“Are you well?” Alex asked her, and she realized she wasn’t. Not entirely.
“She’s my only friend now.”
“Not true.”
He held her hand, and she almost wept. How had they got here, she and the cold, dead-eyed aristocrat who was supposed to be her enemy? He looked at her now with undeniable warmth and she wanted nothing more than to creep into his arms and let him be strong for her.
Naturally, she did no such thing.
“This complicates matters,” she said. “Obviously Mags can’t help us tomorrow now.”
If he thought her unfeeling to talk of their plan while her friend lay ill in the next room, he gave no sign. She sensed no judgment. “A postponement, then?”
“She won’t be better for weeks. I don’t want to leave things that long.”
He nodded. “You know other actresses and such. Can’t you ask one of them?”
“No one I know will go against Captain. He might not seem like much to you, but here in Soho, people fear him. Or they’re loyal to him. There’s no one I would trust to take our side over his.”
The door opened and Dr. Carter joined them. “It’s definitely measles. It’s not often I come across an adult case. Most people catch it in infancy. Still, she’s strong. If she’s properly taken care of, I don’t foresee any problems. I assume you work for a living, Miss Jones, but someone will need to stay with her.”
“I can get someone,” Alex said, before she could respond. “If you wish, that is.”
“We can’t afford—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “There’s no question of that and you know it. You’re my…” He stopped, clearly flummoxed. “Well, whatever you are, you’re under my protection. There’s no question of payment between us. There never could be.” He shook his head. “God, this is awkward. Don’t make me emote in this unspeakable fashion.”
He descended the stairs with all the appearance of a terribly important person who had somewhere else to be. If Evie didn’t know better, she’d swear he was embarrassed. She’d thought him above such human failings.
Dr. Carter smiled and shook his head. “Never thought I’d see the day,” was all he said.
…
Although she didn’t say so, Evie seemed a little disturbed by the notion of leaving Miss Carmichael with a complete stranger.
Alex couldn’t have said precisely how he knew this. Some minute change in her expression, some almost imperceptible glance, must have told him. He reassured her that the woman he’d found—actually Ellis had done the finding—came highly recommended. By the time the woman had been got and brought to Brewer Street, and Carter had finished instructing her to his satisfaction, the light was already fading. It was dark by the time the three of them arrived back at Curzon Street.
Helen had ordered dinner from one of the nearby chop houses. While she bustled about setting the table, Evie stood by the desk, gazing out the window at the lamp lit street. Was she worrying about her friend or formulating a new plan? That he couldn’t tell. He could discern her moods well enough but never the workings of her mind. She was a curious person, his Evie. He’d woken this morning to find her nestled beside him like a languid cat. He’d pretended to sleep on just to prolong the sensation of her close and so accessible.
In those few moments, before she’d woken and realized they were not alone, he’d possessed a little piece of her. He’d never felt that way before, even when he’d spent on her naked breasts. He marveled now at the startling intimacy of lying in the embrace of a woman without making love to her.
What Nightingale had said didn’t matter. It wasn’t the first time he’d told himself that but this time he believed it. Now that he’d seen her again, now in the presence of her sharp edges and surprising soft spots, Nightingale and his poison were nothing. Whoever she was, whatever she turned out to be, she was all that mattered.
“What about Helen?” she said. She’d crossed the room while he was lost in thought and said the words low so that only he could hear. That calculating light he’d come to adore was back in her eyes.
“Which Helen? Wait, not my Helen? I think not.”
“You told me she’s an actress. Surely she could do it.”
“Amateur theatricals, not séances.”
“My séances are amateur theatricals. She’d be perfect.”
She’d been thinking about this. Who was he trying to fool? She’d probably decided on this course before the carriage had even departed Soho. Because of course she had.
“There’s nothing amateurish about you,” he said. “No. No, I don’t want her involved. It’s too dangerous. Something might go wrong.”
Immediately he realized his error. Her eyebrows rose almost into her hairline. “So it’s perfectly fine for Mags, my dearest friend, to take the risk, alone and friendless though she is, but your sister cannot?”
“Can’t what?” Helen asked. She stood by the table, now laid with steaming plates of meat pie and vegetables drenched in gravy. “What can’t I do?”
Alex groaned and drew a chair for Evie.
“We should at least ask her,” she said.
…
Of course Helen said yes.
In fact, her eyes lit with excitement when she understood what was required of her. Since the role of fully materialized spirit required knowledge of a particular type of stagecraft, the two women retired to the bedroom so that Evie could share some of the tricks of her trade. The irony of Helen as first recipient of knowledge he’d been trying to coax from Evie since the moment they’d met was not lost on Alex.
Helen paid no mind to his objections. Her face would be veiled so that Nightingale wouldn’t see it, or not much of it at any rate, and if he did chance to see beneath the layers of lace, no one knew what the Duke of Harcastle’s bastard sister looked like anyway. All very logical, but he had a bad feeling.
He and Carter were lounging on the sofa in front of the fire. Bastet hogged the only armchair and was purring in her sleep. Alex lit a cigar and offered another to his brother-in-law. “You can’t approve of this madness.”
Carter shook his head at the proffered cigar. “No, can’t say I do.”
“Well? Can’t you do something?”
Carter shook his head. “You know where Helen’s been and what she’s suffered. If I start forbidding things, telling her what to do, I might as well have left her at Blackwell.”
Alex shuddered. He’d visited Blackwell, the asylum where Helen had been incarcerated for the best part of a decade. He remembered the hard-eyed and desperate woman he’d met there. Contentment had transformed her into the warm if headstrong sister he’d come to love. He’d hate to cause her even a moment’s unhappiness but he wanted her safe.