Page 58 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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“What do you mean you missed?” The Master growled at the distasteful man lounging in the doorway. “I paid you to get rid of him. You assured me it was not a hard assignment.”
“Da bloke moved”
“He moved! What the devil does that mean? Did you expect him to walk up to you and hold out his arms, waiting for you to shoot?”
“No. I ’ad im in my sights. I pulled ’he rigger jus as ’e turned back 'o say sumpin ’o ’he lady. I ’it ’is arm instead ov ’is ’eart.”
“You should have shot him again.” The numbskull was not worth the skin that covered his pathetic body. Why were there so many dimwits in the world?
“If you ’hink ’is all so cushy ’o do, why don you do-i yourself?” The man, who had introduced himself as Mr. Evans, pushed himself away from the doorway, and moved into the room, standing not two feet away.
“Perhaps Ishouldhave done it myself. Whatever beating you gave him, it didn’t dissuade him from leaving the lady alone. Now you’ve put him on guard with your mishap.” The Master pounded a fist on the arm of the chair. “One more chance. I will give you one more chance.”
“Is ’at righ’?” His cockney accent was a reminder that he was not someone to push around. “An ’hen wha?”
“I won’t pay you.”
He grinned, gaps in his smile where teeth were missing. “You’ll pay me, all righ. Righ’ now, you’ll pay me. An ’hen I’m done wit you. Is bad luck ’o ’ry an kill a chap a second ’ime. ’E’ll be on guard.”
The Master disliked not being in control. However, in retrospect, it was probably better to pay the cretin and let him go. Anne’s Mr. Baker didn’t matter. The end was coming, anyway. The last package would be delivered soon and it would serve as a strong message to Anne that she had been a very bad girl, and the Master would no longer put up with her antics. It was time for her to come home and resume her proper place. No more watching her from afar, or being close to her, touching her, smelling her, feeling her delicate skin, without bringing her to her knees.
To suffer like the Master had suffered from her defection.Soon, my Anne. Soon.
* * *
It had beena long week of fever-thrashing, gallons of beef broth, and numerous changes of bandages. Elliot was sick to death of being in bed and frustrated at not being able to bring the case to a conclusion.
No more packages had arrived, and Charlotte had agreed to remain home while he was recovering. He had not notified Scotland Yard of the shooting. This was his matter to clear up, and that was precisely what he would do.
“Are we feeling a bit better this morning?” Charlotte sailed into the room, carrying a tray.
“Wewill be feeling quite the thing if that is anything but beef broth and bread.” He nodded at the tray she set down on the table alongside his bed. His mouth began to water at the smell of eggs and bacon, along with toast, a hunk of cheese, fruit, and a pot of tea. “Real food?” He grinned at her, feeling like a lad who was just offered a second biscuit.
“Yes. Dr. Sanford left instructions with Cook when he departed last evening that you are ready for something more substantive in your diet.”
Wincing just a bit, as he shifted and swung his legs over the side of the bed, Elliot eyed the food eagerly. With his good hand, he picked up the toast and took a bite, moaning. “Heaven.”
Charlotte took the opportunity to tuck a large cloth napkin under his chin.
“I’m only allowing you to do that because I am otherwise taken up with this wonderful food. I am not a slobbering old man, nor a babe not yet out of the nursery.”
“No, you are not. But you are incapacitated with the use of only one hand.” While she lectured him, she cut up his eggs and bacon and poured tea into his cup, adding a dollop of cream and a bit of sugar.
“I am also ready to get out of this bed.”
Charlotte stared at him, her lips pursed. “I’m not too sure about that. Between the loss of blood and the days of fever, you are most likely without your normal strength.”
In that she was correct, as much as he hated to admit it. Even to himself. He’d been managing to attend to his own personal needs for two days now, but each time he’d ambled across the room to the chamber pot behind the screen, the weakness he suffered discouraged him. But then, again, if he remained lollygagging in bed any longer, he would never recover his strength. Of course, having real food would help a great deal.
“Won’t you join me?”
Charlotte settled in the chair next to the table. “I’ve already broken my fast, but I will have a bit of tea with you.”
She looked charming this morning, in a white and deep rose printed gown, high-necked and long sleeved. Despite being so covered, the form fitting dress outlined her bountiful breasts and small waist. The skirts were drawn toward the back to form a small bustle, and at the same time delineated her flat stomach and generous hips. All in all, she presented a delectable image of a woman at her best.
He continued to enjoy the first real food he’d had in more than a week while he watched her graceful hands fix her tea, stir the liquid, then raise the teacup to her lips to take a sip. So engrossed was he in this last part that he’d stopped his fork halfway to his mouth and stared, his mouth agape.
