"Where are we going?" Cecile asked.
George and the woman were walking down a street, passing many dimly lit houses. No one was out for a nighttime stroll, which made the constable less nervous. His eyes scanned their surroundings, looking for anything out of place that may foil Cecile's escape.
"My apartment? I hope you don't mind…" George's face flushed in embarrassment.
"Um…" Cecile was speechless, her face flushing as well. She had never been alone with a male that was not family before—especially in such an intimate setting.
"I can bring you to a boarding house or hotel if that would make you more comfortable!" he quickly said, trying not to embarrass himself further.
"No, no! It's alright!" Cecile glanced at George, seeing his face turn a very bright crimson.
They continued walking down the street, a light wind blowing Cecile's hair back from her face. George could clearly see the blood that was caked on the side of her face and her black and blue eye. His heart panged in hurt as he saw her injuries—she had done nothing to deserve the abuse she had endured.
"Here, take this…" George paused on the sidewalk to take his jacket off. He handed it to Cecile, who gratefully put it on, "This too," he took his hat of and plopped it onto her head.
Cecile let out a small giggle as she adjusted the hat on her head. George gently took her arm and put it in the crook of his elbow; she put her hand on his forearm. They continued to walk, taking an easygoing pace.
"Thank you for saving me, Constable Crabtree." Cecile said, squeezing his arm gently.
"You're welcome, miss. And please call me George—enough with the formalities." George laid a hand on hers, the coldness of it sending shivers up his spine yet again.
"Please call me Cecile, then." She gave him a small smile.
They neared closer to George's shabby apartment; he dug in his pocket with his free hand for his key. They entered the front door and went up a staircase. George stopped at one of the doors in the hall, unlocking his door.
"Welcome to my home! I apologize for the mess…" he held the door open for Cecile, who stepped inside and began looking around.
An old couch was on one side of the room underneath a window, with a small table in front of it. On the other side of the couch were shelves and cupboards for food, an icebox, and a small sink. There was a door opposite from where Cecile was standing, which she guessed lead to his bedroom.
"Are you hungry? Do you want to bathe? Are you tired?" George shut the door and began bustling around his apartment, trying to clean up whatever messes he could.
"Can I say 'I guess' to all three of those questions?" Cecile smiled.
"If you want, you can bathe now while I try to make something for dinner. Then we can eat together. Does that sound good?"
"That sounds fine."
George smiled at the woman and went into the bedroom to fetch a towel. He came back with the cloth, but also a pair of trousers and a plain white button down shirt.
"I forgot that you don't have a change of clothes…Will these do?" he handed her the garments.
"Of course! Thank you so much, Constab—George."
Cecile went to the door of the apartment, her hand on the knob. "Where are the facilities?"
"Oh! Last door on the left." George offered her a grin.
Cecile left, closing the door softly behind her. George quickly gathered all of the junk he had acquired in his home and threw it into his bedroom, slamming that door shut afterwards. He cleared the table near the couch, throwing crumbs out of the window. He took two plates out of a cupboard and two glasses, which he filled with water. George paused for a moment, one hand on the top of his head and the other on his hip, at a loss.
"What do I have to eat?" he groaned.
George dug through cupboards, searching for something that he thought Cecile would like. He took out bread and jam, desperately hoping it would make a suitable dinner. He laid the bread out on another plate and placed it on the table along with the jam. He didn't want to seem nervous or anxious—he took a book from a shelf and sat on the couch to read.
He was about a page into his book when he slapped his forehead in remembrance. George jumped up from the couch and rushed into his room. His bed was in the middle of the small room, covered with the miscellaneous items he had thrown in earlier. He grabbed all he could in an armful and threw it into the closet in the corner. He stripped the sheets off of the bed and quickly put the spares he had on, throwing the soiled ones in the closet with the rest of his possessions. George fluffed the pillows a bit before finding the room satisfactory. He went back into the other room and began reading again, waiting for Cecile.
The door creaked open and Cecile entered, wringing her hair with a towel. She wore George's clothes—they hung on her slim frame, the sleeves and pants rolled up. She smiled at George and hung her towel on the back of a chair, walking lightly over to George and plopping down on the sofa next to him.
"I can't thank you enough for what you've done." Cecile put her head back and closed her eyes.
"It's the least I could have done…" George's face flushed; he was grateful that her eyes were closed.
George allowed her to sit in silence for a few moments. He listened to the easy sound of her breathing, watching her chest rise and fall with each new breath she took. She stretched her arms and legs and opened her eyes. George quickly averted his gaze to the makeshift dinner he had prepared.
"I have some bread and jam, if that will suit you…" he took a piece of bread and spread it with the fruit preserve, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Cecile's body.
"That sounds great, thank you!" Cecile took the bread from George and took a bite. "This is certainly much better than what they gave me at the hospital…"
George took a nibble from his bread, chewing it thoughtfully. He wondered whether he should ask her why she had wanted to take her own life, or if it were too soon to intrude on something so personal. He picked up his glass of water and took a sip.
"Cecile?" George gazed into his water glass, holding it with both hands.
"Yes?" she looked at him, her eyes shining, even though the surrounding flesh was still black and blue.
"Can I ask you about…when we met?" George slowly and quietly said, trying not to open emotional wounds.
"I knew this would come." Cecile swallowed her bread, lowering her head. Her brown hair fell and covered the sides of her face, the dampness making it stick to her skin.
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable; that is most certainly not my intention. If you would prefer, we could talk about it another day…?"
"No—no. You have a right to know."
Cecile reached for her water glass on the table, her hand shaking. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a drink, her hand still quivering. Water slopped out of the sides and landed in her lap; she paid no mind.
"Well, for starters…I was born into a well to-do American family. My family had come from generations of laborers, and when my great-grandfather and his wife came into fortune, they managed it wisely and invested in profitable businesses. The normal story of a successful businessman, am I correct?" she laughed slightly to herself, "I was sent to wonderful schools and I learned about the ways of the world. I traveled a lot and frequented the high societies of all of Europe's major cities. On my return trip from my last engagement in Europe, I witnessed a murder on my cruise liner. At first I thought my mind was playing tricks on me—I had dined with the man hours earlier. He was the owner of a large corporation in New York City, and my grandfather wanted me to warm him up to become business partners with my father. I witnessed his murder as I was walking on deck late at night. The people who killed him saw me—I tried running, but they caught me. They told me that if I told anyone what I saw, they would kill me. They threatened to torture and kill my family as well if I did not kill myself first. I was terrified."
"What did you do?"
"I told—I had to. I couldn't live with the knowledge that I let someone's killers go free. I waited for three days after I had landed before I went to the police and told them what I saw. The police never caught the murderers, but they're following me. I've seen them everywhere I go, and I know they're ready to kill me at any moment. I traveled all over America and most of Canada before I realized that I had to take my own life to save my family. I don't know if they know that I'm here now—I feel like my brief stay at the hospital threw them for a loop. But George…I have not seen my family for two years. They think I'm dead."
"I am very sorry for the things you have gone through. I had no idea…"
Cecile covered her face with her hands as tears began to fall down her face. George put an arm around her, trying to soothe her. With a gentle hand, he tucked her hair behind her ear and slowly removed one of her hands from her face. He lightly ran his thumb down the course that a tear had taken. She turned her face to him, her bottom lip quivering and her eyes full of tears.
"I'll protect you, I promise. No one will ever hurt you." George put his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.
"Thank you…" she whispered.