“Detective?”
He turned and saw her. “Hello again,” he said with a smile, which made her stomach do a little dip.
She took a deep breath. “May I have a word?”
“Certainly. What can I do for you?”
She looked down at her sagging black stockings, her shoes scuffed and in need of polish. Her feet hurt, and she was hungry. “The fact is,” she said, “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For being utterly beastly to you.”
“Oh?”
“During your last case, I was rude and unmannerly.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
She glanced at his face for any hint of sarcasm, but his expression gave little away. Still, she had the unsettling feeling he was mocking her.
“The fact remains, my behavior was unwarranted and unbecoming.”
“Unwarranted, perhaps, but unbecoming? I’m not so certain of that,” he said with a smile, and she felt her forehead burn.
“I’m afraid I have a tendency to take on causes. I can be cantankerous when I think women aren’t being taken seriously just because they’re women.”
“I’ll admit your reactions did feel a bit harsh at times.”
“All I can say is I’m sorry.”
“And I am deeply sorry if I gave any indication I would fail to take a woman seriously—just because she’s a woman.” He cocked his head to one side and gazed at her, and she felt confused and excited. “I cannot imagine anyone failing to take you seriously, Miss Stuart.”
She paused, unsure what to say next. He stood, arms crossed, a faint smile on his absurdly handsome face. A lock of curly black hair had fallen onto his forehead, and she longed to reach up and brush it back.
“Well,” she said lamely, “I’d best get on with my duties.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
She peered at him. Was he mocking her? “See here,” she said abruptly. “I’ve a mind to make it up to you properly.”
“Indeed?” he said, rocking back on his heels.
What was he smiling at? Did he find her ridiculous?
“I should like to buy you dinner,” she said curtly, as if daring him to say no.
“When did you have in mind?”
“Is Th-Thursday night convenient?” she said, furious that she was stammering.
“Most agreeable.”
“Shall we say eight o’clock, then, at Le Canard? You know the place?”
“I do indeed. I shall see you then,” he said, and swept out the entrance with a few strides of his long legs.
As the door closed behind him, she realized she had been holding her breath. Exhaling, she turned around and retraced her steps back down the corridor. But the familiar landscape had changed in some subtle, indefinable way. The gaslight reflecting in the tall arched windows was more intense, the marble walls gleamed more brightly, and the muted sound of voices from nearby wards sounded like singing. Her hunger had vanished, and her feet no longer hurt. In fact, she felt like dancing. Turning right toward the nurses’ station, she took a little skip before vanishing around the corner, leaving a faint trace of lavender in her wake.
CHAPTER TEN
Ian returned home to find Donald in Ian’s dressing gown, sprawled out on the parlor sofa. The cat was perched precariously on his protruding belly, like a remora on a whale shark. When Ian entered the room, his brother looked up from the medical textbook he was reading and scowled.
“What on earth possessed you to deposit that imbecilic street urchin on me without so much as a by-your-leave?”
Ian sank into the wing chair closest to the fire. “Derek McNair is many things, but imbecilic is not one of them.”
“Lawless, then. Rude, crude, vulgar.”
“Words you used to describe yourself not so long ago.”
“Touché, brother. A hit—a very palpable hit. Or should I leave the Shakespeare quotes to you?”
“I shall be glad to be relieved of the burden.”
“Seriously, though, did you think I would be receptive to the idea?”
“I did not give it much consideration, to be honest.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is my flat.”
The moment Ian said the words, he knew it was a mistake. Donald’s face darkened, and he sat up abruptly, dislodging Bacchus, who landed on the carpet, tail twitching irritably.
“See here,” Donald began. “If you have any notion—”
“Please calm yourself. I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“One may not mean a great many things, but nonetheless—”
“I beg you not to take offense.”
“What you meant was that since you pay the rent, you may do as you like. Is that not true?”
Ian rubbed his forehead wearily. “I confess I did not expect you to object to him so vociferously.”
Donald stood up and pulled the robe around his rotund middle. Since it was Ian’s dressing gown, it did not quite reach. “It isn’t that I dislike the boy so much, though I am not as enamored of him as you are. It’s the principle of the thing.”
“What’s e-na-mored mean?”
They turned to see Derek McNair standing in the doorway. He was dressed in Ian’s second-best nightshirt, which was so long it trailed behind him. His unkempt brown hair stood up on all sides, and his eyes were crusted with sleep. The brothers exchanged glances.
“So wha’ do it mean?” he repeated.
“It means you like something,” Ian said finally.
“Rather a lot,” Donald added.
“Din’ know ye liked me even a bit,” Derek said. “That’s good t’know.”
At first Ian thought he might be serious, but Derek’s left eyebrow was raised sardonically, and his mouth curled in a smile.
“What are you doing out of bed?” said Ian.
“It were kinda hard t’sleep wi’ the two a you goin’ on like that.”
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough t’know y’like me—rather a lot,” he added, imitating Donald’s voice perfectly.
Donald reddened. “Here now, why don’t you have a glass of warm milk or something and get back to bed?”
“I’d sooner ’ave a beer.”
“You may not—” Donald began.
“Oiy,” Derek interrupted. “Yer brother promised me whisky.”
“Only a sip,” Ian said in response to Donald’s look.
“Well, I ha’nt had it yet.”
“Very well,” said Ian. “And then straight to bed.”
“Kin I sleep wi’ the cat?” he said, looking at Bacchus, who had returned to the recently vacated sofa, and was industriously cleaning himself.
“If he’ll go with you.”
The boy was placated with an ounce or two of cream sherry, which they kept around for Lillian. After licking his lips and carefully wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Derek picked up the cat and lugged him in the direction of Ian’s bedroom. To Ian’s surprise, Bacchus submitted, legs dangling as the boy held him around the middle. Derek was so small and Bacchus so large the boy had to wrap both arms around the cat.