“Not now,” Oliver muttered with a shake of his head. “The foot is already set. If it is loose in a day or two, I’ll cut off the cast and rebandage it myself.”
They reached the examination room just as another nurse wheeled Emme out in a rolling chair. She was pale and bedraggled, with tear smudges on her face.
He turned to Gus. “Will you arrange for a cab to the Grand Hotel?”
“Absolutely.” Gus leaned forward to take Emme’s hand. “Dear lady, you’ll feel much better after a good cup of tea and some soup.”
Emme’s eyes glistened, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you, Gus.” He moved on, and she looked up at Oliver, mouthing, “Get me out of here.”
He needed no further urging. He took the bag holding the bottle of laudanum, placed the portmanteau on Emme’s lap, grasped the chair’s handles, and wheeled her through the halls. His pace was likely too quick for decorum, but she looked up at him with a grin. A weak grin, but he would take it.
Gus showed them to the cab and then informed Oliver he had some business to attend to and would find them at the hotel.
The ride through the streets to the hotel was bumpy, and Emme bore traces of strain around her mouth and eyes. He was casting about for something to distract her when she said, “John and Mary Smith? You are not a creative sort at all. Why not the pseudonyms Xavier and Guinevere? Alexander and Sophronia?”
“The beauty of John and Mary,” Oliver said, “is that they are unremarkable. They would allow us to continue our journey without fuss or unwanted attention.”
“You are far from unremarkable, John. One would know you as law enforcement at fifty paces.”
“I do not care for your tone, Mary.”
She smirked and turned her attention to the window. “There are so many people here,” she breathed. “I hope . . . I hope . . .”
“The very size and scope of this gathering is proof of growing public awareness. You’ve been an instrumental part of that and should be proud.” He touched her hand, and she turned it over, clasping his fingers but keeping her attention focused on the world outside.
They rode in silence for the remainder of the ride, and the driver pulled around to the back of the hotel, as Oliver had instructed. After much maneuvering and grunts of frustration and pain from Emme, he managed to get her and the rolling chair into the hotel. The halls were crowded with maids and bellboys, kitchen help and various administrative staff. Each walked quickly and with purpose, and Oliver quickly realized the chair was an obstacle.
The freight elevators used for luggage and larger items were crammed full, and two smaller elevators were too narrow for the chair. He flagged a passing employee, flashed his police identification, and requested attention from either the manager or someone at the registration desk.
Emme leaned forward and rested her head on the portmanteau in her lap. She had assured Oliver that she preferred to get cleaned up before being seen by other hotel guests, many of whom were colleagues.
Oliver reflected that they’d not slept decently for forty-eight hours, which explained why he was beginning to see enemies in every shadow. Finally, a front desk attendant, flustered that they’d entered through the servants’ area, took their information and provided room keys.
Emme dismissed the harried young man with a smile of reassurance that dropped the moment he was out of sight.
Reasoning they could wait an eternity before a freight elevator was available, Oliver caught the attention of a young maid. “This chair,” he told her, “must be delivered to room 407, along with these crutches.” He must have looked stern, because she nodded with wide eyes and promised to see to it personally.
He scooped Emme out of the chair, portmanteau and all, and carried her into a personnel elevator. The bewildered maid closed the outer grate, and Oliver instructed Emme to push the button for their floor.
The compartment began climbing, and he shifted Emme in his arms with a grunt. “Ought to have requested a ground-floor room.”
“Safer from miscreants when not on the ground floor. Every woman in the world knows that.” Emme looked at him, humor touching her mouth. “Is your strength waning, Farmer John?”
“No,” he panted, “but my arms are wickedly sore, and my wife’s weight is doubled with her wretched carpetbag.”
She tipped her head and raised her brows, affecting a picture of innocence. “Your wife can at least stand on her own now.”
He took a deep breath. “It would take me an hour to pick you and the luggage up again.”
She narrowed her eyes at him as they reached their floor. “I see good manners dissipate once vows are said.” She managed to open the elevator gate for them.
“Good manners?” He carried her down the hall to the end, locating their room. “Woman, there is no better image of chivalry than this very moment.”
She took the key and fit it into the lock, turning the handle and pushing the door open.
“Only fitting I carry you and your infernal luggage across the threshold, I suppose, since John and Mary have only recently wed.”
Her mouth lifted at one corner as she looked at him, their heads very close together.
He entered and nudged the door shut with his foot. The main room was large and elegant, with an adjacent room sharing a connecting door. A sofa and chairs graced the hearth at one end, a large bed occupied the other, and an open door near the bed showed a small wash-and-dressing room.
Emme carefully dropped the luggage to the floor, and he slowly lowered her to sit on the edge of the bed.
They both exhaled, and he shook his sore arms.
“You needn’t make such a show of it,” she told him, scowling. “The detective I met two years ago could have carried me up a flight of stairs at a run.”
He grinned despite his fatigue, despite his worry over her injury, and despite the unknown plans of her enemies. “The detective you met two years ago had no compunction about how he would have carried you up those stairs. You’re fortunate John Smith is a gentleman.”
“Well, Mary Smith is grossly insulted by your utter lack of circumspection. A lady needn’t know a man’s arms are sore from carrying her across her bridal threshold.” She paused and looked at the room as if for the first time. She blew out a puff of air and rubbed her eyes. “Oliver,” she said quietly, “thank you.”
He managed a smile. “You’re welcome.” He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. A quick glance in the washroom showed a small bathing tub with plumbed water, which was a welcome sight.
He returned to Emme, who still sat, unmoving, on the bed. Her feet dangled a few inches from the floor, the casted foot marginally larger. “Gus suggested the swelling may reduce. If the cast becomes loose, tell me immediately.”
She grimaced. “I do not wish to return to that hospital. Sam and Hazel will be here soon. They can tend to me, if needed.”
He nodded and checked windows, the wardrobe, the security of the outer door, and the door connecting their rooms.
“When you wish it, I’ll secure the services of a hotel maid. Human or ’ton, whichever you prefer.”
“I’ll need a human maid right away, actually. Without my trunks, I’ll need her to go to a local shop for a dinner dress. I have the ISRO meet-and-greet this evening. Dining and dancing.” She looked dubiously at her foot.
“You’ll be there, never fear. You may not dance much, but you’ll be in attendance.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks to you, Detective-Inspector. I owe you everything.”
He waved a hand at her with a wink. “Promise me no shenanigans between now and the final Summit event, and your debt is paid.” He picked up a telephone earpiece from the desk and dialed the office. He requested help for Emme’s shopping errand, a tea tray, and a maid to help Emme freshen up. “We must keep up appearances,” he told her
as he hung up the phone, “and preserve your good standing.”
“Or your continued good standing.”
“Yes, also my continued good standing. There’s little worse than a man’s ruined reputation.”
She rolled her eyes and looked at him. “A man’s reputation is ruined due to unpaid debts or dishonest business practices. A woman’s reputation is ruined if a man compromises her morally.”
“I do see the inequity.” He crossed the room and looked out the windows, taking stock of the yard behind the inn, the stables and autocar garage, and the neighboring businesses. “Regrettably, all I have to offer unjust society as a whole”—he twitched the curtain back in place and returned to her—“is a healthy, equitable respect for one Emmeline Castle O’Shea.” He sat down next to her on the bed’s edge. “The rights of women. I see another cause in your future.”
She sighed. “It is a cause already underway. I have the energy for but one at a time.”
“Fortuitous, then, that you’ll be able to take on something already organized and in place. You would be welcomed with open arms.”
She turned her head and offered a wry smile. “Mr. Reed, are you sympathetic to the suffragette cause?”
“I am sympathetic to any cause that rights an egregious wrong. My only request is that a semblance of civility is observed.”
She looked at her foot for some time before murmuring, “I cannot believe this is happening. I do not have time for it!” Her eyes were huge when she turned them to him. “Oliver, what am I going to do?”
The fact that she was asking him such a thing spoke volumes about not only her anxiety level but her extreme fatigue. The Emme he knew formulated her own plans. The Emme he knew jumped out of airships. A glance at her foot was explanation enough, though. This injury heaped on the mountain of existing stress was enough to make anyone feel helpless.
“The first thing you are going to do is take a bath with the help of a maid. Then you will don the fluffy robe I spied in the dressing room and take a good, long nap.”
She blinked, and he wondered if she’d understood a word he’d said.
“Yes. Very well.” He carefully put her arm around his neck and lifted her to her feet. With his arm around her waist, he half carried her to the washroom, and, hooking his foot around a small stool near the sink, set her down. He turned on the water, hearing the hiss of the gas heating mechanism. He tested the water temperature, talking to Emme over his shoulder.
“My mother had a theory—everything in life was manageable after a nice, long warm bath. I’m inclined to agree with her.” He stood up as the tub began to fill and looked at Emme, who stared back at him with unfocused eyes.
He sighed and knelt in front of Emme, carefully removing her other boot. She stared at her legs, one bare from the knee down and grotesquely discolored with bruises before disappearing into the plaster cast that looked like a hard white stocking.
He took her hands in his. “Emme.”
She looked at him, unblinking.
“This could be much worse. Your family could be planning your funeral today.”
Finally, she blinked slowly and took a breath. She exhaled and nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered, touching her forehead to his.
“You’re welcome. The maid should be here momentarily. I’ll send her in.”
She nodded. “I can manage in the meantime. My schedule for the day . . . there are people I must contact.”
“Yes. I’ll do that while you rest.”
A knock sounded at the door. “That will be either the maid or our new friend, Gus.” He nodded toward the filling tub. “Watch the water level.” He turned to go.
“Oliver?”
“Yes?” He looked back over his shoulder, thinking she would thank him yet again and preparing to dazzle her with a humble yet charming bow.
“There’s something you should know about Gus.”
He frowned. “What is it?”
“He’s a vampire.”
She almost summoned enough energy to laugh at his reaction.
“A vamp—” Another knock sounded on the outer door, but he ignored it. “He’s a what?”
“Get the door.” She scooted the stool over to the bathtub and turned off the faucets. The water was delightfully warm, and for the moment, her only desire in life was to crawl inside the tub for an extended soak.
A knock sounded again, firmly, and she pointed.
“How do you know he’s a vampire? Emme, he’s far from handsome, he’s . . . he’s nondescript!”
“Vampires do not have an aura. I attempted to read Gus when he pulled alongside in his wagon. Besides, vampirism merely enhances the individual’s best physical potential. That still leaves considerable room for variety.”
He blinked. “How do you know he is safe?”
“I can still discern his feelings, his emotions. That man is as sincere as anyone I’ve ever met.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated the process. By now the knocking had become insistent.
Emme shoved herself upright and hopped over to him. She nudged him out of the bathing room and shut the door behind him. She hopped back to the copper tub and began pulling off her torn, dirt-smudged clothing, deciding she couldn’t wait for the maid’s help.
She clumsily maneuvered her way into the hot bath while keeping the cast out of the water. Her sigh echoed around the small room, and she nearly cried from the relief of dunking herself completely. Steam rose from the water, and she exhaled wearily, resting her head against the back of the tub and closing her eyes.
She heard Oliver’s voice in the other room, thanking someone for the delivery of her rolling chair and crutches, and then the outer door closed. She heard him continue to speak, making calls to Giancarlo, her mother, and possibly their friends. The floor creaked as he paced the room, undoubtedly wanting to solve every problem facing them.
She made use of the soaps lined on a small shelf next to the tub, scrubbing her hair and deciding Oliver’s mother had been a wise woman, indeed. Freshly washed and rinsed, she felt armed to at least make a showing to the world, if not take it entirely by storm. She wrapped her hair in a towel and donned the robe Oliver had spied earlier.
She secured the robe as a knock sounded at the outer door, and she hobbled out of the bathing room. Oliver glanced at her as he opened the door, then back again, taking in the casual state of her attire. The robe covered her from neck to floor, but it was intimate wear. What had he expected her to do? Her options were limited, and if she didn’t speak to an employee soon who could shop for her, she’d be obliged to wear the robe all over town.
“One moment,” Oliver said and quickly closed the door. He frowned and approached her, but seemed unsure about gathering her up to carry her somewhere. He scratched his head as though considering the best way to move a bale of hay.
“For pity’s sake,” she muttered and hobbled across the room to the sofa.
He helped her sit on the couch and put her feet up, and then looked around, found a blanket, and covered her lap. To her amazement, he flushed. After the indelicate situation they’d been in for hours, he’d suddenly developed a bashful side?
“Oliver, open the door.” She sounded cross, even to her own ears.
He obeyed, issuing apologies to Gus and the maid, who stood on the other side.
Emme made quick work of giving the young woman instructions for the clothing she required for the rest of the day and evening. The maid, Josephine, made notes on a piece of paper as Emme dictated. When she began giving her quantity and quality instructions for unmentionables, Oliver and Gus suddenly struck up a conversation about the weather.
“I’ll choose carefully, miss, and I’ll return straightaway. I know just the shops that carry everything you need.” Josephine smiled brightly. “I’ll give them this card and tell the sale
s clerks to send the bill here to you, yes? Oh, and if you’ve nobody else to help, I can style your hair.”
Emme nodded, finally feeling back in control, and Oliver saw the young woman to the door. Gus remained with her near the hearth, and she turned to him. “Now, I hope you are willing to share your story with me. And you,” she added as Oliver sat with them, “what do you know of your brother’s activities?”
Oliver sighed. “Not much, other than being certain he’s up to no good. Gus has a much better grasp of the situation. It’s time I took my head out of the sand.”
Gus looked at Oliver with sympathy, which reinforced Emme’s prior assessment of their new acquaintance. “It is easy to don blinders where family is concerned. The most crucial information for you to know at this point is Lawrence Reed and the vampire Cadre, which he leads, are determined to prevent wide-scale acceptance of shifter reform.”
“I can guess the reason,” Emme said. “Lucy Blake is a botanist who has studied Assimilation Aid at length. She mentioned new theories of Soul Consistency concerning the vampire community.”
Gus nodded. “Not merely theories—scientific studies published in recent journals. Proof of long-term, nonthreatening vampire populations has come to light. Accordingly, the Cadre’s stranglehold on non-predatory vampires will soon lose its effectiveness.”
Oliver whistled softly and sat back in his chair. “Of course.”
Gus smiled wryly. “As law enforcement, you see the problem.”
Emme frowned. “I do not follow.”
“The Cadre oversees and benefits from extortion money, black-market Vampiric Assimilation Aids, and a host of other things you’ve likely never heard of. When the world accepts the reality that good, law-abiding vampires exist, Lawrence’s tower will crumble.”
The room fell silent. Oliver rubbed his eyes with one hand, and Emme’s heart went out to him. With vampire discontent and protesters in the streets, Oliver would likely find himself confronting his brother at some point.
Seeking a momentary diversion, Emme nodded toward a small tiepin Gus wore. “Tell me about your pin,” she said.
Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts Page 14