“Very well.” The clerk set the package on a nearby scale. Leaning close, he squinted at the numbers. “That’ll be a bob, m’um.”
She fished in her reticule, then set a shilling on the counter while the fellow removed the parcel and stamped it with a postmark.
His eyes narrowed again, this time on the return address. “You be Miss Amelia Balfour, m’um?”
“I am.”
He faced her with another smile, and she forced herself to keep her gaze on his eyes instead of his rabbity teeth.
“Why, then, I’ve got a letter for ye. It’d save ol’ Freddy the trouble o’ bringing it up to the house if ye don’t mind me fetchin’ it now.”
“I’ll be happy to wait.” And she would. Colin had already received his morning treatment, so there was nothing pressing her to return home.
“Very good.” The clerk disappeared through a door behind the counter. The whole time he was gone, Amelia shuffled through possibilities of what the letter might contain. Had Mr. Krebe changed his mind about her and written a formal dismissal? Perhaps her father’s solicitor had yet one more legal document pertaining to her or Colin? She tapped her finger on the counter as she waited. More than likely it was simply a greeting from one of the many acquaintances she’d made during her travels.
“Here ye be, m’um.” The clerk reappeared and held out a creamy envelope.
“Thank you.” She collected the missive and went outside to read in private, on a little bench painted red just to the side of the door. Smoothing her skirts, she sat and broke the seal.
Dear Miss Balfour,
Hopefully the weather you are experiencing is better than the current thunderclouds which darken the office here in London. Be thankful you are in Bristol. Mr. Krebe has been in a particularly foul disposition of late.
That being said, I suggest you use the enclosed tickets without delay, for I assure you, there will be no more extensions.
I wish you safe travels and many productive hours of writing.
Sincerely,
Mr. Justin Moritz
Frowning, she refolded the paper. Hopefully her peace offering of the eerie tales of Bristol’s history would pacify Mr. Krebe for now and make life easier for Mr. Moritz. She pulled out one of the tickets. Monday, July 31, 10:00 a.m. Just a little over three weeks away. Would Colin be sufficiently on the mend by then?
“I see you’ve taken my advice to heart. The fresh air suits you well.”
Mr. Lambert’s deep voice drove away any further thought of Colin or Mr. Krebe or—surprisingly—Cairo. How could a few simple words from this man do such a thing, especially when she’d already spoken with him earlier that morning? Or was it the nearness of him that affected her so? The way the hem of his trousers nearly brushed the trim of her skirt, or the pleasing waft of sage and lemon and man that made her pulse race so?
Giving herself a mental shake, she tucked the ticket back inside the letter, then peered up at the doctor. My, but he was tall, especially with her sitting. Even as she rose, the top of her head came barely to his nose. Still, that didn’t stop her from tipping her face and admiring his good looks. Yet as she did so, her smile wavered. Something was off. His usual bright eyes seemed a bit bleary, his shoulders not quite as squared. He looked as if work and life and possibly the weight of the universe weighed him down, and her heart squeezed at the sight. Clearly the man had been working too hard, for Colin and for who knew how many other patients.
“Yes, Doctor, I did take to heart your instruction of fresh air and exercise.” She looked him straight in the eye. “And may I say what is good for the patient might be good for the doctor as well.”
“It might—ifthe sick didn’t have an adverse proclivity for my attention whenever I chance to close up shop early.” He winked.
A trademark gesture of his, one she should be used to by now, so why the strange twinge in her belly that made her gasp for air? What a base reaction. She gripped her reticule to keep from fanning her face. “Well, I suppose you cannot turn down a patient.”
“Not if I wish to be a doctor of integrity.”
Ahh, but he was, and to the detriment of his own health no less. Mr. Lambert worked himself ragged—the thought of which birthed a wonderfully preposterous idea, one that quirked her lips into a smile. “I might just have a way to keep your integrity intact while taking in a bit of air and exercise yourself.”
He cocked his head. “What have you in mind, Miss Balfour?”
She tucked her letter into her pocket and pulled out the slip of paper he’d written for her days ago, then offered it over. “Have you time to fill this prescription now?”
As he pulled the paper from her fingers, she bit her lip. Would he think such a brazen act too forward?
Graham held the prescription loosely, wary of giving too much meaning to the fact that Amelia Balfour had toted the thing around these past few days. Or had she simply forgotten to remove it from her pocket? Perhaps…but that wouldn’t account for the way her brown eyes gleamed up into his, half-hopeful, half-embarrassed. It’d been a long time since a woman looked at him with such earnest expectation. Pah! He stifled a snort. Who was he fooling? After years a’sea living amongst jack tars and swabbies, no woman had looked at him at all.
A breeze teased the corner of the tiny paper, and he pinched it tight. He could use a walk, especially with the beautiful Miss Balfour. It might serve as a remedy for the frustration festering inside him—or at least a little of it. As of yet, he’d not figured out a way to question Peckwood about the cleared-out room and unpaid bill he’d discovered in the man’s office without incriminating himself.
