The Moon by Night (31 page)

“Yes, you did,” Shiloh said irritably. “But I'm telling you, PJ, that no one except you and Brad would ever notice. Even my wife didn't notice, and she's like a dock boss when it comes to my clothes. She's even worse than you.”

But Jauncy and Brad Harrigan were now grandly ignoring Shiloh and blithely went on discussing his person. Jauncy said, “As his legs are so impossibly long, it must be extremely difficult to get a quality fabric with the body required to hang perfectly. I am not certain that the fault in this particular pair of breeches is the cut or the fabric. It may, perhaps, be that it is difficult to get an exact measurement of the precise inseam required for the current fashion of tightly fitted dress breeches.”

“So true,” Brad Harrigan intoned. “He wiggles.”

“I'm not at all surprised. You should try placing a napkin in his lap,” Jauncy said mournfully.

“Excuse me?” Shiloh grunted. “I'm standing right here, y'know. Listen, Brad, I don't need anything—”

“I beg your pardon,” Jauncy said frostily. “I believe we came here, sir, because of the lamentable state of your dress shirts. Yellowed,” he said in a low, ashamed whisper to Harrigan. “I intend to have a word with his laundress.”

Harrigan sniffed. “I should think so. She must use borax and a stiff brush to whiten the cuffs and collars, Shiloh. I've told you that at least a hundred times. You never told your laundress?”

“I forgot,” Shiloh said meekly. “Okay, Brad, whip me up a couple more dress shirts. But what I wanted to—”

“I need new measurements,” Brad said imperturbably.

“No you don't. I'm just the same as I was last time I was measured!” Shiloh said indignantly.

“You aren't,” Brad argued. “Just look at this,” he said, ducking around Shiloh to point accusingly at his shoulders. “You see that armhole seam?”

Shiloh craned to look over his shoulder. “No, I can't see it, Brad,” he said with exaggerated slowness. “It's behind me.”

“Excuse me, Shiloh, I was talking to Mr. Jauncy,” Harrigan said with frigid politeness. “See it, Mr. Jauncy?”

Jauncy moved very close to Shiloh, stood on tiptoe, and squinted at the seam where the sleeve was sewn onto the jacket. He stepped back, looked at Brad Harrigan with open distress, and said in a dire tone, “I can see approximately one-sixteenth of an inch of the stitch. The seam is indeed loosening, sir.”

“Huh? What does that mean?” Shiloh said, still trying to see his back.

“It means that your chest measurements, or perhaps your upper arms, are larger than they were
two years ago
when I last measured you, sir,” Brad said with awful sternness.

“Two years? It's been that long?” Shiloh said guiltily. “Well, yeah, I've been doing some physical training. I may have gained an inch or so in my chest, but I don't have time for measurements right now, Brad. No, PJ, stop your squawkin'. I've got a luncheon engagement with my father-in-law at the Century Club, and I'm not going to be late. The reason we're here, Brad,” he said, firmly dismissing Jauncy's protestations, “is that I want you to do some things for PJ. Lemme see…two suits, four shirts, two waistcoats. A pair of nice cuff links, half-a-dozen ties, a dozen handkerchiefs.”

“Of course, sir, I'll be happy to,” Brad said.

Shiloh turned to Jauncy. His mouth was open as if he were a fish gasping for air. He clamped it shut, then swallowed hard. “Er—sir—may I have a word?”

“Sure, PJ.” Shiloh stepped aside with him, and the tailor discreetly went to the rack of men's coats and began brushing them.

“Sir, I truly appreciate the magnanimity of your…your offer, but it would take me an unconscionable amount of time to repay—”

Shiloh held up his hand and shook his head. “No. This is not a loan, PJ. It's your Christmas gift from me and the doc. That's why I came uptown today, you know. After lunch I'm going over to Lord and Taylor's and get some things for Sketes and Fiona. The doc told me what to get for all of you. She said you needed this and would appreciate it more than a gold watch or some kinda cologne or something like that.”

Jauncy grabbed Shiloh's hand and shook it hard. “Sir, I-I don't know what to say—”

“PJ, you've already earned this and more. You've been a real help to me and the doc—and Sketes and Fiona too. Okay? Don't worry about it. Merry Christmas. A little early.” Shiloh headed toward the door.

Jauncy called out, “Thank you, sir.”

“Welcome,” Shiloh called over his shoulder.

“And you just drop back by here after lunch, Shiloh,” Brad said, “because I've got to take new measurements! Right?”

Shiloh mumbled something inarticulate as he escaped out the door.

Brad and Jauncy exchanged knowing looks. “Don't worry, sir,” Jauncy said sternly. “I shall certainly ensure his return.”

“Good,” Brad rasped. “He needs a firm hand with his tailoring, Mr. Jauncy. He's lucky to have you to see to it. Now, let's get right to work.”

The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble;

the name of the God of Jacob defend thee.

Psalm 20:1

Cheney raised the shutter of the hackney coach. Shannon, sitting somewhat ludicrously upright beside her, poked her head out the opened window. Lying decorously on the floor of the cab, Sean looked reproachfully up at Shiloh, who was seated on the other side of the coach.

“Aw, c'mon,” Shiloh grumbled, and Sean scrambled up on the seat, his big wolf's grin shining. Shiloh raised the shutter on his side, and Sean stuck his head out. “All four of us are probably gonna catch grippe and pneumonia,” Shiloh complained to Cheney.

“But they like the fresh air,” Cheney argued. “See? They're smiling.”

“Doc, these dogs do not smile.”

“They most certainly do. Shannon? Pretty girl, smile. See there? Jauncy says it's the wolfhound's famous grin. They all do it.”

Whether or not the dogs were grinning, it was certainly hard not to smile watching them. They were a funny-looking pair. Being puppies, they still had a soft, short coat. Later it would lengthen and turn wiry, with a rather cottony undercoat. Their coats were cream colored with a faint pinkish cast that would grow into a duskier rose tint as they grew. Their heads seemed much too large for their skinny bodies and were a dark charcoal gray, particularly the muzzle and the tips of the ears, which made both their long muzzles and flapping ears seem even larger.

But it was their expressions that were so fascinating and endearing. Their large lustrous sad eyes melted even the hardest hearts—as Sketes's had been, horrified as she was with the gangrels tracking into her spotless house. But after being subjected to such sincere melancholy charm, she had fallen in love as surely as Cheney and Fiona had.

But then again the clown features came out at odd times. Their long ears often flopped right across their round heads, and with their solemn expressions, the sight made even Jauncy laugh. Once both of Shannon's ears had somehow flopped across her head at the same time, and Jauncy, Sketes, and Fiona had been obliged to stop their tasks, they had laughed so hard.

Now Shiloh looked affectionately at the dogs, knowing that they most certainly did have a grin, and scoffed, “Jauncy says so, does he? So now he's the expert on Irish wolfhounds.”

“Actually it's his brother Geoffrey who's the expert. He's the head gamekeeper on the Rawlings's estate in Yorkshire,” Cheney said with a schoolmarm's air. “Geoffrey says that Irish wolfhounds make good house dogs. They're easily trained. Also he says that they make good watchdogs—they're very intelligent and devoted to their families—but they are definitely not good guard dogs, because they're too sweet-natured. But they are an ancient noble breed.”

Shiloh watched Shannon, her head out the window, gasping at the icy air, her funny ears flapping noisily. And Sean's tongue had gotten stuck out one side. Probably it was so cold he couldn't feel it. Shiloh burst out laughing. “Ancient and noble! Doc, I hate to tell you this, but these dogs look like pure fools! Especially Shannon. How'd Fiona ever get those bows on her ears? Household cement?”

Cheney sniffed. “Fiona could make bows stay on a bald man's head if she chose.”

“And her new stockings,” Shiloh guffawed. “Pink? To match the bows? Even Sean's brown ones have those little green hoodoos at the top.”

“Those are called tassels, sir,” Cheney said acidly. “They're just so you can tighten the drawstring to fit. Sketes knitted them especially for Sean and Shannon, and I think they're lovely. You know they need to keep their paws covered for a few days until the chilblains heal.”

“But, Doc, knitted stockings with tassels? I coulda wrapped their paws—at least Sean's. He's embarrassed.”

“He's not. He loves them. And so do you.”

“Okay, Doc. You're the boss. But I swear I never would've believed you'd be so foolish over two mutts. I didn't think you were the type.”

“That just shows you don't know everything,” Cheney said smugly. “And besides, I'm not the one who hired a hansom cab to bring them home and fed them roast beef and gave them a bath with my best French-milled rose-scented soap.”

“They smelled fishy,” Shiloh said mildly.

Cheney put her arms around Shannon's neck and buried her face in her fur. “They don't now,” she said in a muffled voice. “They smell good. Warm and a little bit doggie, but clean-scented like a brisk wind in fall.”

Shiloh watched her affectionately. “You know, Doc, you look extra beautiful today. You look bright and sparkling and happy. Are you happy?”

She was a little surprised at the bluntly simple question, but then she smiled. Shiloh was a plain-speaking man, a rare quality she found extremely endearing. “I am happy,” she answered softly. “Very happy.”

“Me too,” he said. “Very happy.”

The tender mood was broken when Sean pulled in his head and shook it briskly. His ears flapped with a noise like a windmill, and both Cheney and Shiloh burst out laughing. He regarded them with sad eyes. Shiloh touched his nose with one finger. “It's frozen solid,” he grunted. “Silly old dog, freezing your nose. Next thing you know, Sketes is gonna be knitting you a nose cap.”

“She and Fiona had big plans to go to A.T. Stewart's and buy some wool to knit mufflers for them,” Cheney said, her eyes alight. “I believe Sean is to have blue and Shannon red. And you think
I'm
foolish over them.” She rubbed Shannon's neck, then gently pulled her inside. “Here, girl, you must be half frozen too. I think that's enough sightseeing for one day.” Cheney leaned across the dog to lower the shutter. Shannon settled down in the seat with her head on Cheney's lap. Sean, who was just a bit too big to fit on the seat comfortably, got back down on the floor, grumbling like an old man.

“Now tell me again what you're doing this afternoon,” Cheney ordered.

“I'm going to stay at Roe's and visit awhile,” Shiloh answered obediently. “Then I've got to go to my tailor's, the bank, and the orphanage. Hope this cabby's got all day to chauffeur us around.”

“Mm,” Cheney murmured. Then with elaborate casualness she said, “Why don't you just leave the dogs at Roe's? I'm sure James and John will look after them for a couple of hours. Then I'll come get them, and we'll go for a walk. I could take them to the office, or maybe they could even stay down in the lab.”

Hiding his amusement, Shiloh asked, “Are you sure, Doc? I don't mind taking them with me.”

“No, no, I don't mind either,” Cheney said quickly. “It'll be better for them, anyway, than riding in a hackney coach all over Manhattan.”

“Probably so,” Shiloh agreed solemnly. “Since they're such delicate, sensitive, noble creatures and all. By the way, Doc, Shannon slobbered on your skirt there.”

Cheney patted Shannon's head, and she rolled her eyes to look up at Cheney. “Don't listen to him, Shannon, he's such a man. Slobber, indeed. Don't you worry. I'll make him leave you with me so you won't have to ride all over town and get all tired and be so cold. It'll be nice and warm at Roe's, and you can take a nap, and—”

“Women.” Shiloh looked down at Sean. “You'll ride with me, won't you, boy?”

And so he did. When Shiloh got ready to leave Roe's, Sean jumped into the coach with him and settled down onto the floor as casually as if it were his own cab. Shannon, lying close by the potbellied stove, lifted her head to watch, yawned, then lay back down and closed her eyes. Standing by the stove with a hot cup of coffee, talking to Mr. Jack and Old Mr. Roe, Cheney looked up at Shiloh and winked.

And so true love prevailed.

****

Cheney was still dawdling along, visiting with Mr. Jack and Mr. Roe, when she saw Dr. Pettijohn striding quickly by and turning up Seventh Avenue. Startled, she looked at the watch hanging from a gold chain on her waistcoat. It was only 1:45. Cheney thought darkly that Dr. Pettijohn shouldn't be leaving so soon on a Friday—she had already seen four people go into the Emergency and Dispensary entrance. But then she realized that he had still been wearing his coverall, so he must simply be going somewhere for luncheon or to a meeting. Or he might simply be taking a walk. Cheney often did that during a particularly wearing shift. Relaxing, she turned her attention back to Mr. Roe.

“—with the large breed dogs, you'll find,” he was saying. “Isn't that so, Mr. Jack?”

“I couldn't tell you about dogs, large breed or no,” he admitted. “Now if they was snooty high-bred, high-steppin' horses, like that Romulus and Remus, I could tell you much more than you'd need to know. But not dogs. Miss Irene never did hold to dogs much.”