grim smile.

It was all I could do not to beg Gould to stay, especially when she gave me a quick, sympathetic glance. But she fled.

“Sit down,” Costa snapped.

“No, I—”

She shoved me hard to the damp, slimy floor. I caught myself with my hands, and drew away in disgust. “Oh dear God. Is there a towel—”

Costa yanked me up by the hair. I cried out, and she twisted harder until tears blurred my eyes, until I had no choice but to sit into the chair, and then I saw the straps. Leather straps that she buckled around my throat and my breasts and my hips, my shins.

“I don’t understand. What are you doing?”

Costa gestured to O’Rourke, who strapped the tray across the armrests. It held a hank of stringy boiled beef, a wedge of bread, a glass of water. There were no utensils. “Lunch time. Eat up.”