The Artist's Healer

by Regina Scott

  Linus should not smile at the argument, yet he found it difficult to maintain a stern look. It was one of the few times Ethan had held his ground since his mother had died.

  “I suspect Charlie might be bragging a bit,” Abigail said, coming to join them.

  “Regardless, Ethan is always welcome,” her mother insisted. “And we can determine the appropriate bedtime for a young man of his age.”

  Ethan beamed at her, and Linus resigned himself to another discussion of what was best for a growing child.

  As Ethan set down his things, Abigail moved closer to Linus. “Work?” she murmured.

  “I’ll explain,” he said. He nodded toward the corridor, and they walked down toward her studio.

  To his surprise, she put her back to the closed door as if refusing him entrance. “What’s happened?

  “Mr. Howland may have an opportunity to capture the French agents tonight,” he told her. “He’s asked Mr. Denby and me to accompany him so I can identify them.”

  She pushed off the door. “I’ll get my cloak.”

  He moved to block her. “Abigail, you cannot come.”

  She scowled at him. “I thought we’d settled that, sir.”

  “We have,” he promised. “You are my partner, in all things. But this isn’t my choice to make. Howland and Denby don’t intend to bring their wives.”

  “That shows how little you know Eva and Jesslyn,” she retorted, hands going to her hips.

  “The location is not one for a lady,” he tried explaining. “Just having one with us will raise suspicions.”

  She shook her head. “So, you ask me to stay behind, wait and wonder and worry.”

  “It is the most I could ask of you, but yes. I trust you to care for our family. Do you trust me to do the same?”

  She hesitated, and his heart sank. Then she dropped her hands and looked up at him, green eyes solemn. “Yes, Linus. I do. I’ll wait.” She thrust up a finger. “But you had better come home to me, sir, hale and hearty.”

  “Madam, I would have it no other way.” He bent and kissed her. The sweet pressure, the scent of her, the feel of her was nearly his undoing.

  “Partners,” he murmured against her lips. “Whatever may come our way.”

  “Partners,” she whispered back before sealing the agreement with another kiss.

  ~~~

  Later that evening, he, Howland, and Denby reined in under the sign of the Grey Wolf. The half-timbered building leaned to the east, as if barely holding its own against westerly winds, and the white-washed sides were crumbling. Still, light glowed behind grimy windows, and the open-fronted stable to one side looked nearly full. Howland and Denby had their own horses; Linus rode one he had borrowed from Mr. Josephs at the livery stable. A stable boy came to take charge of them.

  “Will you be needing beds, good sirs?” he asked, hands wrapped around the reins.

  “We’re passing through,” Howland told him. “There will be silver for you if you take good care of our horses.”

  The boy nodded. “They’ll be ready to ride when you are.”

  Very likely many of the men visiting the public house had the same arrangement.

  They entered through the battered door. He and Howland had to duck their heads to avoid hitting the low, beamed ceiling. A stout oak table, the benches already filled, sat before a stone hearth. Chairs here and there offered seating to others. A smaller table near the back of the room was piled with the remains of someone’s dinner, but the chairs stood empty. Howland made for it.

  A woman with a low-cut gown bustled over to drop three tankards on the table. “What else can I get you, gents?” Her smile to Denby showed two missing teeth.

  “Just the drink,” Howland said, handing her a coin. She also beamed at him, then scooped up an armful of the dishes and trotted off to the counter between the kitchen and the main room.

  Linus glanced around. He could see why Owens had suggested they reconsider their usual dress. The rough coat and breeches he’d borrowed from Mr. Inchley made him fit right in with the other occupants. Faces bronzed by the sun, frames bent by labor, they hunkered over their ale. Some laughed and talked with acquaintances. Others kept their heads down and gazes averted, minding their own business.

  “I see no one familiar,” he reported to Denby and Howland.

  Denby leaned back in his chair. “Give them an hour or so. If they’ve been coming here for food, they should show up soon, or this lot may clean out the larder.”

  “We may have to wait until after dark,” Howland advised. “Safer for them if they come then. The public room at the Swan may close at nine, but Hornswag keeps the Mermaid open until after midnight.”

  He certainly hoped it wouldn’t take that long.

  But the hours lengthened. Howland fended off offers of more drinks even though theirs remained untouched. Other patrons came and went, but everyone who arrived was greeted by friends. Linus, Howland, and Denby were the only strangers, and the curious or belligerent glances being aimed their way confirmed as much.

  “We might as well give up,” Denby said as the clock struck ten. “Best we can do is question the publican.”

  Just then, the door banged open, and a half dozen men crowded through to block the exit. Each was armed with a black truncheon, and a long knife hung at their belts. Howland shook his head ever the slightest. Right. Best not to move and draw attention to themselves.

  One man stepped to the front, broad face leering. He smacked his truncheon into his meaty paw, as if they might have missed the weapon.

  “Greetings, gents,” he called. “His Majesty has issued an invitation for you to join his Royal Navy. We’ve a quota to fill, and I’ve been told there’s a surgeon among you. Hand him over, and we might allow a few of you to go home tonight.”

  ~~~

  Abigail settled Ethan to sleep in one bed and her mother in the other. Both slumbered easily enough. Impossible for her. Just as impossible to perch on the settee and wait. She headed for her studio.

  Her first task was to adjust the hips on the figure she’d sketched earlier. That brought a smile, but it quickly faded. She’d never been good at waiting. She began mixing her paints. Soon, azure and emerald dotted the expanse, but her mind was not calmed by the cool colors. Instead, her thoughts tumbled over each other, like waves cresting the shore.

  Linus had asked for her trust.

  Jess had said she had had to trust in a future with Lark.

  Her mother claimed Abigail did not trust her.

  When had she become so determined to be an island? No, a fortress, proof against any calamity. If Linus could come to appreciate partnership, after all he’d been through in his first marriage, so could she.

  She drew in a breath and set down her pallet. The scene before her was serene, and so, for the first time in years, were her emotions. That is, until she went to check the time. Nearly midnight? Where was he?

  As if in answer, someone tapped at the door. Abigail hurried to answer before the sound woke her mother or Ethan.

  But instead of Linus, Jess and Eva stood on her doorstep, both covered in long cloaks.

  “Have you seen them?” Eva demanded, and Abigail did not have to ask who she meant. She stepped outside and shut the door behind her.

  “No,” she told her friends. “Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

  Though the lights were long out in the village, enough of a moon had risen that she could see Eva make a face. “James never told me where they were going, so I cannot be sure. And Jesslyn says Lark didn’t tell her either.”

  “Protecting us,” Abigail told them. “And endangering themselves in the process. Well, we are not without resources. What do we know?”

  “The location isn’t within walking distance,” Jess reasoned. “Lark took Valkyrie, his horse.”

  “And James took Majestic,” Eva agreed.

  “Which means Linus required transportation. We can check with Mr. Josephs. What else?”


  “They plainly thought it too dangerous for us,” Eva complained with a sniff.

  “And someplace that would endanger our reputation,” Abigail remembered.

  “Possibly a public house or an inn, then,” Jess said. “There’s one between here and West Creech, another on the way to Upper Grace, and two more in that village.”

  Abigail nodded. “Nate, Mr. Josephs’ son, may have seen which direction they turned at the crossroads.”

  He had indeed, they discovered when they roused him and his father from their beds a short time later.

  “West, ma’am,” he told Abigail, pushing tousled blond hair off his forehead. “And the magistrate and Mr. Denby were with him. Only they were dressed like common folk, not gentlemen.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail told him.

  “Would you be so good as to harness Lord Howland’s traveling coach?” Eva asked the livery stable owner. “I understand he had to store it here as the carriage house at the castle would only hold the other two he brought with him.”

  Mr. Josephs frowned. A burly blacksmith, his frowns were as impressive as they were rare.

  “Did his lordship authorize that?” he asked.

  Eva smiled. “My husband, as you know, is steward of all the earl’s properties. I authorize it on his behalf. I’d use my own carriage, but, alas, it’s not large enough to suit our needs.” She turned for his son. “And Nate, there’s a silver piece for you if you run to Butterfly Manor and wake Mr. Connors and Kip in the coaching house. Tell them to bring the musket and pistols as well as Mr. Yeager and Mr. Pym.”

  At a nod from his father, he ran off.

  “You don’t do anything by halves,” Abigail said admiringly.

  “Never,” Eva vowed.

  Jesslyn smiled sweetly at Mr. Josephs. “Might I borrow a few things from your charming wife?”

  A half hour later, as darkness wrapped around the village, Mr. Connors was driving them along the road leading west toward Upper Grace. The three men and Kip rode on top of the coach, with Abigail, Jess, and Eva inside.

  “They won’t be pleased to see us,” Abigail told her confederates.

  “Certainly not,” Jess agreed. “But they’ll be alive, and right now that’s all that matters to me.”

  Mr. Connors could only go as fast as the horses could see by lantern, but it didn’t take long to reach the closest public house. It was a shabby place under the sign of the Grey Wolf. Even with the late hour, lights gleamed.

  “Ready?” Abigail asked, tucking her hair up under the cap Mrs. Josephs had provided. “As we agreed.”

  Jess effected a weary look, eyes and shoulders sagging. “Ready.”

  “Me too.” Eva rubbed her palms against her cheeks to redden them. Pym, a spry older man, jumped down as the lanky dark-haired Yeager helped them alight.

  “Stand ready for my call,” Eva told them. “And if I don’t call within a quarter hour, come in anyway.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Yeager agreed, sharp nose pointing toward the inn.

  Pym went before them and opened the door, his wizened face at odds with his quick movements. As he hurried to the counter, Eva followed, leaning heavily on Abigail on one side and Jess on the other. Abigail caught sight of a few men around a big center table, a barmaid sweeping up behind. They all stopped talking to watch.

  “My mistress needs your best room,” Pym said, short nose appropriately in the air as if he found even the smell of the place offensive. “And the closest physician.”

  The man behind the bar was nearly as short as Eva’s servant, with thick brown hair and a nose that was crooked enough to have been broken a time or two.

  “You’re in luck,” he said, thumbs in the tie of his dirty apron. “I was full up, but the press gang came through and cleaned out half my customers not an hour ago. I can’t help you with a physician, though. The only one in the area is down in Grace-by-the-Sea at their fancy spa.”

  Abigail leaned closer to Eva. “They can’t have been here, then.”

  “These fellows may not have known Linus for a physician,” Eva whispered back. Jess nodded.

  One of the older men nearer the stone hearth barked a laugh. “Too bad your mistress wasn’t here sooner. The press gang came looking for a physician too.”

  Abigail and Jess frowned at each other.

  Eva broke away from them to straighten, chin up and eyes flashing. “Where did they go, this press gang?”

  The proprietor frowned at her, even as Pym sighed and stepped back, hand going to the pistol at his hip.

  “Answer her immediately,” Abigail ordered.

  “Or face the magistrate’s justice,” Jess threatened.

  Even as the proprietor held up his hands, the old man started laughing again. “You’re too late, I tell you. I didn’t know the two fellows with him, but I recognized our magistrate, even if he chose to dress like common folk. All that shining gold hair. He tried to put on airs, but they’d have none of it. Last time I saw him and his friends, the press gang was marching them for Weymouth. They’ll be sailing for the south this time tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Just keep walking, sailor,” the press gang leader ordered. “This is your last evening on land for some time. Enjoy it.”

  Hands bound behind his back, Linus stumbled on the rocky road and righted himself. Already, two of the other men captured with them had fallen. The members of the press gang had used their truncheons to force them to their feet again. He had no desire to feel the blow himself. An ill-placed truncheon could break bones, crush skulls. He’d seen it firsthand working beside his father on soldiers injured that way.

  “All I need is one person to recognize me,” Howland murmured at his side. “A magistrate cannot be impressed.”

  “Neither can an Excise Officer,” Denby tossed back from his place ahead of them. “Not that it matters to this lot.”

  “Quiet!” A truncheon fell, striking Denby on the shoulder. He buckled, and Howland surged forward to prop him up.

  Linus wracked his brain for a way out. It had been a trap, just as he’d feared. He had been right about Owens, but the knowledge brought little comfort. Howland and Denby might escape service as agents of the king. A physician was far too great a prize to be released so easily. They might not realize which of their captives had such skills yet, but once Denby’s and Howland’s professions became known, the physician would be obvious.

  “Yes, you lot should be honored,” the press gang leader said, strolling along as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “We normally don’t work at night. But we were told of a prime group just itching to serve on the high seas.” He laughed, and his men joined in, until the sound circled them like a cage.

  Behind them came the thunder of hooves. A coach, out so late? The press gang herded them to one side of the road and waited until it passed.

  “That’s a Howland coach,” the magistrate murmured. “Someone’s out looking for us.”

  “Would they recognize us in this group?” Linus asked.

  “Quiet, I said!” The truncheon fell again, but Howland shoved himself between Linus and Denby and took the blow himself.

  “Oh, a fellow what likes playing the hero,” the gang leader sneered. “Looking to rise in the ranks, no doubt. What you need is a little humility. Walk at the rear, and eat my dust.” He pushed Howland back as the others shambled forward again.

  Linus found himself walking with Denby on one side and a press gang sailor on the other. No chance to talk without risk of injury. Denby was nursing his arm as it was.

  Ahead, the road wound past a copse of trees, like black fingers pointing at the sky in the predawn light. As they approached, a figure stepped into view, physique obscured by a cloak, face by a hood. But there was no mistaking the pistol aimed their way.

  “Stand and deliver.”

  The voice was husky, but…female?

  The press gang leader held up his truncheon to stop the group.

  “You’re
outmatched, my friend,” he told the would-be robber. “You’ve got one ball; we’ve got six clubs.” He smacked his into his hand again for emphasis.

  “And I,” the figure countered, “have friends.”

  Five more, cloaked like their leader, moved from the trees. One aimed a musket at the press gang.

  “Well, you’ve picked a poor group to rob,” the press gang leader declared, holding his ground. “You might find six pence among us, but I doubt it.”

  “Free them,” the robber ordered. “Now.”

  “You think they’ll join you?” The press gang leader shook his head. “They’ll run, every last one of them.”

  The pistol edged higher. “I’m counting on it.”

  “Run!” Linus shouted, and men scattered in every direction, shoving past their captors to stumble out across the Downs and disappear among the grass. Linus made for the trees, Denby right beside. Behind him, he heard a pistol bark.

  He whirled, but no one had fallen. Indeed, the press gang was knotted together.

  “Don’t just stand there,” the leader ordered. “After them!”

  Linus ducked into the cover of the trees.

  “Howland?” Denby asked, keeping low.

  Linus shook his head.

  A wizened little man materialized out of the darkness, and, for a daft moment, Linus wondered whether Mrs. Tully’s fairies had found them.

  “Mr. Denby, Doctor Bennett,” he said with a bow. “This way.”

  Bemused, Linus followed with Denby.

  On the other side of the grove, the Howland coach waited, their would-be highway robber at its side.

  “All accounted for,” the little man reported.

  “Good,” she said. “Climb aboard, Mr. Pym.”

  He knew that voice, even hoarse from dissembling. “Abigail!”

  She pulled back her hood, ginger hair catching the first rays of dawn. “Yes. Quickly now. I doubt that press gang would be so hesitant if they knew three of their attackers were women.”

  Glancing around, he found Mrs. Denby and Eva approaching the coach as well, dressed in long cloaks like Abigail. Their chins were up, their faces resolute.