He pulled out a clean cloth from his bag and glanced about for a basin, but he should’ve known better. Why would a rat catcher bother to wash when he’d just have to go belowground the next night? But at least there was a drinking bucket near the door. Graham dipped the rag and returned to the man, not bothering to wring it out. As poor as it was, it was the only comfort he could offer.
Tilting the man’s head just so, he carefully laid the cloth over the mottled burn. “This will soothe for now, but I must get you back to the office for a thorough cleansing and some ointment.”
“Can’t pay,” Ratter whimpered.
“No matter. Coin or not, you have great need.”
Only one eye peered at him, the other covered by the cloth. “Ye got yer own office”—air hissed in through his teeth—“yet ye’d tend a lowly ratter?”
“It is a shared practice, but yes, I would tend anyone.”
The white of Ratter’s eye grew twice its size. “Who ye share with?”
“A renowned surgeon who may be able to offer you even more help than I. Mr. Peckwood is—”
“No!” Ratter’s screech lifted to the rafters, louder than ever. “Tend me here!” His hand shot out, his fingers digging into Graham’s sleeve. “Tend me here or begone!”
Graham frowned. “Calm yourself, sir. I will not force you from your home, yet it is in your best interest to come with me. I don’t have enough ointment in my bag to treat you, and that wound must be washed of any poisonous residue.”
“Don’t care,” the man moaned. “Peckwood is the devil.”
He stared at the fellow. What sort of experience did the rat catcher have with the surgeon? “How do you know the man?”
Ratter’s single eye burned like an ember in the night. “Peckwood killed my brother.”
EIGHTEEN
“A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquillity.”
This was wrong. On so many levels. Absently running her hand along the smoothness of her gown, Amelia frowned at the image in the mirror. She’d attended many a dinner and even a fair number of fund-raisers in her day, but never on the arm of a handsome man—and especially not one who did strange things to her heart. But was it really the thought of Mr. Lambert that caused the fluttering in her chest, or was it the knowledge that her life had swerved off her plotted course and just might be heading straight towards a cliff?
“Will that be all then, miss?”
Betsey’s voice pulled her around. The woman stood poised to flee out the door, barely concealing a glower. Ever since she’d been summoned, Betsey had been overly belligerent about helping Amelia dress. Suggesting the plain blue gown instead of the brilliant green, pinning up her hair too severely, and insisting on the smallest earbobs instead of the beaded drops. Why such effort to hinder her appearance?
“Just one more thing. Help me with my necklace, would you? The pearl pendant on the pink ribbon, I think.” She nodded towards the small jewelry box on the vanity.
Betsey’s lips rippled like a clamshell refusing to be pried open, yet she faithfully retrieved the choker. “Wasn’t aware the prince regent would be in attendance tonight,” she murmured as she tied the ribbon—a little too tightly—at the back of Amelia’s neck.
“Just because the event is taking place in an asylum doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to look presentable. And a little looser of a knot, please.”
A sigh puffed against the skin between Amelia’s shoulder blades. “I mean no disrespect, miss, to you or those poor souls at St. Peter’s. It’s just that it’s not right, this going off in the dark, alone with a man.”
And there it was. The reason for wishing to dress her as a dull penny…but out of protectiveness or jealousy?
Amelia turned, arching a brow. “You make it sound as if I am eloping with some brigand. It’s only a dinner, and it’s only Mr. Lambert.”
“Humph,” Betsey snorted. “What do you really know of him?”
“Enough that you may stop your fretting. He is a man of integrity. My brother has no qualms about him and neither do I.”
Her own words doubled back and sickened her. It was true. She had no misgivings whatsoever about the good doctor. It was herself she doubted. Her treacherous heart. And what if that heart jumped sides, giving itself wholly over to Mr. Lambert before she realized it was gone? Would that not be throwing away the independence she’d worked so hard to achieve over the years?
Betsey snapped shut the jewelry box, clearly unconvinced. “I’m still of a mind to chaperone you tonight, were it not for the list of Mrs. Kirwin’s chores I’m to manage before my head hits the pillow.”
For all her bluster, Betsey was a gem. Despite her hidden disdain of the often bubble-headed Mrs. Kirwin, she had taken over the woman’s duties without a complaint. Amelia snatched up her shawl with a smile and settled it about her shoulders. “I have no doubt Mrs. Kirwin appreciates all you’ve done for her while she’s laid up.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” She tucked the necklace box into a drawer, then faced Amelia with a twist to her lips. “That housekeeper’s taken to that bed of hers like a queen to the throne, ordering me about with a regal air.”
