A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (13 page)

“You’re the best man I know,” she whispered.

His hand hovered next to her face as if he was going to cup her cheek. She wanted that—to feel his hands over her skin until their roughness melted into tenderness. Minnie stood waiting, holding her breath, praying for his touch. Her chest tightened, a pang echoing around the area of her heart. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, offering her lips to him.

His warm breath tumbled over her lips as he whispered back, “How can you be so cer—”

“Help!” Mrs. Bowen cried from the front door. “Alex! Someone, hurry.”

Shaken from a dream, Minnie and Alex rushed out, running downstairs as Mrs. Bowen hurried into the kitchen. A tall man carried Headly in his arms, the boy more blue than full of life. His pants were soaked in blood.

“Get the doctor, Alex. Please. There was an accident at the factory,” the tall man said. Behind him, a crowd stood gathered in the doorway, clutching their caps in their hands, their faces dripping in sweat and ash. “They’ve written young Headly off as dead.”

Minnie stood in the corner of the kitchen as Mrs. Bowen cleared off the tabletop with a sweep of her arm. “Heaven above. Poor lad. Alex, the doctor.”

Alex bent down and whispered something into Headly’s ear. The boy’s eyelashes fluttered in response. Alex squeezed his shoulder and whispered again, then straightened, his eyes full of fire.

The question was there; it always was. With what money?

Minnie reached into her pocket, unfolding the letter from Grace. The dear girl had included some money for a fare home. She reached out and shoved it into Alex’s hand. His eyes went from her to Headly. Mrs. Bowen ripped the seam of the boy’s pants, revealing a mangled leg, the flesh torn, bone breaking through the skin. She made the sign of the cross.

“Go ahead, Alex. I’ll stay,” Minnie said. Her hand reached for his, but his fist remained by his side. He moved forward as if he were about to drop a kiss to her cheek, then froze. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

He nodded gravely and ran out the door, leaving Minnie to stand by Headly as the others looked on. She found a stack of rags and made a tourniquet, knotting the fabric tightly below his knee. She helped Mrs. Bowen clean out his wounds as best they could, trying to stem the blood. Then she sat next to him on the table, resting his head on her lap and clutching his clammy hand, so small.

This is what waited for her if she remained: misery. The people here were some of the hardest working people she knew, they were honorable—mostly—and they lived in squalor for it while the rest of society came slumming, satisfied to gawk from their beautiful carriages. Birds in cage, Minnie thought. Not matter what, always a bird in a cage.

“Headly, listen to me,” she whispered, leaning over to his ear. He whimpered as shouts echoed outside, the sound of a horse racing up the cobbles. “I’m going to tell you a story about a brave boy, just like yourself. Listen carefully now, you’ve got to keep fighting. You’re going to be well, but you need to want to be here. There’s so much for you to see of the world…” She sighed, fighting back tears. “One day, far away from rainy England, a boy happened upon a tiger, deep in the jungles of India…”

*

Alex carried Headly up to the attic. The doctor didn’t expect the boy to live. As far as Alex was concerned, the doctor was a damn liar.

Anne was still awake as he walked through the door with the boy in his arms. She had moved the mattress to the middle of the room and cleaned up. She rung her hands over his skirts, Headly’s blood staining the fabric. She didn’t flinch, not one bit.

He locked eyes with Anne as he bent down and set Headly on the mattress. Her eyes shined brightly, not from happiness but determination. There was never any stopping Anne Gibbons.

“We need to wait for the fever to break?” she asked, turning to a basin of water. She moved the bar of soap over her hands furiously, scrubbing at her skin until it was just as red as the blood that covered her hands.

Alex sat on the chair, studying Headly as the boy dragged in a breath before his body shivered. The doctor had set the bone, but there was little to be done for the rest of the damage. If the fever broke, his leg might be spared. It was up to chance, as with everything in Alex’s life. He leaned forward resting his arms on his legs, his fingers steepled.

He had nearly kissed her this afternoon, and now…

Well, he didn’t have the words of what he wanted exactly, but he wanted. He craved. Somehow Anne filled an emptiness within him he didn’t know existed before she came crashing into his life. Love came to mind, but he didn’t even know what it was to love someone or something. That was beyond his experience, way beyond his grasp.

And yet as she sat on the floor beside him, he reached for a blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Anne softly sighed, the weight of the day finally collapsing on them both. And when she rested her head against his knee, he didn’t protest. In fact his hand curled over her shoulder. He squeezed gently, his eyes trained down on Headly. He wouldn’t let the boy know what it was like to be left alone in the dark to die.

“Where’d you get the money from this afternoon, Anne?” Alex whispered.

She wet a rag, dabbing Headly’s dried lips, then his face. “I—” She dipped the rag into the water once more then laid it over the boy’s forehead. “He has no family, does he?”

“Me,” Alex answered quickly. He wasn’t sure where it came from. He hadn’t thought much of Boyd or Headly. They were just boys in need and Alex remembered the kindness Danny had showed him.

She held onto Headly’s hand. “You know when you’re not set on destroying the world, I almost believe you could conquer it. Wouldn’t that be nice, Alex?”

He wished to reach out to her and taste those of lips, to learn the promises that dwelled there. But when it came to Anne, she was the sun; unreachable. “I’m sorry.” The words got stuck in his throat. He repeated himself as she slowly turned to face him from her spot on the floor. “For today. For everything else I’ve ever messed up.”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, her hazel eyes unveiling the stories she was spinning in her mind. Anne held her breath, then released her lip on a sigh. “The money was my fare home. My sister sent it.”

Exhaustion washed over her face as he reached out and brushed a piece of hair back from her eyes. His thumb rested on her temple, his hand cradling her head. “Why stay? Why Headly?”

“I am a selfish girl, Alex. I do as I please and one day I’ll truly suffer for it. I’m not a fool no matter what others may think.” Her usual cheerful voice was scratchy, her words slow with impending sleep. “I did what I did because it was the right thing to do. Besides, it’s a dangerous game to chase after the
why
in life. Sometimes it’s best just to let it be.”

Let it be.

Hell, Alex was exhausted as well. He slipped off the chair and sat beside Anne. She leaned against him. This time, he stretched his arm out and wrapped it around her shoulder, drawing her closer.

“You never call me Mrs. Marwick anymore.”

His eyes focused on Headly and the flicker of the gas lamp by the mattress. It was dark here and yet with Anne he didn’t worry about the panic sweeping in to claim him. “Do you miss it?”

Anne yawned and wrapped the blanket over them both. “It made everything less complicated.”

Alex rested his chin on top of her silky rose gold hair as she drifted off to sleep. He understood exactly what she meant.

*

Headly survived, though he was still on crutches and maybe always would be. Alex was satisfied he was well enough to return to the boarding house. Boyd insisted upon looking after him. There wasn’t much more Alex could do anyway.

But with the passing of another three weeks, time began to creep in and suffocate Alex. He begged for his job back at the iron factory and somehow they had given it back to him, docking his meager pay in the process. The cold of autumn had crept in as well. And somehow, even with her sister writing and trying to convince Anne to return home, she remained with him. Alex was a bastard for not insisting upon it any longer.

Over the course of the night, a crowd had gathered around the poker table, the bet books came out, and Alex pretended he was in the middle of an incredible stroke of luck.

It wasn’t luck.

He couldn’t stomach another night of listening to Anne cry herself to sleep, only to put on another brave face in the morning. He would manage another windfall. This time he would convince her to be prudent and they would find some place safer to stay. They would buy warmer clothes for winter. He would learn to keep his damn mouth shut and hold down a job like a man. He would pull himself together.

There wasn’t an honest thing about the way he was playing cards, but for Anne, he would tackle those demons another day. He would overcome the darkness inside himself. He had before. Alex couldn’t allow another to shoulder his burden without facing the problem himself. It was easier to follow, to be passive and fight only when he needed. He wouldn’t put the responsibility on Anne to see him through the worst. That was his burden. That was his battle.

He threw down the ace and grinned down at the table. Sometimes his mind was brilliant when it worked correctly.

“You’re quite the card player, Mr. Marwick.”

Alex snapped his head up to put a face with the cold voice addressing him. “It’s only a bit of luck,” he said, folding the rest of cards onto the table.

“It looks like a great deal of luck to me.” The older man tugged at his cuffs, then cracked his neck. “Mr. Ainsworth, the owner of this casino.”

This was the problem with luck. She could be a fickle bitch if you toyed with her long enough. He watched as the crowd parted. There were police waiting in the hall.

He didn’t want trouble. Mr. Ainsworth must have had Alex watched and investigated, otherwise his name would never have been mentioned. That didn’t mean he wasn’t bitter at being caught. He tipped his hand to his forehead in salute at the smug bastard.

He lifted his hands once he reached the hallway. The police eyed them warily. “Well, gentlemen,” Alex said, “I believe we have somewhere to be.” He followed them out into the dark, their hands shoving him into the barred wagon.

Mr. Ainsworth held a lit cigar in his hand, his fingers graced with giant jewel rings. It was the sole point of light in front of Alex. He didn’t like being at such a disadvantage of not knowing the man who arrested him.

“Best of luck, Mr. Marwick,” he shouted.

The wagon rumbled away but all Alex could think of was Anne, all alone.

*

Mr. Simons was in one of his bullish moods. He smiled and taunted customers to buy another round as he strolled through the music hall, then came behind the bar and barked at the help until his face matched the red velvet curtains framing the stage.

It was always different when he approached Anne, and tonight was no exception as she hummed along to the song being sung on stage. She knew them all, even the dances. The barre Alex had installed in the attic ended up being quite useful.

“What are you doing, Anne?” Mr. Simmons waddled up to her, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket.