Free Shadows Fall Away by Kit Forbes Page B

word, are you all right?” She hurried forward. She took the towel from me and looked at my wound. “However did you do that? Certainly not shaving?”
    “Not shaving is certainly how I did it!” I shot back. I snatched the towel away and pressed it back against my cheek.
    “Then do carry on, Mr. Stewart. And try not to bleed too profusely on the carpet.”
    “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just mad at myself. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
    Genie’s attention started to drift down to the towel wrapped around my waist and I held my breath, begged my body not to embarrass me.
    Her gaze snapped back up and she reached out. “Please let me look at the cut.”
    I pulled the little towel back a few inches and she leaned in. She cleared her throat. “It seems to be slowing but it’s a bit much for a styptic pencil. Just keep pressure on it with the towel a few moments more.”
    She took a long time staring into my eyes but stepped back and adjusted the small silver watch pinned to the front of her gray dress.
    “I guess I should have found a barber or something to get a shave,” I said, mostly to fill the weird silence. “You think there are any in the neighborhood, open now?”
    “No. But I shall help you.” Genie picked up a fresh towel and wiped the drying soap from my face.
    I stepped back.
    She gave me a questioning look. “Whatever is the matter, Mr. Stewart?”
    I looked at the razor in her hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but somehow I don’t think you have much experience in the area of shaving, and that blade is sharp.”
    Her back ramrod straight, she gave me a pissy look. “I assure you, Mr. Stewart, that I am quite skilled with a razor. I’ve assisted many an invalid at the London Hospital and not a one of them has ever succumbed as a result of my use of a straight razor.”
    I considered asking for references but since she had the razor, I decided not to. And besides, there was a trained doctor downstairs, right? “If you’re willing to shave me, I’d appreciate it.”
    She worked up the lather again. “If you sit on the tub, it will be much easier. You’re too tall.”
    I grinned at her. “Maybe you’re too short.”
    She tried not to smile, but I saw the cracks in her crusty exterior.
    “Need I remind you, Mr. Stewart, which one of us shall be brandishing the razor?”
    “Well played, Miss Trambley. Well played.”
    She gave me a cute grin. “But of course.”
    She was quick and good and I’d have been tempted to give her a tip if I’d had my pants on. I was really starting to wish I had my pants on. “Could you hand me the robe, dressing gown, whatever?”
    She did, gave a puzzled look, then excused herself.
    I went to the guestroom to get dressed. While I fumbled trying to get the stupid cravat/necktie thing straight, I had to admit that Genie Trambley did have a nice touch with the razor and a decent sense of humor. I liked that. Maybe this dinner with her family wouldn’t be so awful after all.
    Once I was satisfied I looked “presentable,” I headed downstairs. Genie waited and insisted I step into her father’s treatment room so she could see to the cut I’d made on my face from the razor.
    She clucked her tongue in an annoying yet kind of cute way while she dabbed some kind of salve on the wound on my face. “You’re quite heavy-handed with a razor, aren’t you? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d never shaved yourself before.”
    Think boy, think. “I usually go to the old barber near my house and let him do it. It gets the day off to a good start.”
    “Well, no matter.” Genie wiped her hands on a small cotton towel. She looked at the little watch pinned to the front of her dress. “I believe we’ve delayed dinner long enough. Shall we go?”
    Dr. Trambley had been called away so they had me sit in the “Master’s” chair that seemed more like the defendant’s chair about a minute after I took my seat.
    It was like being on trial with