Through barely opened eyes, she saw him pull out a thin splinter of china. “Success!” he said, looking genuinely pleased. Next he cleansed her hand, poured a little powder into the wound, threaded his needle, and began to stitch.
Feeling more light-headed by the second, Rosalind closed her eyes, desperately trying not to sway and succumb to weakness.
As if she knew just how much Rosalind was on the verge of breaking down, or at least fainting into a slump, Dora started talking. “You know what? This reminds me of the last time you were here in the kitchens, Dr. Nolan.”
“I remember that well.” The doctor chuckled. “I was here to stitch up another housemaid,” he explained to Rosalind. “For the second time in as many weeks.”
“That Miranda,” Cook said with a laugh. “She was always raising havoc.”
Dora nodded. “Pretty girl, terrible maid—except for doing hair.”
“Did you say Miranda?” Rosalind asked. After their first conversation about her, she was surprised Cook was willing to discuss Miranda again.
“Yes. Remember, she’s the housemaid who went missing,” Cook replied, a new, uneasy tone edging into her voice.
“The one before Tilly, that is,” Dora said helpfully.
Cook scowled. “Did you hear? The grocer told me that our Tilly ran off with a soldier she’d met at the market.”
“No wonder she never minded going to the market for you!” Dora teased.
“Wish she woulda been honest with me. I would’ve been understanding.” After spying Dora’s incredulous look, she chuckled. “Well, maybe not. But still, her taking off without a word to anyone gave me a fright, it did.”
“I’m glad Tilly is all right,” Rosalind said as the doctor poked and prodded some more. “I was worried about her,” she squeaked out as he poked around an especially tender spot.
“You would have liked Miranda very much, Rosalind,” Cook went on. “In some ways, you actually remind me of her.”
“How so?”
“She was pretty, like you are. Though her coloring was a bit more vivid,” Cook explained.
“Red hair. Striking, it was,” Dr. Nolan murmured, just as his needle pinched her palm again.
“Oh, but she was a flighty thing,” Dora added. “Always had her head in the clouds, she did.”
“And always late,” Cook murmured.
“Why . . . why did she need Dr. Nolan’s services?”
Dr. Nolan paused, no longer smiling. “The first time I saw her? She’d walked into the corner of a mantel and cut her eye.”
“She never did look where she was going,” Cook murmured.
“But that second time, it was for a far more serious reason,” Dr. Nolan said. “She had cuts. Lot of them.”
Miranda had never mentioned this in her letters, Rosalind thought.
“It was the queerest thing,” Dora mused. “She was in the billiard room and dropped a whole tray of glasses right to the floor. A whole tray!”
“It made quite a racket,” Cook said. “The whole house practically went running to the room to see what had happened.”
Rosalind’s heart was pounding, this time nothing to do with her injury and everything to do with the story she was hearing unfold. “And what had happened?”
“As a matter of fact, no one really knows. Miranda wouldn’t say a word about it. Always swore that she was alone, but I, for one, never thought that was true,” Dora said.
Cook sniffed. “Anyways, she got cut trying to pick up all that glass.”
“She needed stitches in three different places and would hardly sit still for any of it,” Dr. Nolan reflected. “It was like it pained her to remain in a chair.”
“Why was that? Had she fallen or something?”
“She wouldn’t say. Actually, she refused to discuss it at all.”
Pausing, he met Rosalind’s eye. “You’re a much better patient, my dear.”
She was so stunned to hear the story, she felt as if her whole body had gone numb. “So you never found out what really happened?”
“Nope, but it weren’t like we had much of a chance.” Cook’s voice dropped. “She left us soon after.”
“Without a word of good-bye to any of us,” Dora added. “Just like Tilly.”
With a snip of his scissors, Dr. Nolan said, “The important thing is that I am sure Miranda healed up just fine, as I am sure you will, Rosalind. However, I must caution you not to use your hand for at least two days. The wound was deep. You needed twelve stitches.”
Twelve! Almost as bad as the wound was the thought that she wouldn’t be able to do her job. If she couldn’t do her job, she could get fired. Then she would have no way of learning more about her sister. “Are you sure?”