Chasing Cassandra

“Wots a shower baff?” Bazzle asked.

“It’s a small room with a curtain all around. Water comes down like rain from an overhead fixture.”

“Rain won’t scare off me chats,” the boy informed him.

“A good scrubbing with borax soap will.” Tom pushed open the doors and ushered the child inside. He kept a hand on Bazzle’s shoulder, half suspecting the boy might bolt. Upon being approached by the waiting area receptionist, a brisk and businesslike matron, Tom said, “We need an appointment with Dr. Gibson.”

“I’m afraid Dr. Gibson’s schedule is full today. However, Dr. Havelock may have an opening, if you wish to wait.”

“I’m too busy to wait,” Tom said. “Tell Dr. Gibson I’m here, please.”

“Your name, sir?”

“Tom Severin.”

The receptionist’s frown vanished, her eyes widening in something like awe. “Oh, Mr. Severin, welcome to the clinic! I very much enjoyed the market fair and fireworks display you put on for the public when your underground railway was opened.”

Tom smiled at her. “I’m so glad.” As he had intended, paying for the city-wide celebrations had not only enhanced his image, but had also dazzled people into overlooking the multitude of aggravations the railway construction project had caused.

“You’ve done so much for London,” the woman continued. “What a public benefactor you are, Mr. Severin.”

“You’re too kind, Miss …”

“Mrs. Brown,” she supplied, beaming. “Pardon, sir, I’ll fetch Dr. Gibson right away.”

As the woman hurried away, Bazzle looked up at Tom speculatively. “Are ye the most important man in London, sir?” he asked, scratching his head.

“No, that would be the editor-in-chief of The Economist. I’m lower down on the list, somewhere between the police commissioner and the prime minister.”

“How do ye know who’s above and below?”

“When two creatures meet in the jungle, they both have to decide which one of them would kill the other in a fight. The winner is the more important one.”

“Analogy,” Bazzle said.

That surprised a grin out of Tom. “Yes.” The boy might be sharper than he’d originally thought.

Before another minute had passed, Garrett Gibson came to the waiting area. Her dark dress was topped with an impeccably white surgeon’s smock, her chestnut-brown hair pulled back tightly in a neat braided coiffure. She was fresh-faced and smiling as she reached out to shake his hand as a man would. “Mr. Severin.”

He grinned at her and returned the shake in a firm grip. “Dr. Garrett Gibson,” he said, “this young fellow, Bazzle, is one of my employees. He’s in need of your professional attention.”

“Master Bazzle,” Garrett murmured, inclining her head in a brief bow.

The boy regarded her in bewilderment, scratching the side of his head and neck.

“Bazzle,” Tom said, “bow to the lady … like this.”

The child obeyed halfheartedly, still staring at Garrett. “She’s the sawbones?” he asked Tom skeptically.

“As of now, the only licensed female physician in England,” Tom said.

Garrett smiled, her incisive gaze traveling over Bazzle as he scratched. “The reason for your visit has quickly become apparent.” She glanced at Tom. “I’ll have a nurse give you the necessary items and explain how to delouse him at home—”

“It has to be here,” Tom interrupted. “He lives in a rookery, so it can’t be done there.”

“Why not at your house?” Garrett suggested.

“Good God, woman, I’m not bringing him past my front door.”

“It’s just a few chats,” Bazzle protested. He smacked his palm on his forearm, adding, “Maybe a couple o’ biddies too.”

“Biddies?” Tom repeated, recoiling and brushing at his own sleeves reflexively. “You have fleas?”

Garrett looked sardonic. “Very well, I’ll have a nurse see to him here. We have a tiled room with a shower bath and a sink, where he can be thoroughly—”

“No, I want you to do it, so I know it’s been done properly.”

“Me?” Her fine brows lowered. “I’m about to have lunch with my sister-in-law.”

“This is an emergency,” Tom told her. “The boy is suffering. I’m suffering.” He paused. “What if I make a large donation to the charitable institution of your choice? Name the place, and I’ll write a check before I leave.”

“Mr. Severin,” she said crisply, “you seem to think your money is a panacea for every problem.”

“Not a panacea, a balm. A wonderful soothing balm, especially when applied in a heavy layer.”

Before Garrett could reply, a new voice joined the conversation, coming from behind Tom.

“We can delay our lunch, Garrett, or have it another time. This is more important.”

Gooseflesh rose all over Tom’s body. With disbelief, he turned to find Lady Cassandra Ravenel standing behind him. She had just entered the clinic and approached the reception area, while a Ravenel footman waited beside the doorway.

Over the past few weeks, Tom had tried to convince himself that his memory of her had become embellished over time. Even his brain, accurate as it was, was capable of subtly altering his perception of the facts.

But Cassandra was even more breathtaking than he remembered. Her golden sunstruck beauty illuminated the sterile environment of the clinic. She was wonderfully dressed in a green velvet walking dress and a matching hooded cloak trimmed with white fur. Her hair, so shiny it looked molten, had been pinned up in a complex mass of coils and topped with a flirtatious little excuse for a hat. He felt her presence like a shock, every nerve tingling.

“My lady,” Tom managed to say, grimly aware that he’d been caught at a disadvantage. He was embarrassed to have her see him there with a raggedy, scratching child in the middle of a workday, when he should have been busy with something dignified and businesslike. “I wasn’t aware that you—I wouldn’t deprive you of your lunch—” He broke off, cursing himself silently for sounding like a blithering idiot.

But there was no mockery or disapproval in Cassandra’s gaze as she approached. She was smiling as if she were glad to see him. She gave him her slim gloved hand, a gesture of closeness and familiarity.

The day instantly became the best one he’d had in weeks. His heart thumped joyfully at her nearness. The shape of her hand fit his as if every joint and fine muscle and soft ligament had been designed for perfect alignment. It had been like this when they’d waltzed, their bodies fitting together, moving together, with magical coordination.

“How are you?” he asked, holding her hand a few extra seconds before letting go.

“Quite well, thank you.” Her sparkling gaze fell to Bazzle. “Will you introduce me to your companion?”

“Lady Cassandra, this is—” Tom paused as the boy retreated behind him. “Bazzle, come around and bow to the lady.”

The boy didn’t budge.

Tom could well understand. He remembered how overwhelmed he’d been by his first glimpse of Cassandra’s rich and luminous beauty. She was probably like nothing human Bazzle had ever seen before.