Page 91 of Guardian
She finished tying the sash around her wrapper. “You slept some, then?”
I nodded. “I’ve never slept so soundly.”
“Well, that’s a sorry thing. Tells me you need a new bed,” she said.
A soft chuckle escaped me.
“Is James all right?” I asked.
The look she gave reminded me there were to be no names, but it was followed by an understanding smile.
“Ach.” She grimaced. “’Twas an ugly cut, but he were washed and bandaged up proper and taken to hospital.”
My heart plummeted. I’d never known anyone to come out of a hospital alive. “Where?”
“Denmark Street, right here in the Chapel. Visiting hours begin at one. He’ll be in one of the men’s wards.”
“Did he say James would be all right?” My voice cracked. “He was in the river for a long time.”
She saw how desperately I wanted reassurance. Her face was kind, but she wasn’t going to lie. “He’s a fine doctor, and he’ll do everything he can. Your man’s in good hands.”
Good hands, I thought. Not dangerous ones that dragged him into a mess he didn’t make.
I swallowed. “I must go.”
She spread her hands. “O’ course. Take the cloak with you. Bring it back as you can.”
Yet another true kindness from people whose names I didn’t even know. “Thank you,” I said.
I slipped out the door and into the murk of the morning street. Disoriented, I peered around. The dawning sun was to the east, so the river would be to the south. I walked toward it until I could see the bridges.
Southwark Bridge, dead ahead, told me where I was. I started west toward Amelia’s, my shadow stretching long ahead of me.
Chapter 26
It was only a mile walk, but I was so shaky by the time I arrived at Amelia’s door that I had to pause at the second-story landing. Amelia’s door opened, and she looked out. “Kit?” She hurried down the steps to put her arm around my waist and help me up the final steps. Her usual aplomb was gone.
“What on earth happened?” she asked. “I expected you back hours ago! Are James and Art all right?”
“They’re alive,” I said.
She blew out a sigh. “Sit here.” She poured a glass of whiskey and thrust it into my hand. “Drink this. Good lord, you’re white as a sheet and your hands are like ice. I’ll put on water for tea.”
I bolted the whiskey and let the burn sink into my belly as I sat shivering in a chair by the warm stove.
“The diamonds?” she asked.
I nodded. “But James is in hospital.”
Her look of relief gave way to dismay. Her shoulders drooped over the kettle, the cups, the saucers, the spoons. I watched her in silence, suddenly, desperately wanting to do nothing, to plan nothing, to decide nothing. I struck a bargain with the world.
Only for as long as it takes to make tea, I thought.Surely you can grant me this much.
I closed my eyes, letting myself think nothing until she finished pouring.
The kettle clinked, hollow copper on sturdy cast iron.
She stood before me with a cup of steaming tea and a hunk of bread slathered with butter. “Here, eat this. What happened?”
