Chapter 11
Thursday, 27 September, 1888
By the time Cynda hauled herself to the dining room for breakfast, everyone was gone. Mildred kindly fetched a plate for her, one she’d kept warm on the stove. While Cynda devoured her breakfast, the landlady brought her up to date. Mr. and Mrs.
Bottom were touring the Victoria and Albert Museum, Mr.Everson was off to the wool warehouse, and Mr. Hix was Heaven knows where.
Queer fellow, that one. Keeps strange hours. He creeps about all the time, always wearing those gloves, Mildred said, shaking her head. It’s like he thinks we don’t keep the place clean enough, or something. After the remainder of her report, none of which interested Cynda in the least, she announced, Dr. Montrose asked that I give you this. She placed an envelope next to Cynda’s nearly empty plate.
Thank you. How’d he look this morning?
Tired, as usual. I don’t think he slept much, what with his arm and all.
Surprise. Once Mildred puttered out of the room, Cynda ripped open the envelope. The doctor’s handwriting flowed like a mountain stream, wide and expressive.
I have commitments this morning, but shall meet with you at Annabelle’s at 2 sharp to assist you in your search.
Thank you for your expert care of my person, Sincerely,
Alastair S. Montrose (Doctor) Cynda rolled her eyes, stuffing the note into a pocket. ‘Expert care of my person’…oh, brother.
She leaned back in her chair and was promptly reminded that her backside extended further than was sensible. Cursing under her breath, she wrestled with the bustle. It was always in the way.
Why would any woman want to make her backside look bigger?
As she squirmed, she noted a newspaper on the chair next to her. Laying it on the table, she stared at the masthead while slicing the ham.