Chapter Four
“NO! YOU CAN’T LEAVE.” MRS. Davis clutched Miss Davis’s arm, upsetting Tristan with the jostling movements. “It isn’t safe out there.”
“Calm yourself, Mum, or you’ll become overwrought and they won’t allow me to visit next week.”
“But they’ll find you and take you from me!”
Ezekiel stepped to Mrs. Davis’s side and gently pried her grip from Miss Davis’s arm. He clasped Mrs. Davis’s hands. “I assure you, your daughter will come to no harm. I will escort her home and fight off any dragons or dark knights that should appear.”
Wild eyes stared back at him. “This is no joke, young man. She’s not safe. There are dangerous people after me, and they will use her to accomplish their revenge.”
He glanced at Miss Davis, and she gave a barely perceptible headshake. If Mrs. Davis needed assurance of her daughter’s safety, then he was more than happy to oblige, whether those villains be in her mind or truly lurking in the shadows.
“I do not joke. A woman’s safety is always a serious matter, and I vow to protect your daughter to the best of my ability.”
“For how long do you vow it?”
The woman was persistent, he’d give her that, but should the Lord bless him with daughters one day, he hoped he’d be as persistent in protecting them. “For as long as the Lord deems my services necessary.”
That seemed to calm her. “Very well. You may go with him, Eleonora, but keep your knitting needles handy.”
Eleonora, was it? A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Although she probably wouldn’t appreciate the comment.
Miss Davis blinked. “Surely you do not trust him because of a few words?”
Mrs. Davis looked him over, then her gaze settled on his. The penetrating clarity was unnerving after her display a moment ago.
“No, I do not, but he’s safer than Winston and Ursula. Of that I am sure.”
“Now that your daughter is in safe hands, it’s time to come along so they can leave before the bridge floods.” The nurse ushered the prima donna toward the door.
Once they left, Ezekiel turned to Miss Davis. “Who are Winston and Ursula? Should I borrow a knife from the kitchen to be prepared to escort you home?” He mimicked holding a fencing position and striking at his invisible opponent, but Miss Davis offered no hint of amusement. What a pity.
“Pay Mum no heed. I am perfectly safe, and there is no need to escort me anywhere. Here, you may have your cat back.” She shifted Tristan toward him, but the cat hissed and clambered onto her shoulder. “Ouch.” She tugged at the paw hooked onto her dress.
“Forgive the beast. It seems he does not wish to give up his time with you.” And I don’t blame him. “Maybe when we exit the building he’ll escape and free us both from an obligation to submit to his demon-like proclivities.”
“If you do not like him, then why keep him?”
“Because Ma does, and I would do anything to see her happy.”
She nodded but didn’t comment. Perhaps that had been too intimate a declaration for a stranger to make, but surely she of all people would understand the sentiment.
They walked to the desk where Ezekiel collected their coats.
He slipped his on, then frowned at Miss Davis’s.
Too bad it wasn’t a cloak. Then he could have draped it over her, but it seemed he would have to reclaim Tristan after all.
Ezekiel set the open basket on the desk and lifted the cat from Miss Davis’s shoulder.
Tristan knew immediately what Ezekiel intended, and his displeasure echoed loudly in the vast space.
At the opening to the basket, the cat’s limbs went every which direction and were as hard to direct as a toddler at a piano.
Every time Ezekiel thought he had control, one limb would shoot free and prevent him from shoving Tristan inside the basket.
After several attempts and some scratches that drew blood, he finally had Tristan contained.
The beast was displeased, but at least now Ezekiel could safely transport him.
“Why does he hate you so?” Miss Davis asked as she buttoned the coat that hugged her appealing form. “In my experience, a pet only dislikes their owner if the owner has mistreated them.”
A paw popped out from beneath the cover, and Ezekiel pushed it back in. “He unjustly blames me for his injuries. He got into a fight with a feral dog. I intervened, but not in time to prevent the torn ears and the cut that led to the loss of his eye.”
“You intervened with a feral dog? What if it had rabies?”
“Then I suppose you wouldn’t be conversing with me right now.” Even with the jest, he couldn’t erase the somberness that memory conjured. “We’d just lost Pa hours before. I couldn’t allow Ma to suffer another loss so soon.”
There was a softening in her countenance, but the moment she realized it, she pivoted away under the guise of collecting her bag and umbrella. It seemed today was full of victories.
Outside, the rain was falling with the speed and ferocity of Beethoven’s third movement of Moonlight Sonata.
He knew he should have brought an umbrella with him, but wrangling Tristan without one had been hard enough.
Now it seemed he would have to spend the hour ride home wet.
Although, by the looks of the dilapidated hack and the horse pulling it, it would be better if he walked, even if it meant miles of getting soaked.
The sagged-back mare might have survived the horse flu epidemic of ’72, but it certainly hadn’t recovered.
The poor beast should be turned out in a field to live the remainder of its days, not hauling around an equally feeble hack.
Alas, it was the only horse and hack in view.
Miss Davis frowned as she opened her umbrella. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to wait for another?”
There was no way he’d allow her to travel alone in that rickety thing.
“I’m afraid not. I’m a man of my word, and I did promise your ma I’d see you safely home.
” He lowered his voice. “And your safety is certainly in question with that infirm steed and death trap. Don’t worry, I’m sure Tristan will prove an apt chaperone. ”
Without further comment, she strode from the portico and walked at an unhurried pace through the rain.
Of course, she had an umbrella that shielded her from the worst of the aggressive downpour.
He ducked his head so his hat redirected the rain to roll in rivulets onto his clothes instead of down his face.
When he reached the hack’s door, Miss Davis stood in the way with arms outstretched.
Was she suddenly so grateful for his attending her on this questionable ride she wished to embrace him?
“Hand me Tristan.” Ah. That made more sense but was still a disappointment. “At least with him in my lap I know you cannot touch me without his intervention.”
His clothes dampened more with every second he stood outside, but he couldn’t resist goading her. “Or I can hold him, leaving me able to do nothing but stare at your beautiful face.”
At her scowl, he feared he might have pushed too far.
“Discard the charm, or you and your cat can walk home.”
“My apologies. If Tristan makes you feel safer, then, by all means, take him.”
As soon as Ezekiel loosed his grip, Tristan pushed at the cover.
Miss Davis was quicker than his escape. She had the basket on her lap and the cover secured before the cat could do anything more than poke a paw out.
The two-person conveyance ensured Ezekiel sat next to her, but out of respect for her, he slid as far from her as he was able—which wasn’t much, even with her doing the same on her side.
“Destination?” the driver asked through the slot near their heads.
Ezekiel indicated for Miss Davis to speak, and she eyed him warily. “Central Station, please.”
“Are you hoping to have me arrested for being too charming?” He jested, but the destination did discomfort him.
“My friend is engaged to a detective there. He will see me home and allow me to preserve my address from a complete stranger.”
“Not complete. We have been formally introduced now, Miss Nora Davis.”
“Do not mistake the civility required in front of our mums to extend beyond those walls, Mr. Beaumont. If you should see me anywhere but at the asylum, you must pretend we’ve never met.” With that, Miss Davis faced the window, effectively dismissing any further conversation.
He’d give her his silence . . . at least for part of the ride. But before they reached Central Station, Ezekiel would change her mind about an acquaintance with him. He just had to form a better strategy first.
Eleonora was gone again, this time with that Mr. Beaumont. Had Constanza made the right decision in permitting him to escort Eleonora and serve as her defender? It was impossible to know for sure until she returned.
Constanza tugged at the collar of her personal dress, a blessing that being a paid-patient allowed for.
Otherwise she’d be in one of those horrid brown gowns that identified her as a ward of the state.
She preceded Nurse Abbott up the dimly lit stairs at the back of the corridor to the fourth-floor ward where they kept her locked away and oblivious to the outside world.