The woman in the suit, possibly the social aid worker, reached out and held her uninjured hand. “Please, we want to help you.” Her voice lowered, perhaps in an attempt to keep the conversation private. It was too late. The entire wing of the building had been privy to their discussion.
The girl’s mouth lifted into a slight smile, transforming her pretty face into something indefinable, yet incredibly appealing. “I appreciate your assistance, but it’s unnecessary. I’ll be fine. What I really need is a bathroom and my bag for supplies. Monthly girl issues.” She held out her hand, expecting to receive the backpack.
Although the officer didn’t look too keen on giving it back, he handed it to her. She thanked him, backed into her bathroom, and shut the door.
When the door lock clicked, the crowd dispersed, except for one nurse, the police officer, and the woman in the suit. They stood together whispering back and forth. Henry couldn’t make out the details of their discussion.
He approached the group cautiously. “Excuse me. I’m Henry Chilton, the professor who brought the young woman in last night.”
The woman in the suit glared at Henry. Did she suspect he’d beaten her? Terrific. The cop just waved and turned back to talk to the others. Obviously to him, Henry wasn’t a suspect.
A pretty young nurse led Henry away from the group. “I’m Clara Dawes, Ms. West’s nurse. I’m afraid we can’t explain her medical condition, privacy and all that.”
“No problem. I was just checking up on her. From her appearance, she looks angry, but otherwise, quite vigorous in health.”
“Is she a student of yours?”
He had no idea. Probably not, as he’d never seen her in any of his classes. He would have remembered the hair, at least. “She was a guest at a dinner party I held last night at my house.”
The nurse leaned toward him and spoke softly enough to keep her words from traveling. “On the surface, she’s very healthy. Her main injuries are the cuts on her hand, but she has enough scars and old bruises to make us concerned. If only she’d tell us who did this to her, we could help.” She stood so close to him, the floral scent of roses displaced the antiseptic scent of the hospital. “I’ll tell her you stopped by. Would you like me to call you if we learn anything new?”
“No, thank you. I’ll come back later to check up on her.” He left.
If he returned in an hour or so, she might be more relaxed, and he could determine if she needed his assistance. He hopped into his car and started for home, but slowed at the sight of the brown backpack displayed like a homing beacon on her back. No hospital discharged patients in under ten minutes. She must have escaped through the window.
She trotted down the road wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with her leather jacket tied to her pack. Without the jacket over her shoulders, she’d shrunk two sizes. Without the layers of black makeup, she appeared softer, less hostile toward the world.
He pulled alongside her. “Need a ride?”
“No, thanks.” She moved to the other side of the sidewalk, and her hand tightened on her bag.
“I’m Henry. Henry Chilton. I brought you to the hospital.”
She stopped moving, but remained at a safe distance from the car. “Was I in your house last night?”
Henry smiled. “Yes. I’m a professor of anthropology. The dinner was for my students.”
The pack slid down her arms. She positioned it next to her leg. Her hand remained at her side, hidden in white gauze bandages. “I’m sorry for breaking the statue. I wasn’t myself last night.”
“Perfectly understandable. I’m just glad you didn’t throw the Rouen vase. It’s been in my family for generations.”
“I would never harm such a beautiful piece.” She shut her eyes and then shuddered. “Thanks again, for your help.”
She started down the road again. He followed in his car. If she wouldn’t allow the police or hospital to assist her, maybe she’d allow him to help.
“Are you a student here?” he yelled out his window, trying not to sound like a stalker.
“No.” She increased her pace.
Thank God she wasn’t a student. But had she passed the age of majority? He could protect her if he could remove her from Oxford.
“Can I inquire your age?”
“Looking to get lucky? Because you won’t with me.”
“Actually, I wish to help you. Where are you staying?”
“I’m not sure yet. It depends how far out of town I get.”
Perfect, but would she trust him?
Pulling up a little ahead of her, he stopped. He reached into his pocket and produced a card for the Ripon Women’s Group. He paused before handing it to her. She’d either believe he was in her life as a lucky coincidence, or she’d think he was a con artist taking advantage of her situation. Coincidence or not, she needed him. “This is a place for women who need a safe haven.”
A few seconds passed before she reached through the window and took the card. A small acorn tattoo marked the inside of her wrist. Her rebel appearance didn’t match her personality. Instead of fighting with the boys at the party or the hospital staff, she tried to remove herself from the situation. She acted cautious and intelligent. And here she was running away from something again.
“I help run a battered women’s group in my hometown. We protect families who need a temporary place to stay. No cost, just a promise to give back someday when you find someone else in need.”
She hesitated, as any woman in her situation should do, and glanced behind her. A police officer exited the hospital, the same one who had taken her backpack. Her body shrank down behind Henry’s car, and then she opened the door.
“I could use a place to sleep for a day or two. I’m Gabe.” She tossed the bag to the floor of the front seat, jumping in after it. Her avoidance of the police marked her as a fugitive from something.
“Nice to meet you, Gabe. How’s your hand?”
She glanced at the clean white bandage and shrugged. “I’ll survive. Thanks for taking me to the hospital.”
“It seemed the prudent thing to do after you passed out.”