Darke London (7 page)

He proffered the glove towards her. She gazed at it with some trepidation as if she feared it would bite her, but after a moment she stuck out her hand towards him. “Go ahead, put on the glove.”

This time, it was he who hesitated. “I must warn you, you might experience a little pain in your wounds.”

She uttered a choking laugh. “After this past week, I’m well acquainted with pain. Don’t worry. The pain will be nothing.”

Slowly he took her hand in his and gently probed the stumps of her fingers. He tried to examine her with a doctor’s dispassion but couldn’t help a sudden rush of pleasure at touching her. The skin on the back of her hand was soft and smooth, the flesh of her palm firm and sturdy. The warmth of her hand triggered a sensuous fervour like a burst of apple-scented sunshine. Ambushed, he sucked in a quick breath, only to realise it wasn’t just his hand quivering, but hers too.

“Am I hurting you, Miss Barchester?” he almost stammered.

She blinked at him, a dazed look in her green eyes. “Pardon?”

“Do you wish me to continue?”

Nervously she licked her lips, which caused a sudden stab of desire in his loins. The urge to press his lips to the softness of her inner wrist almost overwhelmed him. Never had he experienced such a precipitous onslaught. Surely she must sense his arousal. Great dickens, he must look out if he were not to make a colossal fool of himself! He was a physician, she was his patient, and he ought to conduct himself with the proper decorum.

She nodded her head. “Please continue,” she answered firmly.

Once more Julian bent to his task, willing himself to ignore the delightful feel of her skin. From the innards of the metal glove, he teased out the metal ring which he slipped onto her index finger. He instructed her to curl her finger, and when she did so, a look of amazement broke over her face as she saw the artificial digits of the glove move in unison. She repeated the movement and each time the glove faithfully copied her. Satisfied, Julian drew the rest of the glove over her hand and fastened it at her wrist.

She twisted her fingers this way and that. “It’s a miracle,” she exclaimed. “Quite ingenious.”

Julian grinned back at her, deeply gratified by her reaction. “It works better than I’d hoped. I will need to adjust the length of the fingers; they’re slightly too long. There’s one more function I’d like you to test. Hold up your hand and squeeze your thumb hard against your index finger.”

Nellie did as he asked. The glove emitted a minute click, and two tiny blades shot out from the tips of her synthetic fingers. “My God! Switchblade knives.”

“Small, but sharp. They wouldn’t kill anyone, unless you nicked a major artery, but it would inflict a nasty cut, and it has the element of surprise. I thought you could do with some hidden protection, but if you don’t like them they can easily be removed.”

She tested the finely honed instruments on a piece of paper. The blades cut through cleanly.

“No, leave them,” she said. “How do I retract them?”

“You simply squeeze your thumb again.”

She practiced the triggering mechanism several times. “They’re like the claws of a cat. Rather apt, considering the stripes on my face.”

The glove, he saw, had given her new confidence. She looked different, more assured, altogether more attractive.

He smiled at her. “Miss Barchester? You look quite fierce now that you’re armed. I should hate to accost you in a dark alley.”

She blushed faintly and smiled back at him. “‘Miss Barchester’ is so stuffy and formal. Please call me Nellie.”

His grin widened. “As long as you’re happy I’m not taking liberties. And of course you must call me Julian.”

“Thank you, Julian.” She flicked the blades up one last time. “From here on, no one will be taking liberties with me.”

Chapter Five

Two days later, the lowering sun squinted through the trees as Julian plodded towards the house on his tired mare. The animal slowed to snatch a mouthful of winter grass from the verge, but Julian didn’t have the heart to hie her on. At least one of them ought not to suffer after the miserable outing.

As he approached the house, Figgs loped out to meet him and take charge of the horse.

“Is my father home yet?” Julian asked.

“Nay, sorr,” the man whistled through the cleft in his lip.

Julian entered the house, relieved that he wouldn’t have to speak to Elijah for a while. He needed some time alone, time to make sense of all that had occurred today.

“Julian? Has something happened?”

The shadowy interior of the sitting room shifted, and Nellie moved towards him. She stood calm and poised, a piece of sewing in her hands, her coppery brown hair thick and glinting on her shoulders.

“I’ve had some bad news,” he heard himself say. He hadn’t meant to speak about his afternoon, but now he had, and it seemed he might as well continue. “Someone I know has died.”

“Oh, no.” She started towards him as if she meant to touch him, but appeared to change her mind and instead gestured towards the nearest settee. “Please, sit down. You look exhausted.”

Through his disquiet, he was dimly aware that the sitting room looked far neater than before. The windows were clean, the carpet swept, the dust banished, the clutter put away. All Nellie’s doing. And the shirt she’d been mending was one of his too. He dropped onto the nearest settee, and as soon as he hit the cushions a grey cloud rose up from his clothes.

“My goodness, you’re covered in ash.” Nellie tapped the sleeve of his coat, eliciting a further puff of dust. “Where have you been?”

“In the city, sifting through the remains of a burnt-out house. It belonged to a retired jeweller, a Mr. Cazalet. He died in the fire, in his bedroom upstairs.”

“That’s terrible. When did this happen?”

“Last night. I went to visit him today, but it was too late.” He rubbed his gritty eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as frustration welled up once more. “Too damned late.”

Nellie’s skirts rustled as she stood. He heard the chink of glass against bottle, and a moment later she nudged a tumbler of brandy into his grimy hands.

“Tell me what happened,” she said as she reseated herself.

Nursing the tumbler between his hands, he gazed at her, grateful for her presence. After the horrendous hours he’d passed, she was a gust of fresh air, a drink of pure water. She was the one person he wanted to confide in. Needed to confide in.

He dug into the inner pocket of his frock coat and pulled out a small brooch. “See this? I was left on the doorstep of this house wrapped in a plain woollen shawl and nothing to identify me except this brooch.”

He handed it to Nellie.

“It’s not particularly valuable in monetary terms,” Julian continued, “but it’s the only link to my true parentage.”

Nellie nodded slowly as she traced the circle of tiny diamonds surrounding the ruby. “A delightful piece, nevertheless. It must be a comfort to you, knowing that your mother left this with you, that she didn’t abandon you out of choice.”

Grimacing, he took a swallow of brandy. Was it a comfort or a curse, possessing that brooch? Wouldn’t it have been better if his mother had left no clue? Plenty of newborn babes were abandoned by their mothers. He would have grown up happy and grateful for Elijah’s care and love, and not spared a thought for the woman who’d given birth to him. But instead that wretched bee brooch had needled him all these years, taunting him with the promise of finding his parents, reminding him each time he looked at it that beneath his veneer of success he had no history, no antecedents, no identity.

“Six months ago I decided to try to track down the owner of that brooch,” he said, his voice roughening as he recalled his quest. “I trudged from one jeweller to the next, making endless enquiries. As I’ve said, the brooch isn’t very valuable, so few people were willing to trawl through their records of twenty-odd years ago. I almost gave up, until I met Mr. Cazalet. He was retired and had plenty of time on his hands. He was happy to go through his old books, and eventually he found that yes indeed he’d repaired that very brooch more than twenty-five years ago.” He paused as he realised he was coming to a crucial part of the story. He sat up, the better to gauge Nellie’s reaction. “The person who brought in the brooch was a young woman called Ophelia Ormond, the sister of Thaddeus Ormond.”

Her skin paled, throwing her scars into rough relief. “Ouch.” She winced as she pricked her finger on the pin of the brooch. A tiny bead of blood welled up on her fingertip. “I know nothing about Ophelia Ormond,” she muttered, averting her eyes as she dabbed at the blood with a handkerchief.

“You don’t?” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “She’s been dead many years, but I thought perhaps Sir Thaddeus might have mentioned his sister to you.”

“What makes you think that?” She tipped up her chin defiantly.

“Because I know you’re connected to Thaddeus Ormond in some way.” She twisted her head away, but he continued, “Nellie, you’ve suffered a terrible assault, and your life has been irrevocably altered. As a physician, I’m aware I should allow you all the time you need to recover, but a man is dead—an innocent, harmless old man who did nothing wrong except help me with my enquiries, but now he has perished, and I fear I’m to blame.”

Nellie spun round, her eyes wide with shock. “But…you said the old man died in a house fire.”

“I told Thaddeus Ormond about Mr. Cazalet.” Julian pushed to his feet and gulped down the last of the brandy. The alcohol bit into his empty stomach, but there was no relief. “You see, I went to Ormond with my bee brooch, foolishly thinking he might be able to shed some light on my mother, but he was outraged at my impertinence. His family traced back to the Norman conquest, how dare I turn up on his doorstep casting aspersions upon his dead sister! I grew angry with him, insults were exchanged. I hammered him with all the facts I’d gathered.” Up and down he paced the carpet as his memories tormented him. “I told him about Mr. Cazalet, about Ophelia having the brooch repaired, and now…now Mr. Cazalet is dead, and it’s my fault.” Coming to a halt, he smacked his fist against the mantelpiece.

“But you can’t be sure of that.” Nellie jumped to her feet and stood in front of him. “Houses burn down all the time. It could have been an accident.”

“Perhaps, but my gut tells me otherwise. Sir Thaddeus warned me never to go near him again before ordering his footmen to throw me out of the house. I thought he was malignant and arrogant, but I didn’t comprehend how dangerous he was until I witnessed your abduction.”

“So…you were shadowing Sir Thaddeus that night.” She drew back slightly. “It wasn’t mere serendipity.”

“I should have known how ruthless he could be. I should have warned Mr. Cazalet that he was in danger.” But instead he had dallied at home, ministering to Nellie’s needs. Not that she required much help from him in her recovery. She was rapidly mastering the metal mesh glove and could manipulate the artificial fingers with expert dexterity. As for her facial scars, they were healing as well as could be expected and didn’t need a doctor’s attentions anymore. But he had continued to whittle his time away with her, telling himself his interest was merely professional, but knowing deep down it was much more than that.

He studied her anew. In the diffused interior light, her striped face took on an otherworldly air. Instead of mutilation and horror, he saw an unconventional beauty, a lustre emanating from her inner strength. But his fascination for her had lulled him into a false sense of security, and he had to face the consequences of his distraction.

Gripping her upper arms, he pulled her closer. “Nellie, why won’t you tell me everything you know about Sir Thaddeus? Why the devil are you still protecting him after everything you’ve suffered? Why?”

Instead of crumpling into tears, as he’d half-feared, she braced herself against his hold, her eyes flashing with green fire. “Protecting him! I’m doing nothing of the sort. I loathe and despise Sir Thaddeus. I curse him with every last breath in my body.” The ragged hoarseness of her voice left him in no doubt of her feelings.

“Ah, so you admit to knowing him, at least.”

“Yes, all right. I do know him, though I wish to God I’d never laid eyes on him.” She paused, her throat working as she swallowed convulsively. “He is a bully, a thug, a monster. He will stop at nothing to get his way.”

Julian felt her tremble in his arms, saw tears spring to her eyes. She’d been such a pillar of fortitude, but here she was on the brink of breaking down. A delayed reaction, he thought. Nothing to be concerned about. But the physician in him could not control his other, less noble urges. He slid his arms around her and held her in a loose embrace.

“He wanted you dead, Nellie,” he murmured. “Why was that? What did you do that drove him to such lengths?”

Gulping, she shook her head, emotion robbing her of speech. In an effort to comfort her, he found himself rubbing her back in slow circular motions, and the feel of her body through the soft fabric of her dress sent a tingling warmth shooting through him.

“I’m sorry for distressing you,” he said. “I thought you might be ready to talk, but I see—”

“No, you’re not distressing me.” His nostrils filled with her scent—almond oil and citrus and femininity. She sniffed and dashed the heel of her hand against her damp eyes. “It’s just…I go to pieces whenever I think of what that brute did to me, and—and I’m reminded every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror…” Her fingers scraped over the track marks on her cheeks. “I’m a freak, an abomination—”