Shivers racked his body despite the perspiration dripping from his brow. Every breath was a splintered fragment, jagged and short. Theodore gasped and took in his surroundings—narrow berth below, narrow berth above, the riveted metal door of a steamer cabin ahead—each solid object grounding him to reality.
The nightmares had grown worse in recent weeks. More frequent. And tonight, the demons haunting him had chosen to rewrite the dream’s end—a change more troubling than the nightmare itself. After years of enduring the same terror over and over again, he’d become numb to its effects. Resigned to the sights and sounds that would forever plague his sleep. There was a small measure of comfort in knowing what to expect. Knowing how to cope. Knowing how to hold it together.
Not knowing, on the other hand ... that was a nightmare in and of itself.
His eyelids sagged and vision blurred, fatigued by countless nights of slumber without rest. How was he to protect the Stanton ladies in this state? Today the SSHeidiwas to dock at Amsterdam, and he needed to be ready to move out. Hemustbe in fine form. But that was impossible. Theodore Kingsley was too shattered a man to ever befineagain, which was why he’d constructed Arthur in the first place—to conceal what he could never mend.
To distance himself from the name he was unworthy to be called.
Lumbering out of the ill-fitting berth, Theodore dressed and reattached his metal prosthetic. After splashing cold water on his face and combing it through his hair, he mentally gathered up every raw emotion and bloody memory the nightmare had jarred loose, shoved them back in their encasement with the rest of his broken past, and locked the door. He took up his crutch. Right-oh, time to forget the night and greet the day.
An amber sun crested the horizon as Amsterdam’s harbor greeted them with a welcoming party of vessels—wooden-hulled grandfathers with sinewy masts waved sails of wizened white, while strapping, iron-hulled chaps stood at attention in rows of tall funnels, saluting them with billows of boiler steam and smoke.
As the SSHeidijoined its fellow seafarers, a door creaked behind Theodore, and Miss Stanton emerged from the adjacent cabin. Failing to notice him, she took in a long breath, as though reveling in the fresh air. She wore a simple brown dress and a straw bonnet with a large, rounded brim that crushed black ringlets against her fair cheeks. Was he imagining things, or did she appear even paler this morning? Had sleep evaded her as well?
“Morning, Miss Stanton.”
She startled upon hearing his voice and then swished toward the ship’s railing, pretending as though she had not.
So the pretty grump still wasn’t speaking to him, aye? Theodore scratched his head. The night they’d set sail, he thought he’d finally made a sound step toward securing Miss Stanton’s good opinion. She’d seemed to accept his apology and had spoken to him in a manneralmostcongenial. She had even thanked him! But then, all at once, she’d reverted. For some blasted reason he couldn’t deduce, she’d shunned him for the duration of their voyage. Either he’d inadvertently said something offensive, or she was determined to loathe him until the return of Christ.
“Liberation day at last!” Bursting onto the deck, Mrs. S. flung a hand toward the sky and performed a flamboyant twirl. When she stilled, her full skirts continued to swing back and forth like a ringing bell. Ermine round her neck and cage full of mice in hand, she shone the brightest of smiles his way. “Be a lamb and fetch our luggage, Arthur. The time has come to free the prisoners!”
“Right-oh, Mrs. S.” Theodore strode into the Stantons’ cabin and secured the hefty carpetbags on the lower berth, one embroidered with fuchsias and hummingbirds and the other with violets and bumblebees. He still couldn’t believe the women had brought only two bags between them. While he’d always preferred to travel light—carrying all he requiredin the numerous pockets of his overcoat—most ladies tended to enlist a heavy brigade of trunks laden with all the comforts and fripperies of home. But then again, the Stantons weren’t exactly like most ladies.
After returning with the bags, Theodore struggled to make haste as swiftly as the women he was meant to escort. Like a duo of dormice, the Stantons scurried down the gangplank and scampered across the shipyard, always several paces ahead of him, despite their petite stature. While his automaton prosthetic had restored a sense of ease to his stride, it simply couldn’t match their light-footedness. Not that he minded. After five days and four long nights at sea, he was just glad to have solid ground beneath his boots again. The consistent feel of pavement provided an illusion of stability, which he craved after so many shaky nights.
Once the shipyard was in their peripheral, Mrs. S. set about finding a place to liberate the prisoners. And of course not just any location would suffice. The mice must be transported to a suitable habitat, which she expounded upon at length for the benefit of his and Miss Stanton’s education. There were dietary needs to consider. The matter of shelter against inclement weather. And apparently potential habitats were also to be judged on their “conduciveness to pleasant procreation practice.” An issue which, evidently, was of grave concern to Miss Stanton as well, judging by her sudden fit of coughing.
All the while their search progressed, the Stantons remained arm in arm, and all the while—coughing fit aside—Miss Stanton remained the ever composed and levelheaded voice of reason to her mother’s seeming madness. No matter how many times her mother changed direction or fretted over the welfare of the wee mice, Miss Stanton’s patience didn’t waver. Rather, she assisted Mrs. S. in her eccentric endeavor with an air of protective and loving devotion, the likes of which Theodore had never seen. In the upbringinghe’d known, family only watched your back in order to find fault with your posture.
As they crossed yet another bridge, over yet another canal, the hair along the nape of Theodore’s neck raised. Stirred, as if by the breath of someone following much too closely. Lungs seizing, he spun around and—nothing.
No one.
Just a breeze rustling the cloaks of the few pedestrians ambling along the bridge. He exhaled a shuddering breath.Get a grip, man.No one is watching us. Don’t let the night’s terrors distractfrom the day’s task.
Pivoting, he marched after the Stantons. Somehow, he needed to sleep. Shake this looming paranoia before it consumed his senses. After all, they weren’t on the battlefield evading enemy soldiers. They were scouting out lodging for a family of mice. Why would anyone follow them?
CHAPTER
10
“Amsterdam simply isn’t a suitable habitat for a growing family of mice.”
Medicating her weary nerves with a deep breath, Clara managed to keep her smile intact and not throttle her dear, sweet, doggedly determined mother. She’d been happy to assist Mum in finding the stowaway mice asuitable habitat—three hours ago. But now? Now her feet throbbed from traversing up and down cobbled streets while Mum hemmed and hawed beside every single one of Amsterdam’s winding canals to examine the natural surroundings for adequate rodent resources.
A dull headache prodded Clara’s temple with a persistent reminder that luncheon had come and gone without their participation. When Mum was on one of her sacred missions, eating plummeted down her list of priorities.
Taking another large dose of fresh air, she patted Mum’s arm, linked with her own. “Mice have thrived in cities for hundreds of years. I see no reason why these mouselingsshould be any less hearty and resourceful in a metropolitan environment.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Mum glanced at the cage cradled in her left arm. “Ah ... but I’d feel much better if the little dears had a home unmarred by the edifices of man. Can we not take them to the countryside?”
And delay us by how many hours more?The retort dissipated in a lengthy sigh. Mum’s zealous compassion had never been limited by the possible or bound by the practical. It was a trait Clara had always admired ... and failed miserably to emulate. “Mum, I love you with all my being, but we cannot afford to dally any longer. Not if we are to locate Grand’s next clue before nightfall.”
“There’s no need for such haste, ducky. After all, the purpose of this trip was for you to have a merry time exploring new places. Are we not doing as much?”
Oh, Mum.Even if she wished to make merry, how could she possibly do so whilst consumed with worry for Grand?
