“He does, but they are in the countryside. Mr. Randall asked if we would care for him until his family could be notified and return.”
Mrs. Tipps looked at the front windows and the steady rain. “I should think that might be several days.”
Belle sincerely hoped not. Arundel’s burst of strength and coherence a few hours ago had been short-lived, as she’d expected. Now he was delirious and burning with fever.
“But who is caring for the poor man now?” Mrs. Price asked.
“My father,” Belle said. “Though there is not much to be done. The patient is rather ill.”
“Oh, I do hope he will not die!” Mrs. Price’s eyes were wide with worry, and Belle thought there was probably a glint of delight there as well. After all, today had begun as rather dreary and the older woman had been unlikely to spot anything of interest from her window. Now, an injured man dying above Howard’s Teas & Treats had been plopped in her lap.
“Of course, he will not die,” Belle said. “The doctor will arrive any moment.”
“He could very well die,” Mrs. Tipps said, unhelpfully. “If he has a stab wound and a fever, there’s not much a doctor can do.”
Belle bit her lip to keep from saying what she thought of that dire pronouncement. “Well, we are certainly doing all we can.”
“Of course, you are,” Mrs. Price said, patting Belle’s hand. “But do you think your father is up to this task? I understand why he has taken over. You are a young, unmarried woman. You cannot tend a man alone.”
“Neither should she be left to tend the shop alone,” Mrs. Tipps said.
“I tend the shop alone all the time,” Belle said. Not only that but she handled the banking, the importers, and the delivery boys—all without needing help from her father. Who did they think had taught her to handle all of it by herself?
Mrs. Price looked at Mrs. Tipps, and Mrs. Tipps looked at Mrs. Price. Belle instantly narrowed her eyes. The two ladies had never shared a look like that, not since the last time they had attempted to play matchmaker. That attempt had been with Mrs. Price’s nephew and Belle. When, like the others, he’d taken one look at her and hastily found a reason to run away, they had abandoned matchmaking.
At least, she hoped they had.
But now here was the conspiratorial look again. How was it these two ladies who barely seemed to tolerate each other most days could so quickly become allies?
“I think we had better see if Mr. Howard needs any assistance,” said Mrs. Tipps, setting down her empty cup of what had been Belle’s tea.
“Yes, we should, indeed. After all, we ladies are much more skilled at nursing.”
“My father is quite capable—”
“Just until the doctor arrives, Belle,” said Mrs. Tipps. “When he does, send him upstairs directly.”
Belle didn’t even bother arguing. She simply watched as the two women went to the door leading to the Howards’ personal apartments and started up the stairs. “Helloooo, Mr. Howard!” Mrs. Price called as the door closed behind her.
Belle sighed and put her head down on the counter. She should be glad the two ladies had taken over. It certainly relieved her of the burden of caring for the man. But for some reason she was not relieved. In fact, she felt a slight sense of envy. She wished she could go back upstairs and care for Arundel. She didn’t know why she would want to do such a thing. Her last attempt at caring for him had been a disaster, but it seemed there was something about him that drew her. There was his obvious physical attractiveness, but it wasn’t only that he was handsome. She tapped her short fingernails on the counter and decided it was the way he looked at her. He seemed to look right through her, right past her physical flaws and to really see her. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t even know her.
But she wanted him to know her. If there was any man who might be able to fight his way past her hard exterior and to do what no man had done—find the soft, vulnerable parts of her—it was the Arundel. He’d proved himself a fighter already by surviving this long. Belle shook her head at such fanciful thoughts.
She began to clear away the teacups and started a new pot of Cinnamon Hot Spice. This time she would actually drink a cup. By the time this was done, she heard her father’s footsteps on the stairs. He emerged into the shop, looking tired and unshaven but otherwise presentable.
“Hot Cinnamon Spice?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
“It seemed a good choice for a day like this.”
“The perfect choice, as usual.” He went to the window and peered out onto the street. Belle followed. The rain had turned to a drizzle, but the streets were covered with an inch or two of water from the heavy rains. Heavy rain always left standing water on Fenchurch Street. Now customers would drag mud into the shop for days.
“I am sorry about Mrs. Price and Mrs. Tipps.”
Her father waved a hand, his gaze still on the street. “I know how they are. I am glad for the respite, though I think they came more to gawk than nurse. If the doctor does not come soon, one of us will need to tend Arundel’s wound again.”
“I’ll go,” Belle said. She’d spoken too quickly, too eagerly, and her father turned and gave her a curious look. “It is my turn. You had to repair the stitches,” she said. She felt weak in the knees just saying the words. “Tea?” Belle returned to the stove and busied herself preparing two cups.
When her father stayed at the window, she brought him a cup and stood beside him. A few people had ventured outside, but most were hurrying to work, not looking to shop. “I knew we could not keep Arundel’s presence here a secret,” her father said, sipping his tea and nodding in appreciation. “But I do think we must find a way to keep our neighbors from gossiping too much.”
“Why?” Belle asked. She might have asked how, but she doubted her father knew any better than she.
“The man was stabbed in public. In front of a town house in Mayfair, its owner, and a half dozen of his staff. That’s a rather brazen act, and one, I think, that must have been planned out.”
Belle hadn’t considered that the stabbing might not have been a random act of violence. Those were common in London, even in the better areas of Town like Mayfair.
“You think someone wanted to kill Mr. Arundel?” Belle asked. “And if he learns his attempt failed, he might try again?”
Her father turned from the window. “You always were quick and clever. Yes, Belle, that’s exactly what I think. And I don’t want to be in the way when the assassin returns.”
“But surely whoever wants Mr. Arundel dead won’t think to look for him in a tea shop on Fenchurch Street.”
“I hope not, but it won’t help us if Mrs. Price and Mrs. Tipps tell everyone in the area that the man is here with us.”
“I don’t see how we can prevent it. If we ask them to keep quiet, it will only make the telling all the more exciting.”
“Which means, we need his family to arrive sooner rather than later. Either that or we must move him somewhere safer.”
Belle could see the wisdom of the suggestion, but it was impossible. “Father, he is not well enough to be moved, even if his family did show up on our stoop. And with the weather as it is, that is highly unlikely. The Randalls will send a footman to contact his people, but even a seasoned rider wouldn’t start out in weather like that of last night. A rider might try and go now that it’s morning and the rain’s abated, but the roads will be awful.”