“I shall find a way to separate the chosen one from the others, then. This Paul Stuart is indeed enticing. How his soft hair gleams in the sunlight! He is godlike, is he not?”
“Careful, Lorena,” Trent warned. “Keep your speech measured. We must not reveal anything that would lead them to our next move. Normal humans are so very small, are they not?”
She turned around, nearly saying something, but Trent had vanished into a cloud of light. “I must learn that wonderful trick,” she said to herself as she crossed the street toward the earl and his party. Next to Paul Stuart, stood the chosen one, a muscular man of similar height and appearance with a wide, dimpled smile and azure eyes. He wore no hat, and his raven hair was cut shorter than the earl’s chestnut locks, stopping just at his collar, and it blew slightly in the morning breeze, revealing a broad forehead and a regal brow.
My, but this detective does look like a prince, she thought. He is handsome indeed and smiles with ease—yet he seldom looks at anyone other than the woman. The duchess appeared pale and delicate, and she leaned upon the chosen one. She is weak, Lorena thought to herself. Good. Now, to lure her other protector aside so that the noose might tighten further around the chosen pair.
Setting her foot upon the cobbled street, the tall woman made toward the quartet, secretly removing her hatpin as she did so. As if on cue, a gust of wind blew, and her peacock green hat with the cream feathers and ruby adornment flew several feet away and landed precisely—as though directed—at the earl’s feet.
Nicely done, she said in her mind, knowing Trent heard her thoughts. Stepping off the sidewalk, Paul picked up the hat with his unfettered right hand and walked up to her. “Such a beautiful hat would be a great loss,” he said, handing it to Lorena.
Though attractive before, the mysterious woman’s large green eyes seemed to grow all the more lovely, and her cheeks and lips blossomed into blushes meant to please. “You are so very gallant,” she told him. “Whom may I thank for such kindness?”
He bowed slightly and kissed her hand. “I am Paul Stuart.”
“Well, Mr. Stuart, you are a white knight in a field of lesser men. I am Lorena MacKey.”
“I’ve relatives that are MacKeys. My mother’s cousins in fact.”
“From up north, near Glencoe?”
His face opened into a handsome smile, and his cool, blue eyes caught the light, glittering. “Why yes. Don’t tell me that your MacKeys also come from there.”
“They do,” she said, walking back toward the jewelry shop to pull him away from the others.
Involuntarily, Paul followed her, standing soon in the very spot where Trent had stood only a moment before.
“Katherine MacKey is the cousin I knew best,” he told her, “but she died during my final term at Oxford. I’m not sure if the family still lives there. So many people have left the old villages now.”
“I am one, or rather my parents were,” she said, her eyes brazenly fixed on his. “Katherine MacKey is a familiar name. Glencoe is a very small place, so surely she is a cousin to me as well. My parents left before I was born. I was born near London, in fact.”
“What brings you to Glasgow?”
“Shopping, well today at least, I am shopping. I actually came to attend a funeral. The mother of a friend from my college days has died, and I’ve come to support her—but, oh! I am prattling on, and here you are injured! What a foolish doctor I am not to speak first of your condition rather than worrying about a silly hat!”
Paul’s head tilted, and his grey-blue eyes rounded in surprise. “You’re a doctor? A physician?”
“Guilty of both,” she admitted. “I studied at the London Medical School for Women and had the honour to work with Dr. Blackwell. I learnt a great deal from that dear lady, but I find myself drawn to more homeopathic remedies, though my doctoral studies focused around chemistry. I believe the cures and treatments employed by the old wives, as we love to call them, often possess chemical properties that bring true healing. Oh, my good knight, I’m keeping you standing here, and your poor shoulder! A fall? Surely not, for you are most athletic and graceful.”
Paul shook his head, then looked back at Elizabeth, who was engaged in conversation with Charles and Kepelheim.
“You’re most generous,” he said, actually a bit embarrassed. “No, it is a misadventure, nothing more.”
She took his right arm and gazed into his face. “You must be more careful.” And then looking toward the carriage and the three nearby, she feigned remorse. “Oh, sir, your friends wait upon your return. Do forgive me. I lose my head in the presence of so kind and handsome a gentleman. I must let you return to them to accomplish your shopping.”
Paul’s mind asked many questions, and though he had often confronted devious females in his service to the circle, he feared harming the gentle heart of this woman with the sparkling green eyes.
“We came to buy cloth for our tailor. He is a friend. May I introduce you?”
She took his right arm firmly and offered a brilliant smile. “I should be honoured, sir.”
Paul walked her to the carriage, noting Elizabeth’s odd expression as they approached. “Forgive me, Beth. I’ve been talking with this kind lady, and in so doing, I have abandoned you and my cousin. Allow me to introduce Dr. Lorena MacKey. Dr. MacKey, these are my cousins, Elizabeth, Duchess of Branham, and Charles, Marquess of Haimsbury. And this extraordinary and multi-talented gentleman is Mr. Martin Kepelheim, our tailor and good friend.”
Lorena gasped and pretended to be surprised, shaking the tailor’s hand but curtseying to both Charles and Elizabeth. “Paul, you did not mention your cousins are so high-born! I am honoured, Your Grace, to meet you. And Lord Haimsbury, it is a genuine pleasure.”
Beth smiled, her face still rather pale, but she appeared in a good humour overall. Charles laughed, his eyes bright for the first time in two days.
“My goodness, Dr. MacKey,” he said, “you’ve no reason for any ceremony with me, I assure you. But this gallant gentleman who took such care with your windblown hat is himself the Earl of Aubrey.”
Lorena’s eyes rounded as she feigned shock. “Oh my! I have made quite a gaffe, have I not? Lord Aubrey, your kindness is now multiplied many times over, and it is clear that I delay your outing. Please, accept my apologies for any impertinence.”
Paul held onto her arm, for she had tried to pull away. “No, no, dear lady, we are simple friends on a quest for tartans. Will you not join us? I would put a question to you regarding matters that lie within your domain.”
The tailor glanced at Charles, his face serious for a flash of time as if to send a silent warning. “Shall we visit MacCallum’s establishment?” he said in a jovial tone. “I know this shop, for I have visited it often, and I’m eager to spend Lord Haimsbury’s newfound coin on expensive fabrics for his many, new suits.”
Sinclair laughed heartily and put his arm through Elizabeth’s, his steps leading the group of now five toward MacCallum’s. “I do not yet have access to my newfound wealth,” he warned Kepelheim, “but if MacCallum’s management will permit me, I shall open an account.”
“Put it on our uncle’s account, Charles,” Paul suggested. “His people will sort it out later. In fact, Kepelheim, I shall put in an order for a new formal jacket.”
“I am keeping it all in my enormous head,” Kepelheim answered with a laugh. “And perhaps three or four new shirts and a waistcoat. Your styles could use an update.”
Paul laughed easily, and he felt lighter than he had in days, yet his eyes swept constantly over the taller heads that bobbed along the busy street. William Trent had been seen, and they had come to confront him, rather than wait like so much prey. Following Galton and Palmer’s departure that morning, the earl had announced his intention to go to Glasgow alone to search for Trent, whilst Elizabeth and Charles remained behind to continue their
recovery. However, Charles had insisted that Paul should remain with her for the same reason. Finally, Elizabeth had settled the argument saying both should go, and since neither man would permit her to remain without accompaniment by one, she would instead go with them, for surely her presence in Glasgow would be the perfect bait to draw the wolf from his lair.
As they walked, Charles, too, scanned the faces around them, but his mind was ever on Elizabeth. What did she remember of the night in the cottage? Had she, too, experienced a dream? He must speak to her, and soon, but it would require privacy, which now they sorely lacked.
Turning into MacCallum’s Emporium, Kepelheim shot toward a display of silks and tweeds, motioning to the floorwalker for service. Charles found the experience somewhat new, so he let the seasoned tailor make all the choices, exchanging small talk with Beth as they moved about the main floor of the three-storey mercantile.
“It reminds me of a smaller Harrods,” he said as they passed by a display of handkerchiefs and cufflinks. “I shall miss the simplicity of being a mere policeman.”
“Will you?” she asked, turning her eyes to his worried frown. “You keep a secret, Captain. Will you not share it with me, your ardent admirer?”
He paused, pretending to show interest in a long glass display case filled with fine watches and other men’s jewelry. “Shall I buy a new watch, Duchess? A timepiece to wear upon a fine chain when we share an evening at Covent Garden?”
“You tease me now,” she complained, a slight pout crossing her lips. “I ask a sincere question out of love and concern, and you toss it aside like it matters not. Covent Garden indeed!”
He paused, looking intently into her eyes, her hand in his. “Not here. Not now. We must talk, Beth, and soon, but not until we are safely alone. Will you allow me that?”
Her face paled. “Yes, forgive me. I had not thought. You are worried, then?”
“Desperately worried for you, my love,” he whispered and kissed her forehead. “Now, help me to select a watch, and let us engrave it.”
“Only if I may compose the message,” she whispered in return. Then looking over at the earl and his new companion, she wondered aloud. “Tell me, Charles, what impression do you have of this lady doctor?”
“Is it her profession or her sex which most troubles you, Beth?”
She did not even so much as smile. “Neither and both, I suppose. It is my old sense of dread and all that has happened these past few days. He does seem to find her to be amusing, though, don’t you think? No, I am not jealous, or at least I think I am not. Paul has shown no such dark sentiments concerning my friendship with you.”
Sinclair leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Ours, my dear Princess, is far more than a friendship, and we both know it to be so.”
She paused, her eyes still as she processed this in her mind. “Yes, I know.”
He kissed her cheek again and laughed—a trifle strained, but a laugh nonetheless—selecting an eighteen karat gold Sir John Bennett that featured a rampant lion on the case, and he then passed it to their attendant.
Beth held up her hand. “Sir, might I write a message on a slip of paper for engraving inside that handsome watch?”
Nodding, the attendant gave her a small notepad and pencil, and she scribbled something, handing it quickly to the gentleman so that Charles could not see it. “A surprise,” she said with a mysterious smile. “Thank you, sir,” she added as the man took the watch and note to a back room for engraving. “Oh, and, sir,” she called, causing the clerk to turn. “When finished, you may deliver it to Drummond Castle, to the attention of Lord Haimsbury.”
“May I not see what is to be memorialized upon a timepiece to which I must refer hourly?” he asked with a dimpled grin.
“You may, when the memorial is forever etched upon it, but not before. Now, since our tailor is occupied, and Paul is as well, perhaps you and I may take tea and enjoy a few moments to ourselves.”
Charles had not expected an opportunity so soon, but he nodded and told Kepelheim where they were headed, which was a tea room just opposite the emporium, and they walked out the door and into a conversation which would change the course of all their lives.
Paul watched as Charles left the shop with Elizabeth on his arm, knowing her to be safe in Sinclair’s company, but wishing she did not care quite so much for the charming marquess. Distracted by these thoughts, he found himself hearing only half of what the lady doctor was saying.
“Forgive me,” he said, realising his rudeness. “Come, let us sit over there, shall we, Dr. MacKey? Soft chairs are more suited to a gentle lady than standing too long at a shop counter.”
“My dear, Lord Aubrey, I assure you that my legs have endured much standing during countless dissections and endless hours of tending to patients. I am made of stern stuff. And unlike titled ladies of leisure, I do not break easily.”
“Of course, and again I beg your forgiveness,” he said. “Old rules are quickly changing, and women take up new places in society. But if you would sit with me for a moment, it would allow my shoulder to rest, and my mind to seek answers which you may have.”
“Oh! Of course,” she answered, fluttering her eyelids and tilting her head to catch the best light. “Please, we will sit. I am the one who is rude, and my duty is to heal not harm. Please, let us rest your poor wounded shoulder. When did it happen? Are you under care?”
He helped her to settle into one of several tufted leather chairs in a small lounge, designed to allow gentlemen to try on boots or drink and smoke whilst valets filled shopping lists. “I have seen a doctor, but I am uncertain as to how well he tended me. He’d been a good friend to my family for many years, but his mind was fixed upon other things in his final hours, and now he is dead, I’m afraid.”
She touched his hand, leaning in to offer comfort, confident that she had already sunk one claw into his tender heart if so careful an enemy shared news of Lemuel’s betrayal with her this soon, though only to hint at it. “A family friend, too? I am very sorry, Lord Aubrey. Death is all about us, and he calls sometimes when we expect it least. Did your physician leave family to mourn?”
“No. He was a bachelor, or so I believe. Truly, I begin to wonder if I knew him at all, but isn’t that the way with people sometimes? Your sympathies do you credit, Doctor, and I suspect they come more from a tender heart than from a practised mind. My question is regarding a medicine I have recently become aware of—a herb actually, one that grows wild upon the heaths.”
“Do you know its name?” she asked.
“Our housekeeper called it Devil’s Cherries, I think.”
She wanted to smile, for Lorena knew now that she had him, but she must appear curious for merely medical reasons. “Yes, I know that herb. It can be very dangerous if used in improper combinations or if overused. It is also called belladonna, and its therapeutic effects are well known though not well studied. Why, may I ask, do you wish to know? Surely, you have not eaten these berries. They are sweet, but they can be poisonous!”
Fear crossed his face. “Poisonous? I didn’t know that. But, if they have positive effects, is it the mixture or the proportion that makes the difference?”
“Well, my good Lord Aubrey, if you—a strong and virile man—ate of these plants, you might experience mild hallucinations, nausea, and even cardiac difficulties—heart problems, I mean. Did someone in your household consume these? I can come take a look, since your physician has so suddenly passed away.”
“That would be most appreciated. In fact, it was accidental, I believe. Is that possible? A tea made from local leaves?”
“No one with any experience would brew a tea with belladonna leaves. Not intentionally,” she assured him. “Now, it is possible, I suppose, that a child might pick these leaves or berries without recognising the danger and add them to a basket of leaves for making a poultice or a remedial tea, b
ut a knowledgeable nurse would never use them. Is this person now unwell? If so, Lord Aubrey, you must not delay administering the antidote!”
“There is an antidote?” he asked.
“It is not well known, but I have some in my medical bag at my hotel. It is a wonderful powder made from an African bean, found only to my knowledge in Old Calabar. When did this occur and to whom? Surely not you! Tell me it was not you!”
“No, not to me, but to someone on our staff,” he lied, suddenly wondering why he would reveal such a thing to a total stranger, even one with medical experience. “He has recovered now. I only wondered what to do should it occur again. Our housekeeper, who shares your interest in herbs, is a skilled nurse, and she kept watch over our imprudent patient. Hearing your explanation, I wonder that he was not much more ill. It is a relief, and I shall instruct my uncle’s gardeners to remove these plants at once.”
“That would be wise,” she said, inwardly pleased. “You spoke of your uncle earlier. Is he in Glasgow then? For I know that your home, Lord Aubrey, lies closer to that of my parents and grandparents. Wait—don’t tell me, for I believe I know! Was not your mother, the late Countess, sister to the Duke of Drummond?”
“She was, and yes, we are guests of my uncle whilst on our shopping tour. My cousin has only recently inherited his title, and I am helping him to rediscover his Scottish roots.”
“How generous of you,” she purred. “And it strikes me now that there is a strong resemblance betwixt you and your newly titled cousin. You are both quite tall and, if I may be so bold, also quite handsome. Your hair is much lighter, though, and your eyes are more like a clear lake, whilst Lord Haimsbury’s, from what I can recall, hint of the sea. I find yours the more pleasing, if I am not being too forward.”
What was it about this woman that both delighted and alarmed Paul? He was trying to keep a clear head, but her emerald eyes had him enchanted. “You are too kind by far. You said your medical bag is at your hotel? Where, if I may ask, are you staying?”
Blood Lies Page 35
