The Bargain

by Mary J. Putney

  Since Morgan still looked unconvinced, Sally moved in with the killing stroke. “After all, they are married. What was hers is now his. Surely dear Lady Jocelyn cannot wish her husband to stay in this, this”—she gestured eloquently—“unwholesome place.”

  “It’s true that her ladyship and the major seemed very fond,” Morgan said uncertainly. “And heaven knows my brother can’t wait to leave this hospital. You’re right, ‘tis not a healthy place.” He furrowed his brows before giving a decisive nod. “I’ll move my brother to the carriage, then be back for Major Lancaster with a litter and someone to help me carry it. Will you pack his things, miss?”

  “Of course.” As she watched him leave, Sally marveled at how easily he’d been convinced. She would have thought he’d be more wary of his spoiled mistress’s wrath.

  She sought out Dr. Ramsey again. That gentleman agreed gloomily that if the trip from Belgium hadn’t killed the major, a journey across London probably wouldn’t, and if it did, that would just be hastening the inevitable.

  Ignoring the doctor’s dire predictions, Sally returned to her brother’s room. “Good news, David. Lady Jocelyn’s carriage is here, and I have Dr. Ramsey’s permission to move you to her home. I’m sure that you’ll be more comfortable there than in the hospital.”

  “She wants me to stay in her house?” he said with pleased surprise. “That was not part of our bargain. It’s most kind of her.”

  The idea that his “wife” cared enough to send for him made David look so happy that Sally didn’t attempt to correct his misapprehension. Instead, she vowed that Lady Jocelyn would make him feel welcome if Sally had to hold a pistol to her head.

  “I shan’t miss this place.” David’s tired gaze flickered over the drab walls. “Except for Richard.”

  “He can visit you now that he’s getting around so well. I’m sure he’ll welcome an excuse to get out. I’ll give him your new direction before I leave.” She began packing her brother’s belongings into the box that had accompanied him from Belgium.

  After finishing that, she lifted the bottle of laudanum. “Shall I give you a double dose? The trip is bound to be uncomfortable.”

  “Too right. I think I’d prefer not to be aware of what is going on.” It was one of the few references he’d made to what Sally knew was constant pain. She uttered a fervent prayer that the carriage ride would not injure him further. If the strain severed his fragile hold on life, she would never forgive herself.

  Hugh Morgan rode on the outside of the carriage, but the vehicle was still crowded with Sally, David, and the shy, crutch-wielding corporal jammed in together. Though Morgan had obtained planks and blankets and rigged a pallet across one side of the vehicle to hold the semiconscious major, Sally still winced as they jolted on every cobblestone between Belgravia and Mayfair.

  When they reached Upper Brook Street, she said, “Please wait here until I’ve informed Lady Jocelyn that her husband has arrived.”

  She marched up the marble steps and wielded the massive dolphin-shaped knocker. When a butler opened the door, she said, “I am Miss Lancaster, Lady Jocelyn’s sister-in-law. Please take me to her ladyship, so I can ask her where she wishes her husband to be carried.”

  Husband? The butler’s eyes bulged; it was a tribute to Hugh Morgan’s discretion that none of the servants had heard of the marriage. Pulling himself together, he said, “I believe Lady Jocelyn is in the morning room. If you will follow me . . .”

  The house was every bit as luxurious as Sally had expected, a perfect background for its flawless mistress. She glanced around, hoping to find evidence of vulgarity, but to her regret, the house was furnished with impeccable taste.

  Refusing to be daunted by the towering, three-story high foyer, Sally set her jaw pugnaciously as the butler ushered her into the morning room. Lady Jocelyn sat at a writing table, her daffodil-colored gown a perfect complement to her warm chestnut coloring. Sitting on the desk was a vase of flowers and a tawny cat. It was no plump cozy tabby, but an elegant, thin-boned feline of obviously aristocratic origins. In Sally’s jaundiced view, the creature looked as expensive and unlovable as its mistress.

  The butler said, “Lady Jocelyn, your ‘sister-in-law’ wishes to speak with you.” His inflection managed to imply simultaneously that Sally was an impostor, and that if she was indeed genuine, Lady Jocelyn owed her faithful retainer an explanation.

  Jocelyn looked up with surprise. It was a rude shock to see an angry young woman intruding on her, a hostile reminder of yesterday’s unhappy events. “Thank you, Dudley. That will be all.”

  Jocelyn’s tone produced instant obedience. The butler beat a hasty retreat.

  “Miss Lancaster. What an unexpected pleasure,” she said coolly. With a sudden deep pang, she wondered if Sally had come to say that her brother had succumbed to his wounds. No, she was unlikely to deliver the news in person. Probably she just wanted to harangue her unwanted sister-in-law again. “What brings you here today?”

  The surly creature scowled. “I’m bringing David to your house.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?” Jocelyn asked, startled.

  If Miss Lancaster stuck her jaw out any farther, she was in danger of dislocating it. “A wife’s property becomes her husband’s on marriage. If you don’t let David stay here, I’ll . . . I’ll make him leave all of your property to the Army Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund. He will if I ask him to.”

  Jocelyn could feel her hands curling into fists. She hadn’t felt such a desire to visit physical violence on someone since her nursery days. “What a touching example of sibling devotion. However, your brother himself suggested that my lawyer draw up a document waiving any claims against my estate.”

  “He waived his rights?” Sally said in dismay.

  “He did indeed. Obviously your brother inherited all of the Lancaster family honor, as well as any claim to looks.” Jocelyn reached for the bell cord. “If you do not leave in the next thirty seconds, I will have my servants remove you.”

  Sally’s face crumpled. “Lady Jocelyn, I know that you don’t like me any better than I like you. But haven’t you ever had anyone in your life that you loved?”

  Jocelyn paused, wary. “How is that to the point?”

  “If you had a choice, would you leave someone you loved to die in that vile place?”

  Jocelyn winced as she remembered the hospital’s grimness.

  Seeing her reaction, Sally said, “You wanted to know if David could be made more comfortable. Well, he will be more comfortable here, and surely you have enough space and servants that he won’t be a burden. If you want to bar me from visiting, so be it. If you ask me to return the entire settlement, I will.” Her voice broke. “But please, I beg of you, don’t send David back to the hospital. Even if he has no legal right, surely you have a moral obligation to your husband.”

  “Send him back—you mean he’s here now? Dear God, are you trying to kill him?” Jocelyn asked with horror, remembering how frail he’d been the day before.

  “He’s in your carriage and has survived the trip. So far.” Sally said no more, but the implication that a longer journey might drive the last nail into his coffin hung in the air.

  Jocelyn gazed down at the ring he’d placed on her finger, exerting himself to the limit of his strength to ensure that he didn’t fumble. Till death us do part.

  Given David’s condition and Sally’s vehement rejection of any further aid, it had never occurred to her to bring him to Cromarty House. But her unpleasant sister-in-law was right. No matter how disruptive and painful it would be to have him here, he was her husband. She owed him this. Moreover, she found that she wanted to do anything that would ease his final days.

  She yanked the bell cord. Dudley appeared so quickly that he must have had his ear pressed to the keyhole. “My husband is in the carriage outside. He is very ill and will need to be carried in. Take him to the blue room.”

  After the butler left, Sally said brokenly, �
��Thank you, Lady Jocelyn.”

  “I’m not doing this for your sake, but for his.” Turning to her writing desk, she lifted a jingling leather bag and tossed it to Sally. “I was going to have this delivered, but since you’re here, I’ll give it to you in person. Your first quarter’s income.”

  Sally gasped at how heavy the bag was. As she tugged at the drawstring to look inside, Jocelyn said tartly, “You needn’t count the money. It’s all there—one hundred twenty-five pounds in gold.”

  Sally’s head snapped up. “Not thirty pieces of silver?”

  Jocelyn said softly, each word carved in ice, “Of course not. Silver is for selling people. Since I was buying, I paid in gold.”

  As Sally teetered on the verge of explosion, Jocelyn continued, “You may come and go as you please. There is a small room adjoining your brother’s. I shall have it made up for your use for . . . for as long as you need it. Does he have a personal servant?” When Sally shook her head, Jocelyn said, “I shall assign him one, plus any other nursing care he requires.”

  Sally turned to go, then turned back to say hesitantly, “There is one other thing. He thought it was your idea to bring him here, and that pleased him very much. I hope you will not disabuse him of the notion.”

  At the limits of her patience, Jocelyn snapped, “You shall just have to hope that my manners aren’t so lacking that I will torment a dying man. Now will you remove yourself from my presence?”

  Sally beat a hasty retreat, shaking in reaction. Any doubts she might have had that Lady Jocelyn was a brass-hearted virago had been laid to rest. But surely she would at least be courteous to David, who seemed to cherish the illusion that she was a good person. Discovering the witch’s real character would distress him.

  Chapter 6

  It took only a quarter-hour to get the major and his few belongings settled in a sumptuous room with a diagonal view of Hyde Park. It appeared to be the best guest chamber, and Sally again conceded, with enormous reluctance, that Lady Jocelyn did not do things by half-measures. David was white-faced with pain from the move, and Sally was grateful that she had carried the bottle of laudanum over in her knitting bag. When the footman had left, she gave her brother another dose of opium.

  Burying her own feelings about Lady Jocelyn, Sally said, “Though your wife was good enough to offer me a room here, I think it’s best that I sleep at the Launcestons’. But I’ll come every afternoon, as I did at the hospital, and Richard said he’ll call tomorrow.” She straightened the covers over his thin frame. “Time for you to get some sleep. The trip must have been exhausting.”

  David smiled faintly. “True, but I’m fine now, little hedgehog.”

  “Now that you’re settled, I’m going to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. Dr. Ramsey said there’s a very fine surgeon there, someone who might be able to help you.”

  “Perhaps,” her brother said, unimpressed.

  She noticed that his eyes kept drifting to the door. Was he expecting his so-called wife to visit him? Hoping that Lady Jocelyn was well-bred enough to do that much, Sally said, “I’ll visit again later.” She bent to kiss his forehead, then left.

  Hugh Morgan was approaching the blue room. “Her ladyship has assigned me to be the major’s servant,” he said ingenuously. “It’s a real honor.”

  “I’m sure you will suit him very well.” As Sally left, she felt unwilling amusement at the perfect poetic justice Lady Jocelyn had visited on Morgan, the accidental instrument for bringing the major to these hallowed precincts. Caring for a gravely injured man would not be easy. Luckily, the footman seemed like a kind, conscientious young man. David would be in good hands.

  Now to find the mad Scot at St. Bartholomew’s.

  It took Jocelyn a good half-hour to calm down. When her appalling sister-in-law arrived, she’d been admiring the flowers Candover had sent that morning. The note read only Until September, and was signed with a boldly scrawled C.

  Holding the note and remembering that wordless but potent interchange between them, she’d been lost in dreams. Perhaps in the enigmatic duke she would find what she had always sought, and never dared believe she would find.

  Then that unspeakable female had blundered in with her threats and her emotional blackmail. Except for Sally Lancaster’s vivid green eyes, there was no resemblance to David, who was a gentleman to the core.

  Jocelyn’s mouth curved involuntarily as she remembered her remark about buying the major with gold. Aunt Laura would have gone into a spasm if she had heard her niece say anything so unforgivably vulgar, but Sally Lancaster had a genius for bringing out the worst in Jocelyn’s nature.

  Jocelyn sighed, her amusement gone, and absently scratched between Isis’s ears. How could she have thought getting involved with someone’s life and death would be simple? She would rather not think of the major’s imminent death, and she certainly had not intended to witness it, but that could not be avoided now.

  Whenever she thought of David Lancaster, she wanted to cry. It was like a candle going out, reducing the amount of light in the world.

  She pulled her mind back to practical considerations. Fortunately Morgan had welcomed the opportunity to serve the major. The footman had a good heart and a steady hand, and Jocelyn had heard from Marie that he aspired to be a valet. Now he could get some real experience.

  Summoning the butler again, she said, “Order two wagon loads of straw and have it spread on the street outside. Make sure that it’s layered thickly—I don’t want Major Lancaster disturbed by the sound of traffic. Also, tell Cook to prepare food suitable for an invalid.” If the major could be induced to eat.

  After Dudley left, she ordered herself to be more patient with Sally Lancaster, since it would be impossible to avoid her sister-in-law entirely. Sally’s irritability was understandable given that she was devoted to her brother and had no one else to care about. With her looks and disposition, she probably never would again.

  Jocelyn did not even bother feeling guilty for the uncharitable thought.

  Sally had believed that the York had inured her to hospitals, but St. Bartholomew’s seemed ten times as crowded and twenty times as noisy. It had been founded in the Middle Ages by monks and appeared not to have been cleaned since. Bart’s treated many of London’s indigent and a clamorous, odorous lot they were.

  Nonetheless, the hospital trained some of the country’s best surgeons. As she passed through endless crowded wards, she supposed that was because the surgeons had so many patients to practice on.

  It took half an hour of walking and asking questions to locate anyone who knew anything about Ian Kinlock. At first she was told that he wasn’t in the hospital because “this was ‘is day for the swells.” Another listener chimed in that he’d seen the doctor ’imself that very day.

  Another half hour of searching brought her to the dingy little room where Kinlock was alleged to be found after he’d done his day’s work in the cutting ward. She settled down to wait on an uncomfortable wooden chair. A jumble of books, papers, and anatomical sketches covered the top of the battered desk and bookcase, with more tottering in stacks on the floor. Brilliant Kinlock might be, but neat he definitely wasn’t.

  After an hour of increasing boredom, Sally’s basic fondness for order asserted itself, and she began to straighten the books and papers. A small, grubby towel that had fallen behind the desk was pressed into service as a dust rag. Remembering how her scholarly father had felt about people who rearranged his books, she took great care not to shift anything to a new location. Nonetheless, simply squaring up the piles neatly and removing the dust did wonders for the appearance of the office.

  After tidying the desk, she started on the bookcase, working from top to bottom. On a cluttered middle shelf, her fingers brushed what felt like a china mug. She pulled it out and found herself holding a hollow-eyed, grinning human skull. She gasped and hastily replaced the ghastly relic, rather proud that she hadn’t dropped it from shock.

  An impatient voic
e with a definite Scots burr growled from the doorway, “That skull belonged to the last person fool enough to meddle with my office. Are you trying to become a mate to it?”

  Sally jumped and spun around, making a sound regrettably close to a squeak. The owner of the voice was a man of middle height with massive shoulders and a blood-splashed smock. His bushy dark brows provided a strong contrast to a thick shock of white hair and added impressively to a scowl that was already first class.

  “I . . . I didn’t actually move anything from its place,” she stammered. “You’re Ian Kinlock, the surgeon?”

  “Aye. Now get the hell out of my office.” He dropped into the desk chair, unlocked one of his drawers, and pulled out a bottle of what looked like whiskey. Ignoring his visitor, he uncorked the bottle, took a long, long draft, and slumped against the chair back with his eyes closed.

  When Sally approached, she realized that he was younger than she had first thought, certainly under forty. The hair might be prematurely white, but the lines in his face were from exhaustion, not age, and the compact body had the lean fitness of a man in his prime. “Dr. Kinlock?”

  His lids barely lifted to reveal weary blue eyes. “You’re still here? Out. Now.” He took another pull of whiskey.

  “Dr. Kinlock, I want you to examine my brother.”

  He sighed, then said with an elaborate show of patience, “Miss Whatever-the-devil-your-name is, I have seen over fifty patients today, performed six operations, and just lost two patients in a row under the knife. If your brother was Prinny himself, I would not see him. Especially if he were Prinny. For the third and last time, get out, or I will throw you out.”

  He ran a tired hand through his white hair, adding a smudge of blood to its disarray. Despite his profanity, there was a forceful intelligence about him, and Sally felt a breath of hope. Even more determined to get him to David as soon as possible, she said, “My brother was wounded at Waterloo. He’s paralyzed from the waist down, in constant pain, and wasting away like a wraith.”