Marrying Miss Hemingford Read Online Free Page B

her. And it is the child I am concerned with, not my own convenience.’ She stooped to stroke the little one’s tear-wet cheek and her brusque manner softened. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart, we’ll find your mama. Do you know where she is?’
    â€˜On the beach. With the huts.’
    â€˜She must be a dipper,’ Mrs Armistead said. ‘A bathing attendant.’
    â€˜But surely she does not leave the child alone while she works?’
    The woman shrugged. ‘Sometimes it can’t be helped.’
    Anne, remembering the little girl had mentioned Tom, turned back to her. ‘Who is Tom?’
    â€˜Me bruvver. He looks arter me.’
    â€˜And where is he?’
    â€˜Dunno.’
    Anne fumed against the boy, but kept her anger from her voice. ‘What is your name?’
    â€˜Tildy Smith.’
    Anne patted her hand, stood up and addressed the doctor. ‘I am going down to the bathing machines to find her mother. Can you keep her here until I come back? I don’t want the poor little mite to go to the infirmary if it can be helped.’
    â€˜Mrs Armistead will take her to the kitchen. There’s a couch in there, but if her mother does not come for her in an hour, or two at the most, I shall have to send her to theinfirmary. If my patients learn that I am making a hospital of my home, they’ll expect the same service and I have to draw the line somewhere.’
    He sounded so weary Anne immediately forgot her annoyance and smiled. ‘I’ll have the mother back before that; if I cannot find her, then I will take the child myself.’
    â€˜You?’ The contempt in his voice made her hackles rise.
    â€˜Why not? I found her and brought her here. I feel responsible.’
    â€˜How can that be? You did not run her down, did you?’
    â€˜Indeed I did not! And if I ever find the man who was driving that curricle, I shall tell him exactly what I think of him. He could have killed her.’
    â€˜But he did not. And thanks to you, she will be none the worse in a week or two.’ He was beginning to revise his opinion of her; she truly cared and she might be good for a generous donation; that fetching bonnet must have cost a pretty penny. Better not antagonise her. ‘My name is Tremayne, by the way.’
    â€˜Yes, I noticed it on the plate by the door,’ she said, wondering what the initial stood for. ‘I am Anne Hemingford.’
    â€˜How d’ you do, Lady…?’ His pause was a question.
    She smiled, offering her hand. ‘Miss Hemingford.’ She could have said the Honourable Miss Anne Hemingford, but decided against it. He already thought she was too big for her neat kid boots.
    He shook her hand and watched her as she strode purposefully from the room, wondering if he would ever see her again. Women of quality, as she so obviously was,often sympathised with his aims, professed themselves interested in his work and even came to look round, but when they saw the patients he attracted—the poor, the lame, those misshapen by hard work and an inadequate diet, filthy because sanitation in their tenements was unheard of—they soon lost interest. He didn’t care; he was grateful if they made a donation that might allow him to pay the rent for a week or two longer and buy a few more medicines, before they disappeared off the scene. Was Miss Hemingford any different?
    Her look of tender concern had been genuine enough, but it had been mixed with a steely determination that made him smile. Perhaps that was the clue to why she had not married; she was too dictatorial. But did she have any idea of what she was at? If she came back herself instead of simply sending Tildy’s mother, then he would know she was sincere. For the first time he became aware of his stained shirt and untidy hair. He never seemed to have time to visit the barber and though he changed his shirt every day, it was soon grubby again. He promised