Page 43 of The Number of Love
A stranger looked back at her with short waves in her hair, Maman’s handiwork lending style to her figure, a flash of color she never sought but which even she knew suited her complexion. She wrapped her arms around her middle and felt her mother embracing her.
“Maman.” She whispered the name into the room—a plea. A prayer she knew the Lord wouldn’t answer. He wouldn’t give her mother back to her. Couldn’t, because He’d created a world of rules and laws and mathematical certainties, and that world didn’t involve women rising from the grave a week after they’d died and been buried.
The floor greeted her, though she wasn’t aware of her knees having buckled until they smacked into the unforgiving wood. But her knees didn’t matter. The pain was welcome, even. A muted echo of her heart.
Arms still wrapped around herself, she leaned her head againstthe bed and breathed in the lily of the valley scent that equaled Maman. The breath knotted, heaved, her diaphragm rebelled, and something hot and wet scalded her cheeks.
“Maman,” she whispered again into the room. But the only answer was the sound of her sob.
13
Look sharp, men.” One of the patients who was a day or so away from being released back to his unit scurried into the ward. His eyes were wide, and he followed his own advice, cinching the belt on his dressing gown and standing far straighter than most of the blokes in hospital could hope to do. “There’s an admiral on his way in. Coming foryou, Elton.”
Drake pushed himself up a few more inches, glad he could manage the feat today without having to call for a nurse like an infant. It would be Hall, he assumed. He’d had a feeling DID would come by before another day or two could pass.
What surprised him when Hall strode into the ward a minute later wasn’t the way he homed directly in on Drake’s bed. And it certainly wasn’t the way his presence filled the room, despite the fact that he was neither tall nor particularly fierce-looking, and made all the men who were awake try to salute. What surprised him was the very familiar bag clutched in his hand. Drake’s bag—the one he’d had with him on the train. The one he’dlefton the train. Thoroton must have retrieved it for him and sent it along.
“At ease, men,” DID said with a smile as he turned toward Drake’s cot. He set the bag down and took a seat without any ado. “Lieutenant Elton. How are you feeling today?”
“Ready to escape.” He still hurt like the dickens and hadn’t attempted to stand since he’d fallen into that train car, but he was awake far too much for the monotony of hospital life to be anything but agonizing. He added a smile. “And report back to duty, I mean.”
Hall snorted a laugh. “Right. You look it. Though actually, that’s what I’ve come about. I know you’re the type who will improve faster if you’ve something to occupy your mind.”
“Yes!” He nearly shouted it, though he caught himself in time. Any patient who dared to raise his voice in anything but a scream of pain would be chastised immediately by Nurse Wilcox, the same ward matron who had so infuriated Margot De Wilde the other day. He couldn’t help smiling over the memory of her stomping in, her hair an absolute wreck and fury dripping from every beautiful line of her face.
Hopefully DID would chalk the smile up to something other than thoughts of Margot De Wilde. Though as distractions went, she’d proven an interesting one. She hadn’t rejoined Dot on her daily visits, but his sister had endless stories to tell from their six-week-long acquaintance.
“I do realize that five days in hospital is hardly enough to have recovered after such a scrape, and I’ll not have you pushing yourself beyond your capabilities andslowingyour recuperation. However”—Hall lifted his chin and looked down at Drake like a schoolmaster would look at a particularly bright pupil who was acting particularly stupid—“if you promise to abide by the dictates of your doctor, I’ve made arrangements.”
Drake nodded, afraid to part his lips lest that forbidden shout of joy emerge.
The admiral nodded too. “Very well, then. Tomorrow you’ll be moved to your sister’s flat. I’ve arranged for your doctor to pay you a visit every day, and we can hire a nurse as well, if needed. If their reports are good, then I’ll begin sending a bit of work home for you with your sister.”
“With my...” Drake pursed his lips. “But, sir—”
“You’ll have to tell her, Lieutenant.” Hall’s tone left no room fordebate. “Thus far she is willing to believe that I am the bearer of information simply becausesheis under my command, but that will not hold up if we move forward with this plan.”
“Yes, sir.” Training had him agreeing. But training didn’t answer the questions. How was he supposed to inform his sister that he was an intelligence agent—not just a sailor—without sparking the fear that lived deep inside her? How was he to admit that when she thought he’d been on the battleshipRoyal Oak, seeing little action, he’d really been with Abuelo in Spain, balancing the image of a spoiled university student with the reality of dodging German bullets?
Ornotdodging them, as the case may be.
Margot De Wilde seemed to have a formula for telling a convincing lie. Did she also have one for delivering a hard truth?
“Very good. Now.” Eyes snapping with amusement, Hall leaned forward. “I’ve yet to get a straight answer from either Miss De Wilde or your sister about what happened here the other day to result in shorn locks. But I suspect it’s a story I want to hear.”
It was certainly one that had been making the rounds in the ward—always at the expense of the cantankerous matron who had dared to insult their duchess. As Drake told the admiral the tale, his neighbors butted in now and then with their own observations of how Miss De Wilde had stridden in, looking to be the epitome of furious pride. And how Dot had been the only one in the room who seemed more horrified than impressed.
The admiral chuckled in all the right places, going so far as to lean back in his chair and slap a hand to his knee at one point.
The duchess herself made an appearance as they were wrapping up the tale, stealing the attention of most of the men and giving Hall the chance to lean forward and say quietly, eyes still twinkling, “Don’t waste your time, Elton.”
Drake lifted his brows. “Pardon?”
“Pursuing Margot De Wilde. I see the interest in your eyes.”
His brows pulled down again. Hall was famous for reading people, but even so—Drake was usually better at hiding his thoughts thanthat. Perhaps it was the fault of the injury and medication and endless hours on this blighted cot. But DIDhadseen, apparently, so what was the point in denying it? He weighed the question for a moment before coming to the conclusion that admitting it could actually prove an advantage. He could ask the admiral questions he couldn’t ask his sister without announcing toherhis interest in her friend. “Is she spoken for?”
The admiral barked a laugh. “Heavens no! She wouldn’t hear of it. Which is my point. In the last year I have watched no fewer than half a dozen men try to get her attention, and she is utterly oblivious to them all.”
