Page 10 of The Scent of Intuition
“Miss Charlotte Harrington,” a young woman with a dignified accent said as she followed Andre into Alfie’s apothecary.
Andre set the little girl down on a chair and pulled the stool from underneath so she could rest her leg on it. “She fell off the swing.”
“Oh, that hurts. It happened to me once,” Alfie said kindly, tilting his head toward the top right drawer where he had a tin of arnica ointment ready. Andre took it out behind the counter while Alfie squatted before the little girl. “When I fell off the swing, I thought for a moment that I could fly.”
“Really?” The little girl sniffled and licked a tear that had rolled onto her lips.
“Oh yes. It was in Austria, in the Alps. When you swing so high in the mountains, the air is thin, and you think you can soar like a bird. Did you feel like that?”
She shook her head and eyed her bruised knee. The skin was barely scraped, but a swelling was building underneath. It would heal in less than three days unless she fell again on the exact same spot—which children sometimes did.
“How did it feel in the moment just before the landing?” Alfie asked.
“I don’t know.” She sniffled again.
Andre rustled behind Alfie and produced a cold compress, which he carefully laid on the girl’s knee. She winced.
“You know, there’s glory in the landing, too. Mine at the time was more like a flop.” Alfie watched the girl grimace as the essential oils from the compress began to take action. He smelled the witch hazel Andre had applied, which would have been his preferred astringent, too.
“I came upon Miss Charlotte and her nanny at Regent Park on my way home,” Andre explained.
That was the first time Alfie paid attention to the woman who’d watched them. She was pretty, with lush lips and dark lashes. There was a time when he would have invited her for a glass of wine and perhaps more, but that time seemed so long ago. He couldn’t explain why, but even last week seemed a lifetime ago—a lifetime before he’d met Bea.
Andre removed the compress, and the little girl hissed. Her knee was bony, but her shins still had such a childish layer of fat that Alfie had to smile.
“I’m sure that you’ll heal quickly, and if you ever fall again, you remember that there is glory in the thump you make when you land,” Andre said as he opened the ointment and scooped a glob out with a spatula from Alfie’s drawer. They worked seamlessly together, as Andre knew where to find the most common medicines he needed daily. Correspondingly, Alfie had learned to make sure the supplies were replenished every morning.
“There’s also glory in getting up again,” the woman said.
“This is Miss Cassandra Shaw, a substitute teacher at St. George’s School for Girls,” Andre explained with a man-to-manstare that spoke volumes. Alfie shared a look of his own:Don’t worry, she’s yours.
At the same time, he said, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shaw.” Alfie inclined his head but then turned back to the little girl. “And if you limp a little until the swelling goes down, remember that anyone who limps has once fallen but has also had the strength to get up.”
“So this is a glorious injury?” The little girl said with a half-smile.
“And a most honorable one. A rite of passage, if you will.”
“Passing to what?” the girl asked.
“From a child to a professional on the swing. You’ll be more careful from now on, but you’ll also hold on better and swing higher.”
“Like a bird in the sky?” She beamed. “Or the trapeze artist at the circus?”
“As long as you’re safe, you can be anything you want.” Alfie winked at her.
“Let’s put some ice on this now.” Andre scooped her back up in his arms.
After Andre and his little patient with the pretty teacher had gone, Alfie shut the door. Ice was an excellent idea. Perhaps he should cool his mind and try not to think of Bea lest he swing too high and plummet most inelegantly to his doom. Getting caught with a nobleman’s daughter wouldn’t allow him a second chance in life. And becoming the apothecary he was with a practice in the heart of London had cost him too much—he wasn’t willing to squander his career and livelihood for a fling.
Then why did the thought of not going after Bea sting so much?
Chapter Five
Meanwhile, at Brunswick House upon Thames…
As usual, inthe aftermath of the ball, Bea had taken the carriage to visit her old acquaintance, Violet, the Countess of Langley, who’d hosted the ball and set up the coup that had catapulted Pippa into the epicenter of the season.
The morning sun spilled through the lace curtains of Violet’s dining room, casting a soft, golden glow across the array of breakfast foods laid out on the table. Still feeling the echoes of last night’s ball in her weary muscles, Bea anticipated a morning filled with light conversation about the event and perhaps some speculation on the coup that had been the talk of the Ton. However, as she entered the room, a different situation occurred. The butler led Bea to the table instead of Violet’s drawing room for the usual tea.
