Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(30)

“I’m sorry, I’m as confused as Keats about this.” He tucked the blanket around her. “I think it’s best we remove your boots. Your socks are probably wet, and that will not do a thing for your health.” She leaned over and watched him unlace each of them. When he removed the second one, a single coin fell to the floor.



He laughed. “I’d forgotten—you store your money in the most improbable of places.” He picked it up and showed it to her. “It’s a shilling.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I was so hungry.”

The man’s humor withered. “How long have you been on the streets?”

“Ah…don’t know,” she told him. “There was a man…I ran away from him. He wasn’t right.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Trust your instincts. That’s the best protection you have right now. Now tuck your feet under the blanket. They’re very cold.”

She did as he asked. He placed her boots and damp socks near the fireplace. Sitting on the couch with her, he opened up a book and then displayed it to her.

“You bought this for me, though I doubt you remember that now. It has proven very helpful. Thank you.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it seemed to make him feel better. As she held the little animal she stared at the fire. It made her warm and drowsy. Every now and then, the doctor would look over at her then return to his book.

“Just you and me tonight,” he informed her. “Mrs. Butler will move in tomorrow morning. She will be a great help.”

“Who?”

He shook his head, dismayed. After a few more minutes, he thumped the book shut and set it aside. Cautiously, she leaned against him and he tucked her under his arm. He would make a good brother, she thought. He’d never try to hurt her. Try to throw her in the river.

“Go ahead and sleep. You’re safe here,” he whispered.

Reassured, she nestled closer.





Chapter 10




Keats cut south toward a landing where he could hire a waterman to take him to Church Stairs. He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to hear a shout or a police whistle at any moment. Once he was in Rotherhithe, he’d be fine.

Only a few more days. Find Flaherty and the explosives, then everything would fall in place. The charges would be dropped and he might be able to resume his career, though there would no doubt be disciplinary action for his egregious behavior. Hopefully, they wouldn’t bust his rank.

When he reached the landing, he saw a waterman returning across the Thames, oars breaking the surface in long, sure strokes. Keats tugged up his collar, trying not to look nervous.

Speed it up, will you?

The boat was forty yards from the shore when he saw the constable. The fellow was swinging his lantern around, hunting for something.

Me.

If he moved from his spot, it would look suspicious. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay put. The boat glided toward the shore as the constable tromped on. It would be too close for his liking. In the dark, he saw a second boat approach the first, causing it to stop. The two watermen began to chat about whatever was on their minds, a waiting customer be damned.

Talk to him later! He had no choice now and turned away, intending to skirt along the river’s edge and cross using the underwater tunnel.

“Sir?” a voice called. It was a second constable and his bull’s-eye lantern caught Keats straight in the eyes, blinding him.

“Constable,” he acknowledged, shielding his face.

“What’s your business, sir?”

“Goin’ cross the river to my wife and bed,” he replied, pushing the working-class accent to the hilt.

“What were you doing in Whitechapel?”

“Lookin’ for a job. T’ain’t any to be found.”



Behind, Keats heard the first constable approaching. He was trapped between them.

“Ya need a row across, mate?” a voice called. The waterman had finally arrived.

Keats turned away from the glare of the lamp. “I do.”

“Then get aboard,” the fellow called. Keats made sure not to hurry, moving more like a tired man might rather than one fearing arrest. Behind him, the two constables talked amongst themselves.

As the boat steadily moved away from shore, Keats allowed himself to relax. Finally, he could no longer resist and he looked back over his shoulder at the constables. One was waving his lantern, like he was signaling someone. Keats turned toward the far shore. Another lantern swung in reply.

They’d figured out who he was, but too late. “Let’s land a bit further upstream,” Keats suggested.

“Prince’s Stairs?”

There was a police station near there. “No, Cherry Garden Stairs,” he replied.

“Cost ya extra.”

“I’m good for it.” Keats leaned back in the boat.

Too close.

A few minutes later Keats heard the sound, but tried to ignore it. There were a number of steam vessels on the Thames, he assured himself. It could be any one of them. The noise continued, rising in intensity. When the boat’s bow chugged out of the darkness, it angled to cut them off from the far shore. Keats swore under his breath. The constables had signaled a launch.