Chapter 16
Sixteen
Henry’s pleasure at Amelia’s arrival was short-lived thanks to hearing the events of that afternoon. “Amelia...”
He hardly knew what to say: his thoughts, already slow because of his aching head, ground to a halt at the idea of her in danger. Again.
They sat in the two chairs before the fire in his bedchamber, and she reached for his hand to hold it. Her touch pleased him but didn’t ease his concern.
“I considered the risks before going,” she insisted quietly.
“Did you?” He turned his hand to better clasp hers, at a loss as to how to discourage her from doing such things. After all, he had never succeeded before.
“I did. Truly. As I told my aunt, the worst they could do was ask us to leave. You know, they never did send me the informational brochure they promised to post. A closer look around was definitely in order.”
Henry tried to calm his frantically beating heart.
He’d been attempting to regain his strength by walking up and down the hall earlier, though he still wore his dressing gown—while it was small progress to be out of bed, he’d taken heart in it—but this news shook him.
He detested the idea of Amelia in possible danger, especially while he was doing nothing.
“Which they did,” he guessed.
“Well, yes.” She sighed, suggesting the outing hadn’t been easy. “I do believe the visit took a toll on Aunt Margaret’s nerves, but she served as an excellent assistant.”
“Let’s agree you won’t ask her to accompany you again,” he said in a dry tone.
Amelia’s courage and ingenuity were two of the many qualities he admired about her, but venturing to the sanatorium without him felt like a step too far.
“It’s not as though our lives were in danger,” she continued, squeezing his fingers as she straightened her shoulders. “Granted, they’re not likely to permit me entrance again, but I want to do what I can to help while you are...currently indisposed.”
Indisposed. “I intend to return to the Yard tomorrow, so you needn’t attempt anything else in my stead.”
“Tomorrow?” Amelia frowned as she studied him, making him wonder what she saw.
Could she tell his head still ached? That his ribs hurt with every breath and exhaustion pulled at his every nerve? Surely by morning, his condition would have improved a little more.
“Each day I’m better.” He spoke as much to reassure himself as her.
“Yes, you are, but these things take time.”
Henry shifted his shoulders, frustrated by that truth. He detested feeling helpless, unable to pursue those who set the bomb or to work his other cases. This vulnerability was both unfamiliar and unwelcome and he hoped it would soon pass, along with his aches and pains.
“I’ve given it enough time and am ready to return. Improvement will happen whether I’m here or there.”
A Mr. Edward Tuttle from the Special Irish Branch had called earlier just after luncheon and asked Henry a few questions, but hadn’t been willing to tell him what they knew thus far. The brief meeting had left him unimpressed, and made him consider doing some investigating of his own.
Yet another reason to get back to work.
Amelia’s disapproving scowl made her opinion clear. “I hope Director Reynolds has the good sense to send you home if you arrive as pale as you look now.”
Obviously he hadn’t fooled her with his effort to act as if recovery was within reach. “At any rate, how did you find Dr. Thorne?”
“Unlikable.”
“How so?”
Amelia’s instincts for people had proved quite accurate in the past, and her opinion mattered. “It was as if she had already decided Aunt Margaret was not worthy of being a patient. Perhaps strangely, that irritated both of us.”
That, at least, forced a smile. “Well, to be fair, your aunt appears to be in good health.”
“Yes, but we prepared a believable story of her being recently diagnosed with cancer.”
He should never have doubted her. “Hmmm. Dr. Thorne must be quite observant if she managed to see through that.”
“I wonder if she didn’t think Aunt Margaret sounded desperate enough. At any rate, I would describe the doctor as intelligent but cold. I don’t think empathy is one of her strengths.”
“Probably a good thing since she’s starving patients and giving prolonged enemas.”
Amelia laughed, making Henry chuckle, though the movement hurt his ribs. To his surprise, the pressure in his head lifted slightly. Perhaps he’d allowed worry to get the best of him.
“That is an excellent point,” Amelia said with a shiver. “I can easily imagine a patient begging for food or...an end to their treatment, and Dr. Thorne denying them.”
“Kindness is apparently not one of her traits either,” Henry suggested, running his thumb over the soft skin of her hand, the touch settling him as little else could.
“Most definitely not. There was a diploma or certificate or something framed on her wall, but I couldn’t read it. She told Aunt Margaret she trained at several schools, and her treatments were a result of the success of healing her own health issues.”
Nothing they did not already know, then. A pity. “Interesting. I look forward to asking her a few questions of my own.”
Amelia cleared her throat and looked at him beneath her lashes, her guilty expression causing him to brace himself.
“What is it?”
“I did…well, manage to look at a patient file while I was there.”
“How?” He was almost as interested in that answer as he was in what she might’ve seen.
“I found an office, complete with two desks and filing cabinets and a few files, while searching for the water closet.” There was something glinting in her eyes.
A bit of pride perhaps? “In truth I was hoping for a glimpse of Miss Elmcroft so I could make sure she was well, but finding the patient file was interesting.”
He hid a smile at that. Amelia truly was clever, but now wasn’t the time to say as much when it would only encourage her. “And?”
“They keep detailed records of treatments based on what I saw. The odd thing was that one particular patient had a ‘final’ treatment listed in his file.” Her gaze met his. “He died the next day.”
Henry considered the possible reasons. “Perhaps the notation was made after his death.”
“His record said he had cancer, so I suppose that could be the case.” Yet she sounded less than convinced.
“Do you remember the patient’s name?”
“Walter. Walter Dunn.”
Henry’s brows lifted. “That is interesting. His nephew is the reason we were able to open the investigation into the sanatorium. He has doubts, too, about the place.”
“Oh, dear. Well, the file didn’t say what the treatment was—at least, not that I saw in my limited review. I only had a brief moment to glance at it before I was interrupted.”
Henry decided against asking for details about what the interruption involved. It would have to wait until he felt more like himself.
“I can’t believe they’d deliberately harm patients.” She worried her bottom lip as she considered the statement. “Why would they? To what end?”
They’d discussed this before, but were unable to draw any conclusions. “Money would be the most likely motivator.”
Which would mean Mr. Dunn’s nephew might be right to question the situation, Henry decided. Why would the late Mr. Dunn choose to change his will to begin with? It seemed unlikely he’d have deep gratitude for what the sanatorium had done for him.
“How often it comes to that.” Amelia shook her head.
It wouldn’t be easy to prove the victim had been under duress to sign the documents changing his will, but surely they could discover whether he’d died from disease or some other cause?
All the more reason Henry needed to return to work.
A knock at his door drew their attention, and they both turned to look as Henry’s mother opened it. “I wanted to invite Mrs. Greystone for dinner this evening.” She glanced at Henry. “And ask if you feel up to venturing downstairs.”
“I do,” Henry said, determined to push through the pain and fatigue. Better that he test his stamina this evening to find his limits rather than doing so at the Yard with the other officers watching him. He smiled at Amelia. “Would you care to join us?”
“I would, thank you. May I send a message to Fernsby to let him know?”
“Of course—and while you do that, I’ll change,” Henry advised.
After his mother and Amelia left, Stubbs arrived, clearly at Henry’s mother’s behest, to help him dress.
“I believe I can manage,” Henry protested, cheeks burning.
“I’m sure you can, sir,” the butler agreed, only to offer a conspiratorial smile. “But I don’t think either one of us wants to advise Mrs. Field that we didn’t comply with her wishes.”
“She can be quite determined,” Henry admitted, easily able to imagine his mother’s displeasure if he didn’t permit Stubbs to help him.
“You didn’t hear anything of the sort from me, sir. Besides, we wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out before you arrived in the dining room, not with company.”
With effort and numerous winces, Henry was soon dressed, though less than pleased by how much the simple movements required to put on clothes caused his side and shoulder to hurt. Perhaps he should stay with his parents a little longer before returning to his lodging house.
He ventured to the drawing room, happy to find his favorite people in the entire world gathered together. He paused in the doorway, appreciating the moment, especially since they were so clearly enjoying one another’s company.
His father was listening to a story Amelia was telling, seeming transfixed by what she said, something Henry could relate to. His mother listened as well, nodding in agreement. Amelia gestured, her face animated as she spoke.
The moment meant more to Henry than he could say. He could easily imagine future evenings like this, perhaps even with Amelia’s parents joining them. His family and her family becoming…their family.
Amelia was a gift in his life, and he intended to treasure every moment with her.
As if feeling the weight of his regard she glanced up, a smile lighting her face, her brown eyes glowing with happiness.
She was beautiful, inside and out. His love for her seemed to deepen daily, and he was more than relieved she hadn’t appeared to decide the dangers associated with his job were too much.
He intended to do all he could to reassure her, and take care each and every day with the hope they would have a lifetime together.
“Henry,” his mother greeted him, her watchful gaze sweeping over him as if to assess how he was faring.
That had him standing straighter before he stepped forward.
“Right on time,” his father declared and rose to pour him a drink. “Amelia was telling us about Master Leopold.”
Henry’s gaze shifted to her. “He has taken over her household and everyone in it.”
“True.” She nodded with a laugh. “I can’t imagine where we would be without him.”
“He sounds delightful,” his mother said as Henry took the glass from his father and joined them. She looked at his father. “Perhaps we should consider getting a cat, Thurmond.”
“Hmmm. I don’t see how we could expect to find one with as interesting a personality as Master Leopold.”
The conversation continued around him as Henry leaned back in his chair and listened, sipping his whiskey.
“I mentioned the sanatorium to your parents,” Amelia advised lightly, “and your mother happens to know someone who was recently a patient.”
“And they still live?” Henry asked with a lifted brow.
“You remember Mr. Olson, don’t you, Henry? He does indeed still live and on the next street.” At Henry’s nod, his mother continued, “He gave a glowing report of the place.”
“He told your mother it was the best thing he ever did for his health,” his father added.
“What did he suffer from?” Amelia asked politely.
“Gout.” His father shook his head. “Such a painful problem. He says the fasting helped considerably.”
“Mr. Olson, yes. I remember him being a rather large man,” Henry said, relieved the man’s image came to mind.
“Not anymore.” His parents shared a look, then his father added, “I nearly didn’t recognize him. He looks much different, though I didn’t realize he’d been at that sanatorium.”
“I’m pleased to hear his health took a turn for the better,” Henry said. “It only makes sense that some ‘guests’ of the sanatorium have had good results, or they wouldn’t be able to attract new patients.”
Perhaps it would be worthwhile to speak with Mr. Olson to see if he had witnessed anything unusual during his stay.
Amelia looked at him, brow puckered. “I hope that’s true more often than not.”
No doubt she was concerned about Miss Elmcroft.
Henry sighed. So was he.