George Mann - The Affinity Bridge

Veronica shook her head. "Don't be." She paused, her brow furrowed. "I've got to help you somehow, Amelia. I'm going to talk to Sir Maurice, see if we can't find a better way to keep you well. There must be something we can do."

Amelia looked up. "How is Sir Maurice? After your last visit I was concerned…"

Veronica smiled. "He's fine. Well-he's recovering. He had quite an ordeal, if truth be told. We all did." Unconsciously Veronica turned her arm over on her lap and rubbed at her sore wrist. Amelia looked appalled.

"Veronica! Look at those bruises. Are you quite well? What the devil have you been up to?"

Veronica quickly covered her arm in the folds of her dress. "It's nothing. I'm well enough, thanks to Sir Maurice, anyway. He saved my life."

Amelia grinned. "Quite the hero, isn't he? Do tell."

Veronica blushed. "That's quite enough of that. Now, tell me, are you getting enough to eat? You're still so painfully thin."

"Stop avoiding the subject, you terrible sister! You can't tease me like this! You know it's bad for my constitution." Amelia beamed.

"Then what will I have to tell you about on my next visit? At least this way I can offer you something to look forward to."

Amelia laughed. "I suppose that's true, at least." She put her hand on Veronica's arm. "You must reassure me that you're looking after yourself out there, though. It wouldn't do for our parents to end up with two sick daughters, now would it?"

Veronica sighed. "All is well, Amelia. If you must knowI've had rather a thrilling adventure. And yes, you're right. Sir Maurice is rather a hero, after all." She laughed and looked out of the window, watching the trees blowing back and forth languorously in the breeze. "I'm not sure yet how I'll be able to go back to my desk at the museum after the excitement of the last few days. It all feels a little mundane at the moment."

Amelia smiled knowingly. "Oh, I suspect there's more adventure to come, Veronica. You always were the headstrong one. I can't imagine you'll be behind that desk for long."

Veronica sighed. The moment stretched into silence. She was just about to speak again when there was a gentle rap at the door, and both of them looked up to see Dr. Mason appear in the opening. "Ladies, I'm afraid it's time Amelia took a rest. It pains me to hurry you but I think it best we get her settled before the other patients return from their exercise."

Veronica smiled at Amelia sadly and then leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. She rose to her feet. "Take care, sister. I'll return in a few days to see how you're getting along."

Amelia nodded. "Until then."

Dr. Mason held the door open for Veronica as she left the day room without looking back, the stirrings of tears in the corners of her eyes.

The young man was still lounging idly on the wooden bench as Veronica made her way out of the asylum. She tried again to place him, but somehow his identity eluded her. She was convinced that she'd seen him before, in a different context. She took a few steps along the gravel path, and then, deciding that she'd be unable to let it rest, she turned back and accosted one of the nurses, who seemed both bemused by Veronica's sudden appearance beside her and annoyed at having her train of thought interrupted whilst gossiping with one of her colleagues.

"Excuse me, nurse. Can you tell me: who is that man?" She spoke in hushed tones so as not to let him overhear her words, indicating him with a wave of her hand.

The nurse looked over her shoulder and shrugged. "I have no idea ma'am. None of us do. He was brought in last night after lights-out and the night nurse was told to find him temporary accommodation. We think he must have been involved in an accident of some sort. His wounds had been dressed like he'd been in an infirmary, but they must have turned him out when he couldn't pay his bill. One of the locals found him by the side of the road and brought him in last night, figuring he wasn't a drunk and may have been a patient who had somehow found his way out of the asylum. Seems he can't remember his name or any of his family connections. Poor sod. He'll be collected and taken to the public sanatorium later this afternoon." She searched Veronica's face for an answer. "Why do you ask?"

Veronica frowned. "For some reason he just looks familiar…" She stared at the man over the nurse's shoulder, watching him as he gazed up at the sky, lost in a world of his own devising. Suddenly something seemed to click in her head. "Oh God! Jack! Jack Coulthard!" She ran towards him, realisation dawning behind her eyes. "You're Jack Coulthard!"

The man turned to look at her, his eyes searching; confused and unsure how to take this outburst from a strange woman he had no idea whether he should know. "I am?"

"I believe so, yes." She grinned, almost disbelieving the coincidence. "Your sister showed me your photograph. She's waiting for you to come home."

The nurse rushed over to Veronica. "You're saying that you know this man?"

"I know his sister, yes. She's been searching for him for a week. She's beside herself with concern." Veronica turned to face the nurse, who was looking as bemused as the patient. "Quickly, call for a cab immediately. We have to send for her now."

The nurse nodded and disappeared under the archway to fetch assistance, her feet crunching noisily on the loose stones.

Veronica took a seat beside the young man on the bench, almost bursting with excitement. "Oh, Jack, your sister is going to be so delighted to discover you're alive."

The man returned her gaze, a bright smile lighting up his face. He looked lost, but hopeful.

Nearby, the other patients continued to circle the airing courts, indifferent to the fact that their newest arrival would, in just a matter of hours, finally be reunited with his loved ones.

Newbury leaned heavily on the mantelpiece and took a long draw on his pipe, watching the smoke curl in lazy circles in the still air of his Chelsea living room. He was wearing a long blue dressing gown and slippers, and was warming himself by the raging fire that Mrs. Bradshaw had built up for him earlier that evening. Across the room, Bainbridge sat easily in one of the Chesterfields, his cane propped by the door, a brandy clutched firmly in one hand, a cigar in the other. He observed Newbury through a pungent wreath of smoke.

Newbury was tapping his foot impatiently, unable to allow himself to relax. He clearly wasn't taking well to his period of convalescence.

Bainbridge sucked on the end of his cigar. "So, truthfully, how are you man? You seem irritable."

Newbury laughed. "No, not irritable, Charles. Just anxious to get out of these rooms! I feel like I've been trapped in here for weeks, pacing backwards and forwards, waiting for something new to come along that I can sink my teeth into. My wounds are healing in a satisfactory fashion, and with any luck I'll be fighting fit again in no time. I need something new to engage my mind. I fear I'll be climbing the walls before long if something doesn't come along soon."

Bainbridge shook his head. "Newbury, you astound me! I'd have thought after your experiences this last week you'd be anxious to get some rest. I know I am!"

Newbury chuckled. "You know me, Charles. I never have been able to stand still for long." He glanced at the end of his pipe, a frustrated look on his face, and then tapped out the spent tobacco on the mantelpiece, banging the vessel repeatedly against the palm of his left hand. He moved stiffly across the room, still wincing with the movement, and lowered himself into the armchair opposite Bainbridge. He searched out his leather tobacco pouch from amongst the debris on the coffee table, and began the process of refilling his bowl. "So tell me, Charles, what of Joseph Chapman?"