Rebecca Temple Mysteries 3-Book Bundle

by Warsh, Sylvia Maultash

  “No. I call him on phone, but Janek comes into room and I hang up.”

  “Where were you?”

  Halina’s pale cheeks turned pink. “He has apartment. You must understand — he is helping us. I need be good to him for Natalka.”

  It was Rebecca’s turn to be embarrassed. “Your private life is none of my business.”

  Halina turned away self-consciously.

  “But why did you phone him?”

  Halina glanced toward the room into which the nun had disappeared. She led Rebecca into an opposite corner of the hall. “I want to warn him.”

  “About what?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I say something stupid to Janek. It is my fault. I want to scare him to give me money for hospital. I know what he did after war and I say I will tell Michael. Of course I will not tell, but Janek blows up. He not listen no more.”

  “What did he do after the war?”

  Halina’s face turned stony. “It is terrible. Better to forget.”

  “I need to understand what happened.”

  Halina closed her eyes. “Janek denounced Michael’s parents after war. Michael never know. Because of Janek, they are sent to gulag and die. Janek hate Michael’s father, Piotr, because I love him. Janek was jealous.”

  Rebecca felt nauseated. So it was Janek who had destroyed Michael’s family. Who had sent them to Siberia to their deaths. Who had blithely gone on with his life in Canada as if they had never existed. What must he have thought when Michael came to him for a job after he had managed to escape his parents’ fate? After all those years to find out. No wonder Michael had hit him hard enough to leave bruises.

  “Piotr was handsome man,” she said with unaccustomed wistfulness. “He love me too. Janek thought Piotr was Natalka’s father.”

  Rebecca held her breath. “Was he?”

  Halina shook her head.

  Didn’t Michael say he had first met Halina when she came to the countryside with her baby? If Michael’s father had sired Natalka, wouldn’t Michael have known her earlier? Could the lovers have hidden such a liaison during the war? Rebecca was inclined to believe Halina on this one thing.

  “Why would Janek kill Michael?” Rebecca asked.

  “Maybe it was accident. I don’t know. Janek go there to explain. He was thinking I tell Michael already. He thinks Michael knows. So probably he say, himself, what he did, then Michael is finding out. This must be shock for Michael. He must be furious. Janek has bad temper. Probably they fight.”

  “How do you know he went to Michael’s?”

  Halina glanced nervously toward the room at the other end of the hall. “I am with Janek all night. In the apartment. He leave in morning, ten o’clock. Bad mood. He say he go to straighten things with Michael.”

  “Did you speak to Janek after that?”

  Halina shook her head. “I go to Sarah’s house in taxi. I am sleeping when everybody go to Michael’s. Then Natalka call me later from his house — she say Michael is dead. I am afraid to speak to Janek after this.”

  “Are you sure about the time that Janek left? Ten?”

  “I go to Sarah same time.”

  That left a time gap. Had they argued for two hours and then Baron had somehow drowned Michael in the pool? Because Michael had not been dead that long when Rebecca fished him out of the water. Had Michael become despondent after discovering that he had been working for decades for the man responsible for his parents’ death? So despondent that he had swallowed Valium with a couple of shots of something and jumped into the pool? No. The goggles said no. Someone in the depths of despair about to kill himself does not stop to put on goggles.

  Rebecca stood in the doorway of Natalka’s hospital room, tired, confused. She carried a bag of goodies from the coffee shop together with two cardboard cups of tea anchored in a disposable tray. Her head ached from thinking. John Baron, according to some, was the devil, but had he killed Michael? Indeed, had anyone killed Michael? The more Rebecca knew, the less she understood.

  They had placed Natalka in a semi-private room. She lay in the bed closest to the door, leaning back on her pillows with her eyes closed. Her white hair lay unpinned around her long neck, her pale skin wan in the fluorescent light.

  Rebecca was about to place the bag on the night-stand and leave unannounced when Natalka opened her eyes. As soon as she saw Rebecca her face lit up. Her skin took on some colour as she sat up. Rebecca approached, standing by the bed.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” Natalka said, putting her hand out.

  Rebecca took the hand, which held on without letting go. “How are you feeling?”

  Natalka smiled. “Not so bad. Could be worse.” She angled her head toward the other patient in the room. She was elderly and attached to an IV. No visitor.

  “It sounds like the doctor just wanted to make sure you were stable. Sarah said they couldn’t stop the bleeding.”

  “I don’t know why the doctor was worried,” Natalka said. “I have lots of blood left.”

  Rebecca smiled.

  “It is nice to see familiar face. You are tired?”

  So it showed. “It’s been a long day.” She wasn’t going to trouble her with news of her mother.

  “I brought you some tea,” Rebecca said, placing the little tray on the night table. She pulled a chair close to the bed then fished out her dinner, an egg salad sandwich, and for the patient, a small pack of digestive cookies and an apple.

  “You’re a good doctor,” Natalka said scowling. “You bring only healthy food.”

  Natalka sipped her tea, watching with interest as Rebecca bit into the sandwich.

  Rebecca took the other half of the sandwich out of its plastic sleeve and handed it to her. Natalka grinned and offered Rebecca a cookie.

  They were chewing happily when a figure appeared at the door. Marty Koboy, Rebecca’s favourite professor in medical school, approached and placed his hand on her arm in greeting. Standing up, she towered over him, though she was average height. His build was small but athletic. He always said, “Good things come in small packages.” His ability to put everyone at ease endeared him to all his students. His thick black hair was now peppered with grey. The tiny broken veins in his cheeks made them look rosy.

  “I’m sorry I had to incarcerate your patient, Rebecca, but she was bleeding all over the floor.” He said this loud enough for Natalka to hear.

  The patient smiled.

  He stepped close to the bed. “Did you finally stop bleeding?” Gingerly he lifted up her hand with one of his, taking her pulse with the other.

  She blushed. “I am fine. Maybe I can go home now?”

  “Is this such a terrible place?” he said. “Look, I’m still here. I’m just leaving to go home and I can’t wait to get back tomorrow.”

  She shrugged at Rebecca, as if wanting an advocate.

  “Anyway,” he said, “you’re going to have another test tomorrow. We’re going to get a sample of your bone marrow.”

  Rebecca cringed but kept her face blank.

  “It’s not the most pleasant test in the world. But it will confirm my diagnosis. Then we’ll know what to do.”

  “Do you think I have leukemia, Doctor?”

  “I’ll have more information for you tomorrow. Let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic.”

  Natalka’s face brightened. She brought her hand to her mouth, hiding a smile.

  He cocked his head and patted her arm. “Now don’t you bleed anymore.”

  Rebecca followed him out the door. They stepped away from the room, out of earshot. “Doctor, don’t you think she has leukemia?”

  He grimaced. “No,” he said. “But I can see why there might be confusion. The lady is luckier than that. I think she has Gaucher’s Disease.”

  “Gaucher’s?” Rebecca recalled the name but not the details.

  “It’s a rare bird. I’ve never actually seen a case. It’s a lipid storage disease, a deficiency in the glucocere
brosidase enzyme that affects the spleen, as you’ve seen. It can be fatal, but mostly when it presents in childhood. It’s not a pleasant disease, but she’ll survive. She’ll have to have a partial splenectomy. And there’s some experimental work being done to replace the enzyme, mostly in the States. She might be able to get on a list. But like I said, I need to look at the bone marrow to confirm.” He observed Rebecca more closely. “Is she a relative?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Gaucher’s is familial, and I noticed she was here with your mother before,” he said.

  Rebecca recoiled. “That was my mother-in-law.”

  He gave a knowing smile. “Well, the young lady’s as charming as you are. I thought you might be related.”

  Rebecca was exhausted from her insomnia over the past week. She climbed into bed early with a cup of hot chocolate and opened Michael’s manuscript to the second last chapter, titled “The Flesh is Weak.” It started with a letter from Sir Charles to Catherine. Rebecca was getting very fond of the English diplomat and felt uneasy about his future.

  chapter twenty-three

  The Flesh is Weak

  Sunday, August 18, 1756

  Your Highness,

  I am born, Madame, to obey you. You ask me for news of our friend. I send it to you at once, Poniatowski’s letter, forwarded by a faithful English merchant, sent to me by his confidential servant from Riga. Be assured, Madame, that my own business here goes very badly. They will not accept the £100,000 sterling in the subsidy, which would be the first payment of four, and without their acceptance I look upon the treaty as broken. The Great Chancellor Bestuzhev either does not, or is determined not to, understand me. After all our trouble, in both time and effort, the faction that supports France has the upper hand.

  I assure you that our whole business with the treaty may be ruined by this stupidity. This is very annoying to me, and puts me in a very bad temper with all the world but you.

  As to the plotting of the faction favourable to France, I am delighted to see the masterly way in which you fathom their artifices and despise their weakness. My advice to you on the whole affair is to sit quiet, to let them come to you without ever giving any decided answer about anything. Experience counts for everything in business — that is what gives knowledge; thus an adviser and a doctor without practice will only make a mess of things and murder patients.

  Henry the Great began his letters to Sully, “Mon Ami.” I shall feel very proud if you will do the same.

  Your humble servant,

  Hanbury-Williams

  Thursday, August 22

  Dear Sir Charles,

  Thank you for your friendship towards me, mon ami— since that is the title which you suggest I use. Be so good as to forward this sealed letter to our absent friend, the Count. The request that he makes you, to send him word that I love him, emboldens me to tell you that you are confirming for him a truth of truths.

  Let me tell you that from no one but you would I readily without complaint accept the numerous flatteries that you shower on me. But from you, I take them as proof of friendship. I am annoyed that your affairs are so perpetually held up, but am very flattered that your bad temper is diminished as far as I am concerned. When shall I be able to put you in a good one? Meanwhile my good wishes and my affection are always with you.

  C.

  Tuesday, August 27

  Your Highness,

  I must now speak to you about your money. It is my privilege to help you settle your expenses in court. This is what you should do, and what I shall do.

  After I settle the account with the banker, I shall send word to you how much remains in my hands; and you will draw that sum by Naryshkin as you require it, from time to time, for my own security demands that no one should ever be able to prove that I procured you money. After that, I will send you the bond which you have to sign for my Master, the King; you should copy it in your own handwriting from the original.

  I hope that this plan will please you. I shall try all my life to please you and to help you. I own that it hurts me to think that the Great Chancellor Bestuzhev believes that your protection is only extended to me because of Poniatowski.

  I assure you, Madame, that insignificant as I am, I would not live with the greatest prince in the world on such a footing. My friendship is of no great value and my devotion is a small affair, but such as they are, I am not lavish with them; and I can honestly say that up till now no one in this world has suffered from having placed confidence in me.

  I pride myself on being an honest man, and I hope in time to convince you of it. This is how I shall set about it. I shall never be troublesome to you, I shall faithfully guard your secrets, I shall tell you nothing but the truth. I shall help you in all that in my power lies, and never shall I flatter you. Your esteem is my ambition, because I believe that the man who obtains it is worthy to possess it.

  Your obedient servant

  Hanbury-Williams

  Wednesday, September 4

  Dear Sir Charles,

  From the moment I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, I conceived a real regard for you, quite independent of any other connection, seeing that my association with your protégé, the Count, only came into being seven months later.

  You are not insignificant — you are a grand seigneur as far as merit and honesty are concerned. Your friendship and devotion are without price, and I congratulate myself on having acquired your confidence.

  But have you no news of Count Poniatowski? I had hoped that by now there would be some talk of his return. As for your suggestion that for his safety it is necessary that he secures a position when he comes back, I fully agree. It is most reasonable that he return here as Minister from Poland. I have been deliberating on how to achieve this. In a few weeks he will be in Warsaw for the Diet where King Augustus will preside. Someone must approach the King on his behalf. In God’s name give me your advice, for my head reels. Abandon me not in my present distress.

  C.

  Sunday, September 8

  Your Highness,

  My devotion to you, Madame, has no limits, save that of a higher duty to my King and country. You ask for my counsel and here it is: Poniatowski’s return can only be secured by the Chancellor Bestuzhev. I own that I am much afraid that it is the latter who has provoked the Empress against him — a horrible thought, but as he has it in his power to assist us, we must not quarrel with him. Therefore be firm but kind. Press him to show you a scheme to secure the Count’s return. I suggest an effusive letter to King Augustus.

  Personally, I have nothing more to do here. Your court loves France too well to think of England, double treachery there while France offers sanctuary to the Pretender who yet schemes to overthrow King George. And no further word on the treaty. My worst fear is that all my strenuous efforts have been in vain.

  For you I will do anything. But prudence must guide us, for treachery threatens. Above all, I persist that our correspondence must remain an impenetrable secret delivered by only the most trusted servants.

  Good-bye, Madame, my pen falls from my hand. I am tired out and none too well, with pains in my head, but yours always.

  Your humble servant,

  Hanbury-Williams

  Wednesday, September 15

  Dear Sir Charles,

  I thank you for all that you have said and done and am only sorry that you are not well.

  I implore you to neglect nothing which might hasten Poniatowski’s return. You will oblige me in a very tender spot. I shall follow your counsel blindly. My heart and my head, notwithstanding the praise which it has pleased you to shower on them, are quite dejected. I shall press Chancellor Bestuzhev every day, even twice a day, for the return of the Count. I have already sent a rude letter to him. I am going to adopt your maxim, never to be on very good terms with him when I want anything.

  I feel really vexed at his conduct toward you. To say nothing of his treachery and low cunning. An honest Chancellor would be a
marvel.

  A rumour has just reached me that King Frederick is marching into Saxony.

  C.

  Warsaw, Thursday, September 26

  Mon Cher and respectable Ami!

  I love you as my second father! It is an appellation which I owe you for so many reasons that I shall never change it. You can judge better than I can ever express how touched I am by all that you tell of the Grand Duchess in your letter. May God bless her and make her as happy as she deserves to be.

  My parents received me more warmly than ever. They have guessed my reason for wanting to return to Russia and my mother is putting up roadblocks. Her religious scruples, which have become very strong, force her to say non consentio. When I pressed her more strongly to give her formal consent to my return, she told me with tears in her eyes that she foresaw that this affair would alienate my affection, upon which she had based all that was sweetest in life. I found myself in the most horrible predicament that I have ever had to face. I dashed my head against the walls, shrieking rather than weeping.

  I earnestly beg you to write my parents and urge them to send me back because I am necessary to you. Anything. Only use your influence.

  Almost the whole of my family are assembled, awaiting the result of the strange scene which is taking place in Saxony. The mail no longer reaches us from the court.

  With no reliable intelligence, I can tell you nothing except that the King of Prussia has marched into Saxony and now occupies Dresden. Frederick is said to have acted in the cruellest manner toward the royal family, who are virtual prisoners in that city. There are unsavoury accounts of the destruction of Dresden, that Frederick has laid waste to most of it. When I recall the beauty of the place, my heart breaks.

  As for the Polish Diet, if King Augustus does not arrive here for the first day, probably he will not come at all. Therefore I am stranded in Warsaw awaiting the outcome.

  Adieu. They are hurrying me, for the messenger is leaving. Would that I could speak to you instead of writing. You recall the silver compass, which you gave me as a parting gift because I was foolish enough to admire it in your hand. I keep it with me always. If I have to, I shall use it to find my way back to you. It is a cursed thing to be parted from those one loves.