Page 87 of The Number of Love
Apparently he was utterly transparent. Drake gave him a sheepish smile and stood. “Yes, sir. I know.” And every man had to say farewell to his sweetheart these days, it seemed. He was nothing special. He ought to simply be grateful to have had this much time with her. And that he wasn’t being sent to the front lines. Just to Spain. Back to his grandfather’s luxurious house and Thoroton’s efficient team.
But he was going to miss her.
27
Is it too soon, do you think?” Dot worried her lip between her teeth—and still was smiling. “I shouldn’t be even hoping for such a thing quite yet, I know. And he’s only been at Lord Whitby’s factory for a few weeks. But he’s already been promoted once. It seemsright.”
Were it anyone but Dot speculating on whether or not her sweetheart meant to propose to her over Christmas, Margot would have rolled her eyes and strode away over the parade grounds and home without a backward glance. But itwasDot. And so she rolled her eyes and stayed at her side, happy enough to take the path that would lead her to Dot’s flat instead of her own. “Of course it’s right. Does it even require conversation?” Because even with Dot, she didn’t quite know how tohavesuch a conversation. What if she wanted to start talking about weddings? Gowns? Flower arrangements? Margot shuddered at the very thought.
“When I’m with him ... he makes me feel as though I’m the only girl in the world. As though none of my quirks matter in the least. That we can stay in or we can go out, and it’s all the same so long as we’re together.”
“Well, it would be stupid to consider marriage to someone whodidn’tthink that way, wouldn’t it?” Margot pulled her scarf a bit tighter and tucked her hands into her coat pockets. The air had gotten downright icy throughout the day and was bitter now, withnewly fallen night around them. They might actually get a bit of snow if warmer air didn’t sweep in off the ocean and return them to last month’s relative temperance. “Though you can be sure Red, at least, isn’t going anywhere. There’s no reason to rush into anything. Why not enjoy the courtship?”
And give Margot a few more weeks or months of friendship before they spun into their different world. She didn’t want to think of how everything would change once Dot got married. Would she even keep working at the OB? Or would she settle happily into the new role of housewife, tending the little flat Holmes had so proudly invited them all to the other night, and leave this world behind?
She’d be gone. Into Chiswick instead of Chelsea. Drake would be in Spain. A quick close to a short chapter.Do you remember the autumn of 1917, Lukas and Willa would say to each other,when Margot actually had a friend and a beau? Whatever happened to that?
She shouldn’t pity herself. She must be happy for Dot. Happy for Drake, that he would return to the work he loved. Happy for Holmes, that asking for spare change on a street one night had somehow led to a solid position under the Earl of Whitby, a new home, and a woman who loved him.
Margot’s fingers traced the edge of a florin in her pocket. She’d had a role in that, however small. She’d done the right thing even without any numbers to tell her itwasthe right thing, and she’d made a difference in a man’s life. In her friend’s life too.
Still, she felt the cold as she walked beside Dot. Because they weren’t moving in parallel lines at all. It had looked that way for a while, but now she could clearly see the distance between them widening. Their paths would diverge, not intersect in infinity. Perhaps they had intersected at that one point, the day they met, and had been at such an acute angle that it had justseemedfor a while to be equidistant.
Movement caught her eye, a flash of deeper darkness, even as Dot said, “What in the world is—”
And then a scream cut her off. First a masculine one, more a battle cry than a scream. And then Dot’s piercing shout for help.
Margot spun toward the movement, letting her bag fall to the ground, trying to assess the situation that looked like nothing but a blur. A dark-colored coat, a man’s hat, Dot’s flailing limbs.
In one-eighth of a second, the details came into focus: the man’s shaggy dark hair, his trim beard that hid a nearly delicate mouth, curled back in a snarl. He’d materialized from the alley like a specter.
Williams.
She hadn’t seen him in weeks. And never like this. The stoop was gone, as was the distant look to his eyes. Intent gleamed there now. Malicious intent. It glinted wicked and bright off the blade that Williams held aloft, aimed at Dot.
Why? Why would he do this?
A quarter of a second for it all to process. That was all she could afford. Then Willa’s voice in her ear, teaching her how to walk the streets safely at night, alone.“If anyone ever attacks you, don’t try to recoil. Meet them, move into them. They never expect that.Then use their momentum to keep pushing them in the same direction they’d been going. Don’t try to knock them back, especially if it’s a man. Usetheir strength against them.”
She’d practiced on Lukas, who had proven a terrible combat partner, and then on Barclay, who had been the one to train Willa to begin with. He’d worked with Margot until she had the move down, applauding her when she’d sent him tumbling over and again to the floor, not minding the bruises.
It came back to her now. She pushed Dot out of the way and met Williams’s advance, grabbing his knife-wielding arm rather than trying to avoid it. Pulling on it, pulling on him, wrenching the arm around as she stepped past him.
He grunted in pain, and the knife clattered to the ground. Margot was vaguely aware of Dot scrambling for it but more intent upon turning to face him again as he spun on her.
There was no moonlight to show her his face, just the weak gas lamps that didn’t quite reach them. She couldn’t make out his expression, but he hesitated a second before making a rush at her.
She stepped forward again, met him, and brought a knee up into his groin that sent him to the ground.
“Run!” Dot, with that wicked knife in her hands and Margot’s bag over her shoulder, grabbed her by the arm and jerked her away.
Probably the best advice at this point, while Williams was immobilized. And he was coughing, wheezing with every groan. That would buy them another minute or two that might offset how much slower Dot’s pumps would make them.
They ran.
Familiar streets sped by, but they didn’t slow until they reached Dot’s building, other than to look back and make sure he wasn’t giving chase. They were both gasping for breath as they pushed through the doors and stumbled up the steps, neither of them accustomed to such a pace.
Dot’s hands shook as she fumbled her keys out of her own bag. Not trembling, but actual, violent shaking. She dropped the keys. She choked on a sob as she tried to pick them up and couldn’t seem to get hold of them.
