It was nearly dark by the time John was able to return to the Yard. He was exhausted and worried about Charlotte. He hadn’t heard anything from her all day, and he’d even had Michael telegraph Sally’s Gazette to see if she’d stopped in. He told himself he was behaving like an old grandmother. Charlotte was probably at home. She would either visit him soon or send word that she’d sacrificed herself to the Worthingstones. He’d only learned of her resignation that morning, but it felt like days.
He climbed the steps as the day shift was changing over to night, listening with only half an ear to the conversations flowing around him.
“Sir?” The sergeant at the main desk caught his attention. He stepped to John’s side and said in an undertone, “There’s a woman waiting to see you. She’s been in some trouble, but rather than report it to anyone, she wanted to wait for you. I told her I didn’t know if you’d even be back today, but—”
“Thank you, sergeant, I’ll handle it.” He nearly ran to his office.
Charlotte was seated in a chair by Amelie’s vacant desk, and she looked as though she’d been involved in a brawl.
“Charlotte?” he whispered, his heart in his throat. “What on earth . . .”
She stood when she saw him but slipped as if her knee had given out. She didn’t fall but shoved herself upright by pressing her hand against the desk. Her left arm was in a sling, and she bore a deep gash above her eyebrow. Further scrapes alongside her jaw and neck became visible as he drew closer. Her hair was in a loose braid that hung over her shoulder and whisps framed her face.
“John,” she said, lifting her chin, “I have an official report to file.”
“Again?” His heart thudded. “Where is Dirk?”
“He was shot.” Her smile was wobbly. “But he’s recovering, now. I made sure he had a good surgeon.”
His relief at the news was short-lived as the sight of her hurt again nearly dropped him to his knees. “Did you see the assailant?” He put his arm carefully under her right one and ushered her into his office. He pulled out a chair for her.
She sank into it with a muted grunt and a wince. He called out to the night desk sergeant to bring a tea tray and then closed the door, moving his chair close to hers. He took her right hand in both of his and repeated, “What happened? Exactly.”
“Dirk was shot, but he is recovering at Delaney.” She swallowed, and her voice trembled. “I was afraid he was dead. I didn’t know how I was going to tell you.” She took a breath. “A nurse, Maggie Petersen, is sitting with him. She promised me she’ll be his protector through the night.”
She sighed and looked at him, and her chin trembled. She was pale, causing the scrapes and bruises to show in starker relief. She began explaining what he’d already guessed, that the machinations of the Worthingstones forced her resignation, and then ended with the cab ride that had brought her to his office.
He shook his head. “They will pay for this.” He had not thought any anger would have topped what he’d already felt that morning.
“We do not know if the man who attacked me was working for the Worthingstones.”
A knock on the door interrupted them, and John retrieved the tea tray from the sergeant. He poured her a cup and added a splash of milk with two sugars. She smiled at him, but it was a shadow of her usual spark. Her eyes were glassy, and she occasionally squinted at the light. He turned down the sconce, fretting about another head wound mere weeks after she had healed from the first one.
He rubbed his eyes. “I cannot believe he threw you from a moving omnibus.” He put his hands on his hips and looked at her arm in the sling. “At least it’s not the right side again.”
“Small favors.” She took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes.
“I do not know who it would be, if not the Worthingstones,” he said.
“They have already exacted their revenge,” she said. “I resigned from Delaney. They knew it was a feat for me to have secured employment in Town, and she made certain it was finished.”
The corner of her mouth was raw and scraped, and she touched her tongue to it with a wince. He took her teacup when she finished, feeling completely useless and unable to comfort her without causing additional pain.
She frowned at him, then, and looked at him carefully. “Where have you been? You’re looking rather rumpled too.”
He didn’t want to tell her, but he knew she’d hear it eventually. Probably from one of her cousins as Eva had eventually been brought in to photograph the murder scene before the coroner took the body away. “Mr. Fairmont was bludgeoned to death in his office.”
Her mouth slackened, and her eyes opened wide. “That poor man!” She shook her head. “What did we do? What if we led the killer right to his door?”
“It might have no connection to you,” he ventured.
“Of course it does,” she scoffed and put her hand to her eyes. “This just gets progressively worse.”
“Miss Streatfield confirmed that her employer kept good amounts of cash in the office.”
“Was it taken?”
He sighed. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Robbery, not the cause.” She paused. “If the American followed us yesterday, his ‘employer’ would wonder what Fairmont told us. Perhaps he questioned Fairmont and then silenced him permanently.”
John nodded.
“I might assume that if I stop speaking about my mother, cease any questions about that night, that this harassment will end. No new evidence has come to light that would warrant keeping the case open.” She sighed. “It is finished.”
John shook his head. “It is only beginning. The Fairmont murder will tie to Katherine’s death. If they thought to keep it buried, they’ve gone about it the wrong way.”
She nodded and swallowed. She rested her right arm against his desk and put her fingers under her chin, facing away from him and clearly trying to avoid looking at him.
He let the silence sit until a tear rolled down her cheek, breaking his heart. He pulled his chair closer. “Charlotte,” he murmured, placing his hand on her knee and hoping belatedly it was the uninjured one. “My love, look at me.”
He hoped the term of endearment would pull her attention away from the nothing she was staring at, and he was correct. She looked at him with big eyes, her tears continuing to fall.
“I have cried multiple times now in your presence, and I have cried today in the presence of total strangers and a former esteemed colleague.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “This is not me, John. This is not my life. As difficult as things were in school, I did not fall apart and become this puddly mess.”
“You came home to the death of your father, you learned that your mother’s death was not a simple accident, you looked at autopsy photos of your late mother, and today you were thrown from a moving vehicle and dragged along the street. Then, a doctor who was a colleague as of yesterday, caused you an intense amount of physical pain.” He paused. “To his credit, he had no choice in the matter. But you take my meaning. I do not know anyone who wouldn’t have shed a tear or two given such circumstances.”
She didn’t nod or smile or react in any way.
“You are strong.”
A muscle worked in her jaw, and she winced. “I thought I was.”
He suspected that was the root of her distress. He took her face carefully in his hands. “I love you. You are among the most headstrong, stubborn, hardworking, fearless, fascinating, and intelligent people I have ever met in my life. Everything that has occurred since your return home has only reinforced my opinion of you.” He brushed his thumb carefully across her cheek. “And I’ve learned a few additional things about you that I find most intriguing.”
She rolled her eyes, and he dropped his hands as she retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve. “Additional things,” she mocked quietly. “Things such as ‘cries at the drop of a hat.’”
“Additional things such as ‘responds ardently to a kiss in the dark.’ And ‘drives John to distraction with a single glance.’”
She smiled, probably in spite of herself, and shook her head at him. “Incorrigible.”
“Absolutely.”
“I love you too,” she whispered. “So very much.”
His heart pounded. Finally. “I’m relieved to hear it. I’ll not propose yet as it would probably send you running for the hills.”
She chuckled and then put a hand to the cut near her mouth. “Perhaps I will do the proposing. I am a Woman of Independent Means.” She winced. “Or rather, I was.”
“We’ll find another position for you, if not reinstatement at Delaney.” He shook his head. “This will not stand.”
“I’ve a plan. Something I’ve been mulling over since this morning. I’ll share details when they’re more solidified in my head.” She sighed. “I am tired.”
“I am not surprised. Come, let’s go home. I plan to tell Sally tomorrow that I’ll be a Hampton House resident until you propose to me and we move out together.”
She opened her mouth and he quickly said, “No rush. I’m a patient man.”
“Mrs. Burnette will be scandalized anew. The gentlemen’s rooms are on the second floor, you know.”
“A little scandal is good for the most hardened among us.” He wondered if he kept up a steady stream of words they might both relax. “Hampton House has a soft spot in my heart. Do you remember the night we met? Sammy was missing, and we searched the house top to bottom.”
“Quite the memory you have, Director.” She took his arm, and he walked with her slowly out the door and into the great room.
“Never forget a detail,” he said, relieved to hear humor returning to her tone. He hoped she would maintain it, because his had all but fled. He’d managed to bank his anger, but a day of reckoning was on the horizon. Heaven help the Friends when he was finished.