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Emma stared her. “Child! You went into the Thames? Why, ’tis filthy with the rot of thousands, no matter what they say has been done for sanitation in the reign of our good Queen Victoria!”
“I’ve been in it before,” the girl murmured. She flushed again, catching Hunter’s glance, “I…uh…think I’ve been in it before! I mean…perhaps I’ve been in water quite frequently…at least, I believe that I have….”
Emma glared at Hunter once more. “Well, and look at you, in just your drawers and a blanket! Humph!” She wagged a finger at Hunter. “You, sir, have your reputation, but it shall not sully mine. I’ll see to it that our poor dear guest has a bath and is set right up. Ethan! You must go for the doctor immediately—”
“Doctor!” the girl protested.
“Of course! You’ve lost your memory. And with the master of the house around, dear, we wouldn’t want to add to that the fact that you’ve lost your senses! No, no, this must be handled in all proper haste!”
“Emma, I’m hardly likely to seduce the girl beneath my own roof,” Hunter murmured wryly.
“Indeed, hardly likely,” the girl muttered.
“In fact, Ethan will help me out of this river sop I wear, Emma, and you see to the young lady here. They’ll be wanting to know about this at Lord Avery’s manor—it was David Turnberry who went into the drink, and he’ll want to thank our mystery girl properly. I’ll give a call to the manor—assuming the blasted telephone decides to work—let them know that I’ve got the girl.”
“But I do think we should have the doctor—” Emma began to protest.
“I’m fine!” the girl assured her.
“Humph!” Emma said.
“Let’s see…perhaps we should give her until the morning, see how she is faring then. Emma, I’m sure you will have a delightful room ready somewhere in this place?” Hunter said.
“A bath…and a bit of rest. Alone. If I may. That would be lovely,” the girl said. “And if I feel at all ill in the morning, I swear I’ll see a doctor!”
“All right, then, Hunter, be gone up the stairs. Young woman, I’ll get a good deep bath going, and you’ll be warm and cozy in no time. Now, Hunter, you must stay away.”
“Good Lord, trust me, I intend to!” he assured Emma. He couldn’t help winking at his less-than-gracious guest before he passed her by. His fine deck shoes squeaked and he was beginning to feel more than a chill, despite the blanket around his shoulders.
Ethan followed him to his room, dragging out the hip bath, ready to be of service. “Stop, my friend,” said Hunter. “I’ll heat my own bath. See to it that there are coins left on the dresser in the blue room—which is surely where Emma will take our guest. Oh, and see that there are enough coins for transport in the pocket of whatever piece of clothing Emma chooses for our guest.”
Ethan arched a brow.
“Believe me, my friend,” said Hunter. “It is for the girl’s benefit.”
“You want her to run away?”
“She’s going to run back to the river. You mark my words. Besides, don’t worry. I intend to run after her. Ah, Ethan! Please, just do as I say!”
Ethan grunted but left to do as bidden.
KAT, HER MEMORY QUITE INTACT, found being and talking with Mrs. Johnson—Emma, as she preferred to be called—easy and comfortable. The woman was so warm and caring! Kat didn’t think that she’d ever had such a delightful bath, the water so deliciously warm. The house and furnishings were exquisite. Kat had never been in such luxury!
Emma chatted about the neighborhood—charming, she adored it, they’d been there almost a decade. Then there was the amazing way one could now get about—on a train in a tube underground! “Oh, that it had been there when I was a young girl!” she declared. She mostly talked about Sir Hunter MacDonald, the love of her life, it seemed.
Kat wished desperately that she’d been taken to the home of David Turnberry, instead, for she was certain that there she’d have heard from his housekeeper and might have learned all kinds of delicious little nuggets about his life. But it wasn’t to be. She had to remember where she was. And why.
And remember to be grateful. So she listened. Sir Hunter had been an impressive soldier, and it had been for his gallant service to his country that he had been knighted. Why, Emma gushed, he was called upon often to play the diplomat for the queen! And, well, of course, he did have his reputation, but only because there were so many widows and even a few divorcées who did not understand mourning as did their dear queen. And Americans! Well…they were a breed of their own, adventurers-adventuresses, all. And then, of course, there was his obsession with Egyptian antiquities. Yes, there had been quite a hullabaloo at the museum just a year ago. Dastardly going-ons, but all settled in the end, the evil ones out of the picture, and those involved would be sailing off again, learning more and more, and adding to the grandeur of the British Empire!
Yes, yes, yes, Kat thought. But how much could a girl listen to, especially about a fellow who had almost drowned her? All right, it was true that that had not been his intention, and he had made her a guest in his very beautiful home. So she held her tongue while his housekeeper worked her hair with sweet-smelling suds and prattled on. She didn’t have much of a choice.
“But, of course, you’ve read about him, I’m certain,” Emma continued. “He has been the idol of the country many a time. Oh, I forgot! Poor thing. Your memory is gone. But if anything stirs in the darkness, let me assure you, despite his wretched reputation as a ladies’ man, Sir Hunter is a gentleman, a true gentleman.” Emma seemed determined that Kat should understand that.
The woman added ruefully, “I’m certain that many of the rumors are fact, I’m sorry to say, but as I told you, he tarries only with divorcées and widows, women who are quite adult and mature, and responsible for their own actions. I don’t believe he frequents houses of ill repute—well, not the lower sort, anyway. But surely, you must be aware that he has a kind heart. And courage! Why, he has fought again and again in the queen’s service, held his own, even when he didn’t think we had the right to be where we were—Good Lord, child, you mustn’t ever repeat that! He is a loyal subject of our good queen, right down to the toes! And then, of course, there is his constant hunt for Egyptian antiquities.”
“Do you mean treasures?”
Emma Johnson sniffed. “Treasures? Not as we think of them, dear. Treasures to Sir Hunter are relics of the past, the older, and so it seems, the nastier, the better! But then again, it is such a thing among almost all of the British aristocracy and elite these days. That, and mesmerism!” she said with a snort. “Still, he might have chosen a season by the Riviera or in Italy. Oh, he enjoys his stops in Rome and such, but it’s Egypt he goes for, Egypt he loves. He works with the museum, you know. And he always manages to wrangle the best dig for himself or be granted the best location, through our own embassies and the Egyptians, who are in charge. Well, we say that Egyptians are in charge, but it’s still our influence that guides it all. And glad they are of English intervention.”
“English money, I would think,” Kat murmured softly.
Emma laughed delightedly. “Well, now, and there’s the truth. But the Turks were there for a quite a long time, as well, and the Egyptians are glad of our protection, you mark my words. And, of course, the French are forever around. But…I do so wish Sir Hunter would settle for an autumn in a lovely European city!”
“But…it sounds fascinating. Really.” Kat leaned back. “I’ve only ever dreamed of Ancient Egypt!” She jerked back up. “David Turnberry is going for this season in Egypt, as well, isn’t he?”
“Many go, as I said. And you must understand, this is when the season for archeology begins—summer is far too hot! Fall into winter…well, they’re all about to set sail for the mysteries of the past as it is…next week!”
A week! Kat thought. A week. A week in this country, and then…
David Turnberry would go to Egypt. When he returned, he would marry?
Kat sighed softly. It was insane to think, just because he looked up at her after she had saved his life and said I love you, that anything in the world could bring her to his true attention. He was about to become engaged to be married. To an elegant creature of his own class.
He can’t love his presumed fiancée! Not when he said those words to me!
But she had panicked and run away. In part because of Hunter MacDonald. But now…he meant to introduce her to the man. She would have a formal introduction to David Turnberry.
“All right, step out now, child,” Emma was saying. “I’ve a fine set of clothing for you. The Lady Francesca—she’s Sir Hunter’s sister, married Lord Hathaway—leaves ample here, and she’ll be more than pleased that she could help out with a girl pulled from the river, one willing to risk her own life to save another!”
Kat suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable, hearing the words of praise. She had to wonder if she would have attempted the rescue if it had been anyone other than David Turnberry. The thought troubled her, and she barely noticed the silk of the drawers she stepped into, or the simple elegance of the gown Emma slipped over her head, with exquisite lace on the bodice.
“And, oh dear! If a night’s sleep doesn’t help your memory, we must do something,” Emma said suddenly. “There is bound to be some young fellow somewhere, terribly worried about you. No ring on your finger, though.”
Kat’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. No, there was no young fellow worried about her. But her father would be. And her sister, and so many dear friends…
How far had she come? How was she going to get back? If she had to walk…
She lowered her head, biting her lower lip. Surely, a man such as Hunter MacDonald would have left a few coins somewhere about. She would not steal! She would see that they were returned. Public transport was getting very good indeed, and she knew London well.
Like the poor man’s daughter, the urchin, that she was!
“Yes, indeed,” she managed to say somberly. “By tomorrow, I’m sure I shall be fine. I do believe that when I wake up, everything will rush back,” she lied. Then she yawned. “Forgive me. I’m exhausted.” She lifted her hands with her words, then let them fall. She heard a soft tinkle within the folds of the dress. Her fingers moved dexterously over the pockets. The relief that swept through her almost caused her to faint in reality. Coins!
“As well you might be after such a day! Now, just sit before the fire while I brush out your hair. I’ll have you upstairs napping in no time.”
Kat could barely sit still while the kindly woman dried her hair before the fire, brushing all the snarls from the long tresses. When she was done, her hair was as soft as silk, far softer than it had ever been. But she was so riddled with guilt about the hasty departure she planned that she had to force herself to stop fretting long enough to voice a sincere thank-you for the housekeeper’s help.
That same guilt made it difficult for her to appreciate the subdued elegance of the house or the little touches that made it so uniquely Sir Hunter MacDonald’s residence—the relics sitting atop the newel posts, the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls. The fine oil paintings, some of English country sites and some of ancient Egypt. One was of the Sphinx at sunset, and it was so breathtaking that her steps did falter.
“I can show you more of the house, dear,” Emma offered.
“Thank you, I shall so enjoy that…later. But I beg of you, I must have a few hours of undisturbed rest.”
“Of course!”
And so she was led up the grand staircase to a room. It was planned for female guests, or so it appeared, for the furniture was a light and lovely wood, and the canopy and spread of the four-poster bed were blue and white, enhanced by the shades of an Oriental rug.
“Rest well, my dear. I will see to it that you’re not disturbed,” Emma vowed.
“Thank you again, ever so much!”
The door closed. Kat moved to the bed and lay atop the spread, keeping herself still for several long seconds.
Then she rose. She started for the door, then noticed the coins sitting on the dresser. She placed them in her pocket with the others and took the time to look in the lovely little Oriental bedside table for paper and a pen.
“I will return the dress and the coins,” she wrote. The words looked cold and rude. She hesitated, then added, “Thank you ever so much.” No, it wasn’t enough. But time was ticking away. She sketched herself as a Sphinx, with a smiling face, and as the caricaturists did, she added a little balloon at the side of the lips, writing in, “I do thank you!”
Enough. She had to leave, make her way home, then return here before anyone was the wiser and be ready to allow David Turnberry to thank her for his life.
She hurried for the door and out into the hall. There, she listened. There was no sound other than that of the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.
She fled down the stairway to the front entry. There was no lock on the front door. Not now. What would she do when she returned? Perhaps it would be locked by then; dusk would surely be coming on.
Well, that was a worry she would have to contend with when she returned. Right now, she had to go to her father and sister.
And worry that she would be able to return at all!
On the street and down the block, she paused to draw a breath.
She was out. She had gotten out very easily.
Now the great problem—was she going to be able to get back in?
“THE BIRD HAS FLOWN!” Hunter noted.
He sat astride Alexander, his riding mount, hidden against a small field of trees in the narrow side yard of the town house. Ethan, at his side on Anthony, glanced his way, his features wrinkling in a silent question.
“We shall follow,” Hunter said.
She obviously knew where she was going. She quickly made her way through the streets by Hyde Park, finding a station for the omnibus.
There, she boarded.
Following the bus, which was pulled by heavy draft horses, was quite easy. The streets were busy, and the pedestrians often careless, so the going was somewhat slow.
His redhead changed vehicles and headed, as he had suspected, for the river. And, there, of course, his concealing themselves became a bit more difficult. Hunter dismounted, handing Alexander’s reins to Ethan, and bidding the man to wait with the horses.
“I don’t know what either of you is about!” Ethan grumbled.
Hunter laughed. “I’m not at all sure I know myself!”
He hurried then, for once the girl had departed the vehicle, she began to move quickly through the streets, the rows of tightly packed houses, the people milling in the walkways and alleys. He assessed the neighborhood.
It wasn’t the poorest section of the city, but rather the old City of London itself, where some of the architecture of the late sixteen hundreds remained, simple homes built soon after the Great Fire had ravished the city. Most of the inhabitants were hardworking tradesmen, though the area attracted students, musicians and artists. The streets, if not grand, were clean.
“Why, core and blimey!” an old woman who’d been sweeping called out. “It’s Kat!”
“Shh, Mrs. Mahoney, please!” the girl cried, and she raced past the woman. “Is Papa in the house?”
“Frettin’ and wailin’, he is!” the woman said. “Why, he has some of his friends in the police out looking for you, child! There was a rumor that you had been rescued from the water, but…well, no one knew just who had done the rescuing and where you’d gotten to!”
“Oh, no!” the girl cried.
“And what is that you be wearing, Mistress Kat?” the woman demanded.
“I must see Papa,” the girl said, and rushed by the woman, heading into a small house that was painted and finely detailed with new gingerbread trim. The place surely dated back to the days of the Flemish weavers, Hunter thought.
Determined to avoid a conversation with the old woman, Hunter slid quickly against a wall. There was a narrow alley leading to a rear courtyard, and he sidled down the length of it. He did not need to go far.
An open window and drawn draperies allowed him an excellent view of the show within. There she was, the girl whom the old woman had called Kat, wrapped tightly in the arms of a tall, bewhiskered fellow. Another girl, also red-haired, though of a lighter shade, stood by. She embraced Kat next, then stepped away as the dignified older fellow wrapped Kat in his arms again.
When at last the embracing ended, the second girl—her sister?—demanded, “Katherine Mary! What on earth are you wearing? Goodness! Where did you get such an elegant dress?”
“I shall explain,” Kat said.
“Indeed, you shall!” the old fellow responded gruffly. “I have been out of my head with fear and grief. Eliza told me of this insane thing you felt you must do, and I was left to convince myself that you would return, that you had not gone down to the bottom of the Thames! There are police officers out looking for you, young woman. Eliza, send Maggie to inform the police that my child has been found, that we will not need to dredge the river!”
The man was truly furious, and yet obviously greatly relieved. Hunter felt guilty, as he knew the girl must. She appeared stricken, as if she had not realized till now just how painfully her absence had been experienced.
The girl Eliza hurried from the room to summon this Maggie—a servant of some sort, Hunter assumed—despite the fact that this household seemed rather poor—but was very quickly back, not about to miss an instant of what was going on.
“Papa,” Kat said, apparently in an effort to soothe. “Poor Papa, I am so sorry, I hadn’t imagined such a fuss. Why would you send the police after me? You know that I swim better than a fish.”
“Aye, that I know,” her father said proudly. “But you’d gone after a university bloke, and then disappeared from sight! What will I do with you, what will I do? If only your dear sainted mother were still alive!”
“Kat, where did you get the dress?” her sister demanded again.
“It is borrowed… Papa, please, all will be well. You see, I was helped by another gentleman after I helped the first gentleman. I have been at a safe and truly gentle place, I swear it! You see, I am to meet with David Turnberry, the first gentleman, who is soon to be affianced to Lord Avery’s daughter, and I must—”
“Lord Avery!” Eliza exclaimed. She looked across the room. “Papa, she will get a reward. A good reward!”
“I needed no reward,” Kat said.
“Well, I’d be happy for it!” Eliza exclaimed. “Scrimping and saving for something other than fish on the table.”
“Eliza!” the father said sadly, shaking his head.
Eliza apologized quickly. “Papa, Papa, you do so well, I am truly sorry for my words of complaint. But…Kat! That gown! It’s exquisite—where did it come from? Oh, my God! I should get dressed. I must go back with you and—”
