The Forgotten Room(56)

I was about to remind him that he was a patient when we both heard the unmistakable clicking of high-heeled shoes in the corridor outside. Cooper limped back to his bed as quickly as possible, and I followed him, not really sure why I felt like we’d been caught doing something wrong.

He slid beneath the sheets and as I leaned forward to tuck the blankets beneath the mattress, I felt the ruby slowly slide from its hiding place. I stood quickly, hoping to tuck it back inside my dress before he noticed. His hand grabbed my wrist, his eyes meeting mine.

The door flew open. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” Caroline Middleton stood near the pile of discarded clothes, the light from the hallway behind her outlining her form like a halo.

Cooper dropped his hand as I straightened, tucking the necklace back into my dress. “Good morning, Miss Middleton. I’m happy to report that Captain Ravenel is making wonderful progress. I expect that we will be able to release him in no more than two weeks.”

I stepped away from the bed, feeling his eyes on me but knowing that looking back would mean acknowledging that he’d seen the ruby. That there was a connection between us, a connection I couldn’t begin to understand.

I busily tidied the bedside table as I prepared to leave. “It’s a little early for visiting hours. Perhaps you’d like to come back later?”

Caroline’s lips curved upward. “Dr. Greeley told me that I could come at any time. And because those awful sirens woke me up at such an ungodly hour, I thought I’d just come straight here to see Cooper.”

I used my foot to slide the pile of clothes out of the way and against the wall, then stepped past her. “Well, then, I see Captain Ravenel’s in good hands, so I’ll leave you. If you’d like coffee, there’s usually a fresh pot at the nurses’ station on the first floor. And it’s the real thing, too. New York City managed to get an exemption on a few rationed items, thanks to the Society of Restaurateurs. Being that we’re a military and war production area, and all. But it’s still in limited supply, so go easy on it.”

Caroline sat down in the chair by the bed and slowly slid off her gloves. “Oh, just one cup should do me. I like mine black with two sugars.”

I paused in the threshold just for a moment, then turned back to her with a wide smile. “So do I,” I said, before quickly heading down the corridor toward the stairs, listening to Cooper’s laughter echoing off the plaster walls.





Seventeen




CHRISTMAS EVE 1892


Olive


The fire in the grate was already lit, and the room radiated a homely warmth. Harry released her hand—they had raced up the stairs together like guilty lovers, Harry’s fingers wound so tightly around hers that she could hardly breathe—and closed the door behind them.

“This had better be quick,” Olive said. “I’ve got to be in bed by eleven for Mrs. Keane’s inspection. And if she catches me stealing down the stairs . . .” She let her words trail away, because she couldn’t quite say what the consequence of this malfeasance might be (too horrible to contemplate—immediate dismissal without reference, possibly a public flogging) and because Harry was hurrying across the room to the squat old Chinese cabinet by the wall, and why on earth would he be doing that?

A surprise, he’d said. Well, she couldn’t help but flutter a bit, could she? She was human.

“Don’t worry about Mrs. Keane,” Harry was saying, as he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of the cabinet. “I’ve already set her up with a bottle of Christmas brandy and an entire mince pie all to herself. With my grateful thanks for a year of service, of course.”

Olive tried to imagine Mrs. Keane drinking a glass of brandy. “And she accepted it?”

“She’s always had a soft spot for me. God knows why.” Harry rose from the cabinet and turned, smiling his brilliant smile.

“You know very well why.”

“Well, I shared the first glass with her, just to get her started, and I can promise you she won’t be in any condition to make an inspection this evening.” He saluted. “You are hereby dismissed from your duties, Miss Olive, and have only yourself to please.”

“Until five o’clock tomorrow morning.”

For a moment, he was silent, and a little of the smile faded from his mouth. He still stood before the cabinet, holding something in both hands behind his back. “Are you really up so very early?” he said at last.

“Didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t think five o’clock. And I’ve made you stay up so late.”

“It was worth it.”

“Was it?”

She dropped her gaze to the worn Oriental rug. “You know it was.”

The floorboards creaked as he stepped toward her. She counted each one, because they belonged to Harry, because the floorboards were so lucky to bear the touch of Harry’s feet. Her hands twisted together atop the wilting white face of her pinafore apron. When he stopped before her, she admired the curve of his shoes.

“I have something for you. But you’re going to have to look up first.”

Olive looked up slowly, but only as far as his hands, which now held a small framed miniature portrait.

“I painted it from the sketches. It’s the best one yet. I think I’m finally getting it right. Getting you right, I mean. The lines of your face and figure, the pose, the way your nightgown drapes against your skin, although of course it’s not a nightgown here, it’s more like a—a medieval garment that— Anyway, do you like it?”