Page 85 of Beyond the Grave
The pupils in Andrew's eyes contracted. His gaze drifted toward Fourner then to Lincoln and onto me. He stopped the silent muttering and instead grunted. He seemed to be attempting to speak, but was having trouble forming the words.
It was time to get away before the patient managed to say something that would throw doubt on our disguises. Lincoln must have had the same idea, because he took my hand and led me toward the door. Fourner trotted behind us.
At the second to last bed, I paused, halting Lincoln too. The man lying on his back beneath the covers was so thin that his cheeks and nose jutted prominently, while his eyes had all but disappeared into the sunken sockets. The ashen color of his skin and the rattle of each labored breath in his chest were sure signs that he was close to death.
"Why is no one tending to this man?" I asked. "Where are the nurses and doctors?"
"Mrs. Buchanan, this man is beyond Earthly remedies. He will die in the next twenty-four hours. We can't spare the staff to watch over a dying man. It's an inefficient allocation of their time."
"But someone should be with him at the last. To die alone…it's so sad."
"He's not alone. He has your husband's cousin, just a few beds away. And tonight, the other beds will be occupied. There, you see, not alone at all, if he happens to pass away in the next few hours."
He would, I felt certain. Death clung to the man like a shroud.
"Come now, Mrs. Buchanan. I see you are becoming overwrought. It happens quite often with the ladies, I'm afraid."
I closed my fist at my side. There was no one about. I could punch him in the jaw without any witnesses. Lincoln grabbed my fist and wrapped his hand around it. As he led me away, I quickly glanced at the medical chart hanging at the end of the bed.
Out in the entrance hall, the nurse at the desk handed Lincoln some papers that he perused.
"Just to be clear," he said, "I fill in these forms and sign them, then you perform your own tests to assess my ward's level of madness."
Fourner stroked his moustache. "That's it, yes."
"The signature must be mine alone, correct?"
"Only his closest relative or guardian has the authority to admit him."
"No one else?"
"No. Why?"
Lincoln didn't answer, so I said, "Just curious."
"If you get those back to me within forty-eight hours, I can hold that bed for you." At Lincoln's and my raised brows, he added, "The one in your cousin's room that will shortly become available. No longer than forty-eight hours, however. I can't hold it any longer. Our beds are in high demand, you know."
Feeling quite dazed by the entire experience, I dutifully followed my "husband" outside.
"Everything all right?" Seth asked from the coachman's seat of our carriage.
I blew out a breath. "Take us far away from this place, Seth, and quickly."
Lincoln held the door open for me then followed me inside and sat opposite. He folded the forms and tucked them into his inside jacket pocket. "You thought it a good idea to get yourself admitted to Bedlam?" he snapped.
"You're bringingthatup? After everything we learned in there?"
"Are you mad?"
I sighed. "That was the idea, yes. Once inside, I could have gone in search of Buchanan and helped him escape. Only I didn't know he'd be in that state. He probably can't even walk." I bit my lip. While my idea had merit, I'd grossly underestimated Buchanan's level of "calmness." There was no way I could have carried him out.
"You think I care what happens to Buchanan?" His waspish tone hadn't diminished in the least. "I don't care if he rots in there. His freedom is not worth risking your safety."
I swallowed my retorts. They made me sound ungrateful, in light of his concern. "It wasn't the most sensible idea, now that I know how that place works. Anyway, I have another plan for getting him out. You probably won't like it either."
"You are correct, I don't. You're not summoning that spirit when he passes on."
"Why not? I can manage the whole thing from outside. Neither of us will have to enter Bedlam at all."
