James longed to question his host about his need for a physician, but could not bring himself to do so. Surely a gentleman such as Mr. House could afford to be seen by a physician privately? Still, he admitted to himself, it was a relief to know that he would not need to seek accommodations for the night.
Beside him, Mr. House readied himself to depart; donning his hat, straightening his coat as the train stopped beside the platform. All around them, passengers rose to their feet when the doors opened. James donned his hat and coat, and watched as his host bent his leg at the knee and rose awkwardly. Shifting his cane beneath him, he leaned heavily upon it as he made his way to the exit. James rose as well, standing to join him only to find his way blocked. He stepped well aside as several well dressed ladies brushed past him in the aisle. He nodded politely, gazing at the young ladies in frank admiration.
"Good evening." He greeted, touching the brim of his hat respectfully. Once they had left the train he resumed his path up the aisle and to the door, stepping out onto the platform hurriedly. Of his host, there was no immediate sign and James felt anxiety well within him. Casting about, James surveyed the station's spacious interior quickly, praying his host had not yet abandoned him. Feeling his spirits sink, he pondered the likelihood of making his way to a reputable boarding house at such a late hour. Resigned, he requested a porter to help him with his baggage before making his way to the great glass doors. Amidst the ever-present carriages and omnibuses he gestured impatiently at the nearest cab.
"Where to, sir?" a cockneyed voice asked, and James sighed heavily. "Have you any knowledge of boarding houses?"
"Yes sir, I know of some fine houses to recommend."
"I—"
"Have you elected to eschew my offer?" a voice asked quietly, and James jumped; surprised to find Mr. House standing beside him. Sharp grey eyes probed his, and James looked away in embarrassment.
"Forgive me, I meant no offense. I was detained, and had thought perhaps you had—"
"Departed? You think me a poor host?"
"Please, I meant no—"
"Or perhaps you were too enthralled by the ladies."
"Pardon?"
"I could see you admiring the ladies from outside the station. You have a fine eye." Mr. House complimented, and James finally fell silent, uncertain what rejoinder would satisfy his host. "Come, this way. My man will have us snug in my home within the hour!"
Mr. House was an enigma, that much was certain. James was stymied by the apparent contradiction within the image the man conjured. His grooming was haphazard, yet his clothes were well-fashioned. His luggage was worn and battered, but the brougham was handsomely maintained. Even the horses, though evenly matched in their paces and appearance bore nothing more than singletrees and plain ring snaffles. Mr. House's man was waiting for them at the far end of the platform; he'd nodded deferentially to James and had immediately taken his luggage while Mr. House had eased himself into the soft cushions of the brougham. He'd seemed relieved to be off his feet once more. James studied the city through the glass windows thoughtfully. He'd been to London once as a child, though not long enough for the city to affix itself to his memory. The streets were dimly lit, and James knew he should have been lost immediately upon setting out from the station; but Mr. House's driver knew his route. He drove them through quiet streets, past taverns and pubs to a sprawling, pristine neighbourhood. The brownstone he finally stopped before was neither large nor small; though it, too, was well kept. The windows glowed warmly, and as the driver alighted and opened the door; James realized with a start that he had not given his host's family a second thought.
"Surely your family will not mind an unexpected guest?" James asked aloud.
"I am yet a bachelor. My father says that I am a difficult man, and no woman will have me." Mr. House's breath came heavily as he struggled out of the brougham. His walk seemed heavier, and James could see in the way he staggered up the steps that the journey had taken its' toll upon him.
"Come in, come in. I would be a poor host to leave you out here in the cold." Unlocking his own door, Mr. House motioned for James to follow him while the driver busied himself with their baggage. The brownstone was warm and pleasant, and James hurried to divest himself of his greatcoat and hat, gloves and scarf. Mr. House did the same, and then gestured for his guest to follow him down a hallway to a well-appointed study. James studied the overfilled bookshelves in approval; had he time he would have perused each spine and learned the mind of his host. There was a fire in the hearth, and Gregory sank down in an overstuffed chair before the flames with a satisfied grunt.
"Sit, please. Make yourself at home." He leaned forward as James sat down and lifted a shaking hand to the full decanter of brandy to pour them each a glass. James took his gratefully and leaned back, feeling the soft plush ease the slight ache in his spine from the rigors of travel. How much more taxing was such a journey to a man with a grievously injured leg? Mr. House leaned back with his own glass and toasted his guest before throwing the glass back. The driver had dutifully carried their luggage inside, and now made an appearance in the doorway. He was an older man with a medium build and a shock of white hair.
"Mr. House, I was to tell you that supper was ready for you as soon as you should like it."
"Thank you, Henry. Would you tell Alice to set another place, and make up a room for our guest? I believe he shall be staying with us for a time."
Yes sir, I surely will." Henry bowed politely and left the doorway. James listened to his steps recede in the distance even as his host reluctantly regained both his feet and cane and led him down to the dining room. Two places had been set, as Mr. House had asked; and James followed his host's lead as he sat down at one.
"Alice!" he barked, and James blinked in surprise when a young woman emerged bearing two steaming bowls. On closer inspection, her lovely features were those of a younger woman, but her eyes were filled with a life longer lived. She was like her employer; not as young as she seemed; nor as old as he imagined she might be. An enigma. "Don't keep our guest waiting. This is Mr. Wilson."
"Supper will keep, Mr. House. For you and your guest." She set one bowl before him, and the other before James. "Every night he bellows for his soup. But he hasn't learned yet that I don't scare easy. His bark is worse than his bite." She confessed to James as she poured them each a mug of ale and bustled back and forth with a loaf of bread.
"I don't keep you in my employ to slander me before my guest." Mr. House said dryly, and James took up his mug to hide the smile tickling his lips.
"And I don't stay here for the conversation. Lord knows, I could have my fights with the mister and be a kept woman at home." She said crossly.
"Why do you stay, dear Alice?" Mr. House asked, but James could see his blue eyes were no longer so clouded with pain; instead, they were filled with delight.
"Someone has to make your soup!" Alice cried, and stormed back into the kitchen. Mr. House's smile lingered as he dug into his soup. James longed to return the conversation to the cryptic comment his host had made on the train, but he could see in Mr. House's eyes a weariness that had not completely abated even with his soup and ale. Instead, they discussed the weather, and the upcoming elections.
Alice bustled back and forth, clearing their plates almost before they had finished and had brought in a wonderful raisin pudding. When they had finally finished, Mr. House had made to rise from his seat and nearly fell. James caught his elbow in time to prevent him from a spectacular fall, and eased him to sit once more.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, and Mr. House nodded after a moment. His face was terribly pinched and pale.
"Yes. Alice." He croaked faintly. Shaking his head, he leaned back in his seat.
The housekeeper emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. "Shall I fetch Henry for you, Mr. House?"
"Yes. And if you'll see to our guest?" he asked quietly. Alice nodded, and when she had called for Henry she rejoined them at the table. "Come along, Mr. Wilson." She prodded, and James got to his feet slowly. He could see Henry slip into the room and help his host laboriously to his feet.
"Mr. Wilson?" Alice was waiting for him at the base of the stairs, one small hand resting on the railing. "Whereabouts you from?"
"Oxford. I've only just come to London this eve. Mr. House and I met on the train. He was kind enough to offer me a room." James followed her obediently up the staircase and down a dimly lit hall.
"Mr. House don't like for people to know, but he's got a soft spot for folks." She opened the door for him, and James was pleased to find Henry had already placed his trunk in the room. Alice disappeared down the hall while James unlocked his trunk and stripped himself of both jacket and vest. She returned with a pitcher full of water and a basin, along with clean towels. Setting them both on the bureau, she stirred up the fire in the hearth and busied herself with the bed linens while James eased himself out of his boots.
"Will Mr. House be all right?" he asked cautiously.
"Oh, yes, yes. Never trouble yourself about that. Traveling always takes it out of him. You'll see, he'll be right again come morning."
"He said he might be in need of a physician." James finally confessed, and he could feel Alice's piercing eyes fall on him. "That's why he offered me the room."
"Did he?" Alice asked enigmatically. "Perhaps he has need then."
"Does no one in this house answer questions when put to them?" James asked in exasperation. Alice winked at him, and smiled. "You'll learn, Mr. Wilson, that the only thing you've right to expect in this house is grief. Mr. House don't like for folks to pity him, and he don't want help if he don't need it."
"He asked for your help. He expected Henry to help him." James pointed out quietly.
"He don't want my help. But I needed a good job and he needs somebody to do his laundry and cook his meals. And Henry's been with him for a long time. Used to help him out when he was still teaching at the university, and when Mr. House finally got so he couldn't teach no more Henry said he'd stay with him long as he could help. Henry wanted to be a doctor. Mr. House says this is as close as he'll get."
"So he does mayhap need a physician? Even I could not be so lucky as to acquire a patient on the train!"
"Only Mr. House knows what Mr. House needs. But I'll wager he'll tell you all about it when he's ready. If there's anything you need, Mr. Wilson, Henry will be here to get it for you."
"Thank you, Alice." James watched as she let herself out and closed the door behind. He took up the pitcher and splashed water into the basin. Rolling back his sleeves, James wet a cloth and drew it over his face and along the back of his neck, wiping away the dirt of his journey. Swiping over his exposed forearms, he set the cloth aside and dried himself. He quickly stripped himself of his clothes and shivered as he pulled on his nightshirt. He pulled the bed curtains and dove into bed, pulling the covers up around himself and put his head to the pillow. In the space between one breath and the next, he fell asleep.