“Lord Colville” came a voice as though from a great distance. “I’d begun to think you left me behind.”

Joseph halted and attempted to gain his bearings, but his head and his heart ached too much to see anything.

“Lord Colville,” the same voice said again. “You don’t look well. Why don’t you sit down for a moment?”

Joseph blinked. In the light emanating from the entrance of the hotel stood a young man holding a haversack and a small surgeon’s chest. Charlie Danbury, the assistant to the surgeon at the local hospital where Joseph had volunteered over the past few days.

They’d worked well together. When Charlie had said he was looking for passage back to England and asked if he could join him on the Tynemouth as an assistant, Joseph had welcomed it. Although he’d managed the voyage to Vancouver Island well enough on his own, an assistant would give Joseph more time to explore and take in the sights for the duration of the trip.

“I own to an eccentric feeling at present,” Joseph replied. While feeling overwhelmed with melancholy, he couldn’t admit his true state to Charlie. Somehow he had to withstand the sorrow and not allow it to break him. “Give me a moment, Charlie . . .” He drew a breath and attempted to push down his desperation and loss. “I must finish packing a few more items.”

“Would you like me to help you, my lord?” Charlie asked, eager to please.

“I do appreciate your offer, but I shall attend to it and return shortly.” He didn’t wait for Charlie’s reply but instead made his way to the hotel’s second floor, stumbling and tripping as if he’d ingested an entire bottle of rum.

Finally entering his room, he closed the door and leaned back against it. In the darkness he released a long, low groan, giving way to his heartache and pain—chest-tearing, gut-wrenching pain. He needed to leave Victoria at once and get himself far away.

With trembling hands, he reached for the lantern on the writing table, lit it, and then began to stuff his remaining belongings into a satchel. He’d already sent his trunk to the wharf. These last few items were easy to pack: books, paper, an inkpot, pens, a half-finished letter to his aunt, and a few newspapers.

As he buckled the strap on the bag, he took stock of the room to make sure he’d gathered everything. The sooner he could board the Tynemouth, the sooner he could begin to forget about Mercy and move on with his life.

While pushing in the desk chair, his eye caught on something shiny beneath the table. He stooped to pick up the object. As his fingers closed around it, his heart lurched in his chest.