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“I kept dirt in my pocket.”
We’d passed a couple of planter boxes on our way through the front door. I put my hand on his arm, surprised to feel him trembling. “I’ll bring you some. Hold on for a moment.”
I hadn’t yet removed my overcoat, so I put my hat back on and pocketed the key. The elevator moved much too slowly, but as soon as humanely possible I returned with…
“Dirt.”
I’d filled my handkerchief with soil from the front planter box. Rafe took it from me, his cane tumbling to the floor so he could cup the parcel in both hands. His shoulders relaxed, and some of the tension left his jaw.
“This will help,” he said. “Thank you.”
He tied the corners of the handkerchief in a knot and tucked the whole thing away in a fold of his cloak.
“Go bathe. Dinner should be here soon.”
He went to the bathroom, and in a moment I heard the tap run. We’d each have a turn in the bath, and everyone’s mood should improve by then.
Dinner arrived while I was struggling to force my clean body into the same dirty clothes I’d been wearing. Food gave me the impetus I needed to get dressed, although I could not force my feet into my boots, despite having wiped off the muck from the streets. Soon the three of us were seated at the dining table, each with a plate laden with pork chops, apples, and creamy potatoes. Margaret poured water from the pitcher they’d provided, and I poured the wine.
Margaret’s hair was down, her long braid trailing on the floor. Rafe wore all black, though he’d left the cloak in the closet. I felt shabby and poorly put together. I’d also need to visit the bank before heading to the lighthouse. Granted, there’d be no place to spend it when we got there, but I’d feel better with a full wallet.
For a while, none of us had much to say, too busy carving up the pork chops and downing the wine. Once the first blush of hunger abated I dared pose a question to Margaret. “We know they got into the house,”—despite the wards that should have stopped them—“brought you here, and hid you in the Old City tunnels for a time.”
She sighed, spearing a bit of pork with her fork and swirling it around on her plate. “It was Stevenson and two others. They didn’t even use magic, just a bit of chloroform on a rag to knock me out.” Another sigh, this one deeper than the first. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
I covered her hand with mine. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t protect you.”
That earned me a raised eyebrow and a frown. “Oh, take off the hair shirt. I feel stupid for not doing more to protect myself. Stevenson’s no more threat than a hound dog, but there was someone else…” She blinked and looked away. “Someone’s directing their bad comedy, someone who’s both very smart and very strong.”
“Oliver Stevenson did seem to have more resources than our first meeting with him would have indicated.”
Margaret stirred the potatoes on her plate, glancing at the window periodically, as if she expected a devastating storm to hit at any moment. Rafe paused between bites, his expression darkening behind those amber lenses. “That tells us we need to be prepared for anything.”
“Should we be recruiting help? I could wire Madam Munro.”
“No.” His scowl should have made me cautious.
I’ve never been good at being cautious. “Hypothetically, when we get back to the lighthouse tomorrow and the storm hits, Margaret will be occupied. As it’s almost Samhain, you’ll be busy trying to prevent Martin from doing anything devastating. If Stevenson and his crew of unknown assailants show up, either Della and I face them alone or you have to stop looking for the amulet.”
“Mother and I have managed all these weeks,” he said. “If you don’t want to help us, then please stay here where it’s safe.”
“That’s not what I mean.” His remark stung harder than I let on. “But you can’t do it all. We need help.”
No one thought that idea required any further discussion. The word “help” sat in the air, as flaccid and impossible as a fish out of water.
Rafe might not think he needed help, but he was wrong. A handful of men throwing witchfire could do untold amounts of damage. If they somehow disabled the light, our problems would worsen.
The solution was simple. Before we left in the morning, I’d tell the others that I needed to make a visit to the bank, and while there, I’d find a telegraph office and send a message to Madam Munro.
Rafe might not like it – in fact, I had to stop myself from imagining Rafe’s reaction – but it was the only way.
With that settled in my mind, I went back to enjoying my wine. Margaret soon murmured that she’d be retiring for the night, leaving Rafe and I alone.
“How was your dinner?” I asked, an opening salvo to what I hoped would be a more personal conversation.
“Rich.” He took a sip of wine that did little more than wet his lips. “I’m used to simpler fare.”
I eased back in my chair, giving my full belly more room. “As am I, though every now and then it’s nice to have something fancy.”
