wary as she ever was about making eye contact with other men wandering about. She knocked, waited a moment, and reached for her key.
But she didn’t have to worry. Sam was coming down the hallway from the bathroom, dressed only in a towel, his hair wet and sticking out at strange angles.
“Sissy!” he called brightly.
She stood back and let him ahead of her to open the door. “You ought to dress before you go running about,” she said.
“There’s nobody here to offend.”
“What if a young woman was down here? Like I am.”
“Then she’ll see only what God in his good grace chose to make,” he replied, opening his arms, then quickly catching his towel before it fell off. “Come in and sit by the window while I dress.”
Flora followed him into the room. A quick glance around told her the opium pipe and lamp were nowhere in sight. Her heartremained cautious, however. If he were really in the throes of withdrawal, he wouldn’t be so bright and talkative. Sam dropped his towel and she averted her gaze out the window. “Really, Sam. A bit of decorum.”
“You used to bathe me,” he said. She heard him open his wardrobe door then close it again. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There, I’m decent now.”
She turned to see him clad in a rich red dressing gown, made of silk and embroidered with dragons. He had brought it back from China along with his opium habit. He crouched on the floor next to the bed and brought out his silver tray from beneath.
Flora leaped to her feet and stayed his hand. “Wait,” she said. “Just wait until I’ve said what I need to say. While you’re still thinking straight.”
“I always think straight, my lovely Sissy,” he said, but nonetheless he left his tray on the floor and straightened his back to look her in the eye. “Go on.”
“I’ve been thinking about Violet.”
He smiled, and the warmth that came to his eyes was achingly familiar to her; she had seen it in him since he was a little boy. It was the expression he wore when a passionate interest filled his mind. “Violet,” he said. “I’ve been thinking of her, too.”
“I know. It’s obvious. I wanted to say . . . don’t hurt her.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“If you do think well of her, remember her station. Remember that to return your interest might cost her her job.”
“Then I would look after her. I have plenty of money.”
“Sam, no—”
“If you came here to tell me whom to love, then you have wasted your time.” He scooped up the tray and sat on the bed with it, lighting a match and holding it over the wick of the lamp.
“Please be sensible,” she said, biting down frustration and fear.
“For what purpose?” He shook out the match and reached for the bottle of opium.
“So that you don’t hurt those you love. Those who love you.”
“They’re fools if they love me,” he replied.
“Will you leave her be?”
He exhaled roughly. “I have left her be thus far, have I not? Because you told me to?”
She had to admit it was true. She nodded.
“Then let it go. Perhaps you should have a taste of my pipe, Sissy?”
“No!” she exclaimed quickly. “Never.”
He chuckled, drew a lungful of smoke. “You always do the right thing.”
Flora wasn’t sure if the last comment was an insult or a compliment, but she didn’t want to stay around to talk to him more. She couldn’t bear him in his stupor. “If it is true I can trust you, I will meet you at the dining room for dinner tonight. We don’t have to eat in our rooms anymore.”
He waved her away with an elegant figure eight. “Stop worrying.”
Much easier for him to say than for her to do.
* * *
Flora returned to her room, unlocked the door, and breathed in the sweet scent of the fresh roses Miss Zander left for her every Wednesday. Her hand went to pull the light switch just as her foot struck something on the floor. She looked down and saw a bundle of letters. This week’s
But she didn’t have to worry. Sam was coming down the hallway from the bathroom, dressed only in a towel, his hair wet and sticking out at strange angles.
“Sissy!” he called brightly.
She stood back and let him ahead of her to open the door. “You ought to dress before you go running about,” she said.
“There’s nobody here to offend.”
“What if a young woman was down here? Like I am.”
“Then she’ll see only what God in his good grace chose to make,” he replied, opening his arms, then quickly catching his towel before it fell off. “Come in and sit by the window while I dress.”
Flora followed him into the room. A quick glance around told her the opium pipe and lamp were nowhere in sight. Her heartremained cautious, however. If he were really in the throes of withdrawal, he wouldn’t be so bright and talkative. Sam dropped his towel and she averted her gaze out the window. “Really, Sam. A bit of decorum.”
“You used to bathe me,” he said. She heard him open his wardrobe door then close it again. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There, I’m decent now.”
She turned to see him clad in a rich red dressing gown, made of silk and embroidered with dragons. He had brought it back from China along with his opium habit. He crouched on the floor next to the bed and brought out his silver tray from beneath.
Flora leaped to her feet and stayed his hand. “Wait,” she said. “Just wait until I’ve said what I need to say. While you’re still thinking straight.”
“I always think straight, my lovely Sissy,” he said, but nonetheless he left his tray on the floor and straightened his back to look her in the eye. “Go on.”
“I’ve been thinking about Violet.”
He smiled, and the warmth that came to his eyes was achingly familiar to her; she had seen it in him since he was a little boy. It was the expression he wore when a passionate interest filled his mind. “Violet,” he said. “I’ve been thinking of her, too.”
“I know. It’s obvious. I wanted to say . . . don’t hurt her.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“If you do think well of her, remember her station. Remember that to return your interest might cost her her job.”
“Then I would look after her. I have plenty of money.”
“Sam, no—”
“If you came here to tell me whom to love, then you have wasted your time.” He scooped up the tray and sat on the bed with it, lighting a match and holding it over the wick of the lamp.
“Please be sensible,” she said, biting down frustration and fear.
“For what purpose?” He shook out the match and reached for the bottle of opium.
“So that you don’t hurt those you love. Those who love you.”
“They’re fools if they love me,” he replied.
“Will you leave her be?”
He exhaled roughly. “I have left her be thus far, have I not? Because you told me to?”
She had to admit it was true. She nodded.
“Then let it go. Perhaps you should have a taste of my pipe, Sissy?”
“No!” she exclaimed quickly. “Never.”
He chuckled, drew a lungful of smoke. “You always do the right thing.”
Flora wasn’t sure if the last comment was an insult or a compliment, but she didn’t want to stay around to talk to him more. She couldn’t bear him in his stupor. “If it is true I can trust you, I will meet you at the dining room for dinner tonight. We don’t have to eat in our rooms anymore.”
He waved her away with an elegant figure eight. “Stop worrying.”
Much easier for him to say than for her to do.
* * *
Flora returned to her room, unlocked the door, and breathed in the sweet scent of the fresh roses Miss Zander left for her every Wednesday. Her hand went to pull the light switch just as her foot struck something on the floor. She looked down and saw a bundle of letters. This week’s
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