The Soldier's Poisoned Heart (True Love and Deception) (Victorian Historical Romance Book 1) by Michael Meadows
Authors: Michael Meadows
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picked up his pocket watch and flipped it open. Eleven. He had never thought to sleep so late.
In the evening he would need to call on James Wakefield. Had it been a few hours earlier, when he normally arose, he might have done some work. Instead, he had precious few hours to bathe, dress, and brush his hair, to get into town, and at some point in that entire thing, eat a supper. So he set about getting prepared.
The bath was easy enough to draw for himself, though the place had no internal plumbing as yet. He mentally added that to the list of what remained to be done in the house. It was too big a job for him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t need to be done. A plumber might be hired, he suspected, for a perfectly reasonable rate.
While he did that, he set out the clothes he would wear for the evening. He took a basin of water and brushed his teeth while he waited for the rest of the water to come up from the kitchens. When his tub of water, still steaming-hot, sat filled in the middle of the room, he spat out the tooth-paste and settled into the scalding water.
He scrubbed hard. He bathed as much as anyone, but this time seemed somehow more important. He would need to make an excellent impression, to be certain, and part of that would be his looks.
He felt as if everything was happening too quickly; when he checked his watch as he pulled his clothes on, it was already three in the afternoon by his watch; he barely had time to get into town for supper, and then he’d be able to stop by the Wakefield home and make another impassioned plea to the elder Wakefield.
If he were forthcoming this time, then there would be no doubting him. Mark had the horse saddled and ready for him when he stepped outside; he stepped up and onto the horse, thanked the young man and headed off without any further ado.
Though the time seemed to pass far too slowly, he knew at the same time that he couldn’t push the horse hard for pace. He needed the timing to fit perfectly, and that meant not being later than necessary, but also not being earlier.
He passed into down-town Derby at quarter past five, though when the hour had struck he’d been close enough to hear the church bells chiming loudly. The shops were still open, for the most part, though some, taking their supper early, had signs up marking the clerk as being out for dinner.
He left the horse in a stable and took a walk. He could use with the time wasting. The question of which diner to stop by was on his mind when he found himself walking past the storefront of Wakefield’s Furniture. For a moment, he nearly stepped in, but decided better of it and walked past.
It wasn’t until he was sitting in Robinson’s Diner off Main street that it occurred to him how strange the place had seemed. He couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed as if the lights had been off inside. It wasn’t the time, though, to go and check right that moment.
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, so even though the Wakefield home was the other way, he went back to the store-front. The lights, indeed, were off. They were closed by now, of course. They had their hours posted every time he had gone in, and they closed ‘round about 5:30 most days.
But today, posted beside the hours, was a hand-written sign, which read:
CLOSED DUE TO A DEATH IN THE FAMILY.
WAKEFIELD & Co. WILL REOPEN ON THURSDAY, JUNE 1st.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE
- Simon Wakefield
John Paul felt a shudder run down his spine and ran down the street. What on earth had happened? And what would it mean for him? The sinking feeling had only gotten worse after reading the sign, and he ran as hard as he could, his chest burning with the strain. He stopped a few houses over and checked his appearance in the glass of a window with the shade down.
His hair was out of place and he tried to press it back into place with his hands, though it wouldn’t stay no matter how he tried. He checked his jacket and was
In the evening he would need to call on James Wakefield. Had it been a few hours earlier, when he normally arose, he might have done some work. Instead, he had precious few hours to bathe, dress, and brush his hair, to get into town, and at some point in that entire thing, eat a supper. So he set about getting prepared.
The bath was easy enough to draw for himself, though the place had no internal plumbing as yet. He mentally added that to the list of what remained to be done in the house. It was too big a job for him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t need to be done. A plumber might be hired, he suspected, for a perfectly reasonable rate.
While he did that, he set out the clothes he would wear for the evening. He took a basin of water and brushed his teeth while he waited for the rest of the water to come up from the kitchens. When his tub of water, still steaming-hot, sat filled in the middle of the room, he spat out the tooth-paste and settled into the scalding water.
He scrubbed hard. He bathed as much as anyone, but this time seemed somehow more important. He would need to make an excellent impression, to be certain, and part of that would be his looks.
He felt as if everything was happening too quickly; when he checked his watch as he pulled his clothes on, it was already three in the afternoon by his watch; he barely had time to get into town for supper, and then he’d be able to stop by the Wakefield home and make another impassioned plea to the elder Wakefield.
If he were forthcoming this time, then there would be no doubting him. Mark had the horse saddled and ready for him when he stepped outside; he stepped up and onto the horse, thanked the young man and headed off without any further ado.
Though the time seemed to pass far too slowly, he knew at the same time that he couldn’t push the horse hard for pace. He needed the timing to fit perfectly, and that meant not being later than necessary, but also not being earlier.
He passed into down-town Derby at quarter past five, though when the hour had struck he’d been close enough to hear the church bells chiming loudly. The shops were still open, for the most part, though some, taking their supper early, had signs up marking the clerk as being out for dinner.
He left the horse in a stable and took a walk. He could use with the time wasting. The question of which diner to stop by was on his mind when he found himself walking past the storefront of Wakefield’s Furniture. For a moment, he nearly stepped in, but decided better of it and walked past.
It wasn’t until he was sitting in Robinson’s Diner off Main street that it occurred to him how strange the place had seemed. He couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed as if the lights had been off inside. It wasn’t the time, though, to go and check right that moment.
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, so even though the Wakefield home was the other way, he went back to the store-front. The lights, indeed, were off. They were closed by now, of course. They had their hours posted every time he had gone in, and they closed ‘round about 5:30 most days.
But today, posted beside the hours, was a hand-written sign, which read:
CLOSED DUE TO A DEATH IN THE FAMILY.
WAKEFIELD & Co. WILL REOPEN ON THURSDAY, JUNE 1st.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE
- Simon Wakefield
John Paul felt a shudder run down his spine and ran down the street. What on earth had happened? And what would it mean for him? The sinking feeling had only gotten worse after reading the sign, and he ran as hard as he could, his chest burning with the strain. He stopped a few houses over and checked his appearance in the glass of a window with the shade down.
His hair was out of place and he tried to press it back into place with his hands, though it wouldn’t stay no matter how he tried. He checked his jacket and was
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