But this piece of paper before him, which had arrived just before noon, had shattered whatever false semblance of peace of mind he had established.
It was a glaring confrontation, staring down at him like the judge up on his high seat, screaming at him: What are you going to do?
“How can I live like this?” Dr. Fowler rubbed his hands over his face, sweating from the anxiety that welled up in his chest. I am not a murderer! I am a doctor! screamed the voice of the angel on one shoulder. You are a degenerate gambler and a doxy mongrel! screamed the little devil on his other.
“Oh, what can I do?” he uttered beneath his breath, sitting back into his comfortable sitting room station.
“What was that dear?” his wife's voice floated in from another room, breaking the silent staleness of the well-furnished house.
“Nothing, nothing at all.” he abruptly sat up, calling back into the empty hallway.
“Well come on, Francis, supper's ready.” her voice was drawing closer, and he flicked his eyes nervously between the doorway and the letter which he still kept clutched in his palm.
“Did you hear me?” She poked her head around the side of the door frame, and Francis shoved the note hastily into his pocket.
“Yes, of course dear, I'm along.” He smiled up at her, getting hastily to his feet. The ruffled edges of the paper seemed to dig into his leg like dull knives, unrelentingly reminding him of their presence.
“Alright.” She smiled as she turned away. Francis felt overcome with strangeness. He loved her and wished only to walk down the hall with her to the assuredly finely-garnished table.
Yet he could not simply stroll into the dining hall carrying this anchor in his pocket, not while it betrayed his very soul. How could he sit by for another mindless conversation, while within all he would hear was the bickering of his two halves?
An excuse to leave dinner was the easy thing, that he managed just fine all the time. He was a practicing doctor, after all, and any number of things could be said to excuse him from any sort of occasion.
But that night, nothing came into his mind. He could not face her, knowing that all of this could be so easily undone.
Instead he left a simple note on the sitting room table. Sudden house call to the country. Then he gathered up his medical bag, threw on his hat, and went out into London.
After jaunting across town in a hired coach, he made accommodations at a confidential boarding house. Francis ate, but could hardly enjoy a meal of roasted pheasant, for which he paid too much.
Francis withdrew to his room in silence, and he quickly locked the door behind him. On the bare table he set out his medical bag, and he collapsed heavily onto the mattress.
Francis scrutinized the black leather bag. He knew full well what was inside. Among an assortment of instruments, such as tweezers, scalpels, hammers, and prodding implements, there were a variety of chemicals.
The bag held everything that Francis could ever need to carry out his task. He knew what to mix in which quantities; he knew where to cut a human body.
Confronted by this knowledge and impending confrontation, Francis was immobile, glued to his seat on the bed, staring forever ahead at the black depths of his medical bag.
“Bloody hell.” He shook his head, taking a moment to clean his forehead sweat from his lenses.
Francis took in a deep breath, and he thought once more of his wife gently poking her head into the room, calling him to the table. He thought of the house they had built together, and the spider web of families that would be affected by his misdeeds. I have no choice.
Francis stood abruptly and crossed to his bag, clicking it open with precision. He was now focused and determined; his choice had been made.
From the bag he took various chemicals and tinctures and began to stir his foul concoction.
* * *
Leah was, as she always was of late, in bed. The day lingered on outside the windows and she feared that she would lose the entire summer weather to Nash's thugs.
Even still as she could feel herself healing, she would find a new reason to wince for pain as she attempted to move in a new direction.
Christ, they worked me over pretty fair. She gingerly touched her lower ribs as she sat up further. Good for you, Nash, finding yourself some proper tough tossers.
“Miss Benson?” she could hear Mrs. Redford's kind voice at the door.
“Come in, Mrs. Redford.” Leah called back, thrilled to have another human interaction. It seemed to her like when she was not the center of the Duke's attention, she was largely forgotten about in this tall room by the rest of the house's occupants.
“How are we doing today, dear?” Mrs. Redford was looking as jolly as ever. She carried a new basin of fresh water.
“I am the same as I was yesterday.” Leah griped. “Although I have seen some new birds today that caught my eye.”
“Been bird watching?” Mrs. Redford smiled as she replaced the bowl atop the basin stand.
“I have become a professional.” Leah smiled back.
“Well, good thing you make at least something out of the time I suppose.” Mrs. Redford bobbed her head as she began to gather up the hand towels from the previous day. “My sister, now she was a bird watcher if I had ever known one, oh my, she could pick out a stellar jay from a hundred yards!”
“She sounds lovely.” Leah offered a polite grin. The housekeeper had missed the meaning of her quip by a wide mile.
“Oh, she is wonderful. Lives down in Surrey. Anyway, enough about silly me then. Big day for you isn't it, dear?” Mrs. Redford went on with her chores, never ceasing to speak the whole of the time.
“How do you mean?” Leah cocked her head. What is happening today?
“I heard that the Doctor was coming in from the city. He was supposed to be here yesterday, or something to that tune.”
“Did the Duke summon him as he said he would?” Leah was thoroughly excited by the prospect of seeing the doctor. While she still held distrust for them, for some reason she felt as if seeing Dr. Fowler would make her heal faster.
“He did, that he did, made a whole fuss about it as well.”
“It's very kind of him.” Leah sighed a bit wistfully. “I can only imagine how much the good doctor charges for a house call.”
“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.” Mrs. Redford scoffed. “The Duke's got more money than he knows what to do with.
“He seems the charitable type.” Leah acknowledged with half a grin.
“Indeed, he is.” Mrs. Redford went on, propping up fresh pillows behind Leah's back. “It hasn't made him too many friends about London, from what I've been told.”
“What have you been told?” Leah was curious. For some reason she felt compelled to know as much about him as she could.
“Well, he's doing work for the poor, for one, nobody else seems to like that very much, don't know why though, seems only right.”
“It does, doesn't it?” Leah felt a twinge of happiness in her stomach.
“When he decides to do something, it will get done, you mark my words. So, if he says the bill will pass, then I suppose it will pass in good time.”
“He is not well liked?”
“I think it's more that he's not well behaved.”
“Well, I can't fault him for that.” Leah said.
“You seem to be enjoying each other’s company.” Mrs. Redford poked.
“He is very kind to me, yes.” Leah nodded.
Mrs. Redford winked. “Now why is that, if you don't mind me askin?”
“What do you mean?”
“I seen the Duke come out of here looking happier than he has for about six years, and that's all I'll mean to share about that.” Mrs. Redford smiled and finished laying down fresh hand towels. She began to make her way back towards the door.
“Wait, Mrs. Redford.” Leah burst out.
“Yes, dear?”
“What is the Duke has said about me? If anything at all?”
“It's not the saying, dear, but the looking.” Mrs. Redford winked again overtly, demonstrating her point.
“Is he here today?” Leah felt as if she were blushing. This was not normal for her, and it caused her some uneasiness as well as excitement.
“No, he said he was off on business, but to expect him for dinner. I'll leave you now, so you can get ready for the doctor.”
Mrs. Redford clicked the door behind her. Leah sat, feeling hot in her face, and stupid for saying anything about the Duke and herself. Her attraction to him had been more of an imaginary blur before that moment; it was something that she could rationalize but not accept. It was a tool, not a weight.
Yet hearing someone as simple and bright as Mrs. Redford mention the Duke's attention to her had gotten Leah in an uproar. Suddenly their mellow mutual attraction seemed not like an escape route to France, nor an ongoing to joke and poke fun at, but something that could be seen for what it was. Something that, if allowed, could grow the way it seemed to want to, and that was what had Leah in such a state.
“Oh my.” she uttered allowed, feeling all sorts of strange. She turned her head again to look out the window, soaking in the fluttering birds and butterflies.
“It could never work.” she shook her head to herself. I don't belong here.
She lingered on these thoughts while she watched the birds flap by the great house. All the natural beauty outside was just out of her reach, like a painting hung on the wall that she stood so very close to until she saw, once and for all, that she could go no further, ever forced to watch from the outside.
It was the same when she thought of a life with Kenneth; she was removed from that possibility and could only watch all of what could be unfolded around her, unable to immerse herself in a different state of being.
How badly she wished to be gone from this bed and this room, to run free in the world and go where she pleased. Yet as she lay there day after day, thinking about what worlds she might want to visit, one terrible, grounding reality continued to circle around. I have to get out.
Riphook was after her. There were no lengths that he would not go to. Her life was defined by his iron grasp on the underbelly of London, as were hundreds of others.
Leah knew she could not stay here forever, not while Riphook was hunting her. It was this crashing wave of horrid reality that confronted her pleasure cruise every time she took a turn towards a happy ending.
That was her world, not the overtly gorgeous one outside the windows, or the finely-set table of china in the house beneath her. Her world was panic, fear, crime, and danger. Her world was Riphook, with his unforgiving eyes and cruel jawline; if he wanted her, he was going to get her.
Her thought was broken by some commotion below, and she could hear by Juliet's voice that Dr. Fowler had arrived.
Chapter 14
The summer was giving the city one last go. The sun was shining out brilliantly, reflecting across the river so that for once it did not reveal its gray, turbulent nature upon first glance.
A fine breeze blew through the streets behind Kenneth's coach as it rattled on its way towards his office. He watched curiously out the window to see the cities inhabitants enjoying the summer air. They were walking up and down the streets, all soaking up the sun's rays and smiling at one another.
Their course from the country took them through various neighborhoods, all varying greatly in wealth, and quality of life. Kenneth took note of all the faces he passed from his window, marveling at how such a thing as a beautiful day could seemingly dissolve all ill wishes in the whole of the city.
They crossed over the river and wound eastward into the richest part of town. Suddenly, Kenneth noticed, everything was rather dull.
Rolling along St. James’s street, Kenneth watched all the finely-dressed ladies in their expensive gowns and umbrellas making their way into the botanical gardens. He could see their husbands as well, trailing off behind in some large gaggle of wafting cigar smoke.
What bothered him the most from this display was the fact that out of the whole of the two groups, both the wives and husbands didn't look to have a single smile about them.
“What could they ever have to be glum about?” he said out loud to the empty coach. It baffled him that out of everyone is this entire city – one of the largest in the world – these few people seemed unaffected by the natural joy the day provided. “They must have their minds elsewhere.” he decided, sitting back disgruntled.
The coach came to his office and he made his way into the building with a cheerful step, refusing to allow the shallow faces of the garden goers to sour his morning.
While Kenneth enjoyed the scenery from a coach, he liked less the inability to fully stretch his legs for continuous hours. He bound up the steps with a stretching glide, drawing a look or two from those on the walk around him.
Once inside he removed his hat and vigorously stretched his back while he waited for Thompson to come for his coat.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Thompson nodded curtly as he approached, his polished heels clicking on the tile floor.
“Morning, Thompson.” Kenneth accounted, sliding his jacket off with Thompson's help. “How are you keeping?”
“Fine enough, Your Grace, fine enough indeed. And yourself?” Thompson took Kenneth's hat, coat, and cane.
“It's absolutely marvelous out there, Thompson, just simply beautiful! Don't you agree?”
“Of course, Your Grace, a stunning day.”
“Stunning. The perfect word for it.” Kenneth clapped his hands. “Is he in there?”
Thompson gave him a nod in the direction of Cornelius's office, and a look that said he's never not in there.
Kenneth took up the small carrying case that he had brought with him and marched proudly into Cornelius' door. His uncle looked up with a slight start at Kenneth's dramatic entrance.
“Kenneth.” Cornelius blinked, hunched over some papers on his desk.
“Good morning, Uncle.” Kenneth propped the case down on an empty corner of the desk. “Stunning day, isn't it?”
“Stunning indeed.” Cornelius sat back, shuffling a few things aside tactfully. “I am glad to see you, today as you know is the deadline for our decision.”
“That is why I am here, is it not?”
“Well, let's have it then.” Cornelius gestured towards the carrying case.
“Of course.” Kenneth clicked open the latches and produced the testimony papers, as well as his written decision. He handed them to Cornelius, who quickly glanced through them.
“An accident, then.” Cornelius put the papers down.
“To all of my knowledge.”
“Good, this is good. Straightforward and simple.” Cornelius sat back up, propping his hands on the desk. “How did you come to your decision?”
“You think me wrong?” Kenneth assumed a defensive tone.
“No, no, nothing of the sort. I wish to understand your thought process.”
“Yes, well, right then.” Kenneth sorted himself out. So quickly his temperament changed on a dime, but he could readjust it after a moment of mumbling. “I was reviewing the testimonies, and I found myself discussing the case with my guest, the young Miss Benson,” Kenneth knew how it sounded as it came out of his mouth. He should not have done what he had, for the sake of the company, and yet he could not fabricate a story about a thought process that he did not alone possess.
“Miss Benson?” Cornelius rubbed his temples, contemplatively. “Kenneth, you know that these documents are under our confidentiality.”
“Yes, I know, but hear me out–”
“We cannot discuss them with anyone outside of this company. That is our entire reputation. We cannot squander it for attention.”
“It was not for attention, Uncle, listen to me.” Kenneth protested.
“Go on.” Cornelius sighed. “I must hear it regardless.”
“It just sort of came up, in conversation, what I was doin
g in London and all.” Kenneth stammered. “So, she asked if she could help, she's dying of boredom in the guest room. She lays there day after day, slowly healing. I could not refuse her. And for that, I am at fault.” Kenneth took a deep breath, having finally found his firm argument.
The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 14
