Page 12 of The Sisters of Sea View
It was more than she’d imagined. She could cover a housemaid’s wages with more to spare.
“Yes. Quite well.”
“Good, good. You shall earn it, I predict. Well, no use in putting it off any longer. I shall take you to him.”
Rising, he led her to a ground-floor room down the passage. When they reached a closed door, Mr. Hutton turned to her, lowering his voice. “I should warn you, he may not react well at first, but he shall come around in time.”
Mildly alarmed, she looked at him through the netting of her veil. “He does not know I am here?”
Mr. Hutton shook his head. “I answered your advertisement in his stead. Sometimes those who need help are reticent to ask for it. You do understand.”
“But if he—”
Her protest fell away as Mr. Hutton knocked twice and pushed open the door.
Inside, the room was dim, the shutters closed most of the way, although a shaft of sunlight and fresh air leaked in from one partially open window. A cluttered desk stood near the door. Across the room, a figure lay in a couch-bed, somewhat like her mother’s, although the bed hangings were less ornate. He wore a banyan, or fine gentleman’s robe. As she’d been told, a white bandage covered one eye. She noticed dark hair above, but the details of his face were difficult to make out in the poor light.
“What now?” the prone man growled.
“Good afternoon, Jack. There is someone here to see you, so do behave.”
“Whoever it is, send them away.”
Mr. Hutton shot her an apologetic look. “Too late. Here she is.”
“I told you, no visitors!”
“Miss Summers is not a visitor. She is here to read to you.”
“I am not a child.”
“No, but you have stacks of newspapers gathering dust and correspondence going unanswered.”
“Most of it useless twaddle, no doubt.”
His father stepped toward the window. “Shall I open the shutters so she might better see...?”
“Leave them closed.”
“Right. Well, I shall leave you to it.” Mr. Hutton ducked from the room, as though expecting a projectile to be hurled his way.
When he had gone, Viola glanced at the patient, saw him lift a glass of amber liquid and then, casting a look in her direction, set it down again, apparently thinking the better of it.
“Very clever of him to arrange this for a time Armaan would be out.”
“Armaan? Is that your valet? Wait, your father mentioned a batman.”
He shook his head, wincing at the movement. “Armaan is my friend. We served together in India. He saved my life—pulled me from a burning building.”
“Oh. Forgive me.”
“It’s a common assumption. My own father mistakes the matter. At all events, had Armaan answered the door, he would have sent you marching in retreat. What was your name again?”
She faltered at the abrupt question. “M-Miss Summers.” She made a concerted effort to calm down and moderate her speech.
“Summers...” He frowned. “That’s the name of the wretched people converting the place next door into a common boarding house.”
She raised her chin. “We preferguest house.”
