“What is the success rate of your...methods, Mr. Duffield?” Henry asked as he, too, walked at a leisurely pace.
“That information is something the doctor shares with potential guests.”
“Dr. Thorne, isn’t it?” Amelia asked lightly.
“Yes.” Mr. Duffield held the handle of the front door, apparently eager for them to go.
“Where did the doctor attend medical school?” Henry asked. The fact that she was a woman was surprising, and he found himself curious about her. There weren’t many women choosing such an unusual path, even after Mrs. Elizabeth Garrett Anderson had joined the medical profession.
The porter did not smile. “If you’d care to leave your address, I’d be happy to have an informational brochure posted to you that explains more about Hollowgate Heights and Dr. Thorne’s unique practices.”
“Why, I would like that very much,” Amelia responded before Henry could. Again.
Not for the first time, he thought what an excellent investigator she was.
She had already retrieved the notepad from her reticule again and jotted down her name and address as the man fidgeted. “I look forward to receiving the information soon.”
The porter took the paper, barely glanced at it, and opened the door. “Indeed. Have a good day, Mrs. Greystone.” His gaze shifted to Henry. “Sir.”
Henry inclined his head as he followed Amelia out the door, which shut promptly behind them, then locked. He took her elbow as they walked to the coach. “Well? Are you reassured?”
Amelia paused as they reached the coach and turned to study the building. “Not exactly. But I suppose Louisa wouldn’t have said all was well if it wasn’t.” She allowed Henry to assist her inside. “But why did she say ‘all’? Why not say ‘I am well’?”
It might be a minor detail but had crossed his mind, too. Unfortunately, Henry didn’t have an answer.
Three
Ameliareleasedaheavysigh, not her first since she and Henry had left the hired hackney cab and boarded their train to return to London. She had been certain that once she knew all was well with Louisa, she could turn her attention to other things. Her experiments in her attic laboratory, her latest article idea which needed reviewing, her growing affection for Henry which was apparently returned.
So why was it that the brief message continued to worry her?
She risked another glance at Henry, wondering at his thoughts.
“You’re certain it was her handwriting?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Amelia nearly smiled. How nice to think she wasn’t the only one questioning the situation. “Fairly certain. As certain as I can be. I’ve received letters from her in the past, and one just before she entered the sanatorium. I am sure she wrote the message—she doesn’t seem to be under duress based on her usual neat penmanship.”
“And did it sound like something she would normally say?”
Excellent question. “Yes?” Mostly. Rather, it might be. It could be.
Henry looked at her with a raised brow as the train rumbled onwards. “Meaning?”
“I suppose I can imagine her saying it, but it’s rather odd that she didn’t thank me for coming by, or say how much she looked forward to seeing me once she finished her treatments.”
“Perhaps she was in the middle of one, and that was why the message was brief,” he suggested. “Mr. Duffield might have been telling the truth.”
“I had the same thought.” She shook her head, trying to shake free the worry that had taken hold. “I’m being ridiculous. We might not have set eyes on her, but she responded. If she had written ‘help’ or ‘I can’t wait to leave’ or something of the sort, I would be truly worried.”
Henry nodded, his attention shifting to their fellow passengers but without any of the rudeness which the gesture from another might suggest. She’d travelled around London with him often enough to appreciate his observation skills. He might appear relaxed, but she tended to think he was ever on guard. His dark brown hair was combed to one side and had been recently trimmed, something he didn’t always take the time to have done. His brown woolen suit fit his broad shoulders nicely. Other than his usual sideburns he was clean-shaven, a look she preferred.
A few minutes later, he cleared his throat. “I don’t think it would hurt for me to meet with the family of the sanatorium patient Arthur mentioned, the one who recently passed away. While he found no suggestion of a suspicious death, and I don’t want to upset grieving relatives, a few questions to ease all of our minds could be helpful.”
A wave of relief swept through Amelia. “I would appreciate hearing what they have to say.” She glanced out the window at the green fields which would soon give way to the city’s sprawl, her thoughts still meandering on Hollowgate Heights. “There’s something about the sanatorium that I find very…unsettling, despite having now visited it.”
“What little we saw suggests the place is more than comfortable for theirguests,” Henry’s emphasis on the last word had her smiling in response, “but we don’t know for sure without seeing the patients’ rooms.”
“That term alone makes me uncomfortable—as did what Miss Elmcroft said about the facility when we last met.”
