Darke London (6 page)

The old man shook his wrinkled head. “Be careful what you wish for. Especially if it involves Sir Thaddeus. He’s not a man to cross. If I were you, I would be happy with my lot.”

A quick retort rose to Julian’s lips, which he hastily bit off. Mr. Cazalet was an old man enjoying the fruits of his retirement. Of course he’d preach caution. But he, Julian, was young, fit and determined. He wouldn’t let Sir Thaddeus’s reputation scare him off. Nellie’s attack had shaken him, yes, but he wouldn’t allow mere thuggery to stop him.

He rose to his feet. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mr. Cazalet.”

“Oh, taking your leave already?” The jeweller looked disappointed. “I hope you’ll return. I have few visitors these days.”

“I will do that,” he promised.

The old man accompanied him to the front door. “This used to be a good neighbourhood,” he said, pursing his lips at a group of rough-looking men dawdling on the corner. “It used to be respectable people only around here, but with all the trouble on the continent this city is being overrun by foreigners.” He shook his puny fist at the loiterers. “Troublemakers, the lot of ’em!”

Mr. Cazalet’s own forbears would have been émigrés, but Julian refrained from pointing this out and instead took his leave. Outside, the setting sun was a dull bruise on the gritty bowl of the sky. His mare snickered at him as if to say she was weary of the city and wanted to return to her quiet stable. He patted her mane as he pulled himself into the saddle. He knew just how she felt. He longed to reach Monksbane too. But thoughts of home only reminded him of Nellie and her acrimonious accusations. As a consequence, he chose not to hurry, but instead kept his mount to a steady walk.

It was afternoon when Nellie ventured from her room, resolved to apologise to Julian. It had taken her less than five minutes to acknowledge she’d behaved appallingly and owed Julian a heartfelt apology. But she needed to calm herself first, and when she had and descended the stairs, there was no sign of Julian or his father in the house.

She entered the kitchen, where Mrs. Tippet and Figgs were sitting at a table. Figgs had been cleaning a lamp, but as soon as she entered he reared to his feet, a hunted look in his eyes as he nervously tugged at his cleaning cloth.

“Oh, Figgs, please don’t let me disturb you.” She attempted an encouraging smile, and he rewarded her by very slowly resuming his seat and warily continuing with his cleaning, using his pincer appendage with remarkable dexterity.

The cavernous kitchen, though thoroughly ancient, was surprisingly neat and well-kept compared to the rest of the house. Mrs. Tibbet sat at the table polishing a vast amount of silverware. The utensils were already gleaming and, by the look of them, a great quantity of their gilt had already been polished off, yet the housekeeper rubbed the silverware relentlessly. She pronounced to Nellie that she was about to prepare oatmeal and smoked kippers, but Nellie suggested that the hungry doctors would really prefer soup, guinea fowl and lamb cutlets. Mrs. Tibbet cocked her head and eyed her doubtfully, and then said, “Very well, missus,” as if Nellie were the mistress of the house. Thinking it was all to do with the borrowed gown she wore, Nellie decided to say nothing more and left the housekeeper alone.

She waited in the drawing room for Julian to return, but it was not he who arrived home first, but his father. When Elijah Darke entered the room, Nellie started to her feet, acutely conscious that she was wearing his late wife’s clothing.

“Good evening, Miss Barchester,” he greeted her in his deep, mellifluous voice.

“Good evening, Dr. Darke.” While she’d been convalescing in bed, he had briefly introduced himself to her, but this was the first time she’d met him on her own. As his gaze flickered over her garb, she diffidently tweaked at the skirts. “I hope I cause no offence, sir. This was the only dress Mrs. Tibbet provided for me.”

A flash of pain passed through his eyes so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. Inclining his head, he said graciously, “Not at all. I’m glad to see that frock being worn again. You look most charming.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated before adding, “May I ask when the younger Dr. Darke is due back?”

“Not for a while, I’m afraid, according to the message he left me.”

So it came about that she sat down to dinner alone with Elijah Darke. He was most impressed by the meal she’d persuaded Mrs. Tibbet to prepare and told her so. He talked about the new hospital he was helping set up, and about his son who had recently joined his practice. Julian, he informed Nellie, was a great help to him, especially now, when the hospital consumed most of his time, and the years were catching up with him.

“But my son is a very different physician from me,” he said as they ate lemon syllabub. “Julian is full of unique ingenuity, for he’s not just a doctor but a gifted engineer too. He views the human body as a superb piece of machinery and comes up with the most amazing ideas. Take, for example, his inventions for replacing lost limbs. Most clever and innovative. I’m very proud of him, though I don’t often tell him that.”

Nellie felt herself grow warm as Elijah’s praise for his son only intensified her shame. When would Julian return so she could apologise to him?

“Well, it’s good to see you back on your feet, Miss Barchester,” Elijah declared when they had finished their meal.

“I feel much better.” She hesitated as she perceived a hidden question to his seemingly ordinary observation. “I want to thank you and your son for your kind hospitality. I’m very grateful to you both, and—and you can rest assured I will not overstay my welcome.” But where would she go from here? For a moment complete panic blanked out her mind. She was penniless and friendless and had nowhere to go. Even the clothes on her back were not her own.

Elijah Darke waved his hand. “Oh, you’ll not be leaving so soon, I hope. Not when you’ve shown such promise with Mrs. Tibbet. I haven’t enjoyed such a satisfying dinner in a long time. And besides, you are still recuperating from your nasty assault.”

“I am much obliged, but I’m not sure I should trespass on your hospitality indefinitely.”

“Come, now. You would be doing me and Julian a great favour if you could persuade Mrs. Tibbet to cook appropriate meals. A great favour. You’ve no idea how much I detest porridge for dinner.”

Nellie couldn’t help smiling at that and assented, even though she suspected this was only Elijah’s way of allowing her to stay without feeling she was a burden.

As they rose from the dinner table, there was a knock at the front door, and the thought that Julian had returned caused her heart to start hammering. But when Elijah opened the door, it was not Julian but a stranger who strolled into the hallway.

“Heigh ho, Doctor. Do you have a dram of whiskey for a thirsty rascal?” The man greeted Elijah in a jovial manner. Spying Nellie further down the hallway, he doffed his hat and sketched her an extravagant bow. “Why, good evening, miss.”

As Elijah made the introductions, the stranger stepped forward, his eyes fixed on her, but just a few feet away he stopped abruptly, his smile freezing. A hot flush swamped Nellie’s body. The blood surged into her cheeks and thudded in her ears, drowning out Elijah’s voice. The stranger continued to stare. All she could think was how ugly she must appear to him, and how vain of her to care about a stranger’s opinion. It ought not to matter what he thought of her, but somehow it did. As her damp hands clutched at her skirts, the stumps of her missing fingers itched madly, reminding her of their absence, and the scars on her cheeks tingled too. Elijah was saying something, but she couldn’t hear for the rushing noise in her ears. Unable to withstand the pressure, she mumbled something incoherent, before turning away to hasten up the staircase.

Julian arrived back at Monksbane with his growling stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day. He saw to his horse, then foraged for bread and cheese in the kitchen. His father, as usual, was still up and would stay up reading past midnight. Julian sat with him but was disinclined to tell his father how he’d spent the majority of his afternoon. Elijah seemed preoccupied with more pressing matters.

“I heard from Lord Penton that he’s selling Lime Hill to an investment company who wish to divide it into building lots,” Elijah said.

Lime Hill was just to the south of Monksbane, separated by a few fields and a small wood. Their neighbour, Lord Penton, had lost a fortune through injudicious investments, so the sale of Lime Hill was no great surprise, but the thought of suburban streets and houses springing up so close by depressed Julian. “I suppose it’s selfish to begrudge people space for decent housing,” he said. “But I hate the thought of having the city right on our doorstep.”

“It is inevitable.” Leaning back, Elijah contemplated the volumes of books lining his library. “Soon, the metropolis will have us in its sights, and it will be our turn to feed its insatiable appetite.”

“We’ll never sell our land!”

A brief smile flickered across Elijah’s weary face. “Never?” Julian opened his mouth to argue, but his father waved him away. “It’s too late in the night to debate the matter. Go to bed, son.”

So Julian bid his father good night, lit a candle and made his way upstairs. He had almost reached his bedroom door when he heard a creak behind him and turned to find Nellie peeking at him from her room. Nonplussed, he stopped, not anticipating their meeting so soon. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been furious with him, but now her expression was far from angry.

“Miss Barchester?” he said stiffly, wary of the wrath that had previously come whirling out of her without warning.

She left her room and stood in front of him, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression clouded and uncertain. “Dr. Darke, I must offer you an abject apology,” she said in a hesitant voice. “Earlier today I accused you of the vilest ambitions, but I realise now you were only trying to help me. I’m truly sorry.”

At her humble words, his coolness instantly melted. “I’m sorry too,” he said, striding forward. “I should have explained myself first, not thrust that thing in front of you so impetuously.”

She nodded and blinked, relief spreading across her face. “I would like very much to see your artificial fingers. Right now, if you’re not too tired.”

He had been tired, but not anymore. “It would be my pleasure,” he replied warmly.

Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she fell into step beside him as he held the candle aloft to light their way down the staircase. As they stepped out into the freezing night air, he said to her, “I heard from my father about Mr. Derringer startling you earlier tonight. I must apologise for him. Gareth is an old family friend but a bit of a scallywag, and sometimes he forgets his manners. He didn’t mean to distress you.”

She pressed her lips together. “No, I should be the one to grow a thicker skin. People will stare at me, and I need to become accustomed to that.”

Her grimness took him by surprise. It seemed ludicrous that she should be so ashamed of her appearance. To him the scars on her face were not hideous defects but symbols of her grace and strength of character. Hers was not a soft, soothing beauty but one tempered by adversity. Her body, scarred though it was, was infinitely lovely, and the way her diaphanous gown flowed over her curves only served to highlight her attractions.

“If a man stares at you, you should not automatically assume he’s repelled by your appearance,” he couldn’t help saying. She gave him a startled glance, but aware he’d said too much, he ushered her into his workshop and busied himself lighting some lamps as he quickly changed the subject. “I’ve always been interested in mechanics, and my work as a doctor led me to a fusion of ideas. I’ve been experimenting with the notion of creating artificial body parts, not just rigid bits of metal, but actual functioning pieces. You’ve seen Figgs’s appendage. It’s a crude implement forged many years ago by a blacksmith. For the past six months I’ve been working on a proper replacement hand for him. It’s been problematic, but when you, ah, arrived, it got me thinking that perhaps a couple of missing fingers would be easier to replicate than an entire hand.”

He waved her towards the bench and opened the wooden box she’d seen earlier. This time, he spread the glove out on the bench so she could study it. At first glance the glove appeared to be made of grey lace, but in reality it was made of a very lightweight metal mesh, almost like chainmail but much finer and more flexible.

“You made this yourself?” She picked up the glove and examined it closely, turning it this way and that. “The craftsmanship is most impressive.”

A spurt of gratification flashed through him, and he couldn’t help grinning at her. “Thank you, but I think what’s inside is more amazing.” He picked up the metal glove carefully. “You see, where your missing fingers are, I have inserted fully functioning fingers made of steel and rubber.” He wiggled one of the digits. “Look, its articulation allows it to act just like a human finger.”

“But how does it move of its own volition?”

“It cannot, unfortunately. But there is a ring inside the glove that goes onto the wearer’s index finger. The ring is connected to the two artificial fingers and has specially designed springs which work so the two fingers will mimic the movements of the index finger. Therefore, should you curl your index finger, so will the substitutes, and similarly when you stretch it out. At least, that’s what it does in practice. I haven’t been able to test it fully on an amputee yet.”