Her hostess gave her a brief smile. “Perhaps taking a more active role in investigations would have made knowing he was in danger easier to bear.” She nodded again, this time more decisively. “Listening to what little he chose to tell me was less than satisfactory.”
Though Amelia’s interest in chemistry allowed her a more natural way to aid Henry, she had to hope she would have helped Henry regardless. Then again, the whole reason they’d met was because of her husband’s murder. That crime had forged the basis for their relationship, or at least put them on a different footing than most couples.
“I must share that I tend to pry as much information from Henry as possible.” Amelia smiled as she set aside her empty cup. “Thank you for the conversation. It has helped steady my nerves more than I can say. I believe I will check on Henry again before I take my leave.”
“I’m sure he’d like that—and please feel free to return tomorrow. He will heal all the quicker if we can keep him from thinking on his pain or his cases too much.”
Amelia nodded as she rose. “I’m sure you’re right, though I fear the task might be more difficult than we hope.”
She liked to think she knew Henry well enough to guess that he was already pondering how to proceed with each of his cases, including who had set the bomb, as well as the questions about the sanatorium.
Maybe she could find a way to aid him, at least in regard to the latter.
Fourteen
Bytheendofthe second day of his recovery, Henry was beyond frustrated. His head continued to ache, his thinking wasn’t clear, and he still couldn’t remember parts of the evening following the blast—or some of the details from his current cases.
It was infuriating.
“Give it time,” his father had suggested several times.
Sage advice, but not when Henry felt as if the clock was ticking on his investigations while he did nothing. True, Reynolds had visited and sternly informed him not to rush back—but his cases needed him. He needed to be doing something.
He’d risen on several occasions to walk the length of the room, but sore ribs, nausea, and his pounding head had him quickly returning to bed. Pushing himself harder didn’t seem to be of any benefit. Visits from Amelia helped to calm him, yet the worry in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed. The longer he took to recover, the more he feared her concern would become permanent, an insurmountable obstacle between them.
Would she decide the dangers of his position were too great? That loving him carried too much of a risk?
Neither of them had repeated their declarations of love since his injury. Though the words were often on the tip of Henry’s tongue, the moment never seemed right.
Not when he feared she wouldn’t say them in return.
The sight of Fletcher following his father into his bedchamber the morning of the third day had him sitting up, feeling ridiculous that he was still abed.
“I brought you a visitor,” Henry’s father said brightly.
“There he is,” Fletcher announced, his gaze sweeping over Henry as if to check the status of his injuries for himself. “Looking a good sight better than the last time I called.”
“Am I?” Henry couldn’t keep disbelief from his tone. His recovery was progressing far too slowly in his opinion.
“Ugly as ever, but that’s to be expected.” Fletcher chuckled at his own jest.
Henry smiled, realizing he’d missed the sergeant the few days he’d been away from work. “Indeed.”
“Thought you might want a brief update on things,” Fletcher said, helmet in hand as he walked toward the chair at Henry’s bedside.
“I do. Thank you.”
“Mrs. Field suggested I tell you only the good parts,” Fletcher began with a glance at Henry’s father. “But your father said you’d see through that.”
“I would hope so.” Henry shared an amused look with his father, knowing he could easily relate to Henry’s frustration, having been in the same position once or twice when he’d been injured while on duty.
“Well, then.” Fletcher settled into the chair only to study Henry’s expression as if still gauging how he fared. “Feeling better, I hope?”
“Somewhat. Recovery is slower than I’d like, but I’m coming along.” Why was it that even thinking of the cases worsened his headache? Where was that peppermint oil?
“Good.” The sergeant grimaced. “Head injuries are nothing to ignore. The noggin is a delicate thing. Takes longer than you’d think to heal the brain.”
That Fletcher said as much eased Henry’s mind. “It needs to heal quicker,” he couldn’t help but grumble.
