John tied his cravat clumsily the next morning using a mirror that stood in Eva Caldwell’s former dressing chamber at Hampton House. Upon arriving the night before, he’d informed Mrs. Burnette that he would be renting Eva’s old room for the foreseeable future, and one look at Charlotte’s face cancelled any protests the housekeeper might have voiced.
He gathered his greatcoat and the leather case he used to carry files to and from his office. He paused outside Charlotte’s room, but he couldn’t hear her moving around. He thought of knocking but decided to let her sleep. It had been late before Mrs. Burnette had been able to clean her up and put her to bed.
He made his way downstairs to the dining room where Hampton House’s other residents—two elderly men named Mr. Roy and Mr. Croft—dined in companionable silence. One of the maids, Sarah, noted John’s presence and gestured to the sideboard where breakfast was laid out.
“I’ll eat in a moment, thank you. Is Mrs. Burnette available?” he asked.
Sarah retreated to the kitchen, and when Mrs. Burnette appeared, he took her by the elbow and led her to the parlor.
“Is Miss Duvall not doing well?” the woman asked him with clear concern.
“She is fine for the moment. I have sent word to Matron Halcomb at Delaney Hospital that she requires a day of recuperation at home following an accident.”
Mrs. Burnette frowned. “She’ll not be happy about that.”
“Which is precisely why I obtained Miss Duvall’s permission first.” She’d been too tired to make much of an argument, that was true, but John had gotten enough of an agreement from Charlotte to cover himself for future defense. “I understand you’ve been advertising the three vacant rooms on the first floor, but I’d ask that you pull the advertisement for a time. I’ve hired a man to accompany Charlotte when I cannot be with her, and he will require use of one of the rooms across the common area.”
Mrs. Burnette blinked. “You’re suggesting I allow two unmarried men and one unmarried woman to cohabitate on the same floor of this exceptionally respectable boardinghouse?”
“Bear in mind you’ll be well compensated in rents.”
“I do not care a fig for the rents!” The woman lowered her voice but punctuated each word as though shouting. “I’ll not have Hampton House gain a reputation as a house of . . . of . . . ill repute!” She blushed on the last phrase, and he wondered if she’d ever uttered it before.
“Do you remember Miss Duvall’s condition when I brought her home last night? Would you like to go upstairs with me now and take another look at her face?” He’d also lowered his voice but felt his irritation rise. “You have my word that the temporary living situation on the first floor of this hallowed house is not to perpetuate nefarious activity but to keep Miss Duvall from being killed.”
Mrs. Burnette pressed her lips together, and although she may not have approved, she also did not argue further. “Very well,” she sniffed. “I shall inform Miss Sally Hampton of the temporary arrangements.”
“Much appreciated, Mrs. Burnette. If I might be so bold—had I not devised this solution, I believe Miss Hampton would have suggested one similar. I suspect she will wholeheartedly approve.”
She nodded, frowning.
“The gentleman occupying Miss Amelie’s former room goes by the name of Dirk. He is set to arrive within the hour, and I will orient him to the house and his duties.”
“Dirk?”
“Yes. Dirk.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A man who provides personal security is conveniently named ‘Dirk’?”
“I do not question the name he may or may not have been born under. He is exceptional at his profession, and I trust him with my life.” A knock sounded at the door, and John smiled. “I suspect that is the man himself.”
Mrs. Burnette left the parlor to answer the door, and John knew his supposition was correct when he saw the woman’s head tip back to take in the visitor’s tall stature. Before long, she ushered the man into the parlor, where John greeted him with a warm handshake.
Dirk was a former police officer, Scottish, who had formed an independent security service. What had begun as a one-man operation had bloomed into a team of seven with Dirk at the helm. Their work was discreet and professional and had grown to the point where Dirk had the luxury of being selective in his company’s clientele. John had worked by the man’s side on multiple occasions and had him to thank for saving his life.
“Follow me, if you will,” John said, and the large, muscled, blond man nodded as he took in the surroundings with his sharp blue eyes. He’d yet to utter a word, and John knew that would remain the case until absolutely necessary. As they made their way up the stairs, John explained the layout of the first floor. They sat in two comfortable chairs in the common area, and he gave Dirk details of what he knew so far about Charlotte’s situation, the letter from her father, and the attack the night before.
“Her routine mostly includes travel between here and Delaney Hospital?” Dirk asked in his distinctive Scottish burr.
“Yes.” John frowned. “I know she is intent on learning who was behind the attack, but I do not know what that will mean for her movements outside work and home. Her schedule has, in the past, included social events—dinners, balls, musicales, soirees. Nothing you haven’t handled before.”
Dirk nodded. He had an uncanny ability to make himself invisible unless he wanted to be seen. He’d mastered the art of blending in as a domestic servant to an impressive degree.
“Either of these two rooms is available to you,” John said, gesturing. “I’ll coordinate my schedule with yours so we’re not overlapping. Leave any invoices or expenses with me, and I’ll see to them immediately.”
“Not with Miss Duvall?”
“No. I’m handling the costs.”
Dirk nodded but kept any opinions to himself. “Very well. Is Miss Duvall aware of my assignment?”
John opened his mouth just as Charlotte’s door opened. “She is about to be,” he said with a wry smile.
Charlotte emerged from her room wearing a simple day dress and pale blue housecoat. She’d fashioned a makeshift cold bandage the night before by lining her reticule with baking parchment and a block of ice chipped from the cold cellar. It seemed to have helped with the swelling, but bruises and cuts still adorned half of her face. She’d affixed a smaller bandage to the deepest of the cuts and, to John’s relief, no blood had seeped through.
“Hello,” she said as both men rose. She looked at Dirk, eyes curious, and automatically offered her wounded right hand, which was now splinted. “Oh,” she said, pulling it back. “Apologies. I am Charlotte Duvall—and I seem to have intruded on a tea party.”
Dirk tipped his head and offered her his left hand, which she took with a broadening smile. “Dirk,” he said. “I believe Ellis was just going to explain the reason for my visit.”
“A Scotsman,” she said, waving them both back to their seats as she took the settee adjacent theirs. “Welcome to Hampton House.”
“Dirk is going to be your shadow for a time, Charlotte, when I am unable to be with you.” John tensed, awaiting her response.
“I see,” she said slowly. She lowered the ice packet and rested it on her wrist in her lap.
The sight of her battered face solidified John’s determination to solve the matter at hand, and quickly. “He’ll take Amelie’s old bedroom and keep an eye on things while we investigate. That way you can continue to go about your life without fear of another attack.”
The silence stretched, and suddenly the ticking of the clock on the wall sounded loud.
“I certainly appreciate the idea,” Charlotte finally said, “but that seems an awful amount of fuss. I’ve committed to keep away from alleys and strange pubs. As long as I do not overtly pursue the identity of my attacker, I should be fine.”
“Which indicates you plan to discreetly pursue the identity of your attacker.” A muscle worked in John’s jaw.
Charlotte sighed. “I sincerely doubt I shall have much time to do anything but work. I’ll leave the detective work to you.” She turned to Dirk. “I apologize if Mr. Ellis has brought you here unnecessarily and wasted your time.”
Dirk studied her for a moment and then lifted a finger, indicating her face. “This happened to you last night within twenty minutes of leaving the hospital? Because you asked one person about the identity of a message sender?”
She pursed her lips and nodded once.
“Pressure on your father’s enemies will only increase as Ellis investigates a twenty-year-old murder. This will get worse.”
Her lips were still pursed, but she remained quiet.
“I am here as a favor to Ellis. I’ve never known him to be overly cautious. If he feels there is a justified reason for security, only a fool would dismiss it.”
She bit the inside of her cheek and finally the corner of her mouth lifted. “You knew just the right words to use, Mr. Dirk. Very well, John, as I am no fool, I graciously and gratefully accept your efforts to keep me safe.”
Whether or not sarcasm laced her words, he wasn’t sure, but John was impressed with Dirk. His blunt approach had accomplished more than an hour’s worth of cajoling on John’s part would have.
“I’ll keep you both apprised of anything new I learn,” John said. “I have unavoidable meetings today and an obligatory supper with my parents, but I’ve asked Amelie to dig into the archives for any files on your mother’s death.”
Charlotte nodded. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I am restless already; perhaps I’ll go into work for a few hours.”
“Allow yourself one day to rest, Charlotte,” John said, exasperated. “One day.” He moved to the settee beside her and looked at her eyes. “I’m no doctor, but you still seem a bit cloudy.”
“My pupils are much smaller this morning,” she muttered with a scowl.
“Much, but not normal.” He took her left hand. “One day. All right?”
“Very well.” She looked at Dirk. “I’m afraid you’re in for a boring time, Mr. Dirk.”
“It’s just ‘Dirk.’ And I’ve plenty to keep me occupied. Please don’t think you need to entertain me.”
“That really is a lovely accent,” Charlotte said, smiling at him.
John suppressed a groan. He’d been witness to more than one woman becoming dazzled by the handsome, rugged Scotsman. He had nobody but himself to blame if he lost his best friend to the man.
She was his best friend, he realized as he stood and made his goodbyes. He didn’t think he would ever recover from the shock of seeing her last night after the attack. He would move heaven and earth to keep her from ever being hurt again, and as he heard Dirk’s low voice say something, followed by her soft laughter, he hardened his resolve.
Thoughts of Charlotte dominated John’s mind throughout the day, distracting him from his meetings. Eventually, the day wound down to suppertime, and as much as he wanted to return to Hampton House for a quiet meal in the cozy dining room, he instead made his way to his parents’ large town house.
He reminded himself that it was important to maintain familial ties as they joined around the table for supper. His father’s contacts in Parliament were also important to success in his own career, much to his regret.
His elder brother, Edgar Ellis II, and sister-in-law, Hortense, were in attendance that evening, which only strained matters further.
“Delightful to see the Hampton woman returned to Town,” Hortense said with a glance in John’s direction. “There was a time when they and your detective friends formed your only social circle.”
“Darling,” Edgar interjected, “those ‘detective friends’ are John’s subordinates. We mustn’t forget he is the director of the CID.”
It was a predictable pattern of attack. Hortense’s salvos usually contained thinly veiled criticisms of his social choices, and Edgar’s invariably contained a cut at John’s profession. It was tiresome, and the thought of that exact scene replaying itself decades into the future was enough to turn his stomach.
“Oh, John, surely you’re not going about again with those people,” his mother, Adele, said. “I saw you dancing with the girl at the Fulbrights’ ball, which was to be expected as it was her first appearance since returning to Town. But to have it continue, just as before?”
“Those people, my ‘subordinates,’ as you call them, Edgar, are exceptionally well socially connected. The women are Hamptons, and Detective Winston has enough money to make even the queen blush. I should think that alone, while crass, would be enough to put your mind at ease about the company I keep.” He speared a piece of lamb and chewed it thoughtfully.
Hortense opened her mouth, but he lifted his fork and added, “I seem to recall even you, dear sister, have sought an invitation to Mrs. Winston’s seaside holiday charity the last three years running. As I am on favorable terms with Mrs. Winston, I shall put in a good word for you next year. Perhaps your hopes will be realized.”
Hortense closed her mouth, and two spots of color appeared high on her cheeks. John wished he could find it within himself to regret embarrassing his brother’s wife, but he was tired, Charlotte was on his mind, and he was not in the mood to hear her disparaged.
“While I never venture to assume the meaning behind any woman’s thoughts,” John’s father, Edgar Ellis, Earl of Ashby, said, “I presume Hortense disapproves of your friend’s choice of hobbies.”
John continued eating but spared his father a flat look. “By ‘hobbies,’ do you reference the fact that Miss Duvall is a medical doctor?”
“Hardly suitable for a woman, John,” Adele interrupted, “and you well know it. You pretend ignorance to our disapproval, as if you can’t imagine why we should feel such a thing, and it is tiresome.” She scowled at him before resuming her meal. “I would dearly love for this family to enjoy a meal together just once that does not involve bickering. You’ve again dragged us into disagreement, John.”
“Now, Mother,” Edgar said, a smile on his face as he winked at John, “we mustn’t blame all our ills at John’s feet.”
“Thank you, Edgar,” John said, waiting for the insult that was sure to follow.
“Of course, brother. You spend your time with criminals and common folk; ’tis no wonder you find yourself surly at the end of the day.”
“There it is,” John said, lifting his glass to Edgar in salute. “Masterfully done.”
Edgar arched a brow at John as he put a forkful of food into his mouth and slowly chewed. There was no love lost between the brothers. Edgar was the elder by nine years, so by the time John had arrived, Edgar was already being groomed to inherit their father’s title one day. John was never sure if his brother’s resentment was genuine disgust at John’s career choice or envy that he’d been free to choose his own path.
After a few minutes of silence punctuated only by the scraping of silverware, Ashby asked, “Is she looking to obtain work at a hospital in Town?”
“Do you mean Miss Duvall?”
Ashby’s nostrils flared slightly, and John had to admire his father’s successful effort to not roll his eyes in irritation. “Yes.”
“I believe she is.”
“Which hospital?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea.” The lie fell smoothly from his lips. He wanted to keep a fair distance between Charlotte and any meddling his family might concoct. He couldn’t imagine his father cared one way or the other who John’s associates were as long as they didn’t sully the family name or interfere with Ashby’s status in Parliament. The influence Ashby wielded was extensive, however, and John didn’t want Charlotte’s career sabotaged in any way.
The meal continued in merciful, albeit awkward, silence. Adele and Hortense eventually left the dining room so the gentlemen could enjoy a glass of port, and John counted the minutes until he could make an acceptable exit. But it seemed his father was not quite finished with the subject of Charlotte and her profession.
“I’m happy to provide a character reference for your Hampton friend if you wish it. I know the board members of several hospitals and clinics in Town.”
“Thank you, sir, but I admit confusion about the sudden interest in Miss Duvall’s career.”
“You’re so suspicious, John,” Edgar interjected, lazily swirling his port between two fingers. “Can we not simply offer support for someone whose company you seem to enjoy?”
John imagined the satisfaction he’d feel in knocking loose Edgar’s drink by lobbing the gravy boat at it. He almost smiled at the thought. “I am suspicious of ulterior motives. As you said, I work with criminals on the daily; you’ll forgive me for assuming the worst.”
Ashby remained quiet, and John regarded his father while taking a sip of his drink. His father collected information—bits and pieces on everyone and everything that crossed his path—and used it to his advantage. John suspected that trait, which had passed to him, was one that so often led John to success in his work. It was also the reason why he couldn’t assume his father was taking an interest in Charlotte out of the random goodness of his heart. Nothing with Ashby was ever simple.
“Frankly, John,” his father finally said, “I couldn’t care less with whom you choose to socialize privately. It would benefit appearances, however, if you would begin to pay attention to suitable women of matrimonial material. You’re into your thirties; you’ve had time to enjoy bachelorhood.”
“I shouldn’t think my marital status would be of import to anyone—Edgar is your heir, and he has two sons. Even were I to remain single for decades, it should be no cause for concern.”
“My patience with your glib attitude will stretch only so far.” Ashby’s tone was quiet but sharp. “We’ve a family name to protect, and I’ll not have my progeny sully it. We marry suitable women and maintain a respectable reputation.” He paused, and at John’s silence, added, “I am well aware you make liberal use of the family name and connections to me in furtherance of your investigations. I’ve never taken issue with it because it is not something you’ve abused. Think about what I’ve said, however; I should hate to be forced to tell my colleagues that additional funding for the police would be a wasteful use of Her Majesty’s coffers. Or that cooperating with any future investigations would be ill-advised because my misguided son has leanings that would prove harmful to the party.”
John carefully set his glass on the table, studying the pattern on the tablecloth beneath it, gathering his thoughts. He cast aside a dozen retorts that sat ready on his tongue, and in the end, smiled.
“Well? Have you nothing to say?”
“The one thing you need never concern yourself with, sir, is the prospect of my causing a public scandal. I think if nothing else; you should know that about me.”
Edgar sat forward in his chair. “Continued fraternization with a . . . a woman doctor—let alone one who studied in America—is hardly conventional. You know the kind of surgeries women doctors perform!”
“An unflattering lie, propagated decades ago by cheap, ignorant literature.”
Edgar’s face reddened with frustration. “Come now, John, it was one thing when she was younger and you were sowing your oats, as it were. Now, however—”
Reaching the end of the proverbial rope, John straightened in his chair. “I don’t care for your tone or your insinuation, Edgar. Charlotte Duvall’s reputation was, and still is, impeccable.” He felt his temper surging and decided the time had come to make his farewells. “If you’ll excuse me, Father, I’m afraid I have work that requires my attention.”
John found his mother in her parlor and kissed her cheek, as was expected. She was still irked with him, as evidenced by the tight smile she gave him, but she did say, “I hope you’ll attend the Davises’ soiree next week. Lady Compton has twin daughters who are enjoying their first Season, and I’m certain they would enjoy a gentleman’s polite conversation.”
He grimaced a smile and glanced at Hortense, who barely looked up from her needlework. As he left the parlor and made his way across the spacious foyer to the front door, he couldn’t help but compare the tomb-like quiet of the large house with the noise and joy he always found in his friends’ homes. Even the children playing underfoot was preferable to the farce of a family gathering he’d just endured.
He accepted help from the butler, Jones, as he shrugged into his coat. Nodding his thanks to the aging man, he put his hat on and stepped out into the cold. This house had been his primary residence except when he had been away at school, and while familiar, he never felt the pang of homecoming so many poets wrote about. In fact, he mused as he climbed into his carriage, he could pinpoint the time when his life had begun to change, when he’d learned the joy that could be found when relaxing with genuine friends. It was when Michael Baker had met the Hampton cousins and pulled John and Nathan along with him into their world.
He leaned back and closed his eyes as the carriage bumped along through the streets to Bloomsbury. Although the reason for his temporary residence at Hampton House was unfortunate, he couldn’t help the sense of rightness he felt at going home at the end of the day to wherever Charlotte Duvall was. His heart thrummed in anticipation of seeing her, glad she’d acquiesced and allowed Dirk to help keep her safe.
As the carriage arrived at Hampton House, he gathered the documents and files Amelie had pulled from the archives. He was hopeful he’d find something useful for Charlotte regarding her mother’s death, but he also knew he may have to disappoint her. As that was the last thing he ever wanted to do, he resolved to not leave even a stone unturned. She was the only person he could think of whose trials would keep him up late willingly. It was just as well, he mused wryly as he exited the carriage. He’d thought of little else since her return.