‘Gosh, Flora, you look terrible.’ Ed pressed a kiss on her cheek, the smell of antiseptic and lemon verbena from his cologne bringing fresh tears to her eyes.
‘Thank you, although it looks worse than it is and Dr Grace says I’m healing well. How’s your head?’
‘No one’s taking my injury very seriously.’ Ed fingered the bandage as he slid onto the edge of the thin mattress, making the bed dip slightly. Not after all the drama over yours anyway.’
‘Now that’s untrue!’ Bunny cuffed him lightly. ‘Concussion is nothing to be dismissive about.’
‘The doctor says I wouldn’t even have a scar when the swelling goes down.’ He gestured vaguely at the space between her throat and her waist. ‘I’ll bet you’ll have something to show for all this excitement?’
‘Gunshots are no joke, Ed,’ Bunny snapped. ‘Flora almost died.’
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it sound trivial.’ His eyes rounded. ‘I thought for a while there she had died.’
‘It’s Leo’s death I regret most of all,’ Flora said, forestalling Bunny’s protest. Ed’s way of dealing with upsetting situations was to make light of them.
‘So do I.’ Ed’s smile faded. ‘In the end, he died for nothing.’
‘Most of us do, Ed.’ Flora sighed, a heaviness settling onto her chest which had little to do with the tight bindings.
‘You know, Flora, I’ve been thinking.’ He shifted position on the bed, sending shock waves into her hip she did her best to hide. ‘We’re really good at this detective stuff. Why don’t we open a private agency in Mayfair with Viscount Trent, Fighter of Crime etched in gold on the door. I’ll hire a secretary and buy one of those typewriting machines. What do you say, Flora?’
‘I think I prefer Harrington and Trent?’ Flora supressed a smile. ‘Although what would you tell your father?’
‘Ah, didn’t think of that.’ Ed stroked his chin with one hand, thoughtful but not at all discouraged. ‘I could still sit in the House when the time comes?’
‘That’s enough now, Ed. Flora’s getting tired.’ Dr Grace eased him firmly into the hallway, directing a swift but firm nod at Bunny in a silent signal Flora didn’t understand. Following Ed from the room, she pulled the door closed behind her leaving them alone. Bunny dragged the chair closer to the bed and sat, plucked Flora’s hand from the coverlet and laced his fingers with hers. ‘I need to talk to you.’
Her stomach flipped as she looked into his eyes, unable to discern what she saw there.
‘Do you recall the last thing Inspector Maddox said to you before he left Eaton Place?’
‘I should, it’s his favourite litany where I’m concerned. That I should forget chasing villains and stay at home to look after my husband and baby.’
‘In light of what has happened, is it such an unreasonable expectation?’
‘When there are so many bad people ruining lives? Someone has to stop them.’ Bunny’s jaw went slack and he opened his mouth to speak, but Flora forestalled him. ‘I’m joking, silly. Although, without us, Ed could be facing murder charges. Although Maddox did solve this one pretty much on his own.’ She ran a finger along his clean shaven cheek waiting for him to broach what was really on his mind. Bunny was a master of deflection.
‘You’ve had close shaves before,’ he said softly. ‘This time it could have been the end, for both of us. I cannot risk such a thing happening again. It’s my duty to look after you, which I cannot do if you’re running around town chasing criminals. I need you, Arthur needs you – and—’
‘Suppose I do stay at home; won’t that spoil everything?’
‘What do you mean? What could possibly be spoiled?’
‘Us.’ She ran her thumb over his palm, avoiding looking at him as her throat constricted. ‘When we met, it was over a dead body on a steamship, which set the pattern of our lives together in a chain of murder, robbery, spies and fraud. We enjoyed those cases, didn’t we? Finding out who killed Riordan when everyone said it was a riding accident. And then there was the Evangeline Lange case where we exposed that Serbian spy. What will happen to you and me when we have no mysteries to solve?’
‘There are always crossword puzzles.’ He tucked in his chin, his lips pursed as he peered at her over the top of his spectacles.
‘I’m being serious.’ She would have nudged him but the threat of more pain prevented her. ‘If all I had to discuss with you over dinner was Mrs Cope’s beef being tough, or Arthur having learned a new word, wouldn’t you get bored with me?’
‘What a strange girl you are.’ He left the chair and slid onto the mattress, his arm round her shoulders. ‘You’ve never bored me in the entire time I’ve known you.’ She started to contradict him, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. ‘Which has nothing to do with your crime-solving skills. I rather think it’s despite them.’
‘Are you sure? You won’t start dining at your club every night and going off for shooting weekends without me?’
‘That will never happen.’ He leaned against the mountain of pillows supporting her shoulders, his lips against her hair. ‘Flora,’ he whispered, ‘I have to tell you something.’
‘What is it?’ A frisson of alarm ran through her, aware he had been working up to whatever it was he planned to say since he arrived. It couldn’t be Arthur, or he would have mentioned that immediately.
‘Dr Grace told me the bullet has done some damage.’
‘I know, I can feel it.’ She summoned a smile which he did not return. ‘But don’t worry, the surgery was a success and I’m a quick healer. I shall have a wonderful story to tell about my battle scars when I’m your mother’s age.’
‘Flora…’ he tilted her chin with his finger so she was looking straight into his eyes.
‘Hmm?’ Her gaze focused on a speck of dirt on his spectacles.
She reached to brush it away when he said, ‘There will be no more children.’
Her hand dropped nerveless onto the coverlet, a heavy silence stretching between them as she waited for the surge of denial, shock and rage at fate’s unfairness to rise up inside her in a maelstrom of despair. Nothing happened. Had Dr Grace’s potion addled her brain so she couldn’t think straight?
‘Flora, did you hear what I said?’ His brow furrowed as he searched her face. ‘I know this is awful news for you, but you’ll get over it.’
‘I’ll get over it? What about you?’ her voice cracked slightly. ‘Aren’t you horribly disappointed?’
‘In you?’ He shook his head, incredulous. ‘No, how could I possibly be?
‘I know we’ve never discussed it, but I always imagined we would have a big family someday.’
‘Flora, my love. I had a wonderful childhood not having to compete for attention. You were a singleton too. Did you feel you suffered from not having siblings?’
She shook her head. It was true, she had always loved the fact it was only her and Riordan in their cosy apartment on the top floor of Cleeve Abbey. Being able to command his exclusive attention had always made her feel special.
‘Arthur is all I could have imagined in a child,’ Bunny whispered. ‘I’m more than content to be a father of one. How do you feel about it?’
‘I don’t know yet. A little sad, maybe.’ Where was the grief and regret for what might have been? ‘A bit like a present I always looked forward to but will never have.’
Fast on these thoughts came the one she had never admitted aloud. That she doubted her ability to love another child the way she did their beautiful little boy. Now she would be spared the guilt of having a favourite.
‘Get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.’ Bunny brought her hand up to his lips, his breath warm on her fingertips. ‘And before you say it’s not allowed, I defy even Dr Grace to try and stop me.’ He tenderly adjusted the coverlet over her and smoothed the pillow behind her head. Her eyelids fluttered closed as fatigue engulfed her, lulled by the touch of his hand holding hers.
Had
he suppressed his own disappointment to spare her a sense of inadequacy? Would the subject be forever avoided to spare them pain, or would they have the courage to broach it again sometime in the future?
In the place between wakefulness and oblivion, she recalled something Eric Paige had said about being halfway to Waterford. Wasn’t Holyhead where the ferry to Ireland left from? She must remember to tell Inspector Maddox to alert the Garda Síochána in the morning.
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Acknowledgements
With grateful thanks to the brilliant team at Aria for all their efforts in making this series possible. To Caroline Ridding for her vision in bringing Flora to life, Sarah Ritherdon for her enthusiasm for my characters, Jade Craddock and Sue Lamprell for their sharp eye in straightening out my clumsy narrative, and Aria’s art department for the beautiful covers.
My appreciation also goes to the Historical Fiction Critique Group: AnneMarie, Diane, Jennie, Kathy, Lisa, Maggi, Mirella, Rosemary, Susan and Ursula, who have read every word of this series offering their skills, encouragement and great advice.
About Anita Davison
Born in London, ANITA DAVISON has always had a penchant for all things historical. She now lives in the beautiful Cotswolds, the backdrop for her Flora Maguire mysteries.
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About the Flora Maguire Mysteries
Driven by the secrets of her past, Flora Maguire ventures between the elegant shops and drawing rooms of Edwardian Knightsbridge and Belgravia to the crowded and shabby streets of Whitechapel and Southwark.
In company with her charming partner Bunny Maguire, their adventures bring them into contact with senior policemen, Foreign Office officials, the Salvation Army and the Women’s Suffrage movement in their search for spies and murderers.
Flora transforms from a shy, if outspoken governess to a determined young woman to whom no boundary is prohibited if there is a criminal to be revealed…
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Addictive Fiction
First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Anita Davison, 2018
The moral right of Anita Davison to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781786690852
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