Chapter 47
Unfortunately, consciousness returned far too soon.
When I came to, I lay sprawled on my back in my cell. My right hand throbbed in agony. I lifted it to my chest and attempted to wrap my left hand around it, as though the mere act of holding it close might somehow lessen the pain. Sweat clung to my skin, mingling with the dried blood crusted along my fingers. The wound had been hastily wrapped, if it could even be called that. The cloth was entirely soaked through in my own blood.
A fragile and broken voice cut through the haze.
"Florence, your hand…"
I stirred at the sound and turned my gaze toward its source.
Millicent knelt beside me on the filthy stone floor, her hands trembling as they reached for mine. I had been too lost in my own misery to hear her enter. My chest tightened painfully and my tears spilled freely. Her own tears welled, glistening in the dim light as she struggled to contain them.
"Millicent," I choked out. "What took you so long?"
Millicent's expression shattered into one of pure anguish. She leaned forward, wrapping me in a trembling embrace. Her warmth seeped into my frozen skin. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "I am so sorry."
A sob wrenched itself from my throat as I buried my face into her shoulder, my body quaking with the force of my despair. "Please, believe me… I am not a criminal… the soldiers have made a mistake. Please… you must believe me." The words tumbled out in frantic, breathless gasps.
She held me tighter. "Let me see your hand," she murmured. "I brought medicine."
I flinched at her words, instinctively curling in on myself. "No," I whimpered. "Please, no… it hurts too much. Do not touch it. Please."
A silent sob wracked her body, and she cupped my face with gentle hands. "I know it hurts, but I must tend to it," she pleaded. "If it becomes infected… Florence, I beg you, let me help you."
For a long moment, I could do nothing but cry. But in the end, I relented. My fingers twitched as I forced my left hand away from my right.
She wasted no time. With hands just as unsteady as my own, she reached into the folds of her skirt, and to my astonishment, began pulling out an assortment of supplies. Gauze, bandages, disinfectant, even a small flask of water. One after another, they appeared as though she had hidden an entire apothecary beneath her gown.
She began to unwrap the soiled bandage. The cloth had adhered to the wound in places, and each tentative tug sent violent shudders through my body. I whimpered, not able to contain the cries clawing at my throat. As the final layer peeled away, her crimson eyes widened, and tears slipped free, tracing silent paths down her pallid cheeks.
Where my pinky should have been, there was only raw, swollen flesh. The wound was jagged and crude. And there, protruding grotesquely from the ruined flesh, was a sliver of bone.
Millicent crumbled.
A sob tore from her lips as she brought my trembling hand to hers, cradling it with a tenderness. "Oh, Florence… what have they done to you?"
A fresh wave of sobs wracked my body. She pulled me close, her arms wrapping around me as though she could shield me from the horrors that had already come to pass. I felt the erratic rhythm of her heart, the way it pounded as though it, too, grieved.