Early in the morning, I was awakened by the clanging of the bell at the hospital front desk. I assembled my night clothes under a robe and took the lift to see.
A man was there hefting a body. The man I didn’t know but had seen near the Bucket of Blood public house. He said he had found a person collapsed, so I helped him move the body into a triage bed.
It was a lady; gaunt, terribly cold, suffering from exposure and perhaps diseases thereby. I immediately began procedures to warm her by inserting an intravenous tap, drawing her blood along a tube which coiled next to a pipe full of water at body temperature, and feeding back into her vein.
It was only when some color had returned to her haggard face that I recognized her: Mrs. Underby! I turned to inquire about her circumstances, only to hear the lift rising along with the mysterious man as he left.
She appears to have numerous lesions and bruises, but I don’t know if she was assaulted or merely slipped down a flight of stone steps. I have heard that she has detractors in town, but she has always been courteous with me. As with all patients, she is under my personal protection.
As of this entry in the treatment journal, she is slipping in and out of coma. Her blood pressure is still too low to begin any further treatments for infection. For now, she rests.
I must tell Miss Artful! Surely she will want to be her mother’s nurse.