Page 21 of Sweet Hellion

Chapter Eight

Emma hurried past the limestone buildings hugging Inverness’s quiet, cobblestoned streets. The smoke rising from chimneys heralded the waking residents. Soon, carts and horses would crowd the streets. Through the trees ahead, the River Ness glistened.

Lost in thought, she took the footpath leading to the infirmary. The glow she’d felt all night and this morning had dissipated in the wake of anxiety. What if she arrived at the infirmary to have Mrs. Worsley tell her that her services were no longer needed? How would she feed herself? Rhys was sure to feel obligated to help her then. But obligation wasn’t what she wanted from him.

“Emma,” a voice called close behind.

Emma whirled. Molly, the freckle-faced butcher’s daughter, ran to catch up. She arrived breathless, her brown hair slipping free from her bonnet.

“Where are your thoughts?” Molly teased, huffing and puffing. “I called your name half a dozen times.”

“Oh, I am tired, is all,” Emma fibbed. She quickened her step. “We’d best hurry before Mrs. Worsley has a fit of apoplexy.”

Molly fell into step beside her. “I swear it’s as if Mrs. Worsley has never readied the infirmary for a charity event afore. She screeched herself hoarse with orders that everything be ‘spotless.’ ‘Tis fortunate you haven’t had to listen to her railing all week.”

“I will hear enough today,” Emma commiserated, and prayed she was right.

Molly smiled. “Oh, have you heard the news? They say we’re getting the lad from Edinburgh, the one who lost his mind. It’s so sad to have no memory of your family, even your very own name.”

The sentiment summoned an image of Rhys seated at the table.

“For some,” Emma murmured thoughtfully, “forgetting might be easier.”

“Perhaps. This war has been a terrible thing.”

Emma nodded, and they fell silent as they hurried along the river bank to the limestone walls of the Royal Northern Infirmary.

“What are you going to wear for the celebration?” Molly asked as they joined other women lined up at the washroom door. Without waiting for Emma to reply, she continued, “I am borrowing my sister’s green muslin. Simple, as Mrs. Worsley instructed, but still quite pretty. Oh, Emma, I am so excited. I wouldn’t miss this for all the gold in the world.”

“Then, you’re a fool,” a dour woman carped from behind. “We are not guests.”

Several nearby women laughed dryly.

Molly cast a frown their way, but said to Emma, “They say the Major General is bringing some of his men. Maybe I will catch the eye of some young lieutenant.”

“You will find no husband in that lot, child,” a woman said.

Molly cast the woman a sideways glance, then whispered to Emma, “Still, ‘twill be so much fun. There will be cakes, creams and ices, they say. Perhaps even the young soldier? He might even be a prince.”

“Perhaps,” Emma replied.

Molly grinned.

They made their way inside, and after hanging their pelisses and bonnets on their wall pegs, they joined the line of women to collect their aprons, buckets and scrub brushes. Emma turned to find Mrs. Worsley standing three feet from her. Emma’s heart jumped into a gallop.

The rail-thin woman locked gazes with her.

Dear God, Mrs. Worsley was going to discharge her.

“You are to scrub the women’s ward,” Mrs. Worsley said. “Give wings to your feet, girl.”

Emma had never been so happy to hear that she was to scrub floors. “Yes, Mrs. Worsley.” Emma picked up her bucket and brush and rushed to the stairs.

She reached the third floor, slightly out of breath. The women’s ward offered a fine view of the river, but with so much to scrub, Emma had little time to look out the windows. Silence reigned. Two elderly women lay asleep in the beds that lined the wall. The remainder of the beds stood empty, their crisp linens smooth and white, ready for the next patient.

Emma tiptoed to a corner and began quietly scrubbing. The work was cold and wet, and the lye soap burnt her hands, but her mind dwelled on Rhys’ predicament.

Lunch was a quick sharing of fish pie with Molly, and then Emma returned to the ward with a fresh bucket of soap water, this time, scrubbing the walls.