“I will drink to that.” And she did, even as doubt remained when it was clear this was far from over.
Twenty-One
ArthurTaylorlookedupfrom his desk at St. Thomas’ and stood with a smile. “Morning, Henry.” He reached out to shake hands, then clapped his shoulder. “It’s good to see you up and about.”
“Happy to be up and about,” Henry was quick to agree.
Arthur studied him closely, as if to determine how he truly felt—or perhaps he was simply pleased to see with his own eyes that Henry was indeed alive and well. “Really good to see you.” His friend patted his shoulder heartily, this time making Henry wince. “Oh, my apologies. I confess that I was horrified to learn you were hurt by the bomb at the Yard. Heard you struck your head, among other injuries.”
“Yes. Cracked some ribs. Hurt my shoulder. Needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience I’d prefer not to repeat.” Henry touched the side of his head where the bump still remained, a temporary reminder of the blast, not that he needed one. At least his hat didn’t bother it much.
“I can’t imagine.” Arthur shook his head, brow furrowed. “To set not one but three—and then another yesterday! And three in February. It’s unbelievable.”
“Yes, and unfortunately Amelia was caught in the last one—luckily without harm.” Henry drew a deep breath, only to be reminded why that was a poor idea.
Horror widened Arthur’s eyes. “Oh no. I’m sure she was shaken.”
“Most definitely.” Henry grimaced, the memory of his panic returning. “We both were.”
“Any idea who’s behind them?”
“I’m sure you can guess or have read about it in the newspaper.” Henry hesitated to say more when it was an ongoing investigation—and not one he was supposed to be working on. “We did bring in a suspect from the scene yesterday, but he’s the first person to be arrested in the latest bombings. I would hazard a guess that more are involved.”
“Where’s this Special Irish Department or whatever they’re called?” Arthur’s outrage made Henry feel less guilty for his own. “Shouldn’t they be hot on the trail?”
“Perhaps they are.” Though, as Henry had told Amelia, he had his doubts. “Time will tell.”
“Yes, well, with moretime, we’re more likely to see yet another explosion.”
Henry couldn’t help but agree. He’d thought the Fenians would wait until suspicions and fear died down before setting another bomb; that had been their pattern in the past.
But they seemed intent on increasing their activity.
“Unfortunately they’ve become quite adept at bombmaking,” Henry admitted. “Setting delayed timers and the like.” That required a special knowledge only a few had. A scientist, an inventor with ill intent.
But how did one find a person or persons with those skills?
He didn’t have an answer, but it started by looking into the background of the man they’d arrested the previous day. He only wished he’d be allowed to pursue the case.
“Terrifying to think about.” Arthur lifted a brow. “How’s the headache? I’m assuming you have one.”
“A little better each day. I hope that within a couple more days, I’ll be fully recovered.”
His friend examined him closely. “That’s promising, but don’t be surprised if it takes another week or two. You might also feel more fatigued than usual and have difficulty concentrating.”
Henry couldn’t deny it, though the confirmation from a medical man was less than welcome. A week or two like this was impossible to consider. “The physician mentioned those symptoms, and I’ve certainly experienced them.”
“Must’ve been a serious blow to your head.” Arthur’s expression tightened. “I would suggest limiting your physical activity as much as possible.”
Henry smiled. “My ribs insist that I refrain from chasing suspects.” Not without help, anyway.
“Understandable—so listen to them. This is one of those times when it’s better not to push yourself. It might slow your overall recovery.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Even if he was already tired of hearing it.
“How much laudanum are you taking?” Arthur asked with a scowl.
“None since the first night, in the hospital. I don’t care for the way it makes me feel.”
