He nearly turned round when he saw Ellie standing on the street corner under the lamp, not yet lit. She looked exactly as he remembered her, only she was not favoring one leg. Nevertheless, her body was tense. She was facing the young man who stood opposite her, and a little too close for good manners. She was leaning away from him, but she did not move, even though he was obviously speaking to her, and from the expression on his face, angrily.

  She tipped her head a little further back and looked up at him. He was not tall, of just average height, and he was solidly built. Ellie was slender, and Crowe knew that she could easily be knocked off balance. The wound, although healed, had robbed her leg of its original strength. He knew that the draining of that power meant that one leg might always be weaker than the other.

  Crowe was too far away to hear, but he could see her lips move. She seemed to be arguing with the man, staring straight into his face and shaking her head.

  “You will do as you’re told!” he shouted, raising his voice to be loud enough for Crowe to hear from across the street.

  A few yards away, coming down the footpath and close enough to hear them, a middle-aged man shook his head. Crowe was watching for him to intervene, but instead he merely touched his hat in a salute, more to the young man than to Ellie. “Evening, Mr. Dolan,” he said briefly. “Miss…” He left it unfinished, not as if he did not know her name, but as if it did not matter.

  Dolan! Crowe knew the name. This must be Paul Dolan, the son of Silas Dolan, a very wealthy man. He owned or had a financial interest in many businesses that imported luxury goods. It was rumored that the senior Dolan held part interest in more than one ship. Crowe did not know the man, but he had heard that this was not a good person to cross. People tended to give him a wide berth and do whatever he wanted. But what was his son, Paul, doing with Ellie? And why was he treating her with such disrespect?

  The ugliest answer leaped to Crowe’s mind first, because it was the one he most feared. Ellie’s father, Albert Hollister, was in the warehousing business. His path had to have crossed that of Silas Dolan. One had goods, the other the place to store them. Were they partners? Had the two fathers arranged for their children to marry? They couldn’t be rivals or enemies, not if their children were betrothed.

  The thought made his stomach turn. These alliances were made often, as a way of creating a powerful business partnership. Was this the case? How else to explain this joining of Ellie and Paul, the sweet with the bitter, and the tone he had taken with her?

  Crowe suddenly realized that Paul had taken Ellie by the wrist, and from the pain in her face it was clear that he was holding her too hard.

  “You will learn to do as you’re told, Ellie,” he said between his teeth, and yet again loud enough for Crowe to hear. “And without giving me an argument every time. Didn’t your father teach you any obedience? Why must you argue with me?”

  “Don’t shout at me!” she said, trying to free her wrist from his grasp.

  Crowe strained to hear the words.

  “I’ll do as I want!” Paul said back at her.

  Crowe felt his muscles tense and his fists clench. The street was bare of traffic for a few moments and unusually quiet, but at this time of day, that would soon change.

  Ellie snatched her hand away.

  Paul Dolan slapped her. Not hard, but it was across the side of her face.

  Crowe glanced up and down the street, then strode across and, within seconds, was at the opposite side. He grabbed Paul’s arm and twisted it sharply behind the man’s back. He heard a crack, a gasp of pain, and then the man’s shoulder went limp.

  Paul tried to swing back, his face twisted with fury, but the best he could do was lunge at Crowe, who moved sideways. Dolan’s weight behind that lunge carried him forward, causing him to stumble over his own feet. And then, overbalancing on the curb, he fell hard into the gutter.

  Crowe did nothing to stop his fall.

  There was a second of silence in which no one moved.

  Ellie turned to Crowe, her eyes wide, and then she looked beyond him to Paul Dolan, who was slowly climbing to his feet, clumsily, as if he was not sure his legs would hold his weight, and grasping his shoulder where Crowe had wrenched it.

  Crowe looked away from Ellie. He had to watch Dolan. If this man would strike a woman, then he would not be above pummeling a man from behind.

  Dolan swayed a moment longer and then steadied himself. He glared at Ellie, then at Crowe. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “How dare you interfere in my family affairs? If I tell my wife to do something, that is my right! If you interfere again, I’ll teach you your place! Whoever you are, I’ll ruin you. Do you hear me?”

  Crowe froze. Ellie was his wife?

  “I am not your wife,” she said, almost choking on her words.

  Dolan glared at her. “Not yet! But we’ll be married soon enough. Get Christmas over, and then the wedding.”

  “I don’t want…” She shook her head, but she did not finish the sentence.

  “You love your father?” Dolan asked. He was stained with mud from the gutter and there was a bruise darkening on his skin from the fall. He was still an impressive figure, even while clutching his shoulder awkwardly. He was very muscular beneath his carefully cut suit and coat, a man who could do serious harm if provoked. His thick dark hair was cut skillfully. Only his expression let him down.

  Ellie wilted. “Of course I do,” she said quietly.

  “Then you will do as he wishes,” Paul said with a tight-lipped smile. “You have the power to help him return to the prosperity he once had…and to keep him there.” And then he added, “Or not.”

  Ellie started to say something, and then changed her mind. She looked beaten. Her eyes lowered and she seemed to be avoiding Crowe’s look.

  “Thank you,” she said very quietly. Her words were clearly for Crowe, although she did not meet his eyes. “It was a misunderstanding. My fiancé did not mean to hurt me. He…he would not do that.”

  It was very clearly a lie, but Crowe sensed that she was compelled to say it. He was in no position to interfere, although everything in him screamed against that decision.

  He searched for something to say, and then found it. “He needs to go to his doctor and have his shoulder treated.”

  Paul Dolan glared at him, then blinked, still holding his upper arm. “You’ll come with me!” he told Ellie.

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll go home.” She glanced in the direction of her house, which was within view.

  “If I leave her here, and if anything happens to her…” Paul began.

  Ellie turned toward him. “Nothing will happen to me, Paul. Please, look after yourself.”

  He glared at Crowe for a long moment, then turned on his heel and limped away.

  Crowe wanted to say something, but nothing sensible came to his tongue. He was standing alone with her, his mind filled with intense emotion, and he could find no words.

  After a moment, she asked, “Were you here to visit me?”

  “I have a patient who lives a few streets away,” he said. “That is, he’s the gardener.”

  She nodded, her face still reflecting the embarrassment of being seen in this unpleasant domestic dispute.

  “I will see you safely home,” Crowe promised.

  “If you are busy, Dr. Crowe, I can walk the two minutes it will take to get to my door. I promise, I should be quite safe,” she said.

  “Nonsense. I insist,” he replied.

  In the fading light, he saw the faint color rise in her cheeks, but he wasn’t sure that what flashed across her face was a shy smile.

  Ellie turned away and began to walk along the pavement, slightly uphill.

  It took him three strides to catch up with her. He wanted to find something to say to her in these few precious minutes, but nothing seemed appropriate. He did not want to fill this silence with platitudes, but what could he say that would mean anything at all?

  It was she who broke the silence between them. “How is your clinic doing? I hear good things about it, but it is all secondhand, from people who know someone who has been helped.”

  “There are good days and bad,” Crowe replied. “But we always find enough to survive. Sometimes it comes from the most surprising people. It’s pennies, but more often it’s food, a fresh loaf of bread, some eggs, an apple pie.” He smiled at the memory of the shy offerings of homemade goods, such as soft cloths that would do for bandages, and an extra nightshirt for someone who did not have one. “Even a bag of tea leaves.” He had learned early on that strong tea was a lifter of spirits, a reviver of energy.

  He looked at her, and saw her quickly blinking away her gathering tears, and perhaps memories of the gifts she had seen when she was there, gifts from people who had so little.

  For a moment, they stood in silence. Before he had spoken, it seemed as if Ellie had several things to say, but then this mention of his gratitude for having received gifts from those who had so little seemed to have awakened in her emotions that were taking several moments to control.

  The hill was quite steep in front of her home and they leaned forward a little into the climb. There was much to say, but everything that mattered, he should not say. Not only was it unwise, and far too self-revealing, but they were things she would not want to know, that might prove embarrassing and totally futile. He should, at the least, leave himself a bit of dignity!

  Again, it was she who broke the silence. “How is Scuff doing?” While Crowe had treated Ellie and sat by her bedside, he told her of his mentee, and she had been charmed by stories of their collaboration. She met Scuff only briefly during her stay, but she felt as though she knew him.

  Her question was safe, and easy to answer. “Well,” he said. “In fact, he’s doing very well. He has the skills to be a fine doctor, and he’s gaining new knowledge every day. He remembers everything. I suppose that comes from so many years of not being able to read and having to rely on his memory, and also from having to do calculations in his head.” He smiled. “And then, when Hester Monk taught him how to read and write, I’m guessing that there was no holding him back. I think he still sees a sort of magic in words. The way squiggly marks on a page can lead us to capture ideas, facts, emotions. Whether they’re on a piece of paper, a clay tablet, or anything else that can hold an image. Of course, we can draw pictures of solid things, but not ideas. Only words can do that. For Scuff, it’s still a kind of enchantment, a thing of the spirit.”

  She smiled at him. “It’s a pity we ever lose that, isn’t it? It’s like standing in the sun for so long you become comfortable, and then forget what it was like to be cold.”

  They came to the curb. He wished to take her arm, then realized it might be seen as an imposition. She was not infirm. He had no right to do this, so he let his hand fall and walked beside her.

  Once they were on the lengthy footpath leading to her door, he started to tell her about some of the cases he had treated. She had spent enough time in bed at the clinic, too ill to be moved, to know very well that not all cases could be helped. There were always some patients for whom the only thing Crowe could do was to ease their pain, or make someone’s death as free from agony or fear as possible.

  It seemed to Crowe that both he and Ellie were happy to let that remain mutually understood.

  When they reached her door, they were surrounded by the house’s elegant façade, the trees in the front garden, the evergreen holly bushes gleaming with red berries, and the streetlamps right beside the gate. Crowe hesitated.

  “I’ll go in the back door,” she said quietly. “And I will tell Papa only as much as I have to.”

  He understood. She might be protecting herself against her father’s anger. If she told him about Paul Dolan’s behavior, would he believe her? Perhaps he could not afford to, if he needed Silas Dolan on his side. After all, the senior Dolan had the reputation of a powerful man who was quick to anger. It occurred to Crowe that his son came by his arrogance through family tradition, example, even inheritance.

  “I’ll see you inside,” he answered.

  She paused for a moment, as if trying to decide the wisdom of this.

  * * *

  Crowe knew that the easiest thing would be to leave her as soon as the door had been opened by a servant, but he wanted to see Albert Hollister. Would it be a challenge to his own temper to speak civilly to the man? And what if he mentioned Paul’s behavior? Hollister might well accuse him of meddling, or inappropriate behavior, which would only make it harder for Ellie.

  The back door opened and a man stood there. Crowe assumed he was waiting for Ellie. From his black jacket and pressed trousers, it was clear that he was the butler.

  Ellie was ready for him. “Good evening, Barker. I’m afraid Mr. Dolan slipped and fell in the street. He was quite wet.” Her voice quivered a little.

  Crowe thought she was suppressing laughter. He hoped it was that and not tears. Or worse, a dread of what her father might say.

  “Dr. Crowe was passing, and he insisted on walking me home,” she finished.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Barker said gravely, then turned back to Ellie. “I hope Mr. Dolan was not injured, miss.” It was not really a question, more a polite thing to say, closing the matter.

  “No, nothing serious, Barker. Is Papa at home? Perhaps you could tell him I am safely in?”

  She wanted to avoid her father. Crowe could hear it in her voice, and apparently the butler could also.

  “Yes, miss,” he said gravely, and turned toward the inner door leading into the back kitchen.

  At that moment, the door swung open and Albert Hollister stood there, effectively blocking the way.

  Crowe surmised that he had been slender in his youth. He was not heavily boned, and at least three inches shorter than Crowe. The man was portly now, and his silver hair less abundant than it had been even last spring. His face darkened when he saw Crowe. It was clear that he recognized him immediately, which was not surprising. Not only was Crowe tall, but he always dressed in black. Often it was a long-tailed jacket, as now, sometimes an open overcoat, or even oilskins in the worst weather. His face was strong, keen, and his wild hair a dense black. Despite this, his voice was soft and clear, as though he were a gentleman fallen on hard times. He never explained to anyone where he had got his diction, or his vocabulary.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” Hollister demanded. “Do you require more money?” He said it with an intonation that gave it the weight of an insult.

  Ellie closed her eyes and seemed to shrink into herself. Even Barker blanched.

  Crowe breathed in, and then out. He must not make this worse! “If you wish to give money to the clinic, sir, so that more of the poor may be treated, then do so directly to the clinic. I believe you know where it is.”

  It was the butler who intervened. “Mr. Dolan has had an accident, sir, and was not able to continue with Miss Eliza. Dr. Crowe merely came the last distance to be sure she arrived safely.”

  “How do you know that?” Hollister demanded. “Did he say so?”

  “No, sir, Miss Eliza did,” the butler replied. He was an extremely well-trained servant. He understood how to behave as a gentleman and had clearly done so for far longer than his master. Crowe wondered if Hollister was aware of that.

  Hollister stared at Crowe, who met his gaze and stared back. Only Ellie glanced at the butler with warmth.

  “I’m obliged,” Hollister said stiffly to Crowe. “I thought I made it plain when my daughter left your clinic that once she was healed, that was to be the end of your acquaintance.” His eyebrows rose. “What part of that arrangement did you not understand?”

  “As Mr. Barker explained, sir, I merely accompanied Miss Hollister because she is a young lady whose escort fell into the gutter.” Crowe kept his expression absolutely blank, as if he did not see the double meaning to his words. “He needed to change his clothes, since he was wet and covered with dirt. I require no thanks from you for having accompanied Miss Hollister to her home. Any decent man would have done as much. I think you should know that Mr. Dolan was violent, sir. Perhaps you are unaware of it, or you would have put a stop to it by now. I fear that your daughter might be too afraid of him to tell you that herself.”

  Hollister’s face flushed red. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business, mister…Doctor. We are obliged to you for your help when my daughter had an accident, but we have paid you for your services, and that is the end of the matter, Doctor…whatever—I’m sorry, I forget your surname—thank you for walking home with my daughter. Tell me, what do I owe you for that service?” He must have seen Crowe’s face, because he stopped.

  Ellie gasped, then almost choked on her words, forcing them out. “Papa, Dr. Crowe does not want paying, as if he were your servant.” She turned to Crowe, but she could not look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I would not have let you see me safely home if I’d known you would be insulted. Please forgive my clumsiness.”

  Crowe drew a deep breath. “No apology is needed, Miss Hollister. I can see your father did not mean to be as rude as he sounded. He is only anxious for your safety…and your welfare.”

  He turned to Albert Hollister and did not even pretend to smile. “Your manners reflect your concern. There is no need to explain the depth of your feelings. Nevertheless, Mr. Dolan seems a very ill-controlled young man. Good evening to you, sir.” And with a brief glance at the butler, and avoiding Ellie’s eyes, he turned and walked to the back door, opened it, and went out into the now-dark early evening.

  Crowe walked toward the clinic. Since he had run into Ellie and Paul, the lamplighter had passed along these roads, well above the streets and alleys of the dockside, and had lit all the lamps, allowing Crowe to see the pavement.