A Season to Be Sinful (7 page)

Harris used the material as it was handed to him to staunch the flow of blood and finally bind the wound.

You are not going to stitch it? asked Sherry.

Not now; not when the opportunity for infection is so great. This air is of the foulest sort, my lord. She will require poultices to keep it out of the wound, and they will have to be changed often. If she is to have improved odds for recovery, she cannot remain here.

Sherry did not hesitate, though it surprised him that he did not. Then we will take her to my home.

Harris shook his head. A charity bed in one of the surgeries will suit. The sisters at St. Lukes are admirably tolerant of all Gods creatures.

That arrangement will not suit me. For Sherry it was the end of the argument.

The physician realized it also. Very well. Then we must apply ourselves to the problem of how to move her.

Can she survive it now?

Harriss regard of the room revealed his distaste. Littered as it was with the discarded blankets and revealing impoverishment in its singular lack of amenities, there was nothing to recommend it as a place of healing. Still, moving her too soon would no doubt kill her quicker.

Sherry had no difficulty reading his physicians thoughts. Another day here, perhaps? he asked.

Yes. The response was reluctantly given. If she survives the next twenty-four hours, I will judge she can be moved.

The matter of her care until then was Sherrys gravest concern. You will take the hack and return to my home. Apply to my housekeeper for clean bedclothes, bandages, and whatever else you think is needed for your patients comfort. Kearns will pack a valise for me. Direct the driver to unload the carriage as my departure to Granville will be delayed. I want brooms and scrubbing brushes. Lye would not come amiss. Combs also. As many as it will take to remove the nits from her hair. He looked significantly at the boys. And theirs. To Rutland, he said, There is someone nearby who will clean for hire?

Aye. The Widow Meeder could use the coin. Her daughter will help.

Then I trust you will see to their employment. When Rutland did not move, Sherry added, Now.

Blue Rutland picked up the valuable cask of brandy and secured it under his arm. What about my customers? I cant keep them away all evening, not even for Miss Rose. More talk if I tried.

I agree. Open your establishment. Do you let out the rooms up here?

Rutland nodded. Theres some trade, if you take my meaning.

I do. He calculated quickly what it would cost him to keep peace abovestairs. Ill take all your rooms for the night. Seven pounds?

Nine.

Sherry did not haggle. Seven, he said.

Rutland gauged his opponents resolve. Seven it is.

Good. He raised one dark eyebrow. Widow Meeder and her daughter?

Right away, mlord. Turning sharply on his heel, he hurried out of the room. The bargain he struck with Lord Sheridan would net him a profit of five pounds on the rooms. Miss Rose, bless her, was still earning her keep.

You paid him twice what he would have gotten for letting the rooms, Harris told Sherry.

Shrugging, Sherry said, I shouldnt be surprised if it were three times that. Worth all of it, I think, for the peace it will afford. Which boy will you want to take back with you?

What? Harris looked up from winding the bandage. Youre truly not going?

One of us should stay behind. I believe you would prefer to go.

For the sake of good form and honoring his profession, Harris considered mounting an argument. Then he remembered the rough trade that would be returning to their tankards, the smuggled brandy, and the three young pickpockets hovering nearby, and decided he possessed insufficient resolve to make a convincing protest. Id prefer we both go, he said at last, but since you are determined to stay, I suppose the one called Pinch will do well enough as an escort.

Master Pinch? Sherry asked. The boy stepped front and center. Did you hear?

He nodded. His eyes darted to the bed where Harris was dressing the wound. A touch of color came into his cheeks, but the color was green.

Sherry waved him away from the bed. You will see that Dr. Harris is not accosted. I am depending on you to secure another hack. I am in no expectation that our driver still remains on the street.

Dash went to the window, threw it open, and leaned so far out he was in danger of tumbling. Right you are, guvnor, he said, craning his neck for a view of the front street. I mean yer lordship. The blokes gone. I suppose it werent worth the extra shillin ye give im to twiddle is thumbs waiting for us. Theres people hered just as soon slit is throat for it.

Present company excluded, Im sure, Harris muttered with heavy irony.

Sherrys slight smile was appreciative. Come back in here, Master Dash, before you fall on your head and the doctor has two patients to attend.

It was hours after nightfall that the room, the patient, and all of her protectors were finally settled. After returning with Pinch and all the items on Sherrys list, Harris stayed long enough to examine his patient and enumerate the reasons Lord Sheridan should not spend the night. One of the things

Sherry had not requested was the services of his valet, but that stalwart had arrived with an underfootman, two valises, a trunk, and enough fresh bedding to open an inn.

As the entourage grew, so did the need for more clean rooms. The widow and her daughter earned three months wages in the course of the evening, sweeping, scrubbing, and scraping the dirt from the floors, beating the bugs from the mattresses, and finally snapping clean white sheets over the beds.

Rutland did not warm to Sherrys permitting Pinch, Dash, and Midge to take one of the rooms, and Sherry did not favor the three urchins going to bed dirty, but by midnight there was little argument left in anyone.

Sherrys room adjoined Roses. Hed had his bed moved to the wall that separated them. Now that he lay atop the unevenly filled mattress, he realized the noise rising from below-stairs would never permit him to hear her if she required help. It seemed rather far-fetched that she would. Harris had said it was unlikely that she would wake soon. Sherry suspected the physician meant to say that it was unlikely that she would wake ever, but at the last moment reconsidered this pronouncement.

What had he brought down upon his own head? he wondered. Although it was not his way to blame others, on this occasion he had not even the luxury of contemplating it.

It had begun simply enough with the desire to return to his country estate. A rather quaint longing, he thought. Would he be here this evening if hed had desires of a different sort? What if it had been his inclination to spend more time in the gaming hells or if he had decided against ending his arrangement with Fanny? More to the point, what if he had chosen a different entertainment for their last evening together? An intimate dinner in her home to set the stage for the break. A private musical performance. Vauxhall Gardens instead of Covent.

What if he had what if what if

The cry made him bolt upright. He was unsteady at first and shook his head to clear it. Had he been sleeping? Dreaming? He had no memory of falling asleep but knew he must have. The tavern was markedly quieter now, the patrons having imbibed enough liquor to gradually pass from rowdy to stuporous. The crescent moon was no longer framed in his window, and there was a hint of starshine to replace itmore evidence that time had passed.

The cry, then. What was it?

Sherry cursed under his breath. In a single motion he pushed himself out of bed and grabbed the robe at its foot. He shrugged into it as he headed for the door. The window-less corridor was dark as pitch, but it was only a short distance to the next room, and he found his way with a minimum of groping along the wall.

He carefully let himself into her room. His crossing to the bed was not soundless. The floor creaked as his weight further depressed the sagging boards. Candlelight flickered when the wobbly bedside table shuddered.

Sherry lifted the candlestick and held it over her. She was quiet again; indeed, he was uncertain now that what hed heard had come from this room. Was it you? he asked quietly. Her translucent skin seemed to reflect the flames pale yellow glow rather than absorb it. He moved the candlelight over her face and down the length of her unnaturally still form.

She looked only marginally less feverish than she had earlier. Sherry thought any improvement was more illusion than real and credited the comb that was run through her matted hair and the change of her bed linens for bringing it about. Kearns had removed her stained shirt and soiled trousers, but it had been Sherry who cut away the strip of linen binding her breasts and who dressed her in his own nightshirt.

What were you doing there that night? he said. It was ridiculous, he supposed, to pose the question when there was no reason to expect she would answer him. Did you mean to rob me? He paused as though giving her time to consider her response. Or kill me?

The widows daughter had found a chair in one of the other rooms and suggested they place it near Miss Roses bed. It lightly scraped the floor as Sherry pulled it to him. He protected the candle flame as he sat. In profile she was as still as death.

Im done with that life, you know.

She didnt know, of course. Hed only recently decided. Saying it aloud to her, to someone who was insensible of him and of that profoundly secret life hed led, was a test of his own resolve. That he felt not the slightest regret proved that hed made the choice he could live with.

He wondered about the life she had been living. Teacher of young thieves. Participant in the abovestairs trade at the Blue Ruination. What cause had she to bind her breasts and dress herself in boys clothes when she ventured into the street? And the blacking in her hair? What purpose had that served?

He had not known she was female when she lay full on top of him, but he had known she was French.

Je n avais pas un couteau. Quel dommage!

The words, her last before she slipped into unconsciousness, revealed something more than her disguise had hidden. The accent was impeccable, the ironic intonation perfect. Why wouldnt she speak these words, he thought, the ones she believed might well be her last, in her native tongue?

I didnt have a knife . Then even more softly, confirming her regret, What a pity .

For days he had considered what she had been trying to tell him. As last words, their absurdity could not be questioned. As the truth, well, as often was the case it depended on ones perspective. The knife she said she did not have was buried deep in her side. Perhaps she was only communicating surprise and a sense of loss that it was no longer in her hand.

Sherry did not like that explanation. The ironic edge to her words still gave him pause. It was almost as if she were castigating herself for not having a weapon. That at least would fit what Pinch had said and his companions had supported: Miss Rose did not carry a blade.

It was this construction that troubled him. He knew he had not put the knife to her, and if she had not caused the injury herself, then

The most logical conclusion was that there had been a third party involved. When Sherry considered the number of people rubbing elbows that night, the idea of identifying a single suspect was daunting. As little as a week earlier he would not have been caught so unaware or unprepared. He would have noticed individual faces in the crowd and not been fooled by his assailants less than perfect disguise.

But by then hed made his decision to leave London for Granville. That night he had been strolling in Covent Garden, it was as if hed had one foot and almost all of his mind in the country. Now he was fair on his way to believing that his life had been turned by this moments inattention.

What he did not know, could not know, was if he had truly been the target. Miss Rose was engaged in dangerous practices; she may well have been the mark. Another attack on one of them would certainly answer that niggling question, but waiting for it was not his way. Ignoring the possibility that the blade had been meant for him, however, was foolish in the extreme.

You have the advantage, Miss Rose, he said quietly. You know something I do not. One corner of his mouth lifted, the expression more considering than gently amused. Your recovery would be of great service to me, although I cannot promise that it will not end at Tyburn for you. An eyebrow lifted as he regarded her pale, immobile features. It is not so much the choices we must make but the choices we are given. Scylla. Charybdis, He turned his hand over, then over again, as though examining two sides of a coin. They are not so very different, are they?

She remained quiet. He could not hear her breathing, but the rise and fall of her chest assured him that she was. Her slender arms lay at her side outside of the blanket. His shirt was absurdly big for her. The sleeves were rolled three times and still the cuffs rested just above her wrists. The shirts neck was open, slightly askew, and the sharp line of one collarbone was visible. Her skin was drawn so tightly over it, it looked painful.

He had revised his ideas about her age. Once her bindings had been removed, he knew she was much closer to twenty than she was to twelve. He and Kearns had made every effort to preserve her modesty, but he was keenly aware that Midge had been correct in his assessment of his teachers physical attributes.