Demon of Mine by Ranae Rose

whose symptoms mirrored yours.”
    Had . Elsie gripped the blankets a little tighter, balling the
sweat-dampened cloth in her fists.
    “ She was a woman, scarcely
three-and-twenty when I was summoned to treat her. She had spells
of fainting and weakness just like yours, and her episodes worsened
until finally she was completely bedridden, and she died soon
after.”
    Elsie’s mouth went dry. How did one
reply to such a blunt comparison? “Is there nothing that can be
done to stop it?” What else was there to ask?
    The doctor’s mouth thinned to a flat
line, barely visible beneath his steel-grey mustache. “I cannot
promise a cure. I am sure, though, that you must rest. Overexertion
must be avoided.” He held her gaze. His grey eyes matched his hair
perfectly. Funny that she should consider that particular detail to
be of any interest when she’d just been more or less damned to a
bed for the rest of her life. “Rest?” Why couldn’t he have
prescribed exercise?
    “ Yes, rest.” He looked as
if he intended to say more, but Mrs. Hughes interrupted.
    Laying an authoritative hand on
Elsie’s elbow, she spoke to the doctor. “Fear not. I shall see that
she rests, as prescribed.” Her touch turned to a grip, just barely
firm.
    The physician actually looked relieved
to hear it. A conscientious professional, even when his patient was
a lowly housemaid. It was a pity he’d had to deliver such dour
news. Elsie probably would have found herself rather fond of him
under different circumstances.
    “ What of the country air?”
Mrs. Hughes asked. “Her mistress thought it might do her some good.
In fact, she’s only recently been delivered here from London for
that purpose.”
    The physician nodded. “I have no doubt
her health will not suffer for it, and may even be improved.” He
frowned in earnest now, and the lines on his face deepened, making
him look an old grandfather. “The city air is foul, and a detriment
to the health of all who breathe it.”
    The remembered smells of London teased
Elsie’s nostrils. The Remingtons’ city home was spacious, clean and
situated comfortably far from the manufactories and poor districts.
The air at the estate was as good as it got in the city. In her
pre-Remington life, however… She vividly recalled the hot, musty
atmosphere of the factory she’d toiled in. Even the stinking,
refuse-ridden streets had seemed fresh compared to that hell.
Still, her heart was pricked by a sudden bout of homesickness. It
was much easier to endure poor air than the scorn of her fellow
servants.
    “ Do you have any
instructions for treatment, doctor?” Mrs. Hughes’ voice called
Elsie back to her present, pleasantly-scented reality.
    “ A healthy diet is an
absolute necessity. See that she eats – though she will be resting,
her body needs the nourishment. Besides that, I can only at present
implore you to keep a close eye on her, and to keep a careful
record of her symptoms and episodes. I will return in one week’s
time to evaluate her health again. Until then…” He rummaged in his
bag and pulled out two very familiar instruments. “I will of course
bleed her before I leave.”
    Elsie focused on one of the high
windows, not looking at her arm as the physician cut into the crook
of her elbow, where her tender skin was covered in a cross-hatched
pattern of white and pink scars. She hardly felt the pain, or the
warm streams of blood that trickled into the cup Mrs. Hughes held
beneath her elbow. The doctor’s revelation seemed to have numbed
her. Was she really going to die of this perplexing illness? She
waited for panic to assault her, but it didn’t. It just didn’t seem
quite…real. Not yet.
    ****
    It had to be midnight, at least. The
other maids were asleep – their snores and the distinct absence of
their gossiping voices told Elsie that. Finally. Her bones ached
with melancholy, and restlessness burned in her veins. Her stomach
was a ball of knots. She’d been lying in bed