Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Books by Elizabeth Camden
- Title Page
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Historical Note
- Questions for Discussion
- In 2020, look forCaroline Delacroix’sstory in
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He didn’t break stride. “Come along. You wanted to see everything, so I’m showing you.”
He blotted his forehead with a handkerchief. It was a warm day, but this sweating had nothing to do with the weather. All the symptoms were roaring to life—the muscle aches, the violent headache, and now a ringing in his ears that made it hard to hear.
He moved quickly, striding ahead of Annabelle so he could get to his office first. She scurried behind him but couldn’t keep up. The second he was in his office, he reached for the bottle of iodine and stole a quick swig, wincing at the metallic taste that scorched its way down his throat. It was so revolting it threatened to come back up, but Gray forced it down, holding his breath until the nausea passed.
The bottle was still clutched in his hand when Annabelle entered the office. He slipped the bottle into a drawer and slid it shut, wincing at the noise. She said something, but he couldn’t understand.
He had to get ahold of himself. It wasn’t her fault he was sick or that she wasn’t impressed with a cold-extraction process for vanilla. He forced himself to be calm and turned to face her.
“I didn’t hear what you said. Can you repeat it?”
“Is it the malaria?” she asked. He could barely hear her through the ringing in his ears.
He nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s coming on fast.”
He lowered himself into his desk chair, wondering how this day had collapsed so quickly but fairly certain it was all his fault. He gestured to the chair before his desk. “Have a seat. Please.”
She looked hesitant, which was odd for the fearless Annabelle.
He managed a smile and spoke softly. “I promise not to bite your head off.”
She sat, but her face was still closed and cautious.
“I first contracted malaria in Ceylon. I’ve always known that I would have to live with it for the rest of my life, but I can’t predict when the relapses will happen. I’ve been trying to find a cure, or at least something to make these episodes more bearable.”
He opened the drawer and took out the iodine, setting it on the desk before her. Then the bottle of quinine. Then the bottles of cinchonidine, feverfew, and valerian root. He’d tried them all but found only limited relief.