Gemma moved slowly, keeping to her friend’s pace. “Weren’t a terrible day, and it ain’t a terrible bit of work.”
“Will you keep at it, then, do you think?”
That was the question tickling the back of her brain. “The distance is too far to cover every day from Finsbury.” But that distance also put her far from Southwark, which was safer. Still, Uncle Silas’s mark had been on that building nearly all the way to Marylebone.
The aroma of cooked potatoes and onions filled the house. Gemma thought she smelled bacon as well. If not for the apple she’d eaten, her stomach would’ve rejoiced far too loudly.
“Are you certain I ain’t imposing—two suppers in two nights?”
Vera shook her head firmly. “For my part, I’d have you eat with us every night. I see few people now that I ain’t got m’print shop. I like having company.”
They stepped into the sitting room where Baz was gabbing with Brogan.
“You’re meant to be seeing patients for an hour yet,” she said when he looked up at her.
“Dr. Fairbairn agreed to tend to anyone who came by the house. I’ve put up a sign letting visitors know.” He moved to where she stood. “I wanted to make certain I had supper with you.”
Her heart started fluttering, seeing as it had no sense of reality.Love wasn’t part of this; she knew that well enough. People in difficulties had always pulled at Baz’s compassion. And he was a good and loyal friend. She’d not let herself see more than that in any of this.
“Were you in need of something?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Of knowing that you were safe, of knowing if this new job will work out, of seeing for myself that you’re less burdened than you were last night.”
Baz was making it devilishly hard to remember what was best for her heart. He’d always been kind, but she knew herself to be just molasses-brained enough to believe that kindness was something deeper.
“Are you certain you didn’t come on account of being full clammed and knowing everyone in this flat can cook a filling meal?”
“Iamhungry,” he acknowledged. “But I also can cook a filling meal. I came for the company more than the food.”
Brogan, who was sitting on the sofa beside Vera, tossed in his thoughts. “Does that mean I can take your share of supper? I’m ‘full clammed’—” He looked to Vera as he repeated the phrase, having tacked on something of a question mark at the end. Vera nodded, and he looked to Baz. “I’m full clammed m’self, you know.”
“I’d be happy to challenge you to a bout of fisticuffs with the winner taking the other’s portion, if you’d like,” Baz said.
A laughing smile pulled at the Irishman’s face. “You do remember I grew up a child of the streets and survived by my fists for most of that.”
“And, though I’ve worked hard to stop sounding like it, so did I.” Baz hooked an ebony eyebrow upward.
“Did you?” That clearly intrigued Brogan.
In a voice filled with the East End, something he seldom allowed, Baz answered, “These hands ain’t always been usedfor mending. They’ve known times whencreatin’the need for mending were a much better use.”
The two men laughed, and that seemed to be the end of it. Gemma wondered if Brogan realized, though, how light Baz really was making of the situation. He’d adopted fine manners and speech so his patients would trust him, but she knew details of her husband’s childhood that had sent shivers down her spine. Few things did that to a Kincaid.
Móirín poked her head inside in the next instant. “Food’s on the table.”
Brogan helped Vera to her feet. She winced as she moved. Gemma didn’t know the extent of her friend’s injuries, and she’d not been nosy enough to pry, but anyone watching could tell those injuries were extensive. Brogan kept an arm around her as the two of them walked from the room.
“I wish I could assure her that she’ll improve with time.” Baz apparently knew where Gemma’s thoughts had gone. “This, though, is likely to be her experience from now on. The pain I’ll address as best I can, but her body won’t heal much beyond what it has.”
“That must knot her temper something terrible. The Vera Sorokina I grew up with weren’t one for slowing down, no matter the twists in the road.”
Baz slipped his hand around hers. His nearness and his touch was comforting, reassuring. “She’s finding her way. These changes might slow her, but they aren’t stopping her.”
Being slowed by the difficulties of life but not stopped by them. There was shocking clarity in that. Not being loved by the man she adored, having her family hunting her, needing to wait weeks to make good her escape ... it allslowedher. But she didn’t mean to let itstopher.
The table in the kitchen was packed as tight as Newgate Street during a hanging, but this gathering weren’t gruesome orsolemn. Móirín was lighthearted, gabbing with her brother and sister-in-law. Vera lit up as well. She was happy, and Gemma was happy for her.
“I’ve been tossing the puzzle of that ash marking about in m’head all day,” Móirín said between bites of stew, her gaze on Gemma. “I’ve not made heads nor tails of it.”