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where Aunt Betty was investigating the contents of her basket.
    “Oh there you are, my dear. Was there any post? Did you hear back from that tailor about Marco’s coat?”
    Marco, who had put his shirt and coat back on, was sitting at the table. He looked up.
    “What about my coat?”
    Wishing her aunt to the devil, Amelia took the seat opposite him. “I found a tailor’s mark in the lining of your coat and a matching mark in your waistcoat. I thought to try and identify you through them.”
    “Without consulting me?”
    There was a distinct edge to his voice that made her sit up straight and lose all remnants of her earlier discomfort. “You weren’t well enough to consult and what harm can it do?”
    Dotty poured them all some tea. “It was a Mr. Stultz’s mark, Mr. Marco, an ‘S’ and a ‘t’. Mrs. Smith found it sewn in the seam.”
    “Stultz?” He was frowning now.
    “Yes, on Clifford Street. Is that where your uniforms came from?’”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Then you can scarcely object if I attempt to find out,” Amelia interjected.
    He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you did what you thought was best.”
    She met his gaze. “Do you not want to be found, Marco?”
    “I’m…not sure.”
    “Surely knowing who you are has to be better than not knowing?”
    “It rather depends on what I’ve been doing for the last two or three years, doesn’t it?”
    “As we’ve already discussed, sir, the war is over and you are free to return to the life you enjoyed before the conflict. I will do everything I can to help you achieve that.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate your concern. It cannot be easy for any of you having me here. If you wish me to leave…”
    “I did not say that.” She was glaring at him now. “I am perfectly happy with you staying with us until you regain your memory.”
    “As am I,” Aunty Betty added. “Now let’s eat the good food that Cook has prepared for us before it gets cold.”
    Unfortunately for Marco’s peace of mind, during the afternoon the weather continued to deteriorate, leaving him unable to go outside and reduced to pacing his room like a caged animal. After supper, Aunt Betty invited him to join her in the parlor for a game of cards, but he’d already discovered that he couldn’t concentrate well enough to play even the simplest of games. And counting or remembering the sequence of the cards for games such as piquet were beyond him. Just reading a book brought back his headache.
    Whatever Mrs. Smith said, he knew he was a burden to the ladies. They were feeding and clothing him, and, although they never complained, he felt like an intruder and a veritable parasite. He didn’t have to regain his memory to realize that he’d made Mrs. Smith uneasy earlier. He had a good enough understanding of women to know that seeing him with an axe in his hand inches from her face had frightened her. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d killed for a living and wasn’t sure if he was fit to live amongst everyday people anymore.
    Thunder rolled and rumbled along the coastline, echoing the uncertainty of his temper and the aching pressure in his skull. Echoes of battles long past and the moans and screams of the dying made him long for something to make him sleep without dreaming. It was that or smash his head against the wall until one pain canceled out the other.
    At last, when the house was quiet, he crept down the stairs. He knew where Aunt Betty kept her medicines and that there was a bottle of laudanum amongst her more practical remedies. A sound in the kitchen had him reaching for a pistol he no longer owned until he realized it was just the house cat stretching out beside the glowing embers of the hearth fire.
    He took a moment to crouch down beside the purring Tom and stroke his ginger head before tiptoeing through to the pantry. The bottle of laudanum was half-full. He didn’t think Aunt Betty would begrudge him a good