Perfect Romance

by Duncan, Alice

  “It ith, I teww you!” Again using her ice pack for its intended purpose, Loretta pressed it against her cheek.

  She spoke to Mr. Peavey very slowly, enunciating carefully. “Mithter Peavey, do you r’member if the cath—cath— oh, pooh! Do you r’member if the cathel where the dungeon was brick?”

  Peering at her closely, Peavey followed her lips, trying to make out what she was saying. “The dungeon? In the castle?”

  Loretta nodded.

  “Wath—was it brick? The cathel, I mean”

  Peavey understood that. He nodded enthusiastically until he hurt himself, and then he said, “Ow.” After allowing himself a moment to recover, he said, “Yeah. That’s how come I knew it was a dungeon, was ‘cause it was underground. The dungeon, I mean. The door was behind a big bunch of bushes.”

  “An’ dih the cath—castle have a big iron gay—gate ‘roun it?”

  Peavey squinted and seemed to consult his inner memories for several seconds. “An iron gate . . .”

  “A bwack—black one,” Loretta prompted.

  Enlightenment struck Peavey. “Yes! It was a big black iron gate! It surrounded the castle. I had to climb over it. I remember now!”

  Loretta sat back, triumphant. She cried, “I tol’ you it’th Tillinghurtht! I wath righ!”

  “Oh, for God’s . . .” Malachai took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It wouldn’t help if he blew his top at her. Besides, she might be an idiot, but at the moment she was a wounded one, and it wouldn’t be fair to browbeat an injured woman. “Listen, Miss Linden, it might have been anybody’s door. Lots of doors are behind bushes, and lots of rich people have big iron gates surrounding their property.”

  She said stubbornly, her ice pack held firm, “I’m righ. I know ih.”

  “Fine. You’re right. We’ll check into it when you’re feeling better. Will that keep you quiet? You’re injured at the moment, in case you’d forgotten, and you’re facing a week in bed.”

  “Two weeks,” corrected Jason.

  Malachai approved and smiled at Jason.

  “I din forgeh,” she said indignantly. “I know I’m righ.”

  Malachai stared directly into her eyes. She was going to have at least one shiner by tomorrow morning. Holding his wince inside, he spoke slowly and distinctly, mimicking her own manner of speech, but with more clarity of diction. “I promise you, Miss Linden, that I will take you, in a taxicab or by whatever means of transport you prefer, to Mr. Tillinghurst’s mansion as soon as you’re well enough to snoop. And I’ll go with you through his entire grounds. Will that shut you up?”

  She frowned, but only said, “you promith?”

  “I promith. Iss, I mean! Damn it, now you’ve got me doing it.”

  “Huh.” Loretta sank back in her chair. Malachai felt certain she wasn’t satisfied with his promise, but she was probably too weak to protest further.

  He said to Jason, “Listen, Dr. Abernathy, I want to get Peavey settled, but I want one of us to see Miss Linden home. I don’t trust her to go to bed and stay there.”

  Loretta huffed.

  Jason said, “You already know her that well, do you? Well, good.” He grinned at Loretta. “Tell you what, Captain Quarles. Why don’t I see Mr. Peavey to the hotel. I’ll call Miss MacTavish and make sure she hides all of Loretta’s clothing, and then you can make sure she gets home in one piece—and immediately. Mr. Peavey said you two are staying at the Fairfield?” He lifted his eyebrows as if he was surprised that Peavey, at least, would be staying in so first-rate a hotel.

  But Malachai wasn’t one to accept finer accommodations than his men, especially if one of them was slightly off-plumb and inclined to wander. He nodded and turned to Peavey. “Do you have your room key, Peavey?”

  Peavey squinched up his eyes and thought for a long time before Malachai, interpreting this as an “I don’t know,” spoke again to Jason. “Ask at the desk. They’ll give you one.”

  Brightening, Peavey said, “That’s right! It’s at the desk!”

  Malachai patted him on the knee. “That’s good, Peavey. You go to your hotel room with Dr. Abernathy, and stay there. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll come to you as soon as I can, and we’ll discuss the day’s events further.”

  “Aye-aye, Cap’n.” Peavey saluted.

  Loretta huffed again, and said, “Call the kishen.”

  “Right. I’ll telephone the soup kitchen and then Miss MacTavish. I’ll be sure she knows to hide your clothes.”

  “There’th no neeh . . .” But Jason had already lifted the receiver from the candlestick telephone on his desk without giving Loretta a chance to argue about having her clothes hidden.

  Malachai heard Jason’s conversation first with the telephone exchange and then with whoever answered the ‘phone at the soup kitchen. Jason didn’t go into details with the soup kitchen staff member.

  “That’s right. I am Dr. Jason Abernathy, Miss Linden’s physician. Miss Linden is ill and will be laid up for at least two weeks.” Jason waited, listening to the person on the other end of the wire. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll deliver your message.”

  He replaced the receiver and grinned at Loretta. “Sister Mary Alexander says she’ll pray for you, and wishes you the best.”

  “Thank’oo.” She stood up, carefully balancing herself with a hand on the arm of her chair.

  Malachai said, “You might as well sit down. You’re not going anywhere until Miss MacTavish has your clothes stowed somewhere you can’t get at them.”

  “Fooh!” She didn’t sit down, although she couldn’t very well go anywhere, since no one had secured a taxicab yet, and she clearly was in no shape to walk.

  With a laugh, Jason said, “I’m heading to my telephone now. I guess it’s safe to hail a cab.”

  “I’ll wait until you hang up,” said Malachai. Glancing at Loretta, he added, “I want to make sure Miss MacTavish is home before I let Miss Linden loose upon the world again.”

  Jason gave him a thumbs’-up signal and picked up the receiver.

  Indignant, Loretta cried, “Fooh on bofe of you!”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Malachai re-sat himself, secure in the knowledge that he was not only doing the right thing, but that Loretta was in no condition to fight with him about it.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Good Lord in heaven, Loretta Linden, what did you do now?” Marjorie rushed down the porch steps and hurried to the cab while Malachai exited his side of the vehicle and stomped to Loretta’s side. “I was so worrit when Dr. Abernathy telephoned! I swear, ye’re the most contermashious person I’ve ever met!”

  Loretta, already furious with Malachai and Jason, became furious with Marjorie next. “I dinn do an’fing,” she announced thickly.

  “Och, my land!” Marjorie pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Ye look just turrible!”

  With her own cheek now swollen up like a pig’s bladder, it was difficult for Loretta to scowl effectively, but she did her best.

  “Did you hide her clothes?” Malachai asked as he reached inside the cab to take Loretta’s arm. She tried to swat him away, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “Aye. I thought Dr. Abernathy was codding, but he said he wasna.” She hurried over to assist Malachai. “Is she coggly on her shanks?”

  With a chuckle, Malachai said, “Probably, although I don’t know what that means.”

  Marjorie lifted her hands and let them drop. “I’m sorry. I’m sae upset. It means wobbly on her kegs. Legs.”

  “Yes,” Malachai said, “she’s coggly.”

  An irate Loretta gave in to Malachai’s bullying and allowed herself to be assisted in exiting the cab. She was about to look in her handbag for money when the captain preempted her. Drat the man!

  “Keep the change,” he growled at the cabbie.

  The cabbie saluted.

  Totally enraged, Loretta grumbled, “Dohth everyone do thah to you?”

  He scowled down at her. “Do what?”

 
“S’lue.” She demonstrated.

  He grinned. “Only those who know what’s good for them.”

  And with that, he picked her up and carried her up the porch steps, leaving Marjorie standing there with her arms extended and with nothing to wrap them around. Loretta, who would have loved to give the brute of a captain a piece of her mind, couldn’t. Worse, she was relieved not to have to walk.

  How humiliating. How embarrassing.

  How heavenly.

  Lord, she was weak. She hurt much worse than she’d admitted to Jason. Her entire left side, from her shoulder to her ankle, felt as if it had been rammed by a locomotive. She was afraid to see what she looked like. Also, Jason had frightened her badly with his speech about sacroiliacs and so forth. Loretta wasn’t even sure what a sacroiliac was, but she wouldn’t be surprised if hers was cracked, because everything—positively everything—hurt.

  Marjorie, having caught up, hurried across the porch ahead of them, opened the door and held it open for the captain. He carried Loretta inside. Her entire household staff lined the entryway. Mrs. Brandeis, her housekeeper, was wringing her hands. Molly and Li, her maids, shrank back against the wall and looked as if they might faint from terror. Even Mr. Hunter, who managed her grounds, had wormed his way indoors and was at present strangling his hat in his two big brawny hands. He looked worried, too.

  In a frightened whisper, Marjorie said, “Is it true that a big man knocked her to the ground?”

  “Nnnnnn,” said Loretta.

  “Yes. I saw it myself. Backhanded her, she flew through the air, and landed on the ground several yards away.”

  “Fee!” cried Loretta, stung.

  The captain, still holding her, shrugged, as if she were merely being picky. “Several feet away.”

  Taking a deep breath—which hurt her back—Loretta tried to reassure everyone. “I’m aw righ.”

  Molly burst into tears, and Li threw her arms around her. The two maids stared at Loretta, aghast.

  Loretta sighed.

  “She’ll be all right,” Malachai said, his tone reassuring. “She needs to stay in bed for a week or two, and I expect every one of you to make sure she does.”

  Molly and Li let go of each other. Molly wiped her eyes on her apron and looked somewhat calmer. “Oh, sir, we’ll do everything we can to make sure she gets well fast.”

  Loretta would have smiled at her, but her swollen face didn’t accommodate smiles any better than it did scowls. “Fank’oo, Mowwy.”

  Her blue eyes huge, Molly stuttered, “Y-you’re welcome, m-ma’am.”

  With another sigh, Loretta gave up trying to communicate with her staff, knowing that in her present condition, the effort was futile and would probably only upset everyone even more. “Wah go beh,” she said, giving in to the inevitable. Better she rest as hard as she could, because it was obvious they were all against her.

  Truth to tell, Loretta feared she did need rest. And, although it might kill her, she’d even tell Jason if her tail bone continued to bother her. Perhaps her tail bone was her sacroiliac. At the moment, it hurt like mad. When she was well enough to pick up a book, she’d look up sacroiliac in the dictionary.

  “Carry her upstairs, if ye will, Captain Quarles.” Marjorie gestured at the staircase, and Malachai started up them, Loretta in his arms.

  He was certainly a strong man. If she liked him better, Loretta might be inclined to snuggle. As it was, she was still inclined to snuggle, but she fought the impulse.

  After she was well again, she’d consider pursuing her relationship with the captain. He was a beast, true, but he was an attractive one and offhand, she couldn’t think of another man to whom she’d rather give up her virginity. And she did rather want to get that over with, if only so as to gain equality with the rest of the women of her acquaintance.

  Well, except for Marjorie. Marjorie had made her position on the issue of free love abundantly plain. Then again, there wasn’t a single thing about Marjorie’s life that was free, poor thing.

  The captain, however . . . that was another matter entirely. Loretta wondered if there were South-Sea maidens longing for him at this very moment. Or perhaps there was an ice-blond Danish female who still pined for Malachai Quarles. Why, there were probably dozens—no, hundreds—of women whom he’d seduced and abandoned.

  Lord, she wished she were one. The thought made her squirm, which made her tail bone hurt, which drew a brief gasp from her. She was very sore.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Malachai’s question startled her. Did he sound worried? Her eyelids had begun to puff up, impairing her vision, but she could still inspect his face. He looked worried, too. Well, fancy that.

  “No,” she said. “Fank’oo.” Oh, Lord, her speech was getting worse.

  “Dr. Abernathy gave me some laudanum for you.” Malachai spoke over his shoulder to Marjorie, who was following them up the stair. “I’m going to stick around until she takes some and goes to sleep. I guess if she’s sleeping, she can’t get into trouble.”

  “I suppose,” Marjorie said doubtfully.

  “Huh.” Loretta wished everyone would stop talking about her as if she weren’t present. It was disconcerting and rude.

  “I’m glad the doctor sent something along to help with the pain.” Marjorie was very worried about her; Loretta could tell from her tone of voice. And, while she appreciate the concern of her friends, she didn’t approve of the way they kept referring to her as an unmanageable idiot. She wasn’t. She’d been trying to help Mr. Peavey, curse it.

  “And it’ll make her sleep.” Malachai’s voice held a note of satisfaction. “I don’t trust her not to act like an imbecile and try to get out of bed.”

  “Fooh!”

  She really hated it when Malachai grinned at her.

  As soon as they’d reached the second-floor landing, Marjorie hurried ahead of Malachai. “Her room is right here.” She darted past them, hurried to Loretta’s door, and pushed it open. “I’ve prepared the bed.”

  “She’d better take these clothes off,” Malachai said. “Then you can hide them along with the others.”

  “Fooh,” said Loretta.

  While she’d never say so—and not merely because she couldn’t speak clearly—she really had no inclination whatsoever to move around. Her face was a minor matter to her now. She was in agony, and Jason had truly frightened her with his talk about cracked or broken sacroiliacs—sacroilii? Well, no matter. However fiery a feminist Loretta was—and she was a very fiery feminist—she didn’t fancy ruining her health.

  “Why don’t you wait in the hallway, Captain. I’ll help her undress and get into bed.”

  “Fine.”

  With exquisite care, Malachai set Loretta on her feet. She wobbled, and he held onto her.

  “I’m figh,” she said, although she wasn’t.

  “Nuts to that. I’m staying right here until I know you won’t fall over when I let you go.” Still holding onto her, he said to Marjorie, “Bring over a chair, will you? She’s rocky on her pins.”

  “Aye.” Marjorie grabbed the pretty vanity chair that went with Loretta’s birdseye-maple vanity table and plunked it down next to Loretta.

  “Be careful now,” Malachai warned Loretta. “I’m going to sit you down on the chair. Then Miss MacTavish will help you undress.”

  Loretta wanted to protest but knew better. With a sigh of resignation, she allowed herself to be placed like a doll on the chair. Only then did Malachai release her. She felt a strange sensation of emptiness when he did so, and chalked it up to her injuries.

  And then he left the room, and she felt bereft and abandoned—and without even being seduced first, which was very unfair. She scolded herself for being a silly widgeon. “Fanks for your hep, Mawj’wy.”

  “You’re welcome, Loretta. Here, let me take your hat.” She pulled out the pins and rid Loretta of her hat, then put the pretty confection on a nearby dresser. “Can ye lift your arms?”

  “Yef
.” She did so with considerable pain, but she didn’t flinch.

  Carefully and gently, Marjorie pulled Loretta’s top over her head. She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my! Look at that bruise on your arm!”

  Turning her head, Loretta looked. “Hmm.” Mercy, it was quite a mess. She hadn’t realized.

  “Can ye stand? Use the back of the chair to steady yoursel’.”

  Gingerly, Loretta obeyed. Marjorie unbuttoned her tweed skirt and worked it down past Loretta’s hips. Loretta held her breath. If her hips were the least little bit smaller, her skirt wouldn’t hang up so much, and this operation wouldn’t hurt as badly as it did. Drat. Too bad she hadn’t begun her exercise program a few days earlier.

  “There. The skirt’s off. Now, let me get that chemise off you.”

  Again, Loretta lifted her arms. Marjorie pulled the chemise over her head, and Loretta stood there in her combinations. How mortifying to have to have Marjorie’s help getting undressed.

  “Can you sit down now?” Marjorie asked doubtfully. “I probably should remove your stockings and shoon before you put on your nightgown.”

  With a sigh, and using great care, Loretta lowered herself into the chair once more. Resigned to her fate, she stuck out her right foot and allowed Marjorie to untie her shoe. She untied her garter herself, and rolled her hose down. Then, bracing herself for an unpleasant experience, she lifted her left leg. Even lifting it hurt. She almost didn’t want to look at it, although she knew she had to eventually.

  “I’ll try to be careful,” said Marjorie.

  Loretta only sighed again.

  The shoe came off easily enough. When Loretta untied her garter and rolled her black cotton stocking down, however, the full ghastliness of her injuries revealed themselves. She was fascinated as inches and inches of purple skin hove into view. Her left leg, from the hip to the knee and slightly beyond, was bruised and swollen.

  “Och, Loretta!” cried Marjorie, bursting into tears. “Whatever did ye do?”

  Loretta frowned at her. “Noffing,” she said stiffly.

  Wiping her tears away with a hastily drawn handkerchief, Marjorie shook her head. “Aye, well, never mind. You’ll rest up and it will be better soon.”