Hope could ache. But it could not betray.
Chapter Eighteen
After the othershad gone, Felix remained at the practice. He gathered the last of the damp towels and dropped them into the wicker basket, fingers brushing the worn weave as though tidying could quiet his mind. The air still carried the day’s mix of camphor and lavender soap—a scent that clung to his sleeves even as he closed the door behind him, shutting out the phantom echo of patients’ voices.
The corridor was hushed, the wall sconce throwing a single ring of flickering gold across the floorboards. Felix tugged free his cravat, the knot loosening with a sigh that seemed to reach his bones, then started down the narrow stairs. The boards creaked underfoot, the sound oddly loud in the empty building.
At the bottom, he paused. Through the glass-paned door, he saw light still glowing from Alfie’s apothecary. Odd. Alfie never lingered now that his wife Bea was waiting at home. Curiosity quickened his step.
The apothecary smelled of earth and herbs, its rows of jars catching the lamplight. Behind the counter, Alfie bent over a box, his movements too quick, too restless to be orderly.
“Alfie?” Felix called softly.
Alfie jolted upright, nearly upsetting the box. “Oh—Felix.”
“I thought everyone had gone,” Felix replied, moving closer. “What are you doing here? Bea will be wondering.”
Alfie’s gaze darted toward the back corner. “I heard something earlier, near the barrels. A squeak. Thought it was gone, but it’s back.”
Felix frowned. “A rat? We can’t have one here.”
Another sound broke the quiet. This time, Felix heard it, too—a faint, plaintive squeak.
Alfie raised the lantern from the counter, its yellow circle spilling across the crates. Both men crouched low, listening.
“There,” Felix murmured.
A small shape shivered in the shadows. Not a rat. Felix leaned closer, breath catching. “It’s a dog.”
Alfie shifted a plank and gently lifted the bundle. A puppy—golden-furred, damp, trembling—blinked against the sudden light. Its ears flopped weakly, its tiny body no heavier than a loaf of bread.
Felix’s hands moved instinctively, steadying it against his chest. “It’s freezing,” he whispered, rubbing her back. The little body gave a thin, wavering whine that cut straight through his ribs.
“It needs warmth,” Alfie said. “And food.”
Together, they hurried into the kitchen. Alfie rummaged through the linen chest and pulled out an old wool blanket Nick had once left behind for his dog, Chromius. He handed it over. “Wrap it up. I’ll see if there’s anything she can manage to swallow.”
Felix folded the blanket around the pup. It sagged against his chest, so light he could barely feel its weight as the poor puppy’s breath trembled against his palm.
Alfie bent to the pantry, muttering to himself as he searched jars and tins. Felix stayed still, the kitchen lamp throwing a warm ring of light across the pup’s damp fur. In that circle of glow, it struck him how empty the house would be once the others went home. Alfie had Bea. Nick had Pippa. Andre had Thea. Wendy had Stan.
And him? Only this tiny life pressed against his heart.
Alfie returned with a small porcelain bowl, half filled with warm milk, and set it on the counter beside a pipette and muslin cloth—anapothecary’s idea of a nursery. He gave Felix a quick nod before slipping away to return home to Bea.
Alone again, Felix carried the pup and the makeshift nursery upstairs to the treatment room. He laid it gently on the desk and rubbed its back until a faint squeak broke the silence. She stirred, weak legs pawing at the air. Aha, it’s a female.
Felix smiled. “Hungry, little one?”
He dipped the pipette into the milk, tested a drop on his wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then touched it to her mouth. She sniffed once and latched on, lapping with desperate eagerness. Milk dribbled down her nose. Felix wiped it away with the cloth, shaking his head, the sound almost a laugh. “Messy but determined.”
A squeaky yipstartled him into another smile. “Quite the voice for someone so small.” His hand found the soft patch of fur between her ears. She tipped into his palm, her tiny body dangling over his hand. “Looks like it’s just you and me now,” he murmured, rubbing behind her ear. “I’ve been rather lost, too.” The pup yawned wide, her pink tongue curling. Felix’s chest ached at the sight. “Too young to be left behind,” he whispered. He glanced toward the darkened street, then back at her—so small, but alive, stubbornly alive. “Well. You could stay with me. I’m not much, but I could use someone to keep me company.”
Setting her carefully on the desk, he pulled down a heavy volume,Dentition of Mammals, thumbing until he found the page. He peered into her mouth—tiny white buds just breaking the gum.
“Three weeks. Maybe four. Just a baby.” She blinked up at him, snuffling as if in reply.
He let out a soft breath, remembering. “I was twenty-three when I first felt lost. At least I still had Alfie.” His smile tugged weak but real as the pup curled into his palm, releasing a sigh so delicate it barely stirred the air.
