Isabelle and Alexander by Rebecca Anderson (new books to read TXT) 📗

felt the foolishness of standing there, unmoving and speechless, but Alexander’s eyes were closed and the nurse had resumed her ministrations. Apparently, what was to be said had been spoken.

Shocked and dismayed, Isabelle turned and left the parlor. Over the sound of Alexander’s next painful moan, she called for Yeardley.

He stepped out of his room near the kitchen and said, “Ma’am?” He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Isabelle realized she’d never initiated a conversation with him.

“I need you to come with me,” she said. Leading the way, she walked to the dining room and sat at the table. She gestured for him to take a seat.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Ma’am?”

She couldn’t tell if he was being difficult or if he really didn’t understand what she wanted to know. Isabelle let out a frustrated breath. Was this what it was going to be like to try to have a conversation with Alexander’s man? Was he not her butler as well? She decided to be perfectly clear.

“What happened when the doctor was here with Mr. Osgood?”

Yeardley nodded. “Very good news, ma’am. The doctor found that Mr. Osgood is recovering some sensation. Said the next step was calling in a nurse, so that is what he did.”

“But you can hear him,” Isabelle said. “The woman is hurting him.” The two of them sat in silence at the dining table for a moment, listening to the slightly muffled sounds of Alexander’s distress.

“Pain signals healing.” Yeardley said it like he’d heard others say it before. Often.

Although she knew it was true, Isabelle understood that it was not the only truth. “Pain also signals the limits of tolerance,” she said. “The nurse needs to go.”

Yeardley shook his head. “Oh, no, ma’am. She will stay until Mr. Osgood is well.”

“She most certainly will not.” Isabelle surprised even herself with the vehemence of her reply.

She stood from the table and walked back into the parlor. Over the moans of her husband, Isabelle called, “Nurse Margaret.”

The woman turned her eyes on Isabelle without taking her hands away from Alexander’s leg.

“I should like to speak with you at the close of your treatment.” She was pleased to hear her voice was sound, firm. “You will find me in the drawing room opposite.”

Among the sounds from the street and the noises coming from the parlor, Isabelle paced the drawing room floor many, many times before the nurse entered.

The woman stood, black leather bag in her hand, in the drawing room’s doorway. Her posture, tall and straight, gave Isabelle to understand that the nurse had no intention of stepping inside to sit. Isabelle felt a renewed sense of foreboding simply being near the frightening woman.

With a settling breath, Isabelle said, “Before you leave, you will kindly explain to me the details of your arrangement with my husband.” Isabelle remained standing, hoping it would make her feel strong.

“I suppose you could ask him yourself,” the nurse said, gazing down her formidable nose.

“At this moment,” Isabelle said, forcing strength into her voice, “I require this information in your words, directly from you.” This act of power and control was exhausting, but the nurse need not know that. If this pretense was required to run a household, Isabelle was unsure she could manage it many minutes at a time.

The nurse opened her satchel and riffled through it, showing clearly that she was giving Isabelle only part of her attention. “I am retained to rehabilitate his muscles until Doctor Fredericks tells me otherwise.”

Isabelle’s instinct was to lash out against such a claim, but as far as she knew, the woman spoke the truth.

With a bracing breath, Isabelle said, “And if I ask you to leave?”

Unflinching, the nurse said, “You’d have to take that up with the doctor. I answer to him. And now I’d like to be shown to my room.”

Isabelle felt her mouth gape open, but she quickly closed it, turned, and brushed past the woman to leave the room. She found Mrs. Burns in the kitchen.

She could not manage any polite preliminaries. “That terrible woman wants a room,” Isabelle said, sounding every bit as frightened as she felt. “Expects it. Practically demands it.”

Mrs. Burns nodded and responded gently. “I’ve been told she’ll have your dressing room, ma’am. Mae and I have moved all of your things into the large bedroom.” His bedroom. The place Isabelle had chosen to sleep for these nights she knew she’d be alone.

Isabelle stamped her foot like she’d done as a small child. “Been told by whom?” she demanded.

Mrs. Burns’s voice lowered in timbre and in volume. “By Mr. Osgood, ma’am.”

Without a word, Isabelle turned and ran out of the room. Nurse Margaret stood in the entry hall between drawing room and parlor, and Isabelle ignored her.

Entering the parlor, Isabelle marched over to Alexander, who still lay on the cot. Without preamble, she demanded, “What is going on here?”

He breathed what might have been a heavy sigh had he the strength to truly fill his lungs. “Attempting to recover.”

“The nurse? Taking a room here as though we were a boarding establishment?”

Alexander dragged his eyes to meet hers. “Doctor’s orders,” he said, exhaustion apparent in his every breath.

“The doctor works for us, not the other way ’round.”

He let his eyes close for a moment. “I apologize for your inconvenience.”

A mirthless laugh escaped Isabelle’s mouth. “My inconvenience is nothing to your agony. You cannot sustain this.”

Turning his eyes back on Isabelle, he said, “I am willing to suffer difficulty if it means I’ll heal.”

Isabelle leaned forward and whispered her fear. “She’s killing you.”

Alexander’s lips turned down. “I can handle this. Worse than this.”

Isabelle heard a plea in his words. Did he fear she doubted his ability? Her reply held more spark than she intended. “I certainly hope so, as this was only the first day.”

Alexander made a sound that frightened Isabelle with its feebleness—a murmur of agreement that was nearly a whimper.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I know I am not a trained professional, but I cannot believe this course can be the