“Jacynda?” he said, kneeling in front of her. He took one of her hands and kissed it. “Alastair will take care of you. You can trust him.”
She looked from him to the doctor and back. A nod.
Like a small child who has to be told what to believe.
The sergeant reluctantly rose. “At least that worry is resolved.”
As they walked down the passageway to the back door, Alastair asked, “Do you need money?”
“No. I have an ample sum.”
“Where are you staying if I need to find you?”
“Rotherhithe. I’m at Mrs. O’Neill’s boarding house on Neptune Street. It’s near the chemical works. I’m known as Sean Murphy over there. Send a note, rather than coming yourself. It’s too dangerous for both of us.”
“If I come, I’ll be en mirage.”
It took a moment for that to register. “So I’ve finally pulled you down that road, have I?”
“Somehow, I always knew you would.” They clasped hands and then Keats hurried across the yard to whatever fate awaited him.
The nice man with the beard had said she’d be safe here, that the new man would take care of her. She would just have to trust them. With nothing else to do, Cynda’s eyes wandered around the kitchen. It was clean but sparse. There were a few dishes in the tall cabinet on the wall and only a teapot on the stove. It was so quiet compared to the crazy place.
The man with the brown hair returned. “I’ll lay a fire in the parlour. It’ll be more comfortable there,” he told her. “I’m sorry, I just moved in. I don’t have a lot of things squared away yet.”
It sounded like this was important to him, but she had no idea why.
“I collected your Gladstone from Pratchett’s when you didn’t return,” he continued, carrying a load of kindling into the next room. She followed him noiselessly as he dropped the wood into the hearth and then lit the gas lamps, one by one. “It’s just there,” he said, pointing toward a black bag sitting next to a chair.
Cynda studied it, running her hands over the leather. There was a long rent in the side of it. Then she pulled her hand back suddenly, a cold pang shooting through her chest.
She looked up at him. He was staring into her face, puzzled.
“Something…bad,” she said, shivering.
“You were mortally injured when you were carrying it. Your lover’s ashes were inside that Gladstone. You took him home with you.”
“Lover?”
“You can’t remember him, either,” he murmured. “How much you’ve lost. Well, come here and watch me light the fire.”
Cynda hefted the case and brought it with her. Sitting on the floor near him, she began to pull out the contents, one by one, like a child on Christmas morning. First, the clothes. She held a navy dress for a long time, eyes closed.
“Pretty,” she whispered.
“Yes, especially when you’re wearing it.”
That only confused her. By the time he had the fire lit, she’d set the clothes aside and was holding the stuffed animal.
He looked over at it. “Is it a weasel?”
Cynda shook her head, hugging it fiercely, not knowing why it brought her such comfort. After she set it in her lap, she dug further into the case, pulling out a small box. She opened the top, peered inside and then slammed it shut.
“Sad,” she said, pushing it away on the floor. “Can’t.”
The man looked like he understood. “You may not remember Mr. Stone’s name, but you still feel his loss.” He waved her over to the couch. “Come here, it’s too cold on the floor for you. I’ll fetch you a blanket.”
When he returned, she was clutching the stuffed animal in her arms again. It felt good to pet the top of its head.
“Jacynda, do you know who I am?” the man asked.
She nodded. “Fred.”
The hope in his eyes evaporated. “No, I’m Alastair. I’m a doctor. Do you remember me now?”
“No.” The pieces in her brain just weren’t coming together. She could see images, places, people, but they made little sense.
“My God,” he murmured. His voice sounded different now, as if there were small pebbles in it. “What have they done to you?”
She stopped petting and moved her finger upward to the side of her head where the strange mark resided. She tapped it a few times.
“Will it get better on its own?”
She shrugged.
“Damn them,” he muttered.
She started at. Something wasn’t right.
“I apologize. I’m sounding like you now.” Then he paused. “You remembered I don’t swear, at least not often.” A smile grew on his face. “I would think that a good sign.” He pointed toward the animal. “You say that he is not a weasel. What kind of creature is he, then?”
She frowned. “Fer…fer…
“Ferret?”
“Yes. It’s a fer...ferret.”
Heartened, he returned to another question. “What’s your name?”
The handkerchief came to mind. Cynda pulled it out of her pocket and extracted the damaged piece of paper.
“Jacynda,” she announced. When he reached for it, she hid it away. She trusted him, but it was the only thing that told her who she really was.
“Where did you get that?”
“At the crazy place. A woman gave to me.”
“But how did she know your name?” He frowned. “Someone had to tell her. Who brought you there?”
“Macassar,” she replied, pointing to her head.
“I’m sorry, I’m as confused as Keats about this.” He tucked the blanket around her. “I think it’s best we remove your boots. Your socks are probably wet, and that will not do a thing for your health.” She leaned over and watched him unlace each of them. When he removed the second one, a single coin fell to the floor.
He laughed. “I’d forgotten—you store your money in the most improbable of places.” He picked it up and showed it to her. “It’s a shilling.”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I was so hungry.”
The man’s humor withered. “How long have you been on the streets?”
“Ah…don’t know,” she told him. “There was a man…I ran away from him. He wasn’t right.”
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Trust your instincts. That’s the best protection you have right now. Now tuck your feet under the blanket. They’re very cold.”
She did as he asked. He placed her boots and damp socks near the fireplace. Sitting on the couch with her, he opened up a book and then displayed it to her.
“You bought this for me, though I doubt you remember that now. It has proven very helpful. Thank you.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but it seemed to make him feel better. As she held the little animal she stared at the fire. It made her warm and drowsy. Every now and then, the doctor would look over at her then return to his book.
“Just you and me tonight,” he informed her. “Mrs. Butler will move in tomorrow morning. She will be a great help.”
“Who?”
He shook his head, dismayed. After a few more minutes, he thumped the book shut and set it aside. Cautiously, she leaned against him and he tucked her under his arm. He would make a good brother, she thought. He’d never try to hurt her. Try to throw her in the river.
“Go ahead and sleep. You’re safe here,” he whispered.
Reassured, she nestled closer.