Gwen smiled and thanked her, the woman turning away so that she could undress unobserved while still having someone there in case she needed help, she'd been informed. Probably just normal procedure, Gwen figured, from the matter of fact, almost rote, way the nurse spoke about it.
The shower gave her some problems at first, until she discovered that she could pull her hand straight out from between the plates to set the temperature where she wanted. There was six inches between the copper pieces and it worked like some kind of sensor. Easy enough once she got the hang of it. After that the whole thing went normally enough. She could even get her back, thanks to a handy stick the nurse provided with a sponge on it.
The water, instead of being spread out through a normal shower head, just spilled from the spigot, like it would from an old fashioned kitchen sink or a garden hose, pounding her with a steady stream the whole time. Great water pressure but not very comfortable.
Looking down she saw that the stab wound had turned into a completely closed mass of scar tissue already, silvery and pink, smaller than she would have thought. They hadn't let her look at the wound before, seeming to think the idea would disturb her too much. She'd tried to assure them that seeing a knife sticking out of her had been the worst of it, but they didn't seem to believe her for some reason.
The breasts looked nice, she realized, the wound having missed the left breast nearly completely, being low and to the center, just barely catching the inside edge of it. Both breasts had a nice symmetry, which she hadn't had before, and hit a nice middle size, probably a C-cup. Her old breasts had been smaller, much so, cone shaped and asymmetrical, the right one, like her face, sticking out at an odd angle, the left being tinier than the right and a bit lumpy. These were still perky too, since Katherine had been a lot younger than she was, no sagging had taken place yet at all, not that she could tell. Ah, she reflected with a small smile, the difference between twenty-two and thirty-four.
No razors had been given to her to shave her legs or under her arms. The stubble showed her that Katherine Vernor had shaved recently, so people did that here. The hospital apparently didn't think it worth bothering with, so it probably wasn't of huge social importance. Not enough to trump practicality in a medical situation at least. She'd shaved her legs and under her arms before, but irregularly, since no one would see them. It had let her feel more human, more normal, so she'd done it anyway.
When she finished the nurse handed her a towel, not looking at her, so she could dry off in the shower area. She managed to get dressed without too much pain, the clothing that had been selected for her by the nurse seemed to be a long skirt and jacket, both in a light green, a baffling array of under things and a white blouse. The nurse had to help her into the clothes, and she wondered how she'd get them off by herself.
Especially if she ended up sleeping under a bridge or something, she mused, trying not to let the idea get her down. Her life before had been isolated from others, and hard at times. About once a year, sometimes more, someone, usually a group of teenage boys or drunk men, would think it great fun to attack her because of her looks. If she went out too often, people, again, almost always young men, but sometimes women, would yell things at her from passing cars.
But she'd always had a home.
Here she didn't even have any employable skills, not that she knew of at least. She'd have to scramble to find something.
Then it hit her... she could really do it.
Here, she looked normal... maybe even pretty, depending on the standards of beauty. She could clean houses or something, even if she still had to learn how basic equipment worked. There was always work for normal people if you weren't too picky about what you did and didn't ask for too much.
This wouldn't be like it had been. Not at all.
In this world she could actually go out in public without anyone running away in fear or turning in disgust.
Cool, she thought, smiling a bit.
After helping her with her hair, the older woman returned her to the room she'd been in, so she could collect her things, mainly her drawings and the lists she had written and rewritten over the last days, having nothing better to do most of the time.
She sat, trying to figure out what to do with herself when a firm knock came from the door, which stood open. Two men stood there. One, an older man, looking to be in his mid-fifties, was wearing a nice burgundy suit made with more of that silky looking material, in a striped pattern that reminded her a little bit of upholstery, the colors mainly golds and a rich, darker color, maybe brass? His shoes looked like real leather to her and he had a large, gold watch chain that led from a button on his left chest to a small pocket about eight inches below. Thin and dapper looking, the man smiled tentatively.
The other man she recognized from the day before. Robert Vernor.
She stood, not sure what the protocols were here, but not wanting to be caught sitting in case something bad was about to happen. She didn't think she could fight very well in this dress, maybe if she kept to low kicks and eye-gouging? The chest wound still pulled at her and she didn't know how hard she'd actually be able to hit if they attacked, not very, most likely, so she needed to target sensitive points if possible: eyes, throat, groin. She relaxed through force of will, ready to do what she could to protect herself if it became needed. At least there were only two of them.
Mr. Vernor spoke first, as if recognizing her discomfort he spoke softly, a gentle thing really.
“Miss... Farris. This is my solicitor, Mr. Benjamin Grimes. We felt it best that he come to this meeting to help you settle in here, if... if you're comfortable with this? We could call the nurse, or your friend the detective if you like...” His voice seemed hesitant, and he didn't walk much past the door, the solicitor hanging back as well, as if waiting to be invited.
Like vampires, she thought wickedly, the idea making her smile. She didn't have a cross or any holy water though, so she gave them both a small smile instead. Both gentlemen returned the smile, but still hesitated, unmoving.
After an awkward pause, she knew she'd just have to ask what the problem was, seeing both men expected her to do something, but not knowing what that was at all.
“I'm sorry,” she began, both men moving suddenly back to the hall, as if they'd done something wrong, or like she'd revoked their right to be in the house and they really were vampires. She'd seen enough vampire fiction that it almost made sense. Gwen had to fight a smile, but managed, thankfully.
“I know that I'm running up against some kind of social difference here, different cultural expectations, but I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing by your rules.” She shook her head a little trying to show her bafflement. Better to look stupid than mean or rude.
Grimes reacted first, seeming to understand her problem immediately.
“I see. Well, here, in this country at least, it would be considered... incorrect for two men, or even one man, to enter a woman's chamber unattended. Unless they were close family, of course. A father or brother, husband or grandfather. It would be within your rights to call a female friend to ensure the good behavior of any strange men, or even ask the men to leave. We're waiting for you to do that, if you feel the need.” He said this with a matter-of-fact air that few people here had managed with her yet. Benjamin Grimes. She committed the name to memory. She may need his help later, like she had Doctor Professor Grainger earlier in the week.
She nodded, getting it now.
“For these purposes, would Mr. Vernor be able to act as a close family member, do you think? I mean, he seems like a good person, and I doubt he'd allow anything improper to happen, right? All things considered. I really don't want to bother anyone else if I can help it.” She hoped this wouldn't be too odd to them, or that the forthright solicitor would at least let her know if she'd messed up too badly.
Mr. Vernor walked into the room, and gestured to the other man to follow.
“Thank you, Miss Farris. Once again your good nature and kindness humbles me. I assure you that I will do my utmost to serve you as I would my own daughter in all things.” His voice took on a tone that made it sound like a pledge, not just a throw away comment. Next to him the solicitor nodded.
“Witnessed,” the other man said, his voice very even, almost soft.
Gwen noticed that everyone still stood, she gestured to the chairs and suggested that they sit, since she still wasn't a hundred percent, she let them know, feeling the two men might need a reason to sit in her presence or something. Was that even a thing here? She didn't know, of course. They all seemed a little like they were Victorian age people, but then again, they didn't, and little things were way different. Not that she'd have known what people from back then would have really expected either, other than what she'd seen on TV.
Mr. Vernor cleared his throat then.
“Well,” he began, seeming hesitant again for some reason, “as my daughter, Katherine enjoyed... luxuries, that most are not afforded. Money and freedom that, in hindsight, were a mistake, it seems. Nonetheless, I would continue those privileges, extending them to you, if you wish them...” He looked to the other man, who pulled a small pad from his left-inside jacket pocket.
After flipping open the leather cover, turning the pages to find what he needed, having to hold them open, since the clip at the top made them want to fall back into place, he started reading off a list.
“You'll have access to one thousand mets per month with the ability to draw on another four thousand at need. Katherine regularly withdrew nearly three thousand from my offices per month on top of her standard. You've use of a vast transportation network and a private lorrie and driver at need. There are a number of dwellings you can inhabit here in the city, or if you wish, there are several country homes that you may use as well. Mrs. Vernor has requested that you stay somewhat local if possible, so that she and her husband may render any aid you may need, day or night, and has even offered to open her own home to you, for that purpose.”
He cleared his throat.
“Given the delicate nature of this situation, we'd request that you not take this public... but all involved understand if you feel duty or honor bound to do so.” He stopped speaking when she raised her hand.
“No worries there. While I don't think I can really hide that I'm not from here, not given how little I know about this world, I also don't think that the Vernors are responsible for their adult daughter's actions. Past a certain point we all have to take responsibility for ourselves, right? I'm not even that certain she did this on purpose, maybe she just panicked or, I don't know how these things work, could someone else have done this to her? I don't think we should blame her for this when we don't even know for certain what her part in it may have been. So, I'm not going to cause problems, even if you decide not to give me this money and stuff.” She smiled as Mr. Vernor suddenly looked relieved.
“I have to admit though, having a little help at first would be nice, at least until I can find some kind of work and a place to stay. I wasn't looking forward to living under a bridge until I could find a job cleaning or something. Don't get me wrong, I have skills, I just don't have any skills that mean anything here. Web-design, how I made my living before, means nothing in this world at all.”
Mr. Vernor stood then, standing straight.
“You most certainly will not have to live under a bridge!” He smiled though, looking at Grimes and nodding. “I told you she wouldn't be difficult at all, Ben. Miss Farris is far kinder and more genteel than Katherine ever was. I dislike speaking ill of my own, but my daughter, she wasn't... a good girl. She'd never worked a day in her life, not even at projects suited to a woman of her station. She drank and smoked tobacco, stayed out late at night with men that I can't at all refer to as gentlemen, and dabbled in dark things best left alone. You have my full support in whatever you wish to do, Miss Farris. My wife's as well. She asked me to personally let you know that.”
They talked for almost an hour, the solicitor giving her his number on a card, and a half dozen others as well. She held on to them, not wanting to set them down, fearing that losing them would mean letting go of whatever small chance these men offered her.
Grimes, the solicitor, finally asked her what she wanted to do next.
She thought for a moment. What did she want to do? Only one thing came to mind at all. Get the people that tried to kill her.
“I think I should find out what's up with the case, these murders, and make sure they're feeding Bethany and making her sleep.” She trailed off, since she literally had nothing to add after that.
Mr. Vernor explained to the solicitor who Bethany was.
“The doctor mentioned that Miss Farris has been taking pains to aid her, a Westmorland, even from her own sick bed. The staff seems to be quite impressed.” His voice held a quiet pride as well, she thought. She couldn't imagine why. It wasn't like suggesting to Bethany that she eat or sleep had required work on her part. What else did she even have to do here?
They guided her to a strange elevator, operated by a young man that looked to be about sixteen, he wore a black velvet vest and red cotton shirt, with a strange bell hop style hat, the kind with no brim that had a thin chin strap to hold it in place. He lowered them using a lever that controlled the descent silently, moving slowly. Maybe it was a hospital thing, the glacial pace it set, so as not to jar an injured person? Still, at this rate it would have been faster to take the stairs, injured or not.
Outside they took her to a car that was not what she'd expected at all. It looked like a black metal carriage, rather than an automobile, the driver sat outside on a high seat, steering using something like a rudder that attached to a small cart in the front which balanced on two wheels.
The inside had black leather seats and trim done in a light colored wood instead of metal. The windows looked like they could open, but instead of rolling down they were pulled open from the bottom and folded up, mainly sitting inside the compartment.