He shoved away from the wall just as a ragged shout not far down the road snagged his attention.
“Amelia!”
Graham squinted to where a great hulk of a silhouette pulled a body from beneath a carriage, barely a second before the horses bolted. A woman’s cry rent the night. He broke into a dead run.
“I’m a doctor,” he called. “I can help.”
The man—nay, a giant—cradled a woman in his arms, her face pale against the wicked darkness and all-consuming black of the man’s cape.
“No!” she gasped. Her eyes were overlarge, a sure sign of distress that belied her refusal. “I require no help.”
“The strain in your voice says otherwise.” Graham stepped closer, and immediately the man retreated with her deeper into the shadows. A curiosity, that. Why was he afraid—a man who bested him by at least six stone and stood a full foot taller?
Another peal of thunder boomed, and the woman clutched a handful of the fellow’s cape. “Please, leave us. I am perfectly fine in my brother’s care.”
“Oh?” Graham peered up at the monstrous man, whose cavernous hood fully hid his face even in the next flare of lightning. “Are you a surgeon? Or physician, perhaps?”
“I am neither.” His voice was as deep as the din of the oncoming storm.
“I do not need a doctor.” The woman twisted in the man’s arms, craning her neck past his shoulder. “Look, our carriage returns to carry us home, where the wonders of a good night’s sleep will render me whole.”
“So you admit to being hurt.” Once again Graham edged closer, as he might to a skittish mare. “Where? What pains you?”
The first fat drops of rain splatted loud and wet as the carriage stopped behind them. The woman looked up at her brother. “Colin, please. This is too much of a risk and you know it.”
Risk? Him? Graham stifled a snort. A man that size could squash him beneath his heel and not even realize he’d snuffed out a life. “Sir, madam, you have nothing to fear. I assure you I am well trained and qualified as a naval surgeon.”
A gust of wind blew in off the harbour, rippling the man’s hood as he gazed down at his sister. “Are you certain? I would not have you suffer on my account.”
“We shall all suffer if we do not seek shelter.” Her dark eyes turned to Graham. “Good night, Doctor.”
“But—”
The man wheeled about, the tails of his cape flapping like the wings of a freakishly large bat. The carriage listed heavily to the side as he stepped up, his sister grunting in pain, and deposited her on the seat. Graham watched, perplexed. Clearly the man cared about her, so why such a stubborn refusal to have her examined by a medical professional? What did the fellow have to fear? Was there any more he could have possibly done to put their minds at ease and aid the woman as she so obviously needed?
The big man reappeared, snatched his bag from the ground, then called for the driver to make haste. The sky opened the second the whip cracked, and the carriage lurched into motion, disappearing into the dark of the rainy night.
By the time Graham trotted to his small apartment on Flagg Street, there was not a mite of him that didn’t drip or chafe. He peeled off his wet garments piece by piece, then settled into a nightshirt. Sinking onto the thin mattress, he reached for a worn copy ofThe London Medical and Physical Journal, too overtired to sleep. Not that reading this would do any good. He’d already memorized it word for word. He needn’t even crack open the cover.
Blowing out a long breath, he returned it to the stand then leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. What a strange day. What a strange life.
Unbidden, his gaze strayed to the small bookshelf on the opposite wall, its sole occupant a Bible, worn, torn, and far too long unread. His mother’s. A gift he didn’t deserve, sent along with a message written inside the cover just before her demise. He could read that. Heshouldread that. But he turned aside his head and blew out the candle.
He’d been no more able to help his own mother than he had the woman tonight.
FIVE
“She looked steadily on life, and assumed its duties with courage and zeal.”
“This is a bad idea.”
Amelia hid a smirk at her maid’s judgment and clutched all the tighter to Betsey’s shoulder as they hobbled out of her room and down the corridor. “So was that second helping ofvetrnikwhen we were in Prague last spring, but I don’t recall you raising a fuss then.”
“Pastries are one thing, your well-being quite another. You aren’t even able to put on your shoe.” The bend of her maid’s brow indicted as much as the hot pain in Amelia’s foot.
She pressed her mouth shut. There was nothing to argue about. Betsey was right. Two of the toes on her right foot were purple, and a bruise spread over the top. The swelling was too large to accommodate anything but a stocking. An excruciating setback, for she was determined to make that next ship to Cairo in a week, but in spite of it all, a certain amount of gratitude welled in her heart. Thanks to God—and Colin—she’d suffered naught but some crushed toes. It could have been much worse.
At the top of the stairway, Betsey pinned her in place with a stern eye. “I should think if you’re not fit enough to go down to breakfast, you’re not fit to go down at all.”
