Page 32 of Memories Made At Midnight
Did Beatrice realize she rarely stuttered when her uncle wasn’t present?
She entered the studio, and her chest rose with the deep breath she took.
“Good morning, Beatrice.”
Cassius drank her in, his jaded soul parched and dry.
A long time ago, before he’d hardened his heart, he might have had room in it for her.
“Good morning.” She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darker interior. She gave a little sniff. “I like the smell of your studio, Lord Cassius.”
Unusual, but it made him glad.
“I hoped that by now you would call me Cassius, Beatrice.”
He stroked Nala’s broad head.
Eyes half-closed, and leaning into his thigh, the large dog gave a contented sigh.
“I vow, she has fallen in love with you…Cassius.”
Stupid though it was, his soul soared when Beatrice complied with his simple request.
Teddy wiggled in her arms, and she put him down. “This chap as well.”
The one-eyed dog made straight for Cassius and demanded a pet too.
After Cassius picked him up and gave him a hearty greeting, he strode toward Beatrice.
“No Millborn today?” He tried not to stare as she untied her silk cloak and her glorious hair billowed around her slender shoulders.
Upon seeing the angry yellowish-green bruises on her upper arms, he clenched his jaw.
Fiend seize it!
How had she come by the marks?
Had Highbury resorted to physical brutality?
By God, the cur had better not have.
“No.” Despair tightened the corners of Beatrice’s face and drew her pretty mouth downward. “Her health has not improved. In truth, I fear her condition worsens. The cough has settled in her chest, and she has become so weak, she cannot leave her bed.”
She managed a sad, nascent smile, and Cassius’s heart flopped over.
“She’s been my companion since childhood,” Beatrice said. “And I confess that I’m afraid for her.”
No doubt for herself as well.
Surely she suffered from loneliness, and the potential loss of her companion must weigh heavily upon her.
He’d have to be blind not to notice.
“Has a physician been to see her?” If not, Cassius would arrange for one to do so promptly.
“Yes.” Beatrice nodded before drifting farther into the room, then pulling a face. “The old quack merely prescribed a tonic, which smelled mostly of alcohol and laudanum. I’ve been putting poultices on Millborn’s chest and having her drink eucalyptus tea to help break up the congestion, but neither appears to be helping.”
“I have a doctor friend, Lawrence Lancaster, in Brighton,” Cassius said. “He works at Sussex County Hospital and is trained in all the newest methodologies. I shall ask him to look in on her.”
