They were quiet again.
“You ought to eat more so that your coat will fit you properly once again,” she ventured, staring straight ahead.
He went abruptly silent.
“You’ve got quite the eye for detail,” he said almost coldly.
She was unperturbed. “Forgive me if this is a delicate question. Were you ill for a time before you fell through the door of The Grand Palace on the Thames, Mr. Hawkes?”
During the following long silence, he contemplated the number of times he’d been able to tell the purest truths about himself to anyone in recent years. How very much he wanted to tell her everything. The weight of it warred with the lightness of being with her.
“After a fashion,” he said gruffly.
“‘After a fashion’ is the sort of answer that someone gives when they have a secret.”
“I suppose you ought to know, Mrs. Gallagher.”
Well, then.
They were both silent.
They stared straight ahead as the hack clattered forward into the night.
“It’s just...” she began, then hesitated. “There are certain errands I must undertake on my own in order to secure enough funds for my journey. I need to sell a valuable item of personal property.”
He seemed to absorb this information silently.
“Jewelry.” It wasn’t a guess. It was a statement.
There was a pause. “Yes.”
“You did not think to ask someone to accompany you? I would have gladly done it. Even Dot would have been better than no one.”
She hesitated. “I did not feel I ought to trouble anyone else.”
He merely studied her, mutely.
“What is it? Do you think I am lying, Mr. Hawkes?”
“No. Nor do I think you are telling the entire truth. I think you do not want anyone to know why you’re here, in London, at The Grand Palace on the Thames.”
Aurelie couldn’t speak for a time.
“Mr. Hawkes, tell me why you followed me, for you did.”
He was quiet for so long she knew he was trying to decide what to say. Her heart thudded in anticipation. She craved his secrets, and she feared them a little, too.
“I sense that you are in quite a bit of trouble, Mrs. Gallagher. And I want to help.”
He said this so quietly, so very, very gently.
She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. She drew in a long, shuddering breath. Her throat was thick now and her eyes began to sting. His mission, it seemed, was to erode her defenses, little by little. Hecouldhelp her, she supposed. But how on earth could she tell him the truth? She didn’t think she couldbear his pity. Her entire being recoiled from the idea of watching his expression change to something she could not predict when her story spilled from her.
She turned out the window and watched a darkened London go by. She could find no answers in the view.
“Does it hurt now?” she asked softly. “Your wound? From the... the exertion?”
“Ah,exertion, is that what we’re calling what just happened?” He was mordantly amused again. “I like it. Shall take care to call it that the next time it occurs. Yes. It does. A little. But I shall drink some whiskey, and then it won’t hurt. The whiskey will help me to sleep, and then, if necessary, I’ll do the same thing the following day, and life will go on as it has,” he said matter-of-factly.
