Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(16)

“I’m not asking you to buy the bloody place, you know.”

Alastair cranked an eyebrow upward. It was one thing for Lord and Lady Wescomb to act as his patrons, but Reuben’s intentions were confusing him.



“Oh, dear,” the man groaned. “Here’s the truth: I’m a right bear as a landlord and Henny…Henrietta is very particular that my investment properties remain in good condition. Finding suitable tenants is difficult.”

“Why do you think I would be suitable?”

“You just would be. Now come, come, I haven’t shown the best part yet.” Reuben beckoned him forward, then unlocked a door and pushed it open. The room smelled stale. “Don’t mind the odor. A bit of scrubbing will do wonders.”

It was actually two rooms. The front was rather large, opening onto the street. The other room was a bit smaller, but still quite adequate.

“Do you see what I mean?” Reuben prompted, his eyes aglow.

Alastair walked around the main room, letting his enthusiasm off its leash. “Big enough for a waiting room, and this…” he noted, moving into the smaller space, “is ideal for a surgery and an office.”

Light clapping came from his companion. “So when do you wish to take possession of your new home, Doctor?”

Reluctantly, Alastair shook his head. “I dare not. For all I know, Flaherty’s warning is still in effect. He was furious I came to Keats’ aid that night in Whitechapel, and he may well bomb the clinic if it reopens. If you’re concerned about your property, my tenancy could easily bring it to the ground.”

“Then don’t open the clinic until Flaherty is caught. It will take some time to get matters in order anyway.”

“He may still seek personal retribution,” Alastair protested.

“Then wouldn’t it be better to be in your own home than in a boarding house? As I see it, if he were going to harm you, he would have done so by now. It’s been a fortnight, at least.”

“I know, but…I have no equipment. I sold my benches.” Alastair wandered out into the bigger room again, his mind suddenly churning with possibility.

“You have that hundred quid from the Wescombs. You could use it here,” Reuben prompted. “I know they’d approve.”

What is happening? He didn’t dare think of—



“How much?” Alastair asked, astonished.

Reuben grinned. “Twenty shillings a week. I won’t need a deposit, and I’ll help you get the equipment at the best prices available.”

Alastair cocked his head. “Why are you doing all this for me?”

Reuben’s enthusiasm fell away, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “I had a wise advisor when I was first in practice. He helped me find my way. His only stipulation was that when I found a promising new doctor, I should aid him in the same manner. That’s the debt I’ll expect you to repay down the line.”

“Who was this kind soul who gave you a start?”

“A physician in Edinburgh.”

“He must be very proud of you.”

“I think he is, but he’s not said a word. Dr. Bell is not—”

“Bell? Dr. Joseph Bell?” Alastair exclaimed. “But he’s one of the leading—”

Reuben put his hand on Alastair’s shoulder. “Yes, that’s the man. One sharp-eyed, hard-edged fellow, but he taught me the profession. I’ll do the same for you, if you’re willing.”

“My God,” Alastair whispered, humbled. Reuben was offering him the world.

“As I remember, my reaction was precisely the same.”

“I’ll accept, but only if you’ll introduce me to the fellow,” Alastair replied, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to meet him.”

Reuben guffawed and they shook hands heartily. “I’ve already written him a letter making that very request. Come on, we’ll sign the papers and then have a celebratory luncheon. You can move in tomorrow. Henny can help you find a maid-of-all-work or a housekeeper, if you wish.”

Alastair hadn’t even considered that. A house needed someone to watch over it. The solution came instantly.

“No need,” he told him. “I know the perfect person, if she’ll accept.”

~??~??~??~



“Anderson?” Ramsey called out.



The reporter had brown hair and a crisp moustache. He looked up from the notebook he’d been studying and issued a quick nod. There was a pint in front of him, but Ramsey didn’t spy any of the telltale signs of a heavy drinker. Not all journalists would pass muster in that regard. Or coppers, either.

“I’m Inspector Ramsey.” He didn’t bother to sit. There was too much to be done for them to be chatting about the weather. “Let’s get to it.”

“As you wish, Inspector.” The man rose, tucked away the notebook and left the half-pint of ale on the table. Most of his ilk would have gulped it rather than waste the booze.

Ramsey waited until they were on the street to open his barrage. “I hear I’m stuck with you on the soles of my shoes until further orders.”

“Yes, you are.”

“How’d you manage that one?”

“I know people.”