“All the same, thanks for not tossing me out on my ear.”
She smiled in the shadows. “You’re welcome.”
Although he could be coarse and contrary, she was beginning to like having him around. In some small way, he reminded her of Freddie. Or, rather, one of her brother’s schoolmates when he was home on holiday. Freddie had never been ashamed of her, never tried to hide her away when his friends invaded their house between terms. As a result—to her face, at least—none of those young men treated her like a freak or an invalid. It had been fun, chatting and flirting over tea. Angelica missed having someone to talk to.
“At any rate, you were saying?”
She tilted her head. “What?”
“Before the lightning, you were going to tell me why you’re a black sheep.”
“Oh.” Angelica didn’t know why she’d almost exposed herself, but she was glad she’d come to her senses. If she confessed everything to Captain Neill, he might not want to talk with her any longer. Some people didn’t know how to react to her—which had been part of the reason why Mother had left her behind. “Never mind. I don’t remember now.”
“Must not have been important.”
She listened as he tossed and turned on the sofa. It was only when they ran out of things to say that his pain and suffering seemed to radiate through the room. She distracted him. She might have even cheered him. At the very least, he wasn’t vomiting anymore. That was a good sign. By some miracle, he might make it through the night after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brody could not sleep. He could never sleep without his nightly injections, but he thought that, after surviving a car crash and walking for miles in the rain, his ragged body might—for once—overpower his mind. Yet, he writhed against the dusty sofa as if his muscles had energy to burn.
It was all part of the withdrawals. Muscle spasms, tremors, nausea, and even hallucinations awaited him until he could find a doctor who’d give him a needle. The night was young and his torment had just begun. He was eternally grateful to Miss Grey for sheltering him. If she wasn’t a ghost, she was certainly his guardian angel.
He liked her. She was quiet, with an economy of words that was refreshing compared to the chatterboxes he’d tolerated before the war. Brody hadn’t spent much time with girls since then, but he assumed they were mostly just as vapid and vain as before.
Not Miss Grey, though. She didn’t tax him with small talk, and never fished for compliments. Strange that she didn’t want him to see her face. He doubted she was ugly. In fact, he’d caught a glimpse of her in the darkness, and she seemed all right—if a touch too thin. Whatever she was hiding, Brody didn’t think her appearance was the issue.
Likely, his angel of the shadows had a secret. That’s why she didn’t want him able to identify her, and why she insisted he leave her out of his story. She did not want anyone to know who she was, or that she was even there.
Brody didn’t mind the secrecy. He too had a few skeletons in his closet, and understood the value of a quiet tongue. He would keep Miss Grey’s confidence as repayment for giving him a safe, quiet, dry place to be sick. He owed her that much at least.
But he didn’t appreciate her friends.
He watched their shadows move in the darkness, their distorted forms darting from corner to corner. Hiding behind the drapes. Dangling from the chandelier overhead.
“Why don’t you go away?” he asked a fat little shadow mocking him from atop a bookcase.
Over his shoulder, Miss Grey rose to her feet. “Alright. I’ll go, but you don’t have to be so rude about it.”
“Not you, girl. Your cronies.”
“My…what?”
He pointed at another one of them. They were everywhere, crawling over everything like maggots. “Your friends. I’d appreciate not having an audience to my suffering.”
Miss Grey sucked in her breath. “We are the only ones here, Captain Neill.”
“I can see them. And when I can’t see them, I can bloody hear the blasted things.”
“Mice, perhaps.” She sat back down on the cold, hard floor. He heard her skirts rustle in the darkness as she situated herself. “There is a feral cat somewhere, who does his best to keep the vermin away. I’m sorry if they’ve upset you. In an old, un-lived-in house like this, I suppose we’re never truly alone. There are probably bats in the attics, too.”
Brody shivered. These weren’t bats or rats, or even cats. She thought she could deceive him, but he knew better. “I’m no fool. I know you’re trying to trick me. Playing some devil’s game.”
“Captain Neill, you’re starting to scare me. I promise you, I’m not playing any games, or trying to trick you. There isn’t anyone else here. Not in this room. Not in this house.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. Suddenly, his mouth felt full of sand. “Could—could I have some water?”