by Regina Scott
Linus gazed down at the book. “Denizens of the Deep,” he read. “Very interesting. I’m sure Ethan would enjoy it.”
Mr. Carroll leaned closer, his gaze magnified by his spectacles. “He was in the other day. Couldn’t stop looking at the pages.”
“Then I should pay you for this,” Linus said.
The shopkeeper stepped back, raising both hands before his paisley waistcoat. “Not at all. It is my pleasure to be of service. Tell young Master Bennett he is welcome to visit any time.” He bustled back inside before Linus could thank him.
Funny how a little kindness went a long way. He was certain the sun hadn’t been shining so brightly a moment ago. Tucking the book under his arm, he continued to the spa.
Only to find it open and full.
Ladies lounged in the wicker chairs; couples promenaded. The silver-haired fellow, who he now knew as Lord Featherstone, and another Regular called the Admiral were playing chess while Mr. Donner attempted to catch the naval man’s attention over some matter that seemed of great importance. Mr. Crabapple was absorbed in what Mrs. Harding was saying, Mr. George hanging on her every word as well. Doctor Owens was sampling the spa water cascading from the fountain, crystal glass in his hand, journal tucked under one arm.
“You, madam,” Linus told Miss Chance, who was standing guard over the welcome book, “are a wonder.”
She smiled at him. “Good morning to you as well. You should know the latest gossip is that a press gang has been plying its trade along the coast, and no man is safe. And there was an altercation at Upper Grace last night, the next village on the Downs. The constable there claims it was thieves, but some reported to have heard gun shots. I would downplay the former rumor, as no one in the spa is likely to be impressed into the Royal Navy, and I would reassure them concerning the latter rumor. We have few weapons at Grace-by-the-Sea, Abigail’s wound notwithstanding.”
“You continue to amaze me,” Linus said, setting down the book from Mr. Carroll.
“I’ve been working at the spa long enough it’s not much effort, sir.”
“You give yourself too little credit,” Linus insisted.
“I fear you have the same fault.” She lifted a small leather-bound journal from behind the desk and held it out to him. “I’ve had any number of requests for your attentions, so I started you an appointment book. Your first patient today arrives in a quarter hour—Mrs. Rand. She’s an Irregular. My father treated her two years ago when she complained of pleurisy. I’ve left his case notes on the table in the first examining room should you care to familiarize yourself. One warning—she is sensitive to loud noises.”
Linus stared at her. “I shall speak to Mr. Greer. He must know this spa will only function properly when its leader is at her desk.” He seized her hand and kissed the back, then strode to the examining room, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Now, if only he could find a way to get through to Abigail Archer.
~~~
Abigail marched into the spa in time to see Linus Bennett press a kiss against Jesslyn’s knuckles. She stopped, blinking, but the vision did not go away. Her heart was pounding in the most alarming way as he turned from her friend and strode to the closest examining room, but she doubted the tempo had anything to do with her wound. She made herself continue toward the welcome book.
Jesslyn must have seen her coming, for she picked up her pink muslin skirts and hurried to meet her. “Abigail! I’m so glad to see you up and about.”
Abigail accepted her hug, careful to keep her bandaged arm to one side. “Thank you. But I must ask. Did Doctor Bennett just kiss your hand?”
Jess blushed. “Yes. I gather he’s had difficulty settling into the spa. He was grateful for the help.”
“Well, I’m glad he recognized your incomparable talents,” Abigail said, shoving aside any lingering emotion. She would not be jealous of the woman she loved like a sister, especially over a man she barely tolerated. “So, everything back to normal?”
“Nearly,” Jess said. “Eva tells me we must be on the lookout for strangers.” She spread her hands. “Every Newcomer is a stranger. Five arrived this morning alone.”
“And some never progress beyond Newcomer,” Abigail said with a look to the open examining room, where Doctor Bennett stood, head bowed, as he studied the parchment in his hands.
“He’s trying,” Jess said.
“He certainly is,” Abigail agreed. “And what of Maudie? Did he decline to allow her to work?”
Jess leaned closer and lowered her voice. “She’s been helping Eva Howland, what with the magistrate and his mother out of town. And I wasn’t sure how Doctor Bennett would take to her. Not everyone appreciates Maudie’s view of the world.”
Jesslyn’s aunt, Maudlyn Tully, was an older woman given to fancies. Most in the village understood. Even the Regulars conversed with her easily. How would Linus Bennett react to the tales of pirates, fairies, trolls, and mermaids Maudie liked to spin?
Two elderly ladies entered the spa just then. One was tiny and wizened, but her companion was far taller and sturdier. Abigail couldn’t help admiring the fine embroidery on the smaller woman’s indigo wool gown. If the plainer Carmelite-patterned cotton of the larger woman’s dress was any indication, one was the mistress and the other paid companion. The little lady scampered as quickly as a mouse to the Welcome Desk and clutched the polished wood with both lace-gloved hands as if afraid she might blow away.
“Miss Chance, how good to see you,” she said in a voice that trembled as much as the rest of her. “Am I late?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Rand,” Jess assured her as her companion came up behind her with an apologetic smile. “Our new physician, Doctor Bennett, is expecting you. And good morning to you as well, Miss Turnpeth.”
The companion beamed as if pleased to be remembered, but Mrs. Rand looked toward the examining rooms, pale blue eyes wide. “Is he particularly fearsome?”
Oh, but Abigail could tell her tales. She kept her mouth shut and smiling.
“No,” Jess promised. “He’s quite reasonable. Miss Archer, here, was a recent patient. She recovered faster than expected under his care.”
That was overstating matters, but the little woman turned her gaze on Abigail, face hopeful. “Did you find him a caring soul, dear?”
She didn’t want to frighten the woman, but she couldn’t lie. “Doctor Bennett is very focused on ensuring his patients receive the best care he can manage,” Abigail allowed.
The statement seemed to disappoint Mrs. Rand, for she slumped. “Oh. Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it. Come, Tildie.”
With another apologetic look around, her companion followed her to the examining room door.
“Now that’s one interaction I’d like to see,” Abigail said, tilting her head to try to keep the lady in sight.
“Examinations are private,” Jesslyn reminded her.
“You assisted your father,” Abigail countered. Linus appeared to be bowing over the lady, or maybe he was just bending closer to catch her words. And when had she started thinking of him as Linus?
“I only assisted when necessary, and he was my father,” Jess replied. “I doubt Doctor Bennett would be comfortable with anyone assisting him.”
So did she.
Still, Mrs. Rand must have requested that Linus leave the door open, for Abigail could see a great deal of their interaction. With Miss Turnpeth a patient shadow in the corner, he listened to Mrs. Rand’s chest, then peered into her eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. But what surprised Abigail was the way he stood, nodding and listening, for a full quarter hour according to the bronze wall clock across from her, to what Mrs. Rand was so earnestly saying.
“Is she very ill, then?” she murmured to Jesslyn, who was making lists on paper. By the titles of the lists, they had to do with the Regatta.
“Not unless she’s contracted a dozen diseases since last she visited,” Jess said, noting something on one of her lists. “Father thought her maladies ste
mmed from loneliness, but he made sure to give her a thorough examination, just to be certain she wasn’t actually ill.”
Linus appeared just as thorough. When he ushered the lady out a short time later, she was smiling.
He escorted her and Miss Turnpeth to Jess and Abigail. “Miss Chance, Mrs. Rand would like to be reacquainted with our village. I told her you would be glad to accommodate.”
“Indeed I would,” Jess assured her.
“Then I’ll leave you in her good hands. Miss Archer, if I might have a word?”
His smile was all congeniality, but his words came out clipped. Still, Abigail stepped aside with him, drawing him closer to the harpsichord in the corner.
Immediately, his smile faded. “What are you doing? Are you intent on cutting up my peace?”
Abigail raised her brows. “Your peace? Since when is a physician more concerned with his feelings than his patient’s?”
Those grey eyes looked surprisingly heated. “It is precisely your health that concerns me, madam. Has nothing I’ve said made the slightest impact?”
“I have heard your concerns, sir. You fear fever, infection, the inability to use my arm, the plague, for all I know. I am persuaded you are being too cautious. Look.” She started to raise her wounded arm.
“Don’t!” he barked. He grabbed her arm and held it still. “If you will believe nothing else, believe that I am trying to save your life, Abigail.”
“Oh!”
At the sound of the cry, Abigail managed to tear her gaze away from Linus’s face. Mrs. Rand clutched her chest as she crumpled toward the floor.
Chapter Five
Linus pressed Abigail’s arm against her chest. “Don’t move.” He then dove across the floor to catch Mrs. Rand before she collapsed.
“My heart,” she whispered, gazing up into his face.
“Is a much stronger organ than you know,” Linus assured her.
Several of the other guests had hurried over and now surrounded them. He glanced up to meet the blue-eyed gaze of Lord Featherstone.
“My lord, would you help Mrs. Rand back to the examining room?” Linus asked.
“It would be my honor,” the silver-haired lord said. He crouched beside Linus and smiled to the widow. “If I may be so bold, my lady?”
Mrs. Rand fluttered her lashes. “Certainly, my lord.”
He lifted her easily and carried her back to the room.
“Nicely done,” Miss Chance murmured to Linus as he straightened. “He’ll be able to dine tonight on the story, and she keeps her dignity.”
“I’m learning,” Linus murmured back. Then he turned to resolve his bigger concern.
Abigail stood, head high, feet planted, and uninjured arm cradling the injured one. But her face was bunched, as if she was struggling not to cry.
Linus was at her side in two steps. “You’re hurting. Where? How badly?”
“I’m fine,” she said, gaze on the examining room door. “If my actions caused her harm, I will never forgive myself.”
Linus lay a hand on her good shoulder. “Neither of us knew that even raised voices would overset her. Now, if you’re certain you don’t require my help, I should see to her.”
“Go,” she said.
He went.
And the entire time he listened to Mrs. Rand’s strong pulse, checked her lungs and throat again, he felt Abigail watching. She could not be so fascinated by his work. He’d used the same approach on her. True, many physicians refused to actually touch their patients, preferring to diagnose through questions and observation. He found tallying the basic functions—heart, respiratory system, eyes—to provide invaluable information. Was Abigail watching because she was still so worried about the lady? He sent her a quick look, and their gazes met.
Why was it so hard to look away?
He forced his attentions back to his patient. “You are hale and hearty,” he assured Mrs. Rand, straightening from his examination.
“But I feel so weak,” she protested. “I think I should rest. Perhaps Lord Featherstone would be so good as to escort me back to my rooms at the Swan?”
Linus kept his face neutral. “I will inquire.”
He stepped out into the spa only to discover that the number of guests had grown. He couldn’t spot Lord Featherstone or Miss Chance. Doctor Owens had disappeared as well. His colleague must have slipped out of the spa earlier, otherwise he would surely have offered his assistance when Mrs. Rand had collapsed.
Abigail was standing by the fountain, catching water in a glass with her free hand. Was it that ginger hair or the lady herself that drew his attention, every time?
He made his way to her side. “I did not prescribe that.”
She raised the glass in toast, water sparkling inside. “Yet I drink to your health nonetheless.” She swallowed a mouthful and made a face.
Linus did his best not to laugh. “Mrs. Rand requested Lord Featherstone’s help returning to the inn. Have you seen him?”
She nodded toward the windows. “Try Mrs. Harding’s set. Though he has given way to Mr. Crabapple, our good baron still enters the lady’s orbit on occasion.”
“You should go home and rest,” he said.
“You should see to real patients, sir, not those of us who have recovered.”
She was recovering. He knew that and was thankful. Yet he felt a certain disappointment. All too soon these conversations would no longer be necessary. A good physician worked himself out of a job, his father had always said. With a shake of his head, he went to make arrangements with the baron.
He’d just seen his lordship and Mrs. Rand out, the lady leaning heavily on the baron’s arm and her companion right behind them, when Mr. Greer entered. The tall, lanky apothecary moved with his head thrust forward, hands clasped behind the back of his brown coat. Linus suspected a weakness of the spine, but the Spa Corporation president had never asked his advice on the matter. He went to meet him nonetheless.
“I see we are quite busy,” Greer said, peering around Linus into the Grand Pump Room. “Excellent. I knew all that was needed was a good physician.”
“Not all,” Linus told him, leading him further into the room. “It was remarkably still until Miss Chance returned.”
“Miss Chance?” He squinted toward the welcome desk, where Abigail was now standing beside the spa hostess. Then he drew himself up. “She is not supposed to be here. Forgive me for not coming sooner to deal with the matter.” He pushed past Linus and strode for the desk.
Linus hurried after him.
Both Abigail and Miss Chance watched the Spa Corporation president approach, Miss Chance with a pleasant smile, Abigail with narrowed eyes, a look with which Linus was all too familiar.
“Miss Chance, I must protest,” Greer blustered. “I made it quite clear we had no further need for your services.”
“You had no further need,” Abigail put in. “Doctor Bennett wisely disagreed.”
His benefactor aimed a frown his way.
“Miss Chance is better organized and has a greater understanding of our guests than I will ever have,” Linus told him. “I have learned that people come to the spa for the society as well as the medical advice.”
“But the expense,” Greer protested. “We cannot be expected to pay two salaries.”
“Then take hers out of mine,” Linus said.
They all three gaped at him.
Abigail recovered first. “Nonsense. A good physician is worth his wages, as is a good hostess. Look around, Mr. Greer. I suspect when you speak to Mr. Lawrence, you will find we’ve had more subscriptions than usual.”
Miss Chance nodded, ringlets bobbing. “I’ve had three inquire today alone. And once word begins circulating that the Earl of Howland visited recently, I expect more will follow.”
His lordship had indeed visited last week, but she could not know the famed and feared Lord Howland was on his deathbed. He had confided in Linus that his London physicians gave him no more than a month to
live. But then, perhaps his heir would come to the spa as well. The Howlands owned the castle on the headland, after all.
“I will speak to Lawrence,” Greer promised. “In the meantime, Doctor, I had another purpose for visiting the spa. I came to tell you about our local militia, organized by our magistrate to protect the village from invasion by the French. We meet three times a week. Every gentleman takes part. You’ll want to join, of course.”
He made it sound as if training for war was nothing more than joining a gentleman’s club. Linus knew the true cost some soldiers paid for their efforts.
“I will tend any wounds incurred in defense of the village,” Linus said.
“Of course,” Greer replied. “And you’ll be expected to drill as well. We muster on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays every week for an hour or more on the fields above the spa. Treacle, our tailor, can make you a red coat. He has quite a number to work on, but I’m sure he’ll move our physician to the head of the list.” He smiled benignly.
Linus refused to argue with his employer. “My position at the spa and the health of my patients prevent me from drilling.” He turned purposely to Abigail. “Do you require escort home, Miss Archer? I’m sure Mr. Greer would be delighted to assist.”
Greer blinked.
“I hadn’t finished my business at the spa,” Abigail said, voice not nearly as sweet as Miss Chance’s.
“Neither had I,” Greer said with a frown at her, as if she’d been the one to presume on his time. “And we have not settled on your rank or position in the militia, sir.”
Linus ignored him. “I’m afraid I must insist, as your physician,” he said to Abigail. Then he glanced at the apothecary. “I’m not sure if you are aware, Mr. Greer, but one of your militiamen had the poor aim to shoot Miss Archer.”
Greer washed white. The change was so abrupt Linus would have been alarmed under other circumstances.
“A tragedy,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize you were suffering, Miss Archer.”
Linus expected her to correct him. Instead, she put a shaky hand to her brow. “Terribly, Mr. Greer. I only wish the fellow who shot me knew of the trials I must endure because of his thoughtlessness. Why, if it weren’t for Doctor Bennett’s unrelenting care, I shudder to think what might have become of me.”
