THE WALLS WERE DEEP RED. A LACY WHITE CANOPY obscured the ceiling above her. There was the framed mirror with the decorative bow, the chest of drawers with a high shine. She felt with her hands: Her belly was still swollen under the dressing gown she wore. It was summer. It was hot. A light sheen of sweat clung to her forehead and underneath her lower lip. Elizabeth opened her mouth, and tried to make a sound with her dry throat. She was exhausted; she had been in bed for days. Then the rest of it came flooding back.

In her dreams, Snowden preyed on her family. He snatched coins from their pockets and made off with her child in the night. But when she came to and saw the real him, he never had that air of lecherous, crouching evil. His humble features assumed a calm expression, and then he would douse a white hankie with a clear liquid, and put it over her mouth and nose, and in a few moments everything would go black. Occasionally he would leave her conscious long enough for Mrs. Schmidt to bathe and feed her. Then it was back to sleep, where Will would sweep from heaven, as strong as ever and now winged, and scoop her up and take her to see her father, who was sitting on a cloud, watching over them, smoking a pipe and reciting long-forgotten poems. Sometimes the Will role was played by Teddy, the concerned eyes gray instead of pale blue, but it was always with the same tenderness that the male angel lifted her out of the white coverlets and carried her away.

Perhaps it was for this reason that she was unsurprised by the sound of a familiar voice in the hall quietly insisting upon seeing her.

“But, Mr. Cutting, as I said, it is highly irregular for a gentleman to visit a woman in her condition, especially when she is not well enough to receive in her parlor. If Elizabeth were awake, I am sure she would be mortified by the idea of you seeing her in her bedroom….”

“Mr. Cairns, I am sensible to your concerns, and believe me I have no interest in offending you or your wife. But Elizabeth is one of my oldest friends, we have known each other since we were children, and I am only here in the city for a short time. I am familiar with her tremendous sense of virtue, but I know she would make an exception this time. And with her own husband as chaperone, I think even Mrs. Hamilton Breedfelt would approve.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were huge. Her breath was short. She waited, listening for more. When she heard nothing she tried to scream, but her unused vocal cords failed her. Then the door opened, and into the deceptively sunny room walked Snowden, followed shortly by Teddy. The simple sight of him at that moment was the kindest thing she could have hoped for herself. She gazed at the slender but pronounced facial features, which were the hallmark of his class, the sad gray eyes, his blond hair greased as usual but trimmed shorter than before, his cheeks soft, recently shaved. There was that patient, almost polite quality in his pose, and she saw—even from across the room where, for propriety’s sake, he lingered—that he was wounded by the sight of her sick bed, or maybe by the idea of her now being married to someone else. It made her want to cry, seeing him like that—even though she knew she should be begging him to help her—and she felt her throat constrict.

“Hello, Lizzie,” he said quietly. He was wearing his uniform, and he looked so solid and capable in it that her body relaxed a little. He’d come for her. He had made it through the door. Her state of duress would be easy for him to read; he was going to save her.

Now Elizabeth began to move her lips, but still she failed to make sound. Help, she was trying to say, but it was inaudible, and Teddy was all the way across the room. Finally she managed to produce a weak croak, but it didn’t sound like any kind of language known to this world.

“You see?” Snowden said. He had noticed what she was attempting, and he crossed the room quickly to her side, blocking Teddy’s view of her, and hers of him. “She is truly not well, and can hardly speak. As you say, you know her very well, and so I am sure you are aware how delicate a lady she is. Please. I fear you will cause her a great shock.”

Then he bent forward, pretending to put his face close to her mouth as though he were listening, but in fact covering her lips. Panic seized Elizabeth, as it occurred to her that Snowden might somehow or other manage to keep her quiet until Teddy was gone. Her heart raced. She managed to say something like help, but it was drowned out in the heel of Snowden’s palm, which was pressing down against her sluggish mouth.

“Yes,” Teddy said then. There was something stunned and low in his voice, as though it had been too much for him to see the girl he had on more than one occasion asked to be his wife. “Yes, I have been most improper. I am sorry. I will show myself out.”

“No,” Elizabeth tried to cry out, but the plea was smothered by her husband’s grip. Already Teddy’s footfalls were moving away. She blinked, and Snowden looked down at her with a most patient fury. He waited another few moments, and she brought air into her nose sharply, trying to maintain her breath. She could hear Teddy on the stairs. Snowden lifted his hand off her mouth, and she parted her lips to call out. But her husband was too quick, his other hand was ready with the soaked cloth.

The picture of Teddy standing there like her savior was still fresh in her mind. Yet in reality he was on his way to the door, and anyway her eyes were drifting closed, and everything was growing fuzzy and dark.