The year is 1879. When thirteen-year-old Ruth Merritt Holbrook emerges from her family's burning estate, bloody and charred, but entirely numb--She makes headlines. Reporters believe she is deranged. They accuse her of having set the fire. All the h...
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I have been bombarded with Desmott once again. He was not sent to retrieve me as he had been during our first meeting; rather he was strategically placed. I found him sitting in a cushioned chair right outside of the entrance on the hospital. He was reading today's press and humming something oddly jolly. It did not fit his character and subsequently set my teeth on edge.
"Why, Miss Holbrook," he had said, the newspaper suddenly abandoned as he stood to greet me. "I had not anticipated meeting you here." We had exchanged pleasantries and he had asked about my being at the hospital.
"I hope you are not unwell?" I hated the way he said it, his voice tight, as if he was remembering all he had been told, had seen of me, the last time we'd spoken.
"I'm doing fine, thank you. I'm here to meet Lucius—" I quickly corrected myself, annoyed at the familiar was his name fell from my lips. I blushed and stuttered out his title and sir name with little grace. "To meet Dr. Abaddon. He asked me to accompany him on a tour of the facilities."
Blessedly, Desmott ignored me falter and only tilted his head to one side, ever the cat examining the mouse. "And he did not go himself to meet you?"
Disapproval. He didn't like that I'd come alone. I forced a smile, which I hoped would convey my desire for him to keep his nose squarely away from my affairs, and said, "He sent a letter this morning saying he'd had a meeting to attend. The carriage ride was short and the weather pleasant enough. It isn't any of your concern."Silent fell, long enough for me to feel guilty and I admitted, "But, I had hoped he might be here when I arrived."
Desmott glanced around, as if his friend might have appeared from thin air as we were speaking, before he looked at to me. "Yes, well..." He fiddled with a small pocket watch chained to his vest and said, "I suppose I could show you the way to his office. Perhaps you'd like some tea before your tour? I'm certain there is some to be found."
I nodded and fell into step next to him. It was early and we passed only a scattered few nurses and a doctor or two as we strolled through the newly painted hallways. As we walked, a thought occurred to me and I let it fall from my lips before I could think to stop myself. "I should, of course, have a chaperone. I...We shouldn't be alone. It's not right for me to be alone with you. Your reputation is not..." I trailed off, taking another three steps before I realized that Desmott had stopped moving.
I turned to look at him.
His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, a nervous gesture. I was making him nervous. "You're right." He said quietly, "Perhaps I should fetch a nurse to take you to Lucius' office. It was rude of me to even ask you to walk with me—I assure you, I meant no ill will."
"I don't mean to imply that your conduct has been ungentlemanly only—" my voice froze in my throat and I met his eyes, sure we were both thinking of Rosie in that instant.
That wretched girl seems to have a way of appearing in my thoughts, and in the physical, at the most inconvenient times. It is a talent, really. I wonder if this is a skill mastered by all actresses, or just the ones who wore themsleves out? It is enough to make me want to scream.
