The question of lights appearing without warning or explanation took root in Dr. Palmer’s mind in the months that followed his shocking experience on the bogs in Ireland. He had formulated more theories than he had produced on that night, but he still had no definitive answers.

What he’d seen had not been a reflection. Though the lights had looked like fire, they were nothing of the sort. He had not eliminated the possibility of phosphorescence as was rumored to occur in marine life. He was also determined to learn more of any oddities peculiar to organic matter. He had heard of a very odd sort of lightning he meant to investigate. He had every intention of raising the question at the next meeting of the Royal Society.

Late of an afternoon, whilst his mind spun on the question of the reddish-white cones of fire-like light, Dr. Palmer was summoned to the bedside of one of his patients, a woman of heartbreakingly young years whose health was severely impacted by pulmonary consumption. Though he hoped to be proven wrong, he suspected she was approaching the end of her short earthly sojourn.

The door at Lavinia Abbott’s home was answered by her ever-faithful maid, Jane. Dr. Palmer was shown to Miss Lavinia’s bedchamber, where she had spent the entirety of the past three months unable to leave her bed, her condition deteriorating.

“I fear I’m not long for this world, Dr. Palmer.”

He crossed to her bedside and sat on the edge. Death was part of doctoring every bit as much as life was. That did not, however, render the experience less heartbreaking.

“What has convinced you of your imminent departure?” he asked her.

“I was earlier today seized with a horrible suffocation. How I resumed breathing, I do not know. I fear the next time I will not be so fortunate.”

Palmer evaluated her condition as she spoke and continued doing so in the silence that followed. Her pallor was significant. Her breathing was shallow and belabored. Her body had grown thin and frail.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, entirely willing to provide for her powders or tisanes to assure her comfort.

“Pains of mind,” Miss Lavinia said. “I fear I shall suffer another suffocation and you will be far away. I’ll not have you near to aid me.”

He took her hand in his, careful of her paper-thin skin. “If you wish,” he said, “I will remain here throughout the day and into the night to keep close watch on you.”

She smiled weakly at him. “You are a good man and a good doctor.”

“I try very hard to be.” He did, indeed. The matter of unexplained lights had distracted him of late, but he was determined to focus his attention on his ailing patient.

He settled himself in the room, keeping watch over Miss Lavinia.