time everyone was back downstairs, adding to the general commotion. Helaine’s mother ordered the new apprentice to get tea. Wendy had stopped looking at the new fabric to frown at the door. It took Penny much too long to sort through Irene’s words to realize she had said “your man” as in…as if…
“Did you say ‘my man’?” she said.
“Yes, a tall, gangly sort of fellow with wild hair.”
“Mr. Morrison?”
“Yes, that was his name. I didn’t know if he really was here to help, so I thought I’d best keep an eye on him. I made him carry things. But then there was the boy, and he took off after…”
Penny barely heard the rest. She hauled open the workroom door to scan the alleyway. She saw Irene’s small cart, still with a few bolts of fabric on it. There were the usual number of people passing by, but no Mr. Morrison.
Making a swift decision, Penny turned back to the women and began issuing orders. They were all dear women, but sometimes they lost sight of the proper order of things.
“Mrs. Appleton,” she said to Helaine’s mother. “You stay here with Irene and Tommy. Wendy, if you and Tabby could take care of the cart of fabric? We can’t just leave it out there alone. I shall go look for this boy and Mr. Morrison.”
Irene straightened her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go out there alone. I shall—”
“You are the one being followed. Just point out the direction they ran. Never fear, I will be quite safe.” Mr. Morrison, however, would get quite the tongue-lashing from her if she ever saw him again. It was irrational of her, she knew. He was probably just being helpful as he chased the boy. But at the moment, she had all this anger and it needed an outlet. So long as she never voiced her thoughts out loud, there was no harm.
And so a moment later, she was out on the streets, wandering as she searched fruitlessly for an unknown boy and a missing man. She had no belief that she would find them, but she had to go through the motions nonetheless.
She’d gone only a few blocks when she saw a small crowd gathered. They were milling about and some were arguing. Already her mind had linked the crowd to Mr. Morrison. He seemed to be a man who created a stir wherever he went. So she shouldered her way to the center only to curse under her breath when she saw him.
Mr. Morrison lay sprawled on the ground. A lump had already formed on his temple and a bit of blood was already matting his hair. He was blinking, so that meant he was alive, but his expression was vague and rather dull. That, more than anything, alarmed her. She was on her knees beside him before she even realized she’d moved.
“Goodness gracious,” she said as she used her skirt to wipe away a small trickle of blood on his forehead. “You got laid out by a boy?” That wasn’t at all what she meant to say. She’d meant to ask how he was feeling, if he could stand, if they needed to call for a surgeon or something. Most of all, she wanted to know if his brains were still intact. But instead, what had come out but the most shrewish comment?
He blinked again, his eyes coming into focus on her face. And bit by bit, his expression shifted into a frown. “Wasn’t the boy,” he said. “Dunno what, but it weren’t the boy.” She was still wiping uselessly at the bit of dried blood and he winced in pain. “That doesn’t help, you know.”
She stilled her hand with an act of will, slowly dropping it into her lap. And when had she knelt beside him like a long-lost lover? She forced herself to calm down and study him dispassionately. The color was coming back into his cheeks, along with a myriad of other lovely shades by his temple. And intelligence had returned to his gaze.
“Do you need a surgeon?” she asked.
He shuddered. “Goodness, no. Damn bastards just make things worse.” He pushed himself up to a fully seated position against the wall. Then he glanced beyond her to the folks peering at
“Did you say ‘my man’?” she said.
“Yes, a tall, gangly sort of fellow with wild hair.”
“Mr. Morrison?”
“Yes, that was his name. I didn’t know if he really was here to help, so I thought I’d best keep an eye on him. I made him carry things. But then there was the boy, and he took off after…”
Penny barely heard the rest. She hauled open the workroom door to scan the alleyway. She saw Irene’s small cart, still with a few bolts of fabric on it. There were the usual number of people passing by, but no Mr. Morrison.
Making a swift decision, Penny turned back to the women and began issuing orders. They were all dear women, but sometimes they lost sight of the proper order of things.
“Mrs. Appleton,” she said to Helaine’s mother. “You stay here with Irene and Tommy. Wendy, if you and Tabby could take care of the cart of fabric? We can’t just leave it out there alone. I shall go look for this boy and Mr. Morrison.”
Irene straightened her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go out there alone. I shall—”
“You are the one being followed. Just point out the direction they ran. Never fear, I will be quite safe.” Mr. Morrison, however, would get quite the tongue-lashing from her if she ever saw him again. It was irrational of her, she knew. He was probably just being helpful as he chased the boy. But at the moment, she had all this anger and it needed an outlet. So long as she never voiced her thoughts out loud, there was no harm.
And so a moment later, she was out on the streets, wandering as she searched fruitlessly for an unknown boy and a missing man. She had no belief that she would find them, but she had to go through the motions nonetheless.
She’d gone only a few blocks when she saw a small crowd gathered. They were milling about and some were arguing. Already her mind had linked the crowd to Mr. Morrison. He seemed to be a man who created a stir wherever he went. So she shouldered her way to the center only to curse under her breath when she saw him.
Mr. Morrison lay sprawled on the ground. A lump had already formed on his temple and a bit of blood was already matting his hair. He was blinking, so that meant he was alive, but his expression was vague and rather dull. That, more than anything, alarmed her. She was on her knees beside him before she even realized she’d moved.
“Goodness gracious,” she said as she used her skirt to wipe away a small trickle of blood on his forehead. “You got laid out by a boy?” That wasn’t at all what she meant to say. She’d meant to ask how he was feeling, if he could stand, if they needed to call for a surgeon or something. Most of all, she wanted to know if his brains were still intact. But instead, what had come out but the most shrewish comment?
He blinked again, his eyes coming into focus on her face. And bit by bit, his expression shifted into a frown. “Wasn’t the boy,” he said. “Dunno what, but it weren’t the boy.” She was still wiping uselessly at the bit of dried blood and he winced in pain. “That doesn’t help, you know.”
She stilled her hand with an act of will, slowly dropping it into her lap. And when had she knelt beside him like a long-lost lover? She forced herself to calm down and study him dispassionately. The color was coming back into his cheeks, along with a myriad of other lovely shades by his temple. And intelligence had returned to his gaze.
“Do you need a surgeon?” she asked.
He shuddered. “Goodness, no. Damn bastards just make things worse.” He pushed himself up to a fully seated position against the wall. Then he glanced beyond her to the folks peering at
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