He saluted her and walked off.
She frowned after him. “He needs to learn his place.”
“And what is his place?”
She closed the door and followed me to the sitting room where she set down the tray. “In the kitchen, far away from the maids.”
I removed the lid and inspected the plate of sausages and toast. “Do they like him?”
“They find him interesting. It’s the dangerous air he has about him with all those knives and scars. You know how silly some girls are around men like that.”
I tried to keep a straight face. “Not you, though.”
“Lord no!” She narrowed her gaze. “You’re not one of those types, are you? You don’t like dangerous men like that Thomas Adams?”
“Definitely not. I’m much too sensible.”
“I thought so, but even sensible women fall for scoundrels and wastrels if they’re looking for some excitement.”
“Then we won’t have a problem. My life is far too exciting these days for me to be bored.” I offered the plate of sausages to her. “Now come and sit down and eat with me.”
Harley Street,Marylebone, must be the health center of London. There seemed to be more private physicians and doctors in that one street than in the whole of Cambridge. According to the brass plaques beside each door, there were dermatologists and ophthalmologists, obstetricians and even a nerve specialist. Several other plaques were simplylabeled physician or general practitioner. The plaque for number twenty-nine was positioned beneath the brass doorbell. If it hadn’t been labeled PATIENTS AND VISITORS, I would not have known it housed a doctor’s clinic.
A middle-aged woman dressed in white with kind eyes opened the door. “Oh. I thought you were our next patient, but you’re clearly not him.” She smiled. “Do you wish to make an appointment?”
“No. I just want to know what sort of illnesses are treated here.”
Her smile vanished. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you. Good day.”
I thrust my foot through the gap to stop her closing the door. “But what if I want to make an appointment? Will you tell me then?”
“Why would you make an appointment not knowing what Dr. Martin treats? That’s rather backward, Miss…?”
“Why won’t you answer? It’s just a simple question.”
“Why are you asking the question at all?”
I sucked in air between my teeth. This woman was a good guard dog. A little too good. I tried to peer past her, but she blocked my view.
“I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.” She pushed the door into my foot, hard. My boot offered little protection and I hopped around, my teeth gritted against the throbbing pain.
The door slammed shut in my face.
“That was very rude!” I shouted.
The only response I received was from a woman walking past on the pavement. She clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval.
I limped down the steps and caught a hansom back to the hotel.
I greeted Frank at the door, but he frowned back at me. “Why are you limping?”
I tried to walk normally. “An over-zealous receptionist decided she didn’t like my question.”
He gave a knowing nod as he opened the door.
Mr. Hobart had been walking through the foyer, a leather folder tucked under his arm, when he saw me and stopped. “Good morning, Miss Fox. Have you been out this morning?”
“I had to visit a doctor in Harley Street.”
