An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) (33 page)

“Marry me, Charlotte,” he whispered against her mouth.

She shook her head, and he pulled away. He stared at her, his eyes searching her face from her earnest eyes to her kissable lips. Then Reed sighed.

“Coffee?” he offered half-heartedly.

She nearly laughed, so surprised by the trivial question.
“No,” she said, feeling drained by the mountains and valleys of their conversation. “I should return to the library, before someone disturbs my research materials.”

“
Tell me what time you’ll be finished, and I’ll give you a ride in my carriage.” He stopped her when she started to protest. “I know, you said last night that the evening is promised to Alicia, but I can at least see you safely home. Why don’t you just use the telephone to reach me at my office when you’re ready.”

Her expression told it all.

“I didn’t think you’d remembered,” he said, unable to keep from smiling as she held her flushed cheeks. “I’m sure the library has a telephone, and of course, we’ve had one at my office for a few years. Next time you are unable to keep a date with me, lady writer, you might try it.”

Of all the stupidity, she muttered to herself, letting him help her into his carriage a few minutes later. But reconsidering, Charlotte was glad she had not thought about using the telephone; she might have cancelled their lunch outright if she hadn’t seen Reed in person.

She might have missed out on an extraordinary afternoon with the man she was falling so deeply in love with, the man who had asked her to marry him, the man with whom she could not assume anything. And, of course, there was still the mysterious Celia.

*****

Back at her table in the library, she tried to outline her article as she scanned her notes. Criminal reform, mental health institutions . . .  Her talent was in gathering what was usually right in front of people’s noses and synthesizing the facts so they clearly and comprehensively explained the overall story from beginning to end.

Charlotte found, however, that it was now impossible for her to concentrate on anything except Reed’s oddly pragmatic proposal. She carefully made a list of her sources and then left the library. She needed solitude, but she had one more place to go before her work was done for the day.

Despite a swift ride down Pleasant Street and across the Port Point Channel into South Boston, it was nearly four o’clock when she arrived at the Lunatic Hospital, Boston’s only institution for the insane within the city limits.

Charlotte looked at the size of the building and decided that the best she could do, given the late hour, was set up an appointment with the head doctor and perhaps get an idea of which, if any, criminals they housed there.

However, after she gave her name and her reason for visiting, she was met not by a doctor but by the institution’s superintendent, George Mason.

Squat of stature and thick of neck, the man with hard black eyes neither invited her into his office nor even offered her a chair. He simply started walking her down the long tiled hallway that smelled strongly of lye. Charlotte put her glove to her nose and hurried after the superintendent.

“I’m afraid it’s impossible for you to come in here and talk to anyone,” he said, his voice as grating as an unoiled wagon wheel. She practically had to run to keep up with him, as his heels clicked at a fast pace along the cheerless corridor.

“
I don’t understand, Mr. Mason.”

He seemed to sneer as she tried her best to maintain professional neutrality
.

“
What is unclear to you, Miss Sanborn?”

“
This hospital has a reputation as the hub of reform and experimental cures. Furthermore, it is a public institution, run by the state. The courts commit people here to be cured of their insanity and return to their regular lives in the midst of all of Boston’s citizens. I don’t see how you can say it is off limits to reporters.”

“
I am in charge here,” he said. “I can answer any questions you have about the inmates. But not today. You’ll have to return another time. In any case, you don’t need to see the head doctor; he’s a busy man.” They reached the large double doors at the side of the building. Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to be put off.

“
Is that what you call them, Mr. Mason?”

“
What?” he looked bored and distracted.

“
Inmates. I’d assumed they’d be considered patients.”

He shrugged. That nearly destroyed the last of Charlotte’s professionalism. She felt her cheeks turn red.
“Is there a problem with me finding out the answers to a few questions?”

“
Such as?” Mason’s impatient look was changing to one of annoyance.

Charlotte pulled out her notebook and quickly scanned her list of questions.
“I’ll need to know about the types of patients, the general length of their stay, and how many are consigned here by the courts for violent crimes, as opposed to, say, intemperance. And if there are any voluntary admissions or placements by concerned family members.”

The superintendent seemed to think the idea of voluntary institutionalization rather humorous and showed his yellowed teeth in his version of a smile. It made Charlotte cringe to think of being under this man’s control for any length of stay.

“Now, why would a pretty lady like yourself want to know all about such downright depressing things? Some of them are here for unspeakable, vile reasons.  He showed his teeth again at her shocked face. “Why, I bet there are plenty of other subjects you could be writing about, such as—”

“
Mr. Mason,” she interrupted, unwilling to listen to him roll off his version of suitable topics, “I’m going to have to insist on an appointment with the head doctor. If you think it would be useful for me to ask you a few questions, then I’d be pleased to speak with you in a separate interview.” She glanced at her pocket watch as if assessing its accuracy.

“
In any case, I’ll be back at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. And I assure you, if you turn me away, I’ll return the following day and the day after and the day after that, as well. The good people of Boston will hear about it if you persist in putting me off.”

His yellow sneer became more of a grimace.
“There’s no need to get in a pucker, Miss Sanborn. I didn’t realize how important this was to you. You simply caught me by surprise. But not tomorrow,” he repeated, looking thoughtful.

“
The inmates are exercised and given all manner of treatment on Wednesday. There wouldn’t be any time for you to speak with the doctor. But the next day.” He stroked his chin. “Yes, Thursday will be fine.” He turned on his heel and headed back along the hallway without even a good day.

Charlotte stood still and watched him go.
What an oaf!
Then she let her shoulders droop. It had been quite a day. She could take the cabriolet straight home and send word to Reed, or she could stop at the library and use the telephone as promised. She smiled to herself. As if there was any choice when she could spend a few more minutes with Reed.

The driver returned her to the library where she was surprised but relieved to spot Reed’s black clarence out front. She was more than ready to have a quiet ride home. She paused beside the carriage, but Reed was nowhere to be seen and his driver, Forbes, was dozing on top. Perhaps she would climb inside to wait and surprise him.

Charlotte opened the door and then stepped back in astonishment. For lounging inside was none other than Helen Belgrave.

“
You!” came a petulant tone from the depths of the clarence, and then Helen Belgrave was exiting the carriage, dressed in a form-fitting pink and white striped dress. Her parasol matched the outfit, as did her hat. To Charlotte, she looked like a peppermint sweet.

“
What do you mean by throwing open the door to Reed’s carriage? Don’t you know that personal, private activities go on inside?”

Charlotte didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, she asked,
“Where’s Reed?”

“
Not even the pretense of ‘Mr. Malloy’?” Helen said, adjusting her hat with one hand. “Really, you’re going to give it all away, my dear Charlotte, and one day, it will be in front of the wrong person. One day, Miss Sanborn . . .” She ended with a small pout on her lips and a shrug.

Thinly veiled threats again, Charlotte thought.
“Helen, this is becoming tiresome. Did you ride over with Reed, or not?”

Helen merely smiled. She was obviously not going to give away anything. Charlotte turned on her heel.

“Fine. Tell Reed that I have made other arrangements to get home.” She walked off.
Now, why did she bother to say that to Helen?
She knew the woman wasn’t going to pass on any message to Reed from her, not even to save her own life.

Charlotte started off at a brisk pace but soon slowed as she realized her feet were aching. It had been a long day, and to top it off by encountering Helen in Reed’s carriage . . . well, it was just enough to make her savage as a meat ax. Yet, she had to believe what he’d told her earlier. There was an explanation as to why Helen was there in his carriage, but it was irksome in any case.

By the time she caught sight of Jason’s carriage dogging her steps, she would have welcomed a ride from the devil himself.

“
You are out walking late, dear Charlotte,” Jason called out to her, before making his driver halt the horses. She turned a weary smile toward him.

“
Yes, and I’ve had a fairly full day.” She gratefully took hold of his hand and stepped up into the plum-colored coach. “Heaven must have sent you to rescue my feet.”

She didn’t care if it was proper as she rested her balmoral-clad feet on the seat opposite while Jason’s driver secured the door. Jason sat down, casting an eye on her shoes beside him before bestowing a friendly glance on Charlotte.

“Heaven, apparently, has put you in my path,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, other rescuers were sent as well.”

She raised her eyebrows, uncomprehendingly. He sighed, looking older than she had seen before.

“I believe I just spotted the ever-professional Mr. Malloy, scoping from his vehicle, probably for your very person. Were you expecting a ride from him?”

“
I was, yes,” Charlotte admitted, sitting up straighter in her seat. Reed had seen her get into Jason’s carriage. That would annoy him. Then she thought of Helen, reclining on Reed’s black leather seat like a candy, waiting to be tasted, and added, “But his carriage was a little too full.”

She couldn’t help the venom in her voice. Helen Belgrave was as bothersome as a wasp in summer. If Reed was annoyed, so be it.

Jason made no comment. He simply cocked his head to one side and tapped the carriage’s ceiling with his walking stick.

As they began to roll, he smiled.
“Nevertheless, we were seen, so I suppose I have to take you home after all.”

“
Well, of course,” Charlotte said, laughing lightly, though something about Jason seemed odd. “Where else would you take me?”

She started to remove her feet from the seat, but he put a restraining hand over her skirts and she was forced to leave her legs where they were.

He smiled. “Yes, where indeed?”

*****

She was beyond happy to get home. Charlotte meant it when she told Alicia there was no place she’d prefer to be than in their parlor, her feet up on an overstuffed tuffet, having a good strong cup of tea.

“
Well, how about a glass of wine?” Alicia asked.

Charlotte smiled.
“Even better.” Everything was perfect. She could hear the children playing in the garden, and, momentarily, they would all go in to dinner. Yes, it was perfect—except for the specter of Reed in her head asking her to marry him. For every reason except the one she longed to hear.
Seriously, marry him without a declaration of love!
The man needed a good shaking.

“
What is it, my girl? You seem preoccupied.”

“
It was an eventful day, Aunt. But I don’t want to think about it. I’m trying hard not to, in fact.” She paused, looking at her aunt’s face; there was something so familiar in it. “Tell me about my mother,” she said at last.

“
Tell you what, dear?”

“
Anything, something distracting. Some story of when you were young girls together, something I don’t know.”

And they passed a pleasant evening. When she climbed into bed that night, she kept an eye on her balcony door, half expecting Reed to show up. After all, whatever else was between them or, in the case of love, perhaps not between them, there was one thing they did flawlessly—without misunderstanding, without even needing to speak. Eventually, she fell asleep.

Unable to return to the Lunatic Hospital the next day, Charlotte was at a loose end. She brushed Lily’s hair and let Lacey teach her how to braid it; she taught Thomas to play cat’s cradle and even showed Bridget how to perform a jig, which turned out to be similar to the maid’s own folk dancing.