Among the Darkness Stirs

“But if they weren’t killed by the black death, and we can say for the sake of argument that they did not, why put it as the cause? An incompetent coroner?” Audrey wondered. “They thought it was the black death?”

“It seems every time we take a step forward, we take a step back,” Henry said. The mantel clock chimed the late hour. “I should head home. It’s getting late. I’ll look at the ledger tomorrow. I’ll come by after work if that’s all right with you,” he asked.

“Of course.” She nodded.

He placed the large book back inside his satchel and turned to her. “Lock your door after I leave,” he instructed her.

“I will.”

“Keep an eye out when you’re about. Be careful,” he told her vaguely but she understood.

“You do the same.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled out a small brown bag from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Some drops. Lemon drops. For you and Frances,” he said before leaving.

Henry hurried down the path from the cottages to the workhouse and into the street. A light rain had fallen while he was inside the cottage with Audrey, but it had since stopped, leaving the roads wet and slippery.

He turned down the street, intent on hailing a cab to get home. He had stayed too long with Audrey, but much like all the time spent with her, he found her company engrossing, and time slipped by. He hoped his mother had not waited for him and had gone ahead and eaten supper without him. He remembered his mother had said it would be roasted turkey and potatoes. His stomach grumbled at the thought of it. He had not eaten anything since toast and coffee that morning.

He saw a hansom cab moving slowly along the road in front of him and was about to yell out to the driver when everything went dark.

Henry blinked twice and heard someone speaking to him.

“I say,” the voice said. “I say, young man. Are you all right?”

Henry realized he was lying in the street. Two men and a woman were gazing down at him. They helped him stand. He felt a little lightheaded.

“I’m not sure what happened,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m afraid I saw it all but I was of no help,” said the older man. “Someone came behind you and hit you on the head with something.”

“What?” Henry asked him.

“It’s true,” the woman agreed. “I saw him run down the street, but it was too dark to see his face.”

“They took your satchel as well,” the old man said as he leaned on his cane.

“Damn!” Henry swore.

The three strangers helped him get a cab home, and by the time he arrived home, his head was pounding.

Theodocia greeted him at the door. “My dear. You’re awfully late,” she remarked.

“I stopped after work to see Audrey,” he explained.

“Well, that’s all right then,” she said, smiling at the mention of Audrey’s name.

He put a hand to his head and winced. “I have quite the headache, actually,” he said, sitting down in the front parlor.

“Do you? Let me have Cook prepare some chamomile tea for you. That should help,” she said and rang for the parlor maid to give the instruction

s. “Have you had the headache long?”

“No, not long. I was hit in the head on the way home,” he told her.

Theodocia looked at him with alarm. “What? Someone attacked you? Henry!”

“Three people stopped to help me in the road and saw the whole thing. I was hit from behind.”