Daring Romance

Chapter 6

Garrett took Ransom's arm as they walked. He was dressed in workingman's clothes, with a vest made of leather as thin and soft as glove material. The muscled surface of his arm was hard beneath her palm. He guided her through streets lined withrows of serried buildings. They passed beer shops, a public house, a chandler's shop, and a store selling secondhand clothes. The street became increasingly populated with sailors and jolly tars, men in greatcoats, shop girls, costers, and well-dressed tradesmen's wives. Garrett relaxed her usual vigilance, knowing that not a soul would dare approach her in the company of a big, healthy bruiser who was so obviously at home in the streets. In fact, hewas the one who made other people fearful.

Which reminded her about the jail break-in.

"I needn't ask what you've been doing since we last met," she said, "since I read an account of your latest exploit in the Police Gazette."

"What exploit?"

"Breaking into the holding jail," she chided. "Attacking those three soldiers. It was very wrong of you, and quite unnecessary."

"I didn't attack them. There was a bit of a scuffle at first, but that was only to get their attention while I spent a few minutes blistering their ears."

"You broke in to scold them?" she asked skeptically.

"I made it clear that any man who tries to harm you will have me beating hell's torment on him. And if I ever found out they attacked another woman, I told them I'd-" He broke off, apparently thinking better of what he'd been about to say. "Well, I made them afraid to do it again."

"And that's why you were described as an unknown offender? Because they were too terrified to identify you?"

"I'm good at scaring people," he said.

"Apparently, you've appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner. But all of that should be left in the hands of the British system of justice."

"The law doesn't always work when it comes to men like that. All they understand is fear and retaliation." Ransom paused. "If I had a conscience, it wouldn't be troubled over those bastards. Now, tell me about your visit to the workhouse."

As they walked, Garrett told him about the patients she'd seen in the infirmary, and her worries about the poor conditions of the place. The improper diet of mostly porridge and bread was especially harmful for children, for without sufficient nourishment, their growth would be permanently stunted and they would be vulnerable to disease. And yet her appeals to the workhouse officials had fallen on deaf ears.

"They said if workhouse food were improved, too many people would be pushing their way in to obtain it."

"They say the same about prison food," Ransom said, darkly amused. "Make it too good, the argument goes, and people will commit crimes just to have it. But no one who's ever found himself on the wrong side of a prison door would ever say that. And the only crime someone commits to end up in a workhouse is to be poor."

"Obviously some common sense is needed," Garrett said, "which is why I've decided to go over their heads. I'm compiling a report for the Home Secretary's Office and the Local Government Board, to explain in detail why workhouse administrators should adopt a minimum set of standards. It's a matter of public health."

A faint smile touched his lips. "As busy as a stocking full of fleas," he murmured. "Do you ever make time to enjoy yourself, Doctor?"

"I enjoy my work."

"I meant kicking up your heels now and then."

"I had a similar conversation with Dr. Havelock earlier today," Garrett said with a rueful laugh. "He called me a wet blanket. I suppose you'd agree with him."