Suddenly, the hansom jolted. Eliza couldn’t help but cry out.
Oh, those boys had walloped her! Her ribs ached, her backside stung. The hand she tried to brace against the seat smarted so badly that it stole her breath.
Mark’s arm came around her shoulders. “We’re almost there.”
He held her steady while the cab navigated the jammed-up streets. He cushioned her from the ruts and bumps as best he could. Eliza leaned against his shoulder, gritting her teeth into his black morning coat.
She’d never smelled a man so clean. He did not reek of sweat or even tobacco. He smelled of fresh air and laundered linen. A dash of shaving lotion, perhaps. She focused on him—on all the good things—and tried to block out the pain.
After an eternity of stops and starts, they arrived at Green Street. She studied the tall townhouses as the hansom clipped by. She saw flowers growing on terraces, muslin curtains dancing in the breeze. Folk could leave their windows open here without worrying about someone stealing in.
The cab stopped at Mark’s doorstep. He helped her to the pavements and then paid the man an exorbitant sum. He didn’t even flinch at the cost of the fare—but a man who worked for the Bank likely had heaps and heaps of money.
She clung to his arm as he helped her up the front steps. He rang his doorbell.
After a moment, the butler answered. The man looked shocked to see his employer home so early. “Sir Mark…” He stepped aside to let them in. He took Mark’s hat and umbrella.
He tried to take Eliza’s jacket, but she wouldn’t allow it.
Mark explained, “Miss Summersby will be staying with us. She’ll take the room next to mine. See that she is made comfortable here.”
The butler nodded, but he did not seem pleased. “Of course, sir.”
Mark turned to Eliza. “I don’t suppose you’ll take that bath now?”
A long, hot soak sounded heavenly. “I’d be grateful for one.”
He smiled. “Come, upstairs with you. I’ll show you where everything is.”
She tried to climb the stairs, but every step was agony. She couldn’t even clutch the railing with her injured hand.
Without a word, Mark gathered her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way.
“Your room is here,” he said, turning at the landing. “Mine is just next door.”
He sat her down on the threshold of a charming, sun-drenched bedroom. There was a large bed pushed against a wall that had been papered in blue damask. The draperies matched, as did the eiderdown.
On one side of the space stood an enormous wardrobe. On the other sat a dressing table and large oval mirror. There was even a fireplace to warm her chilly bones.
“I’ve never had my own bedroom before,” she said, in awe of the sweet little space. “Growing up, I shared a bed with my mother.”
“You’ll be comfortable here, I hope.”
“Yes, I’m certain I will be.”
Eliza limped across the carpeted floor to sink onto the mattress. It was soft and springy. Far better than a park bench or a cot in a cheap dosshouse.
“Thank you, Sir Mark. Truly, I cannot thank you enough—for last night, and today, and now this…” She was in danger of weeping. It had been such a trying twenty-four hours.
“Hush, girl,” he said, coming to stand before her. “There’s no need for any of that.”
Eliza brushed away the tears stinging her eyes. Her scraped flesh stung from the saltiness. Oh, she must look wretched, all beat up and bruised. She felt her eyelid beginning to swell.
Mark crouched to meet her gaze. “You are safe, Eliza. No one here will lay a hand on you or your money. Take whatever time you need to heal.”
She nodded.
“In the meantime, we’ll need to find you something to wear. These old rags will not do. I think my sister still has clothes packed away. Whilst you have your bath, I’ll hunt them down. They’ll swallow you, but at least they’ll cover you.”
