Chapter Six
A da watched the Cavalier transform before her eyes. The cocky gambler from the previous night was now a doctor in full command. He’d scooped up the boy—Max was his name—tightly in his arms as he led the small entourage out of Regent’s Park, through Marylebone. He knew the way and didn’t stop except to cross the street. Ada followed eagerly. Alfred made a sharp turn into the entrance of an inconspicuous white building.
87 Harley Street
They’d arrived. Alfred didn’t bother knocking and simply walked in, little Max in his arms. Ada followed after the boy’s mother.
“Alfred, what happened?” A young man in a white apothecary’s apron corked a tiny dark brown vial in his hand and came around to the child.
“This is my dear friend, Mr. Collins. The pharmacist.” Alfred gingerly placed the boy on the shiny wooden counter. His mother mumbled a greeting. Ada curtsied. Behind the pharmacist was a wall of small drawers with metal latches, rows of shelves with tin boxes and glass bottles, and various wooden cases. A well-stocked apothecary, Ada thought.
“Little Max here caught a monster squirrel at the park and got bitten,” Alfred said.
“A monster squirrel. In London,” Mr. Collins said with grave understanding. He exchanged glances with Alfred. Ada stifled a laugh. They seemed to be old friends. “Well then, let’s make sure there are no pieces of the fangs still stuck–”
“Fangs?” the little boy screamed, but Mr. Collins had already poured a pungent liquid from a brown glass bottle onto the wound. The concoction smelled almost minty but reminded Ada more of a salad than candy. Alfred collected the surplus in a kidney-shaped metal bowl.
“Oh yes, I heard that monsters sometimes drop their fangs if they bite into something very hard.” Alfred handed Ada his bag to hold. Then he opened it and reached in to produce a small, clear glass jar filled with a white powder. He turned to the little boy’s mother, who hovered behind him, and he gave her a reassuring smile that Ada realized was for Max’s benefit more than anyone else’s. He said, “This is a detection powder. If it goes away in a few days, we know there are no fangs left.” Alfred gave the boy’s mother a wink and a nod.
She looked from Alfred to the boy, and then back again. The mother didn’t seem to understand at first, but then her eyes widened as she caught on to his meaning. “Oh,” she said, “Yes! I see. For… fangs .”
Alfred nodded and gave her a look that spoke of his concern. “This will let us know if we’ve eliminated all the effects of ‘monster fangs.’ But if you see any discoloration, white blisters, or redness, come back, all right?”
The mother nodded gratefully and brushed Max’s hair from his face.
As if they’d done it together a million times, Alfred and the pharmacist bandaged the boy’s hand. With a last tug of the strip of fabric that secured the bandage, Alfred helped the boy off the counter and gestured to a small table and chairs tucked into a corner under the staircase.
“Now take some paper from the table over there and pick some watercolors. You mustn’t go without drawing an exact likeness of the monster squirrel.”
“I’ll hang it right here as a warning for other monsters,” Mr. Collins added.
“Will you catch it?” The boy asked, ready to dart off to what Ada realized was a children’s waiting area. Besides watercolors and brushes, there were alphabet blocks and a doll with ribbons and woolly braids.
“I’ll catch it today!” Alfred took his bag from Ada and snapped the latch shut. “Let’s bring the monster to justice,” he said, taking her hand again. He nodded his goodbye and dragged her out of the office and onto the bright street.
Ada was flabbergasted. This stranger—The Cavalier—had such a charming way with the little boy and yet he looked like a Greek marble sculpture, his golden hair glistening in the sun. His rugged beauty and athletic build clashed with the nimble fingers and dexterity he’d shown when bandaging the child. He didn’t fit in The Lyon’s Den last night, but he’d gambled as if he did. But then again, so did she. Should she give him the benefit of the doubt despite where she’d met him?
Would he give her the benefit of the doubt even though he’d met her there?
She struggled to come up with something to say and then latched onto the first thought that came to mind. “That ointment. From the bottle. Didn’t that sting him?”
“The sage oil, oh yes, very much,” he blinked, still gripping her hand and pulling her down the street, then around a corner heading toward Ulster Terrace. She looked at her small hand in his large one. A doctor. She twitched with glee and followed willingly past the white buildings and a flower shop with wooden buckets stuffed with tulips at either side of the door.
“But he didn’t cry.”
“They never do. I distracted him.” He gave a mischievous smile and exuded a perfectly boyish charm. Alfred combined elegance in his manner of speaking with a fierceness in his gaze that made her shiver.
She felt the need to cut the silence, but her heart pounded so hard that she couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say. “I didn’t think squirrels had fangs.” She shrank away as soon as she realized how stupid that sounded. “I mean, they have rather long front teeth to crack nuts and flick acorn hats off, don’t they?”
“I’m a doctor, not a dentist.” He cast her a half-smile, but his eyes observed her more closely trailing slowly over her features.
“Do you work at the practice with Mr. Collins?” Chastising herself for spitting out question after question, Ada tried to keep up with his long steps. They walked down another typical Marylebone street. In this part of London, most of the white stone houses were attached, donning heavily ornamented front doors topped with fanlights and flanked with symmetrical twelve or sixteen-pane windows on either side. A few stairs led up to the entrances, and small flower beds or grass interrupted the stony urban rows.
“I hope to purchase a practice nearby. So, no. Not yet.” He pulled her hand onto his muscular arm and placed his other hand over hers. “We’re here.” He beamed at her, and she looked up. They were standing on the side of the road alongside a black wrought-iron fence like those in front of every building.
He stood in the light so that the sunshine illuminated him from behind. It was a splendid view and Ada was agog over the lovely sights of London. Him in particular.
Alfred gestured toward a door.
“Where are we?” She forced her eyes off the gorgeous young doctor who held her hand and read the signs over the striped awning.
Patisserie de la Loire
A little bell rang over Ada’s head as Alfred opened the door for her. She could have sworn he stayed behind and ogled her from the back, but she was immediately drawn by the pastries on the glass display. Her eyes trailed over the sweet treats decorated with piped cream, cherries, and even slices of green fruit with a circle of small seeds at the core. The scent of burned sugar and grated lemon rind enveloped her fully. How different the sweetness was and what a contrast to the Silvers’ death stench of the butchery. Here, among the beautifully garnished pastries, life took on a magically happy rhythm.
By the time the patron welcomed them and exchanged niceties with Alfred, Ada was in a trance of sweet delight. Until now, she hadn’t realized how deprived she’d been of the continental European delicacies. The Silvers never allowed her treats. Their bread pudding, albeit sweet, had grown boring and rather too filling.
“Ada?” came the resonant voice of the tall doctor on her side. “Ada?”
“Oh yes, pardon me.” She brushed some imaginary flyaways behind her ears and tried to avoid his gaze. “This all looks rather lovely.”
“Made fresh every morning, milady,” the chef said proudly from behind the counter. He had a heavy French accent. Ada immediately felt at home.
“Les patisseries me rappellent mon enfance .” The pastries remind me of my childhood. The man beamed when Ada spoke French.
“Qu’est-ce que vous préférez alors, mademoiselle? La crème anglaise, les fraises, our peut-être quelque’chose avec du chocolat? ” What do you prefer, Miss? Custard, strawberries, or maybe chocolate?
Alfred flashed a wide toothy smile. “I did not know you’d be this excited over lunch.”
She clasped both hands under her chin in excitement. She felt like a little girl in a toy shop, she couldn’t pick her favorite. “I—I honestly can’t decide. They all look and smell so delicious!”.
“You are astonishing, Ada. And I… ahem… never say that.” She blinked away from the pastries again to meet his gaze. His eyes were molten.
“I didn’t expect such a delightful place in London.” She bit her tongue; she didn’t want to jinx this promising encounter. She broke into a cold sweat, but it was not the terrifying kind that cut her breath off. Instead, her chest filled with vigor and happiness. She liked being near Alfred even though he’d been the first to break her streak of winning at cards. There was more to him than she’d initially seen at the rouge et noir table, and she wanted to know more. It appeared like he saw Ada, not merely the servant or the gambler in her.
“You are my guest.” Alfred’s voice was smooth and even more inviting than the treats on display. Ada was entranced by the irresistible display before her. The eclairs gleamed under the soft light, filled to perfection with a luscious, velvety crème patissière , and topped with a sliver of toasted almonds. Beside them sat ornate croquembouche towers, each a testament to the unparalleled craftsmanship of the skilled patissier . The heady scent of sweet vanilla and rich chocolate permeated the air, blending seamlessly with the warmth of freshly baked treats.
“I cannot choose.” She opened her palms and touched her cheeks in delicious distress, unable to pick her favorite.
“One of each, please,” Alfred said, and the French chef’s eyes gleamed.
“ Oui, monsieur. Right away, Dr. Stein.”
Alfred invited Ada to hook her hand back onto his arm and left the shop. “But the sweets!” Ada protested.
“He knows where to bring them. Come with me.”