Forever and a Day. Delilah Marvelle

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СКАЧАТЬ use of it and submit his sketch to every newspaper and hotel across town. Someone is bound to know who he is, given he appears to be of the upper circles. Though I recommend no reward. That would only attract imposters.”

       Dr. Carter tossed his quill aside and leaned into the desk, scrunching his gray pin-striped waistcoat and his overcoat in the process. “This is a hospital, Mrs. Milton. Not an investigative branch of the United States government. You clearly have no understanding as to how these things work.”

       How typical that she’d be treated like some stupid, scampering rat darting through the legs of society. She managed to refrain from jumping up and smacking him for it. “Last I knew, sir, and correct me if I’m wrong, but the New York Hospital is funded by a contributin’ branch of the United States government. As such, you have an obligation to oversee the well-bein’ of every citizen that passes through these doors, be that citizen a Brit or not. Have the laws somehow changed? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”

       He sighed. “The funding I receive from the government is very limited. It doesn’t provide for these sorts of things.”

       She rolled her eyes. “Everythin’ involvin’ our government is very limited. They only give the people just enough to prevent revolution whilst robbin’ every last one of us blind. In my opinion, these politicians ought to be boiled in their own whiskey. They don’t give a spit about anythin’ but their own agenda.”

       A tap resounded against the door of the small office.

       “Yes?” he called out, lifting his chin toward its direction. “What is it?”

       The door swung open and a balding man hurried in, bare hands adjusting a blood-spattered, yellowing apron that had been carelessly tied across his waistcoat and trousers. “Bed sixteen is shaving, despite orders that he remain in bed. He insists on yet another bath and intends to depart within the hour. What am I to do?”

       Dr. Carter blew out a breath. “There is nothing we can do. If he insists on departing, I cannot physically hold him. Send him into my office. I’ll ensure he pays the bill and will direct him to one of the local boardinghouses.”

       “Yes, Dr. Carter.” The man jogged back out.

       Bed sixteen? That was the Brit’s bed. Georgia’s wicker chair screeched against the floorboards as she jumped onto booted feet. “You intend on lettin’ him walk out into the night despite his condition? And plan on layin’ him with a bill, too?” She pointed at him, wishing she had it in her to grab his head and pound it into his own desk. “A thug is what you are. A bedeviled, government-funded thug who ought to be—”

       “Mrs. Milton, please. I haven’t the time for this.”

       “You’d best make the time, Dr. Carter, as it only involves the poor man’s life. Directin’ him to a local boardin’house is like tellin’ a fox to take up residence with the hounds. At the very least, you ought to turn him over to the state.”

       He rubbed his temple. “Mrs. Milton.” He dropped his hand to his side and sat back against his leather chair. “The man is far too old to become a ward of any state.” He swept a grudging hand toward the open window beside him that mirrored a quiet, moonless night. “Given his size and level of intelligence, I doubt he’ll run into any trouble.”

       The bastard didn’t even care that the minute that Brit put his polished boots on the wrong street, he’d be dead. She marched toward him, halting before his desk. “Whilst I know the world is full of woes we can’t mend, we sure as hell ought to try. I want you to board him.”

       He blinked. “What? Here?”

       “No, you dunce. In your home. What better way to care for your patient than givin’ him a room next to your own?”

       Dr. Carter threw back his head and puffed out a breath. After staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, he leveled his head and confided in a very impersonal tone, “I cannot take him home with me. My wife would throw a fit if I commenced bringing home all of my patients.”

       “Better your wife than me.”

       He pointed at her. “I’m asking you to leave before I have you tossed on your goddamn nose. I’ve had enough of this.” He swept a finger to the door. “Get out.”

       It was obvious this man wasn’t taking her seriously. Setting both hands atop his piled ledgers, she leaned across the desk toward him and lowered her voice a whole octave to better deliver her threat. “Before you go about tossin’ me out on my nose, Dr. Carter, I want you to think about whether or not your life means anythin’ to you.”

       He rose to his feet, towering above her. The broad planes of his aging face tightened as he leaned toward her across the desk. “Are you threatening me?” he rasped, placing both of his hands parallel to her own.

       “Nah. ’Tis just a question like…between friends, don’t you see.” Georgia narrowed her gaze to match his. “But supposin’ the Forty Thieves, who provide me with whatever protection I require, were to hear of my distress? What then? I’d be thinkin’ it’d be in your best interest to help this man along. Because if you don’t, I’d reckon that the quality of your life will diminish to the point that the Holy Virgin wouldn’t even be able to help you.”

       His eyes held hers, his rigid brow flickering with renewed uncertainty. “I am a servant of the state. No rabble has power or say over me.”

       Georgia continued to stare him down. “Toss me on my nose and count all of the men who will show up at your door. I dare you. Go on. Toss me.”

       Dr. Carter edged back and away, slowly removing his hands from the desk. Swiping a trembling hand across his face, he sat and shifted in his seat, refusing to look at her. “Might I ask why you are so intent on assisting him? Is he a customer who never fully disclosed his name and owes you money? Is that what this is about?”

       Georgia lowered her chin, her pulse roaring in her ears. “How dare you? I sell hot corn on the hour of every summer and scrub clothes for priests in three wards, barely makin’ half of what you eat in an effort to stay respectable.” She snapped a finger toward the open door. “I don’t know who the hell that man is any more than you do! Cursed that I am, I feel guilt for what happened to him. He was hit runnin’ after my reticule. I may not be fobbin’ high society, sir, but how does showin’ an ounce of concern for a man make me a whore?”

       Dr. Carter fell back against the chair and sighed. “I simply wanted to know what I was attaching my name to.”

       “Well, now you know. I do laundry. Not men.”

       He cleared his throat. “Thank you for more than clarifying that.”

       “I still don’t understand a spit of any of this. How does a man forget his own name and life?”

       Running the tips of his fingers against his mustache, he eyed her. “I’ve actually read about a condition similar to his known as ‘memory loss’ in one of my medical journals. It involved a soldier who was rendered blank after a severe blow to the head during the war. I myself never thought it medically possible, but it’s obvious this man’s memory is for the most part gone. I wanted you to be aware of that given your concern.”

       She swallowed, bringing her shaky hands together. This was her fault. She should have never looked at him that day. Perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps he’d СКАЧАТЬ