by Diana Quincy
“Your point?”
“Somewhere deep down inside of you, you must have some intense feelings for Lady Winters. You gave up so much to protect her.”
“What is happening here? Why are you trying to convince me of my love for another woman?”
“She is not just any woman. She is your oldest friend. You share many experiences. You will likely marry her. And it might be easier if you could reconnect with those feelings of love you must have had for her. At least a little.”
“I shall try.”
“Evan asked me to marry him today.”
He shot her a sour look. “Why don’t you just plunge a sharp blade directly into my heart?”
“I did not accept his offer.”
“But you are considering it.”
“No. My family would never agree.”
“And you don’t love him.” Bridges, or some other Arab man, might one day get the rest of Hanna: the genuine smile that made a man feel like he’d won the lottery; her relentless efficiency and competence; the stern countenance that never failed to stir Griff’s blood; her warmth in his bed. A future husband might get all of that. But Griff selfishly wanted to keep Hanna’s heart for himself.
She released a long breath. “Maybe I should ask my family to try and find me an Arab husband willing to accept my bonesetting.”
“You haven’t found such a man yet. What makes you think you will now?”
“If I were pledged to another, it might be easier for both of us to move on.”
“Nothing about this is easy.”
“No, but we always knew this is where matters would end up.”
He studied her. “Are you always so certain about everything?”
There was a tap on the door. Palk reappeared. “I do beg your pardon. I forgot some papers.” He crossed over to the desk to retrieve them.
Griff watched him. “When did your father die?”
“My father? Fortunately, he is still with us.”
Griff’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said your father died.”
“We almost lost him a few times, but Papa is a stubborn man. He is confined to his bed but has a strong will to live.”
“This is the place.” Griff helped Hanna alight from the carriage. They’d come directly from the hospital to the squalid Palk home in Wapping. The streets were crowded, and the air thick with the stench from open sewers.
Hanna stared apprehensively at the dingy home before them. “Shouldn’t we have alerted them that we were coming?”
“I didn’t want the younger Palk to warn his father off.”
An older woman answered the door. They entered a gloomy room with few furnishings. What little the Palks did have was bundled up and stacked against one wall. The woman, Fred Palk’s sister, became cooperative once Griff paid her for her trouble. “Don’t stay too long,” she warned. “’E sleeps most of the time.”
The sickroom, humid and pungent, smelled of illness and unwashed bodies. The space was mostly bare except for wrapped bundles of clothing and other household items crowded into a corner. In the dim light, they could make out a frail figure swathed in blankets on a narrow bed. Griff stepped forward, his heart beating hard. Was he about to face his parents’ killer? “Mr. Palk?”
Bleary gray eyes in a lined faced peered out from the bundle of blankets. “’Oo wants ter know?”
“I do. I am Griffin.”
“The viscount?”
The lack of air, the stench, made Griff queasy. “Yes.”
“It’s a little late ter send me ter Newgate.”
“Is that where you belong?”
“If I killt yer parents, I would not confess ter it.”
Griff felt light-headed. “Why do you assume that is why I am here?”
“Because I’ve been waiting fer ya.”
“Why is that?”
“If I’d done somefing like that, it might have weighed on me. I’ve had nuffing but bad luck since.”
Had all these years of wondering, of not knowing, led to this moment? The cloaked confession confirmed Griff’s worst suspicions. He forced himself to ask the question, even though he dreaded hearing the answer. “Did someone order you to kill my parents?”
“If I were to do somefing like that, it would be for the jewels, the treasures. I was never a killer fer hire.”
“It was just a burglary then?” He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “How did you even know about Ashby?”
“We were visiting my wife’s cousin ’oo lived in the village. There was a wedding party. ’E mentioned the servants from the grand ’ouse were off to enjoy the celebration. The ’ouse was empty, ’e said. The family was supposed ter be in Town. It was going ter be an easy job. But the family was there. Fings got outta control.”
Bile rose in Griff’s throat. His parents were slaughtered, the family destroyed, because of a chance mention to a village visitor. “Are you saying no one engaged you to murder my parents? You acted alone?”
The old man shook his head. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. It wernt somefing I spent a long time planning.”
Hanna stepped forward. “Why are you telling us this now?”
The older man momentarily closed his eyes. “It weighs on ya. Taking a life.”
“And no one asked you to harm my parents?” Griff asked again.
“No.”
Relief cascaded through him, making Griff weak in the knees. Norman hadn’t killed his parents. His former guardian might be arrogant, duplicitous and ruthless, but at least he wasn’t a killer.
Palk coughed feebly. “I regretted it every day since. I might be a thief, but I never saw myself as a killer. If it makes yer feel any better, I’m paying the price. I can’t leave this bed. My sister ’as ’ad to take care of me since Mrs. Palk died.”
“No,” Griff said sharply. “It does not make me feel better. How did your son get the clerk’s position at the hospital?”
Confusion lit Palk’s craggy face. “’Ee’s clever, I guess. I would not blame yer if yer wanted to kill me right here.”
“And put you out of your misery? I think not.” Griff couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of this place. He strode out of the chamber and through the front room with Hanna hurrying after him.
As he pulled the front door open to the blissful light of day, he heard Hanna speak to Palk’s sister. “Are you moving?”
“Yes,” the older woman replied. “Leonard insists that we move to better lodgings. They pay ’im well at the ’ospital.”
They exited and climbed directly into the carriage. Griff plopped down hard on the seat and exhaled a long, shuddering breath. He dragged a hand down his face. “We have our answer. Palk killed my parents.”
“Do you believe he acted alone?”
“I have no reason to doubt him.”
She paused. “Maybe knowing the truth will eventually give you some peace.”
He stared, unseeing, out the window. “I am relieved that Palk’s story absolves Norman. He is guilty of many things, but at least murder isn’t one of them.”
“I am glad you can find comfort in that.”
“Otherwise, I honestly don’t know how I feel. Numb. Sick to my stomach.”
She took his hand. “You’ve had quite the shock.”
“It isn’t every day that a man confronts his parents’ murderer. And finds that he is a pathetic old man rather than the fearsome monster he’d always envisioned.” He squeezed her gloved hand. “It helps that you’re here.”
She lifted their joined hands and pressed her lips to the back of his hand. “There’s no place I would rather be.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Citi and Rafi were waiting for Hanna in the front salon when she returned home.
“Salam.” She drew off her bonnet as she greeted them. She came to an abrupt halt, sensing a tension in the air. Citi was frowning more than usual. Rafi wore a grim expression.
“Salam?” Citi said. “How can we possibl
y have any peace around here with you bringing shame on the family?”
They couldn’t know she’d been with Griff. “Whatever is the matter?”
“What is the matter?” Citi’s voice rose. “Why must you consort with ajnabi men?”
Hanna tensed. “There is nothing between us.”
“Then, you ought to consider telling that to Dr. Bridges,” Rafi suggested.
Her mouth fell open. “Dr. Bridges?”
Rafi cocked his head. “Who did you think Citi was speaking of?”
“Evan was here? What did he say?”
“He asked for permission to marry you,” Rafi said.
Relief whooshed through Hanna, relaxing her muscles. But then irritation slid in. “He came here today to ask for my hand in marriage?”
Rafi nodded. “He came to seek my permission since Baba is no longer with us.”
“May God have mercy on your father’s soul,” Citi intoned, speaking in Arabic. “We just threw out the viscount, and now you’ve taken up with another ajnabi?”
“I haven’t taken up with anybody.”
“First Blue Eyes and now the doctor.” Citi tsked as she sucked on her hookah, engulfing herself in a smoky haze. “We should have made you close the dispensary as soon as it opened.”
“Evan had no right to come here. I never agreed to marry him. And I have no intention of accepting his offer.”
“I gathered as much,” Rafi said. “I’d be very surprised if you did accept a proposal.” Then he added, “From Dr. Bridges.”
“Evan is not worth losing my family or my community over.” And then, because Griff was not in contention to be her husband and never would be, she said, “No man is.”
“Are we ever going to finish our conversation?” Evan asked tightly. “It is not every day that a man asks a woman to be his wife.”
They’d just arrived at the dispensary and were setting up for the day. Hanna bit back a sharp retort. Between Evan going to her family behind her back and the upcoming commission hearing, she’d gotten little sleep and woke with a frayed temper.
“Will you at least do me the courtesy of responding?” he asked, an edge in his voice.
“It is interesting that you would ask for courtesy, even though you did not extend the same to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you that my family would not accept our marrying, and yet you went to my brother, without my consent, to ask for my hand.”
“Only to help ease the way. You said yourself that your family is all that is stopping us.”
“I never said that. But perhaps that is what you wanted to hear.” She stopped what she was doing and faced him. “I do not want to hurt you, Evan. But the truth is that I do not wish to marry you.”
A vein pulsed in his forehead. “Is this about your viscount?”
White-hot anger flashed through her. “You have no right to question me about Griff or anything else that does not relate to this dispensary. I do not answer to you.” She already answered to her family far more than she cared to. “We work together. That is it. If you cannot accept that, we should consider rethinking this arrangement.”
His lips flattened. “I see.”
She’d hurt him. But Evan had no right to question her choices. It was well past time that he stopped acting as if he did.
“If you will excuse me,” he said stiffly, crossing to the exit. He closed the door behind him harder than necessary.
A few minutes after Evan’s departure, the bell above the door sounded. Hanna did not recognize the plump, middle-aged woman dressed in country clothes who came in.
The woman scanned the dispensary, looking lost. “This used to be a grocer.”
“Yes, but as you can see, it is now a dispensary.”
“Yes,” she answered, a troubled expression on her face. “This is a mistake. I am sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother.” Hanna went toward her. “I am Miss Zaydan. Can I assist you?”
“I don’t mean to intrude.” One of her hands worried the fabric of her skirt, fingers clenching and releasing fists full of fabric. “I am Mrs. Florence Gould.”
“How may I be of help, Mrs. Gould?”
“I am looking for my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Mrs. Lockhart. Claudia Lockhart. This used to be her grocer.”
Hanna’s heart contracted. “I am sorry.” She paused, trying to find the appropriate words. “Your sister . . . erm . . . she became ill.”
“I know Claudia is dead,” the woman said with a kindly expression. “But I cannot find where she was buried. I hate the thought of her in a pauper’s grave.”
“The matron at the hospital where your sister died said Mrs. Lockhart’s family came for the body.”
“The late Mr. Lockhart’s family had no interest in seeing to my sister—in life or death. And we, Mrs. Lockhart’s blood family, have asked the hospital where her remains can be found, but no one seems to know. Or if they do, they refuse to tell us.” Tears filled the woman’s ruddy face. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Hanna came to a decision. “I will try to help you.”
“You are so kind.” The woman’s face brightened. “But what can you possibly do?”
“An acquaintance of mine sits on the hospital’s board of governors.” After tomorrow’s commission hearing, she would approach Griff on the matter. “I believe he can be persuaded to look into it for us.”
The commission met in the same room as before. Hanna was jittery, unable to get her nerves under control. But she managed to force herself to remain still and expressionless. Evan accompanied her as before, only this time there was a distance between them. Anger and disappointment radiated from him.
Griff, sitting across the room from them, offered an encouraging smile. He looked very dashing in a blue checked double-breasted tailcoat that brought out the color of his eyes.
As they waited for the hearing to start, she observed the others in attendance. Mansfield sauntered in behind his father. Hanna’s gaze landed on a somewhat familiar face. Mr. Lockhart, the nephew of Hanna’s benefactor. He inclined his chin in her direction, no doubt eager for the commission to rule unfavorably so that he could claim the dispensary space.
So many people of influence were working against her, determined to see her fail. Hanna’s pulse slammed in her throat. Panic threatened. But she forced it down by reminding herself that she too had powerful forces on her side.
One of them, the Marquess of Brandon, entered once almost everyone else was seated. He wore a harsh expression and black wool perfectly tailored to his sinewy form. Brandon nodded curtly to Hanna, then did not look in her direction again. Her cousin was an enigma. A man of position and influence in the upper echelons of society. Yet also one of them. The son of an Arab-merchant mother.
Griff spoke first, describing the terrible pain he’d been in and how Hanna had alleviated his severe discomfort. He moved his arm, demonstrating the range of motion he’d regained since his treatment at the hands of the bonesetter.
Mrs. Rutland came next. William, her son, was not with her. But Griff’s sister spoke in detail about how easily Hanna had put the boy’s finger back in after it was dislocated.
Once she completed her testimony, a commission member asked Dr. Pratt to give his professional medical assessment of what he’d heard.
“I know Lord Griffin truly believes that Miss Zaydan cured him.” He spoke in an even tone. “But my medical opinion is that the injury healed on its own, as I and other physicians told him it would. As to Mrs. Rutland, she took her son to see Miss Zaydan on the very day his finger was injured. In all likelihood, it was just bruised and would have healed on its own in a day or two. I regret to say that, on the basis of these two accounts, I am not convinced Miss Zaydan is not a danger to her patients.”
“Let’s have the final patient.” Brandon impatiently gestured. Mrs. Peele came in.
Dr. Pratt’s eyes ro
unded. “Mrs. Peele? This is most irregular.”
“Do you know this woman?” Brandon asked.
“Indeed I do.” Dr. Pratt’s face flushed. “This is my housekeeper.”
Brandon turned his attention to Mrs. Peele. “Please do come in, and tell us why you went to see Miss Zaydan.”
Mrs. Peele cast a worried glance at her employer before she spoke. “My girl Annie had a curved spine. All of the doctors said there was nothing to be done for her. That her affliction was permanent.”
“I see,” Brandon said. “And was Dr. Pratt among the doctors who said there was no cure for your daughter?”
Mrs. Peele avoided looking in the doctor’s direction. “Yes, sir, he was.”
“Do tell us what occurred when you went to see Miss Zaydan.”
“She said Annie could be healed. She massaged and pressed and pulled. She somehow managed to manipulate my Annie’s spine.”
“And how is Annie today?”
Mrs. Peele beamed. “See for yourself.”
The door opened, and Annie marched in dressed in her Sunday best, walking straight and tall with a proud expression on her face. The room erupted. Everyone seemed to talk at once. A couple of physicians on the commission left their seats to examine Annie more closely.
“It is nothing short of a miracle,” said one a few minutes later. “I have never known a curvature of the spine to be corrected.”
“I have seen enough.” Brandon spoke in a bored tone. “Obviously, Miss Zaydan should be allowed to continue to heal the patients that doctors cannot.”
After a bit of discussion, a majority of the other commissioners concurred with Brandon’s assessment. Hanna barely registered what happened next. There was a whirlwind of chatter. Lord Payton protesting. Mansfield cursing. Lockhart making an exclamation of unhappy surprise. All of her disappointed detractors made their voices heard.
Then Brandon spoke again, and before Hanna fully comprehended what was happening, the meeting adjourned. And, by some miracle, she was still a bonesetter with the ability to practice in London.