“A French scoundrel.” She spat the last word. “A man of no account.”
I peeked over my shoulder, but Celeste had vanished.
I settled back before my patient. “Mrs. Gresham, I don’t suppose you remember anyone named Aberdeen, do you?” It didn’t sound French, but perhaps . . .
She narrowed her gaze and sipped her tea. “Wherever did you come upon that name? You’re a first-rate snoop, you are, and only a mediocre nurse.”
I studied her face, and everything it veiled. Anger glowed in her eyes, but this mediocre nurse smelled fear too. “I came upon the name in passing, in relation to this house.”
She blinked several times, lowered her tea. “He was a servant who left Crestwicke years ago for town.” A forced smile of gentility. “I’m afraid your curiosity has led you to a rather dull end.” She watched me with rapt attention, pressing her lips together, then wetting them with her tongue, and I realized how important my response was to her. Yes, she was afraid.
My gaze nearly burrowed into her head, so desperate was I to peel back that perfectly coiffed hair and glimpse her knowledge on this man.
“Those servants, a rather dodgy sort at times. Here today, gone tomorrow.” Her gaze remained steady as she spoke.
A knock on the door cut in, and Parker entered to announce that their rejected guest had persisted. “Shall I bring him ’round, madam? Mr. Burke insists you see him.”
“Very well, then.”
Before I could ponder further, a well-dressed gent approached with long strides, black bag in hand. Dr. Tillman? I held back a groan. I knew the man well—but wished I didn’t. Father’s former protégé had been all science and no heart—an intolerable sort of physician. Worst of all, he’d patronized Father after a time.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Gresham, Miss Duvall.” He set his bag on the table and smiled at the lady of the house while I willed myself not to roll my eyes. “How are you this morning?”
She straightened. “Why are you here again? I’m not your patient, nor do I wish to be.”
“No, but your husband is. Therefore, I’m duty-bound to concern myself with the health of his entire family.”
“And a larger share of his pocketbook.”
He offered a grim smile and opened his bag. “I hear you’ve hired a nurse to aid with your voice. I hope you are not unwell. Have you any recurring symptoms?”
“None but you.”
I coughed my tea back into my cup, choking on my restrained laughter. There it was at last, a ray of kinship with this woman.
Undeterred, he fished something from his well-oiled leather bag. “I have something I’d like you to try.”
Golda Gresham rose, a pillar of disdain. “I know what you’re about, and you can take your leave before you say anything more.”
“You haven’t even given them a chance yet.” He lifted a blue stoppered bottle from his bag. “Tillman’s tablets will redeem your good health and have you singing like a bird in no time. Only two pounds a bottle.”
“I never waste a pound, much less two.”
His gaze was steady. “What if they truly help you feel better?”
“Or I could simply hire a new physician for my husband. Now wouldn’t that make me feel grand.” Her smile curled into her cheeks.
“Mrs. Gresham, I wish you would seriously consider—”
“Leaving this house.” I hurried over to escort him out. “That’s what you will consider, anyway. She has no need for your magic beans.”
I glimpsed a flicker of approval from my patient.
“Just a moment, Miss Duvall.” He folded his arms over his chest as if to brace against me, anger hardening his features. I hadn’t meant to make an enemy of him, but clearly I had. In seconds. “If you refuse to let her even consider the tablets, then tell me—has she improved since you’ve come to stay? Her lung capacity, her throat?”
I flashed a look up at the odious man before me, then at my waiting patient who sat very straight in her chair, a cat with perked ears.
“I assume you’ve already worked together on the obvious things. What difference have you seen in her voice?”
Strangled by the waiting silence, by both pairs of eyes on me, I searched for the right words, for I knew they’d get back to my father. I was walking through a field of buried explosives, and I had no protection. “I do believe that Mrs. Gresham sounds better today than she ever has before.”
“Is that so?” I wished I could slap the smile right off his face. “Perhaps she should perform her verses before a crowd. Yes, I believe she should.”
Charged with fury and dread, I propelled that man toward the door and lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “You despicable man. My father would in no way condone such underhanded behavior. Both the magic elixir you’re trying to foist on her and that horrible display just now.”
He sobered. “My apologies, Miss Duvall. I meant no harm.”
“Take yourself away from here and leave my patient to me. And never even implicate an association between your name and my honored father’s.”
Golda had slid onto the piano bench behind us, her fingers idly plunking keys.
His gaze was steady, intentional. “I rather hoped my name might be intimately associated with Phineas Duvall for a long time to come . . . through marriage.”
Every muscle tensed. “Marriage generally requires permission from the bride, which you’ll find nearly impossible to obtain.”
“I see. I was given to understand . . . that is, he mentioned an agreement between you . . .”
I convulsed, sudden illness sweeping over me. “He told you about that, did he?” Weak. I felt weak. My knees were pudding. I looked up at him, full in the face of where my failure would land me. My skin tingled and something swelled in my throat.
He looked down, bag in hand. “I’m the one he’s picked, it would seem. If you find you must, though—marry, I mean—I’m not the worst option available. He’s always envisioned us together, and I’ve come to see the wisdom in it. Perhaps . . . give it a thought?” A half smile warmed his face. “I’d never force you, of course, but do give it consideration. Think what we could do together, a doctor and his little nurse.”
I cringed. How desperately I needed those precious letters beside my name—not M-R-S but M.D. I felt the need for it in my marrow.
“I know you care about helping people as much as I do.” His face grew soft. “You’re really a wonderful helper, you know. Done wonders for that father of yours, even when he should be put out to pasture. How perfect would it be to work side by side, as medical partners, but also as husband and wife?”
“You’d best go.” Or I’d end his silly infatuation by becoming sick all over his patent leather shoes.
He turned, but paused in the hall. “Consider it, will you? Whatever it is you have against me, please, Willa, don’t let it stand in the way.”
By all means, one should never let a complete lack of affection stand in the way of marriage. “I should see to my patient.” I turned away as dread rolled in my belly.
Shoving aside my panicked thoughts as the doctor departed, I turned again to Golda Gresham and crossed the room to her. I’d not failed yet. “A little better now?”
She looked up from her idle tune, a smile of distant amusement playing with the edges of her lips. “A performance. I had no idea I was ready, but what you said . . . Perhaps it’s time.” She ran her fingertips along the keys and closed her eyes. “Yes, it’s time to give the world a taste of my heart and soul, and let them enjoy what I’ve created. Imagine it!”
I did.
nine
I cannot decide if marriage would be a waste of the only life I have . . . or if avoiding it would be.
~A scientist’s observations on love
When darkness settled over the estate, I couldn’t sleep. My mind raced, worry clouded my rest. God, what do you intend in all this? What exactly did you have in mind for me? Truth and kindness, both traits of God, seemed to be in stark
opposition in this position, and I couldn’t seem to balance them. I rose and dressed, sliding my hands absently down the front of my cotton uniform where apron pockets should be, and suddenly I knew.
Pockets! That’s where I’d put that letter. I pounced on my bag and pulled out both uniform aprons, digging through the pockets. No letter. I touched a faint stain on one, remembering that first night and . . .
The laundry. Would the letter be a sodden mess at the bottom of the washtub? Or would it have been mixed up in the linens? Finding it now might be futile, but I had to try. Some beating heart had bled those feelings onto the page.
And I had lost the wretched thing.
Flinging a wrapper around me, I slipped downstairs, candle in hand, to attack the laundry. I shook out every linen napkin and bedsheet, inspected the cramped little shelves, washbasin, and hand-wringer, but I found nothing. I heaved a sigh that nearly put out my candle and poured myself a calming cup of tea in the servant’s hall. With cup and candle in hand, I moved back toward the stairs.
Yet when I slipped past the library, sounds of shuffling slowed my progress. “Hello! Who’s there?”
I jumped, pulse thudding erratically.
“Hello, hello. Who’s come to see me?”
I glanced around, heart pounding, and stepped into the library if only to assuage my curiosity. Finally I spotted the old woman in layers of gauzy white peering down at me from the second-story balcony. She blinked. “Oh, it’s you.”
Lifting her plumage, she hobbled down the steps.
I put a hand on my chest, willing my heart to calm, and moved to help her descend the final steps. “You gave me a fright, Miss . . .” I realized then I’d never been formally introduced, and the only name I knew was “Maisie.”
“Just aunt. Aunt Maisie.” She paused at the bottom and took my hand. “I despise being reminded I am not ‘Mrs.’ every time someone says my name. And heaven forbid you call me anything with the word ‘crazy’ in it.”
I forced a wobbly smile. “Aunt Maisie, then.”
She looked me over with a mild stare. “I do like you, Miss Duvall.”
I blew out a breath. Her frank approval released something in me that had been knotted up since arriving.
“You’ve done a lovely job with Golda.”
“Thank you, but honestly I’ve done very little.” I set the candle down. “I’ve begun learning what I can about her condition, but I am mostly discovering I’m completely unqualified for this.”
“You’ve come to the right place for help.” Her bright little eyes watched me.
I breathed in the aroma of old books and ink. “I have enjoyed this place. Why are you here so late?”
“Why, this is my quarters. If you look right up there, that arched door leads to my chamber. I seldom sleep anymore, and I need some old friends to keep me company.” She ran a hand tenderly along the spines, leaning a weathered cheek on them. With a sigh, she released them and hobbled to a chair. “So where did you find the letter?”
Shock split through me. “The . . . letter?” She couldn’t know about the one from the desk.
“Yes, of course. The one you were telling young Gabe about.”
A rush of spiteful energy threatened to spill out of my mouth. “That was a private conversation. You were eavesdropping?”
“Eeeeavesdrop.” She drew it out with a pleased smile as if licking honey from her lips. “Eavesdrop, yes. I must have that one.” Without a hint of apology, she shuffled to a little table in an alcove and flipped open a massive book, dipping her pen, and scribbling something. Eavesdrop, apparently.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself past the irritation. “What’s in your book?”
She returned without answering and perched on a chair, head tilted on her hand as she studied me. “Now tell me, what has you speaking with such contempt?”
“A mere desire for privacy in my conversations.”
“Not to me, Miss Duvall. To yourself. You cannot succeed if you are telling yourself you won’t.” She folded her arms across her bosom. “Now tell me, how did such a pretty young lady come by all those ugly words?”
The bare truth of her statement shifted my thoughts. “I suppose I never thought about it.”
“Well, you should.”
All right then, think about it. Words shape reality, after all, right? I will be a doctor. There’s no reason for me to fail. Dr. Duvall. Dr. Willa Duvall. At your service, Dr. Willa Duvall, first woman to be educated at Durham University’s School of Medicine. How may I help you? They tasted good to my heart.
“I forget words all the time, so I capture them. Bottle them for later use.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My book. You asked about my book. I collect words so I won’t lose them all into the black hole of feeblemindedness. When words are all you have, it suddenly makes you want to keep as many as you can so you can use them when you have need.”
I had heard the whispered comment “Not all there” concerning this woman, but as I lived and breathed, if she wasn’t all there, she was somewhere far higher and better. She reminded me of an aged fairy that flitted about, never truly having to land her feet in the real world. Not anymore, at least. That was the beauty of age, it seemed, if there was any.
I considered this unusual woman. Words, then. Perhaps I could entice her to spill a few. “I’d imagine you know all the secrets of Crestwicke, yes?”
“Only the ones worth knowing.” She puffed out her meager chest. “Even yours.”
She flattened me with the turn in conversation. “What do you know of mine?”
She watched me carefully. “That you don’t understand love yet, but you’re here looking. Thank heavens, you’re looking.”
My ears turned painfully hot. “I wouldn’t call it ‘looking.’” More like longing without the hope of actually finding. “I’ve no need of love.” I stared at her. “Just like you.”
My statement struck her as it had the last time, melting the challenge from her face. “Not needing and not having are two entirely different matters, mind you.” She held out one crooked finger. “Let me tell you something, Miss Duvall. Few people have the great—and I do mean great—fortune of falling in love. No one should ever turn her back on it.”
“By ‘no one’ you mean me, I presume?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.
She leaned forward, as if willing her wisdom into me through her narrowed eyes. “I know you have the hunger in you—I can see it glowing in those eyes of yours. Perhaps it feels safest to quench it, to pretend it isn’t important because you fear you’ll never find your happy ending, but let me tell you, Miss Duvall, that hunger may be the most important force in your life.”
My face heated.
“Lean into it, strengthen it, fan that desire into flames and never let it go out. Allow yourself to feel that ache fully, driving you on until you’ve found the sort of true, authentic love that few truly have. I’ve been on that journey and it was the most incredible one I’ve ever taken in my long life.”
Returning her gaze with equal intensity, I turned a daring corner. “I’m going to guess, then, that his name . . . was Grayson Aberdeen.” I cast out the lovely name like a lure, reeling her in with a sparkling smile.
She stared, a glint in her eye. “Still trying to untangle that puzzle, are you? What on earth has driven a young lass like yourself into so sad a story? You should be busy forming your own tale. Not chasing someone else’s.”
“I’ve stumbled upon part of this man’s love story, a letter he wrote, and I dearly wish to know the rest.”
Her thinly drawn eyebrows arched into her lace cap. “What exactly was in that letter?”
“Things meant only for the recipient—whom I hope to find.” I dared her with a look to admit she knew who it was.
Her eyes flashed, gaze fixed on me. The clock ticked away several seconds before she answered. “T’won’t do any good now, you know. It’s too late. No matter what�
��s in it, that letter is best forgotten.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” I rose and made for the door. “I suppose it’s no good you reading it at this point, is it? I’ll just keep it to myself and—”
“Hold on, now.”
I paused with a coy grin but painted my face with innocence when I turned. “Yes?”
Her features contorted in a grimace. “I suppose an even exchange would be agreeable.”
“Marvelous idea.” I hurried back to the chair I’d abandoned. “Why don’t you start, since you have the beginning?” And since I seemed to have misplaced my piece.
“Very well, then.” She settled back and her eyes widened with the faraway look of one about to embark upon an epic tale. “It started, as most good stories do, with a handsome young man who fell deeply, madly, passionately in love.”
I settled in with a sigh, curling up in the chair and cradling the warm teacup with both hands. How beautiful that I knew the middle portion of this story, and if I heard the beginning, perhaps I could change the ending.
“They were not terribly young when they met, already nineteen and twenty, but they hadn’t any idea of things. In fact, the object of Grayson Aberdeen’s affection nearly overlooked him. She had no notion of marrying, especially not him.”
I narrowed my gaze at the story that began to sound familiar.
“But he was persistent and certain, and—”
“I suppose the boy trained horses and the girl worked in medicine, and there was a meddling aunt who believed the pair should be matched.”
She smacked the arm of my chair. Whack. “Hush, now. I’m telling it.”
“A story will not convince me to upend my life.”
“Do you want to hear the Aberdeen story, or don’t you? It’s all true, and it isn’t about you a’tall.”
I sighed, eyeing her with suspicion. “Very well, then.”
“Their love wasn’t suitable, but they couldn’t help themselves. Both families had such traditional ideas about class and marriage, but the pair sensed how rare it was to find love in any sphere. They were each so different from the people they normally encountered, yet there was something similar—no, the same—between them and they recognized it instantly.
The Love Note Page 8
