A man stared back at him from the mirror. Not a creature.
A sickening lump crept in his throat, and he swallowed hard. His eyes burned. If they were happy or sad tears, he wouldn’t know. Maybe both.
The captain patted his shoulder. “You did well. You’ve been very brave.”
He wiped his face quickly. There was a limit to what he was willing to show of himself.
The captain sat in front of him, his deep black eyes solemn. “We must find a way to communicate. You can’t just nod or shake your head. While you were recovering, I did some research. There’s a language made of signs done with the hands. It’s called sign language, used by people who can’t talk.”
Samuel arched his brow. He’d seen many curiosities, but never someone who talked with his hands.
Captain Jackson produced a book from under a pile of newspapers and showed it to him. Drawings of hands and fingers filled the pages.
“They say this priest, Pedro Ponce de Leon—fitting, isn’t it?—started the first sign language to allow monks who were observing periods of silence to communicate. I think you need to know how to read first before learning it.”
Samuel flipped through the pages. He didn’t understand the words under the drawings, but the signs were clear. People talked with their hands! It would be wonderful to be able to ask questions and be understood.
There was a knock on the door, and they both tensed.
“It must be Lady Vivienne, but just in case it isn’t, go to the bedroom.”
Samuel closed the door to the bedroom, his heart beating faster. If the police came for him, he would put up a fight. He’d rather die while fighting the police than return to Murdock. But if it was Lady Vivienne, his heart would burst with emotion anyway. She’d saved his life, and he didn’t know how to thank her.
A breath remained trapped in his chest when he heard Lady Vivienne’s sweet voice.
“Samuel,” Captain Jackson called. “Come here.”
He inched the door open as a sudden shame washed over him. He tugged at his shirt and ran a hand over his face, not sure how he should greet a lady. Without his hair and beard, he felt oddly naked. His body seemed suddenly too big for the room and he fought the urge to hide somewhere.
His gaze on the floor, he took a tentative step forwards, nearly dragging his feet.
She let out a delighted squeal when she saw him. “Heavens, Samuel. I’m so happy to see you up and about.”
He raised his gaze. Her blue eyes sparkled. The dark green gown she wore exalted her raven hair and gave her a royal look—a reminder of how distant they were.
Even Dobkins looked at him with approval. “How do you feel, darling boy?”
He mouthed, “Good,” hoping she understood.
Dobkins nodded with a smile.
Vivienne stared at him with her head tilted slightly back. “I seriously doubt anyone would recognise you. Even Cade wouldn’t know who you are.”
He flashed a smile before mouthing slowly, “Thank you.”
She became serious, her eyes shining. “You don’t have to thank me. We did what any decent person would do.”
Then he must have met only not-so-decent people.
She sidestepped the clothes and empty bottles on the floor to come closer to him. The rising worry couldn’t be fear, could it? There was no reason to be scared of Vivienne.
She stopped in front of him, tears welling up in her eyes. “You are so brave.”
He didn’t feel brave, only lucky.
She reached out, maybe to take his hand, but withdrew her arm.
Likely, the way he’d reacted the last time she’d touched him discouraged her from touching him again. Perhaps he should make her understand he didn’t mind her touch.
