“No, no thank you. I appreciate the gesture. We’ll refresh and be in the dining room at the appointed time.”
“Yes, madam.” He motioned for the maid who stood at the stairs to take them up. And as they moved that way, James mentally washed his hands of them. Cousin indeed. Trouble was more like it. It wouldn’t surprise him if the man wasn’t really a Confederate…
Francois hobbled down the hall, behind Ada and the maid. He knew Ada was exhausted but, as was her character he decided, she’d want a formal dinner. Probably the first real meal they’d had in a long time, though he beat her on long time. The boarding house in Washington had meals but he was mostly confined to the room. Here, he’d have to manage the stairs as he was more determined than before to regain his ability to walk.
The first door they stopped before, the maid motioned to him.
“This is your room, sir.”
Ada eyed him as he ambled past her. “You take your time. If you are not able to attend, I’ll have a tray sent up.”
He snorted. “And I’ll do the same if you fail to arrive.”
“Rather bold coming from you.” Her tone was low but very sharp. She stopped herself, he’d bet, from saying ‘secesh’ at the end, which made him want to chuckle.
“Look, we’re both beyond patience. Let’s freshen up and I’ll see you down there.” He blew her a kiss and heard her hiss as he slipped into the room, taking a silent glee at her reaction. He knew he shouldn’t bait her, after all she had helped him keep his foot from those butchers who’d cut it off, but something deep inside him couldn’t help it.
The room was definitely a masculine room. Paneled walls, large four-poster bed with pineapples on the top, a decoration that made him smile, reminding him of home. The fire was burning and a metal tub sat in front of it. The servant who stood near came right up to him.
“My name is Bradley, sir. I’m here to assist you. Where,” he looked past him. “I’m sure your baggage will be here shortly.”
Francois laughed. “I believe there’s a carpetbag. Nothing to worry yourself over.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I’ll need to prepare your clothes for your stay.”
Francois frowned. He knew he had another set of drawers and shirtsleeves with a pair of stockings. Ada had scrounged for another set of trousers for him and a shirt but he had only the waistcoat he’d worn for duty and his frock coat was replaced with some drab black piece she’d found in the hospital. It was ill-fitting but he wore it.
“Bradley,” he started as he slowly climbed into the tub, using the servant’s arm to steady himself. “I’ll tell you what I do need, once I’m dressed for dinner.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need paper and a writing instrument.” He sank into the hot water, letting the heat loosen the muscles that were stiff. The warm water felt miraculous on his injured foot. He sat, relishing in the concept of a true bath and then, when Bradley poured a bucketful of hot water to reheat what was here, it made him want to purr. It’d been months since he’d had a good soaking bath.
The bath also revealed one thing he knew for sure. While he wasn’t ready to travel on his own yet, he could get better clothes. And that thought alone lifted his spirit immensely.
Ada sat at the table, running her fingertips on the tabletop, her anger simmering. She’d refreshed herself and come to the dining room after hearing the doorway to her patient’s room shut. He was next door to her. Will had probably arranged that, keeping patient close to doctor. Katie was a good maid and only slightly raised her brow when it hit her where she was taking Ada. The room had a door that adjoined the rooms. It was closed and locked, the key on Ada’s side, but it was noticeable. Especially since the man on the other side now proclaimed they were cousins.
She’d been to this house many times as a child. When they pulled up the drive, it’d taken her breath away because she’d forgotten how huge it was and so ornate. Will’s father was rich, making his fortune off lumber. As a child, she’d never paid much attention to the grandness, but now, it made her squirm. Her family was well-to-do, but never this wealthy. Of course, her father was a doctor, and not much money was made by physicians, a fact she’d learned all too well when she started her practice. The Union Army paid less for a nurse. She’d spent so long, living among the soldiers and spending any available funds for their care, she was poorer now.
Reaching for her wine glass, she saw the worn fray of her cuff and bit her bottom lip. The dress and its accessories were over two years old. She swallowed hard. Two weeks she had to survive through and it appeared she’d have to see about her wardrobe with funds she would be reluctant to spend.
“Apologies for my tardiness.”
She glanced up and found her patient in the doorway. He stood, leaning heavily on the dark wooden cane, but looking cleaner and more debonair than earlier. The whiskers of earlier were gone, as well as the plaid shirt and dirty brown pants. Now, he’d donned a white shirt and cravat, his dark blue waistcoat
