Page 31 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
“I would appreciate that, madam.”
“Your name is Fitzwilliam Darcy. Do you remember that much?”
“Yes.”
“That is good, I suppose. You are an English gentleman of some wealth and importance from Derbyshire, despite your propensity to cosy up with lazy, no-good sergeants.”
Ralston laughed loudly enough to set Darcy’s teeth on edge, but he tried his best to smile, while what appeared to be a senior nurse carried on.
“I am Nurse Dashwood. As Mr Ralston has no doubt told you, I boast a French mother and English father, both sadly dead. I spent many summers of my youth in England, so I get stuck with all the English patients.”
“A pleasure to meet you, madam. I hope I have not been too much bother.”
“Not too much; though if you completely recovered, Babette and I would not be disappointed,” she said with a smile, then gestured to the other nurse, “and this is Babette. If you ask her surname, you will get a different answer every day of the week, depending on her mood, is that not right, Babette?”
The other nurse stared at her, and Miss Dashwood continued, “She speaks English well enough, but cannot be bothered.”
Darcy nodded carefully. “A pleasure to meet you, Mlle Babette.”
Dashwood continued, “You speak French, sir. You should make an effort, because Babette will not speak to you otherwise. A bit of the staff sergeant in her blood.”
“I shall give it my best.”
A young orderly of eighteen carried up a chair. Babette gave what looked like a cross between a cringe and a curtsey, and left, apparently to continue her duties, while Nurse Dashwood sat down, pulling a small notebook and pencil from a pocket hidden somewhere on her dress.
“Let us get to business, Mr Darcy. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
Darcy thought for some time, his head starting to clear just slightly. “I think I got married—or did I?”
The nurse frowned. “I was hoping for something later, though our physician says it is a throw of the dice. Your wedding was nearly three months ago. Shall I catch you up?”
“I would be immensely grateful.”
“Very well. It is the fifteenth of March, and you have been here since the start of February. You contracted typhus in December or January, though that is guesswork. Are you familiar with the disease?”
Darcy tried in vain to scratch out an answer, and coughed a bit, so Nurse Dashwood lifted him up to a sitting position with the help of the orderly, then helped him drink a half glass of water. She then arranged some pillows behind his back to keep him upright.
“There, is that better?”
“Yes, my thanks.”
She smiled. “You are very polite when you want to be. You do not always want to be, so you should work on your constancy.”
He chuckled. “I will do my best.”
“See to it—and let us get back to the main topic, as I do have other patients. As you may know, typhus has been around forever. The English name comes from the Greektûphos, meaning ‘hazy mind,’ which, as you can tell, is one of the symptoms. It usually involves a very high and long-lasting fever, starting a fortnight to a month after exposure. Nobody really knows the cause, but it is exacerbated by tight quarters and unclean conditions. Prisons, soldiers, and poor areas are the usual breeding grounds. Gentlemen such as yourself are less susceptible, but they occasionally catch it from people associated with the sick. For example, you often have outbreaks in your courts with judges and the like, and your prisons are so rife with it that sometimes a delay in coming to trial is tantamount to a death sentence.”
Darcy nodded, finding the explanation tiring.
“I tell you this because last time you were like a dog with a bone until I explained it all.”
“Last time?” he croaked.
“Yes. Pray, allow me to continue. Typhus manifests as a heavy fever, which lasts a week to a fortnight. Three in ten succumb during that stage. After the fever, it is common to be fuzzy in your thinking, and it is also common to lose some memories. Some come back and others do not. After that, there is a bit of a nasty rash covering your entire body, excepting the face for some reason. Even then you can get fever, delirium, memory loss—” then she laughed a bit. “Repeating myself.”
Darcy chuckled grimly. “Perhaps experience has taught you to beat things into my head.”
“I see your sense of humour is recovering faster this time,” she replied with a soft smile.
