The pale hand put forward a glass of water. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
Brody snatched the cup from her hand, gulping down the water. It burned his lips and throat, which were raw from heaving up the contents of his stomach. He hadn’t expected the water to be so cold. It didn’t sit well, and he lurched forward as it threatened to come back up.
While he spewed the water on the carpet, the shadow-girl placed her pale hand on his shoulder. It was a comforting gesture. Comfort was completely foreign to him, though. If he’d had the strength, he would have knocked her hand away. But, as he retched until he tasted blood, Brody was thankful to know he wasn’t quite so alone.
She patted him soothingly. “You’re very sick.”
“Obviously.” He heaved one last time, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Who are you?”
The hand retreated to the shadows. “I am nobody.”
“Are you a ghost?”
There was a pause. “I don’t think so.”
He licked his lips, which were cracked and bloody. “What are you called, then?”
“Angelica Grey,” she said. “And you?”
“Captain Neill.”
Another pause. “Are you in the war?”
“The war?” he wheezed out a laugh. “The war has been over for years.”
Miss Grey went absolutely quiet. Brody thought, for an instant, that this was news to her. But, of course, everyone knew the war had ended. It was impossible to live for one minute without it haunting society…unless one were a shadowy recluse cut off from the world outside.
“Do you live here all alone?”
“Does it matter?” she said. “You’re welcome to stay here until the storm breaks. No one will give you any trouble.”
He waved her off. “I don’t care about that. I asked if you lived here alone. Do you?”
“…Yes.”
Brody wondered if Miss Grey let strange men into her house often, but he’d asked enough pointed questions. He could tell by the tremor of her voice that she was frightened of him. He didn’t want to cause her any grief. She’d been kind to him when most people would’ve left him to suffer alone. “Thank you for the apple. And the water, though I’m sorry I wasted it onto the floor.”
“It’s all right. I can bring you more water whenever you like, but I’m afraid I’m sorely lacking in apples.”
He shrugged. “I’m not that hungry anyway. But the water is appreciated.”
For the first time, Brody remembered that he was bruised, bloodied, and covered in his own vomit. He’d slung a vase full of it at her just a moment ago. Whoever this shadow-girl was, she was a saint to even stand there.
“I really must apologize…” He attempted to wick some of the vomit from his coat front, but then—to his horror—realized he was just making a worse mess all over her things. “Oh, God. Do forgive me, Miss Grey. You can send me the bill for…for everything. I’ll gladly pay for what I’ve ruined.”
She laughed from somewhere in the darkness. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t mind living like this?”
“I haven’t much of a choice. Most of the servants left for the war, and the Spanish flu took the rest. There isn’t anyone to do the cooking or cleaning.”
He stared at her shadowy form. “But, surely, you could pick up a broom or mop. There’s dust nearly a quarter inch thick, and cobwebs fat enough to snatch a man’s hat off his head.”
“Believe me, I would do more harm than good,” she said, tersely.
Damn, he’d opened his stupid mouth and offended her. He had no right to criticize her housekeeping—not when she’d been so kind to him. He really was an ass. It had been so long since he’d spoken with a lady, that he’d forgot how salty they were about such things. The prostitutes and fellow addicts he usually kept company with didn’t give a damn what he thought about their lodgings, or anything else.
“Miss Grey, please. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
But, just as quickly as she had appeared, the girl in the shadows was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Angelica listened from behind the wall. She’d slipped out of sight, but was not ready to leave the man. He had to be dying—there was no other explanation for the blood, the reeling nausea, or the smell of decay lingering over him. Yet, despite his suffering, Captain Neill seemed to be a very nice man. She no longer feared him, at least. She wanted to help him. She believed she could help him—in her own pathetic way—until he was in a position to help himself.
After a brief trip downstairs, she returned to the servants’ corridor with an old blanket and a pail once used for mop-water. Captain Neill was cold, and the blanket would help with the shivering. The pail was, of course, self-explanatory. She couldn’t have him ruining her mother’s favorite room with his sick.
Angelica pushed open the panel. “I’ve brought you some things.”