***
As promised, we visited Saffron Hill the next morning and entered the grotty little apartment with bated breath to find that Dorian had survived the night. It was a miracle! Maurice said that he had been in to check on the patient several times, and apart from Dorian muttering that he needed help to ‘use the pisspot’, he had slept right through.
‘That is good news indeed,’ I said, feeling relieved and rather chuffed that my ‘treatment’ had been right on the money. It appeared the patient’s prognosis had gone from ‘hopeless’ to ‘favourable’.
Harry also looked relieved and, when Maurice had gone into the bedroom, said that he was in the process of organising a midwife for Lucinda. ‘When do you think we should leave?’
‘Perhaps the day after next?’ I said, wanting to make sure that Dorian was definitely on the mend (but also needing reparation).
However, Dorian spent the next three days sleeping and woke only in the evening, when we had left to take some broth or stew and a little bread. As I said to Harry, this was a good thing as sleeping meant his body was healing. But it was frustrating too as we did not know if we should stay or go. And Maurice could not leave yet as Dorian was nowhere near well enough to be able to fend for himself.
It wasn’t until the fourth day that Dorian was properly awake when we visited. Maurice said that he had been enquiring after me, so I knocked and went into the bedroom alone.
I was surprised to see the patient sitting up in bed with a sketch pad on his lap, drawing. The bandage had been removed from his head, and his dark hair had been carefully brushed as if he was expecting visitors. It was a little matted around the wound on his temple, but that looked to be healing nicely.
He looked up, smiled when he saw me, and lowered the pad. ‘I don’t have a chair, but you can sit here beside me if you like.’ He touched the edge of the bed.
Cautiously, I crossed the room and sat down, careful not to crowd his legs. ‘How are you feeling?’ I enquired politely, but I was also curious to know since he had been on death’s door only a short while ago. I was amazed at the body’s ability to heal itself.
‘Much better, thanks to your cheerful sanctuary.’ He inclined his head to the room. Together, we looked around as the space had been quite transformed. There was the yellow embroidered cover for the bed, a small bedside table, and a jam jar, which I had filled with violets from a street seller. A dark-green woven rug had been laid on the floorboards, and Maurice had cleaned and polished themucky windows. Though the view outside was not of anything attractive (only a grim cobblestone courtyard), at least more daylight could enter now.
‘I hope you do not mind me doing a little decorating,’ I said sheepishly. ‘I had some spare time on my hands while you were sleeping, and Maurice helped, of course.’
‘It is a vast improvement,’ Dorian agreed. ‘Though I do not deserve your help after how I treated you at Hartmoor. I behaved atrociously ...’
His eyes met mine. But I looked away, heat creeping into my cheeks at the remembrance of him on top of me, trying to rip my bodice with his teeth.
‘And for that, I apologise profusely, Felicity, and humbly beg your forgiveness,’ he added, his eyes now downcast.
His words hung in the air between us, and my chest constricted. Here it was, my apology. Was it enough? Could I forgive him completely? Only time would tell.
‘Thank you,’ I said stiffly. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘Congratulations are also in order, I believe.’
‘For what?’ I asked, confused.
He smiled and arched an eyebrow. ‘It is rather difficult not to notice that you are expecting a child.’
I followed his gaze to my belly and gave a short laugh.
‘Oh, why, y-yes, I am. Thank you,’ I stuttered and placed my hands over my stomach protectively as I had seenpregnant women do.
Dorian lifted his pad again and started making some light sweeping strokes on the pad. ‘I am a little surprised as you told me quite emphatically that you did not want children,’ he continued. ‘But I suppose accidents do happen.’
‘Yes, quite,’ I mumbled. Time to change the subject—and fast! ‘I see you are still drawing?’
‘Yes, I was actually on my way to an appointment about a commission when I was struck by the carriage. Bad luck on my part, but there will be other opportunities hopefully. I have been earning money by painting portraits. If I can land some bigger commissions with some wealthy clients, Maurice and I can move to a better part of town.’
‘That sounds like an excellent plan indeed,’ I said, glad that he had a way of regaining a footing in society. Even if I did not ever see him again, I did not wish him (or anyone!) to live in poverty. ‘Speaking of Maurice, I don’t suppose you would release him from your service so he could come and work for me? But it seems you have some sort of hold over him ...’
Dorian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t stop drawing.
‘Yes, that. Well, I was threatening to tell the innkeeper near Hartmoor that Maurice had a dalliance with his daughter.’
‘Gracious! Did he have a dalliance with her? That doesn’t sound like Maurice.’
‘Of course not,’ replied Dorian. ‘It was to punish him for his disloyalty and to scare him into working for me. But after my near-death experience, it seems petty to play that kind of game, especially as he has been looking after me. So Maurice is welcome to go with you if he wishes. I do not want to keep him against his will. I hope he will be happy with you.’ He added another stroke to his drawing with a flourish. ‘God knows I’ve made him miserable enough living in this hovel. He was probably hoping I died.’
