by Regina Scott
“I’m not worried,” Ethan said. “There are very few carriages in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
Her mother cocked her head. “Why would you worry about carriages, Ethan?”
“Mother died in one,” he said, calmly turning the page.
Abigail felt chilled. “Well, it’s very clever of you to notice the lack of the things here. I’m sure your father will have a good explanation for his tardiness.”
“He must work,” Ethan said, turning another page. “He saves people from terrible illnesses. He saved me. I almost died too.”
Her mother sprang up from her chair and went to enfold him in a hug. “There, now, my dear. You’re safe here. Your father is very wise and very good. And Abigail is one to fight for those she loves.”
Abigail was so taken aback she couldn’t speak for a moment. Did her mother truly see her that way? She certainly tried to stand up for her principles. She never wanted to feel like a victim again.
“We’ll all be fine,” she told them both. “Ethan, I’ll be right back with your father.”
Her mother released Ethan with a watery smile and followed Abigail to the door. “Are you certain you should go alone? We could ask Mr. Carroll to check.”
“It will only take a moment, Mother,” Abigail promised. “This is still Grace-by-the-Sea. Nothing happens in broad daylight. And the sun won’t be down for hours yet.” With a smile she hoped betrayed none of her thoughts, she hurried out.
All the shops were closed and most of their guests had returned to their lodgings as she climbed the hill to the spa. The memories of her father faded away to be replaced by concern for Linus, but no distinguished doctor strolled toward her. Indeed, the only movement was a piece of parchment blown on the wind. Abigail bent to retrieve it.
No sign of infection or inflammation. Expect the swelling to go down within the fortnight.
Were these case notes?
She looked around again. There, against Mrs. Mance’s rosebush, another piece. And another in the hedge in front of Shell Cottage, the new Denby home. Something was very wrong.
She slipped the pages into her sleeve, snatched up her skirts with her good hand, and ran to the spa.
The door refused to open. Locked. She knocked anyway, then waited, but no one answered.
“Doctor Bennett,” she called through the portal. “Linus, are you there?”
In the distance, other doors closed, voices sounded. None were his.
Her pulse pounded hard and fast. Where could he be? Had he had an urgent request to help another villager who was ill or injured? Why would he have dropped his case notes? And wouldn’t he have found a way to send word to his son? He was so careful of Ethan, so concerned for his wellbeing.
And hers.
She moved back to the road, looked left, right. No sort of accident in view, no huddle of people around a door, no one hurrying for the apothecary or the vicar.
Where was he?
Perhaps he’d gone to his cottage to collect something first. Of course, that was about a ten-minute walk from the spa. Plenty of time to go there and return to her shop and Ethan. And the pages in her sleeve cried out their doubts.
What could have happened?
Her worrying spun her in a circle, and, for the first time in a long time, panic reached for her. No, she would not allow it to gain a hold. She was no longer a child, squeezing herself as small as possible in the corner of the bedchamber, praying her father wouldn’t come in, that his storm of anger wouldn’t break over her head this time. Gideon had protected her while he was there, but she couldn’t blame him for escaping when he could. She had learned to rely only on herself. If there was something to be done, she must do it. She’d fought for a place for herself and her mother, fought to regain the respect of the village.
Yet how did she fight something she couldn’t see, couldn’t name?
“Abigail!”
She whirled. Linus was stumbling down the hill from the crossroads. She ran to him, threw her good arm around him, and held him tight. “Oh, Linus! I was so worried.”
“It’s all right,” he murmured against her hair, hand pressed to her back. “Now, let go before you reinjure your arm.”
~~~
Abigail jerked away to stare at him. She’d been too pale when she’d first run to him. Now color blazed back into her face.
“My arm?” she fumed. “You disappear for more than an hour and worry us all sick, and your concern is for my arm?”
“My concern is always for my patients,” he said, gathering his dignity close. She had buried her face in his cravat when she’d come to him or she might have seen the wonder and joy that had no doubt crossed his face when he’d found himself wrapped in her embrace. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
Her face bunched. “Of course you worried us. Where were you? Mother, Ethan, and I have been waiting.”
“Again, my apologies, but I had little say in the matter. When I came out the door, I found men waiting for me.”
“Who?” she asked with a frown. “The only house above the village belongs to Captain St. Claire. Is he ill?”
“It wasn’t the captain, at least, I don’t think he was involved.” He angled his head to look at her arm. No sign of blood, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t broken a stitch.
“Come inside,” he said. “I’ll explain.”
Her mouth worked, and, for a moment, he thought she would refuse. Then she nodded. As he dug out the key, she tugged some parchment from her sleeve.
“Your case notes,” she announced. She thrust them at him before sailing past, nose in the air.
He offered her a bow that did little to thaw her annoyance. The light from the south-facing windows brightened the space sufficiently that he could cross to one of the examining rooms, leave the battered case notes, and return with a fresh bandage.
She sighed at the sight of it. “I’m fine, Linus. This isn’t necessary.”
“I will examine you at your flat, with your mother present,” he assured her, tucking it into his depleted bag, “but I’d rather have this conversation here, where I don’t have to frighten Ethan.”
Immediately she was all attention. “What happened?”
“I was kidnapped,” he said, and her eyes widened. “Two men, by the number of hands on my person, though neither spoke. They covered my head with a sack, bound my hands behind me, and marched me to a waiting wagon. What time is it?”
She blinked at the non sequitur, then glanced at the bronze wall clock. “Nearly half past six.”
“Then I’ve been gone more than an hour,” he realized. “I estimate they drove me for about a quarter hour each way, and it took me another half hour to tend to the patient.”
She seized on the word. “A patient? Someone was ill?”
“Injured,” he corrected her, thinking back. “Gunshot wound to the thigh. My captors pulled me out of the wagon and led me into the inner room of a house, then took off the sack. The place smelled of dust and decay. There was a man sitting on a crudely constructed wooden chair. The walls were plaster, no paper. The floors hadn’t been swept for some time.”
Once more she stared at him. “What has that to do with anything? You were kidnapped!”
“And I’d very much like to know by whom,” he assured her. “The more I remember about the circumstances, the better our chances of locating the place again.”
She drew in a breath and nodded. “You’re right. Sorry. Go on. What else do you remember?”
“There was nothing else in the room except a washbasin with water. Plain white. Porcelain.”
“Common, then,” she agreed. “In fact, it very much sounds like a tenant farmer’s house.”
“Possibly, but they weren’t farmers. The two who had captured me backed from the room before I could catch a glimpse of them. The injured fellow had a cap that covered most of his hair. Dark brown eyes, the beginnings of a mustache and beard, brown or black. He refused to speak to me.”
“
None of this makes sense,” she protested. “You heard the militia the other day. Most of the people in the area don’t even own a gun. How could this fellow have been shot?”
“Perhaps because he attempted to steal food and clothing from a real farmer.”
She gasped. “The French agents!”
“Exactly,” Linus agreed. “By refusing to speak, they hid even their voices from me. But they wanted me to know who they represented. It was almost as if they were taunting me. You see, they’d draped a French flag over the back of the chair.”
She shook her head. “The villains! But why did they let you see one of them and live?”
He’d been afraid they wouldn’t. But he wasn’t about to tell her that, or the fact that his first emotion on considering the matter had been regret that he wouldn’t see her again.
“Because they may still need me,” he said. “I fear the wound is grievous, much more serious than yours. He was feverish when I arrived. They’d already attempted to dig out the ball. I finished the job and bound him up, but I won’t be surprised if he needs more treatment.”
Like a teakettle, she’d built up enough steam to sound off again. “They cannot go around kidnapping people at will. We will protect you. We’ll go to the magistrate.”
“Who is out of town,” he reminded her. “As is Mr. Denby. And your constable cannot be expected to dance attendance on me.”
“We don’t have a constable at present,” she explained. “He retired, and no one saw the need to replace him. We have few crimes in Grace-by-the-Sea.” She stiffened. “I know, the militia! Mr. Greer will take a dim view of someone troubling our physician.”
He sighed. “Mr. Greer was instrumental in giving me this position, for which I will always be grateful, but I’m not sure the village militia is ready to confront French soldiers, even with one of them injured. Someone else could get hurt.”
“Right.” She raised her chin. “There’s nothing for it, then. We will take the road of last resort. We’ll call an emergency meeting of the Spa Corporation board.”
Chapter Eleven
He had never met a more determined woman. It was surprisingly invigorating.
“You collect Ethan,” she said, starting for the spa door. “I’ll alert Mr. Lawrence. He can send his children to fetch the others.” She glanced at the clock as she passed it. “Meet at the Swan’s private parlor at half past seven?”
Linus hurried to intercept her before she could leave. “I would rather keep you out of this. If anything should happen to you…”
She waited, and he could not make himself say what his heart demanded.
“You could reopen your wound,” he finished lamely.
She cocked her head. “By walking to the jeweler’s and then to the Swan? Doubtful. Besides, I am a member of the Spa Corporation board. You’ll need me there to ensure a quorum. Now, hurry. I’ll walk you as far as the shop to make sure no one else takes off with you.”
It was rather humbling that he needed protection, but he could think of few better. He wouldn’t want to tangle with Abigail Archer on a mission.
“Mr. Ellison and Mr. Bent, the former employment agency owner, generally sided with Mr. Greer,” she explained as they started down the hill. “I don’t know how Mrs. Catchpole, Mr. Bent’s replacement, will vote. This will be her first meeting. Mr. Lawrence and Mrs. Kirby generally make up their own minds. It’s Mr. Greer you’ll have to convince.”
She was right, Linus saw when they all regrouped a short time later. Unsure how long the meeting would go, he’d left Ethan with Abigail’s mother.
The Swan’s private parlor was a paneled room that boasted a large fireplace of pale, rough stones; a brass chandelier; and a long plank table that could seat twenty on its flanking benches. A high-backed chair stood at either end. Mr. Greer went to take up his place at one. He nodded Linus toward the other. Mr. Lawrence; Mr. Ellison, the baker; and a buxom blonde who had introduced herself as Mrs. Catchpole slid onto one of the benches. Abigail and the leasing agent, Mrs. Kirby, took up positions on the other, Abigail as close to him as possible. He tried not to be gratified by the fact.
“Come to order,” Mr. Greer called, though no one had been saying a great deal. As the last voices quieted, he nodded down the table. “First, allow me to welcome you, Doctor Bennett, to your inaugural board meeting, and Mrs. Catchpole as well. I can assure you, we generally give a few days’ notice before calling one.” He regarded Abigail pointedly.
She must have taken that as her cue, for she promptly launched into her reasoning, voice crisp. “An incident occurred this evening that must be brought to your attention. Normally, I’d speak to the magistrate, but he’s out of town. So, I appeal to this august group instead. There are French agents in our midst.”
They all regarded her.
“And?” Mr. Greer prompted.
“And? And!” Abigail sputtered. “And we must capture them.”
A bold statement, but Greer shook his head with a sigh. “Miss Archer, the militia here in Grace-by-the-Sea and the officers of West Creech are aware of the issue. This body can do nothing useful to assist.”
“Even if they threaten our physician?” Abigail demanded
Every one of them stiffened, and all gazes latched onto her.
“Who’d bother our physician?” Mr. Ellison demanded, massive frame quivering. “We didn’t hire him to offer him out to strangers.”
“Highly irregular,” Mr. Lawrence agreed, tugging down on his waistcoat.
Greer alone seemed less incensed about the matter. “How exactly does this threaten Doctor Bennett?” he asked.
Abigail looked to Linus.
Right. It was his turn to present them with the facts. “When I was locking up this evening,” he said, glancing around the table, “I was seized, bound, and carried off by two men to tend a third with a gunshot wound to the thigh.”
Greer washed white. “What?”
Mrs. Kirby, whose hair was a vivid shade of red, leaned forward to meet his gaze around Abigail. “Did you get a good look at them?”
“A sense of their location?” Lawrence added.
“Neither,” Linus assured them. “My head was covered by a sack during travel. I only saw the patient I was to tend. But I can tell you this: the wagon in which they placed me traveled uphill as we left the spa—I felt the inclination. Then the bed flattened out for a while. From the amount of time I was away from the spa, I’d say I traveled approximately a quarter hour along the Downs to a vacant house. I can provide details.”
Greer leaned back against his chair. “It must have been near Upper Grace. This has nothing to do with us.”
“Nothing!” Abigail cried. “They kidnapped our physician.”
“And returned him unharmed,” Greer pointed out patiently. “I see no reason to get involved.”
Abigail stared at him. “These are French agents, sir. It is our duty to call out the militia.”
All gazes now swung to his. Greer stuck out his chin. “I refuse to trouble our valiant men for something so vague. Besides, we have musters coming up that cannot be delayed.”
It was as Linus had suspected. Greer saw the militia as a gentlemen’s club—all good show and good cheer.
Abigail must have realized it as well, for she shook her head. “So, our militia is nothing more than a spectacle to entertain visitors, give us all a false sense of security.”
Greer’s color returned and deepened. “Certainly not, but neither are they to be sent out for every little inconvenience.”
“I can’t say I agree,” Mrs. Catchpole put in. “Going out to search for these Frenchies would give the militia something more useful to do than trampling the grass. Besides, what if these fellows decide they need a vicar next? Or an apothecary.”
Greer blinked as if he had not considered that.
Lawrence looked to Linus. “Are you under the impression, Doctor Bennett, that these fellows might return for you again? Or anyone else?”
/> Linus shrugged. “It’s quite possible. I did what I could for the injured man, but he needs more attention than I could provide. If they don’t come for me, they might accost the other physician who is visiting at present, Doctor Owens.”
Lawrence’s look veered to Greer. “We cannot have them troubling a guest.”
Greer nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. I’ll send word to the encampment at West Creech. They can search any vacant houses between here and Upper Grace.”
“I’ll give you a list of vacant leases,” Mrs. Kirby offered.
Something brushed his boot. Abigail’s smile was smug. He returned the pressure against her slipper.
“We should also ensure Doctor Bennett’s protection,” Mrs. Kirby continued. “Assign the militiamen to take turns guarding him and the spa.”
Well, that might be overdoing it. Linus opened his mouth to refuse, but Abigail spoke first. “An excellent suggestion. There are thirty men in the troop. If each one took an evening and night, they’d only have to stand guard for a day a month.”
“A month!” Greer frowned at her. “How long do you intend for this to go on, Miss Archer?”
She raised her chin. “Until someone has the foresight and courage to capture these renegades, Mr. Greer.”
“I can defend myself,” Linus said in the silence that followed. “Now that I know of the danger, I can be on alert.”
“There, you see?” Greer spread his hands. “There was no need for concern.”
“And what of your son, Doctor Bennett?” Ellison pressed with a frown his way. “Are you confident you can protect him as well?”
The baker could not know the doubts that leaped up at the suggestion. He had nearly lost Ethan once. He would not lose him now. The French had proven they knew more about the village than anyone had expected. If they needed a physician again, and they could not reach him, would they go after Ethan instead, to use his son as leverage against him?
Some of his concerns must have leaked out, for Abigail put a hand on his arm. “He’s right, sir. Let us help you.”
