Hearts In The Highlands. Ruth Axtell Morren
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before him.
“Thank you,” he said, from where he sat on a stool at the worktable. “This is more than adequate.”
She offered him a glass of buttermilk.
“Won’t you join me?” he asked with a gesture at the plate.
Her heart skipped a beat at the invitation. Suddenly the cavernous kitchen took on intimate proportions. “No, thank you. I’ll just have a glass of buttermilk.”
“I hope I’m not keeping you up.”
“Not at all. I had just read to your aunt and was going to head up to my own room. I couldn’t help coming down to look at the notebook again. Just to be sure I hadn’t fooled myself this afternoon.” She smiled.
“I can understand perfectly. It’s the reason I couldn’t leave this afternoon.”
“Your uncle must have been an interesting man.”
He nodded, munching on an apple slice. “He was. You must have gotten a sense of the risks he took on his travels.”
“I’m amazed at the number of times he barely escaped with his life.” Maddie rested her chin on her hand, finding the same level of companionability with Mr. Gallagher that she’d experienced in the tearoom.
They continued speaking about Egypt and the discoveries made there over the last decades. Mr. Gallagher tore off a piece of bread. “Unfortunately, there has always been a spirit of competition amongst the different national expeditions—the Brits trying to beat the French, who are trying to beat the Germans—with who can unearth the most artifacts.” He shook his head. “We’d have probably made more headway and prevented some of the needless destruction if we’d worked together.”
When he’d finished the light snack, she offered him some more, but he declined. “I really must be going. Thanks for the fare. It should hold me till morning.” He gave her another grin, and she realized for the countless time in the last fortnight how ruggedly handsome he was.
“A-are you staying far from here?” she asked, hoping the question wasn’t too personal.
“Not too far. I’m at the Travellers Club in Mayfair. It’s an easy walk.”
She wondered at his staying at a club instead of with family or in a flat of his own. As if reading the question in her mind he said, “It didn’t seem worthwhile getting my own rooms. When I come to London, it’s usually for a short stay. It’s more convenient just to put up at my club.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” She well knew how dismal a rented room could be. Did he have a place to call home in Egypt or did he live as a nomad in the desert? She wished she could ask but knew she’d never dare. He held the door open for her as they exited the kitchen together.
She escorted him to the front door where he’d left his jacket, thinking all the while that it was a pity such a man was so alone. She knew he had a sister in London in addition to his aunt, but he didn’t appear terribly close to them.
The night was fresh but not cold when they stood on the stoop.
He took a deep breath, a look of disgust clouding his chiseled features. “I don’t know how people live in this city. The air smells of sulfur and you can never see the stars.”
She glanced up at yellow-gray aureoles of the gas lamps against the dark sky. “I guess we forget what clean air and a night sky are like.”
“On the Egyptian desert you can begin to comprehend what a ‘blanket of stars’ really means. Between the cold dank winters and soot-filled air, I don’t know why anyone would want to inhabit London.”
She didn’t know what to say. That not everyone had a choice? That not everyone had the freedom he seemed to have?
He grinned. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’ve never liked this city and feel like a mule with a bit in his teeth every time I’m forced to step back in it.”
“I—I hope for your sake then that your time here will be short.” She said the words while fighting the wish that his stay would be lengthy.
“Thanks…though it looks like I’ll be here for a while.”
“May the Lord grant you the grace then to support it.”
“I am grateful for the guidance He gave you today in making the connection in that journal.” He took a step away from her. “I’d better let you get some sleep. Thanks for the snack. Thanks even more for your help in the library.” He stood a few seconds longer, and she wondered if he was as reluctant to leave as she was to have him leave.
“Well, good night,” he said at last, taking another step away.
“Good night, Mr. Gallagher.”
With a wave, he turned and began walking briskly down the gaslit street. Maddie stood watching him until he’d disappeared into the evening mists. With a sigh she stepped back inside and closed the door behind her. Why did it seem she was enclosing herself inside a tomb like those of the pharaohs while Mr. Gallagher had fled to the only freedom available?
Had the last decade of her life been nothing but a futile servitude? She’d believed she was following the Lord’s will for her life, but seeing it now through Mr. Gallagher’s eyes awakened all the long-ago dreams of the call of the mission field in a faraway land. Had she missed her true calling?
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