Footprints At Dawn (Book 2)

Chapter Eleven

"Wait, Nicholas, you didn't explain why you were shopping?" I was reminded of the cloth bag Nicholas had brought back with him from town, as I stepped over it to resume my spot on the sofa.

Nicholas and I had decided to visit Mr. Valentine the next day, Nicholas already having been into town and back again twice that day, and me still battling a headache.

There was really no rush, and we were both enjoying each other's company, chatting about things other than Constable Doyle or Thomas Clay.

We had just finished dinner, and as I settled into the sofa cushions, dragging a soft blanket over my legs, I was finally starting to really relax.

"Oh, yes," he replied, from the kitchen. "After I left the police station, I went and had a little chat with the local gossips about our mystery man, as you suggested." He came back into the living room, holding onto two wine glasses. "I had to pretend to have a reason to be in there, of course, so I purchased a few items."

"Well, that makes more sense now," I said, as he placed the glasses on the coffee table, then sat down beside me. "So, what did they say?"

"No one remembers seeing a thin, grey-haired, old man with a walking stick wandering around town."

"Which means he's an out-of-towner," I replied.

Nicholas shrugged, not convinced. "Either that, or my father has been extremely good at sneaking around without being noticed all these years."

"No, not with Constable Doyle around. He wouldn't take that risk." Nicholas sighed, and I sensed the return of the topic was making him feel agitated once again. "Hey, how about we go back to not talking about it," I suggested, wrapping my fingers around his arm and squeezing gently in support.

He nodded, giving me a grateful smile. "I bought you something," he said, reaching down and grabbing the cloth bag from the floor.

"You did?" I watched with interest as he rummaged around the small bag, finally pulling out a palm-sized rectangular block wrapped in paper.

"It's not much." He handed it to me, and I caught the faint scent of lavender. The scent brought back memories of my first night at the cottage, when I used lavender soap to wash myself.

"Soap?" I guessed, and he nodded.

"I told you it wasn't much, but I thought you would appreciate a fresh bar to wash yourself with, instead of one that I had been using and dropped on the floor several times."

That made me giggle. "Thank you, Nicholas, that was thoughtful of you," I said, bringing the soap to my nose and inhaling the pleasant scent. "However, do I get hot water in my bath this time?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow, only half joking.

He stared at me blankly. "Goodness, Matilda, hot water? That's a lot of work for a five minute wash."

"You're telling me you have cold water in your bath every night?"

"Why, of course. Either that, or I go for a dip in the river."

I shivered at the thought. At least Mrs. McCulloch boiled a pot of water for us at the Valentine house. I admit, I didn't have a bath every night while I was there, but at least I had a hot bowl of water to wash myself with.

"Oh, Nicholas, you're missing out on so much. There's nothing better than having a long soak in a hot tub with bubbles or salts. So relaxing. But I do realise it's harder in these times to have that, without the convenience of plumbing and a hot water system."

"So you're saying you are able to have hot baths every night in your time?"

"Yes. Showers, too. You simply turn on a tap and voilà! Hot water."