Page 56 of Forgotten No More

“Are you both agreeable?” Ellie asked.

When they both nodded, Ellie rapped on the door.

Someone on the other side knocked back.

Ruby and Harold exchanged a look. Hers definitely questioning their decision to trust Ellie; his seeking to reassure her that he would keep her safe.

Ruby knew he would—not because they’d known each other for so long, but because that was the type of man he was.

“The blue crow flies south,” Ellie said, just loud enough for her voice to be heard through the solid door as she stepped back.

Ruby took in the building while they waited, for what she wasn’t sure. The yard was well-kept, with a solid stable house in back. The exterior of the building appeared freshly painted and maintained. It was an awfully large home to house a clinic and she did not think even a man of medicine could afford to keep his family so well-housed.

When the door was pulled wide, Ruby looked over Ellie’s shoulder into a room shrouded in a dim, golden glow. Whoever had allowed them entry must have stood behind the open door, hidden from view. The room was warm in contrast to the cool breeze outside. As Ruby’s eyes adjusted she, noticed the walls and furniture were all varying shades of gold. A length of gossamer gold fabric adorned every flat surface, including a large canopy bed that dominated the room.

Harold’s hold on her elbow tightened. Looking to him, he nodded in the direction they’d entered.

An elegantly dressed woman now stood in front of the closed door. Her blonde hair was swept up in an elaborate coiffeur that must have taken a maid hours to complete. Pearls hung delicately from her neck, ears, and wrist. A red silk gown, its plunging neckline barely acceptable by the most lenient of London standards, clung to her petite form and swept out behind her.

“Ellington, I did not expect you this evening,” the woman said in a cultured tone, before looking to Ruby and Harold, her brow raised in question. “And who are your companions?” The way she said the word ‘companions’ made Ruby feel like naught but a dirty street urchin Ellie had collected on her way here.

Ellie lowered her head, as if she’d been scolded. “I know. It is only my friend,” Ellie squeezed out the word, sounding embarrassed to call Ruby her friend, “was hurt and needed someone to look at her face. I could think of no one else to ask.”

The woman, a full head shorter than Ruby, turned to her. “I am Marce Davenport and welcome to my—” she paused, searching for the right word, “—home. Come this way, and I will have a look. Ellington, please let Jude and Sam know I have company and then attend us in the front salon.”

If the woman wondered why Ruby was dressed in men’s breeches, shirt, and cap she said nothing.

“Of course,” Ellie responded with a touch of reverence.

Who was this woman, and what kind of home was this? Ruby had learned long ago not to judge a person by their past—and sometimes not their present.

“Right this way.”

Harold had been oddly silent since their arrival. She glanced at him to make sure he was still there. “Well, our evening cannot go any more awry then it already has,” she whispered.

“Do not be foolish,” Ms. Davenport said. “Things can always get worse, but I would thank you to save that until after you leave my home.”

With that, she walked out of the room, her hips swaying to an unheard beat, leaving Ruby and Harold little choice but to follow. The rest of the first floor was much the same, each room they passed decorated in a different color, yet the furniture and layout were identical. Finally they arrived at the salon, the only room drastically different from the rest. This area more closely resembled a pub than a salon. Four card tables sat about the room, only lacking players. A long table sat against one wall, filled with decanters of every size, holding liquids of varying shades. A small table with two chairs were the only acceptable seating.

“You have a lovely home, Ms. Davenport.”

“Call me Marce. Thank you, all my gentlemen agree.” She smiled at them both. “Please, have a seat, and I will see how badly you are injured.”

“Gentlemen?” Harold asked.

“My clients,” she answered confidently, acknowledging Harold for the first time. From her smile, Ruby could tell that the woman liked what she saw. “Can I pour you a drink, Lord…”

“Not lord. Just Mr. Jakeston. And I would enjoy a spot of sherry, if it is not too much trouble.”

At his reply, Marce’s smile faded and she focused her attention back on Ruby. “You will find everything you seek in the next room. I do not keep sherry in here.” She pointed to the door, bringing a candle close to Ruby’s swollen cheek. She turned Ruby’s face this way and that.

Pain shot down her cheek and into her neck.

“If you think this hurts now, wait until the morning.” She made a tsking sound. “Who hit you? Your lover over there?” She tilted her head in the direction Harold had departed.

Shocked, Ruby pulled from the woman grasp. “He is not my—” she gulped down air to get the word out, “—lover!”

“Ironic that what you took from my comment is that I insinuated he was your lover.” She laughed, taking her chin once more. “I do not judge if he is. Or if he’s the one responsible for your bruise. I see it all the time. One day you won’t stand for it any longer.”