[Hope Chest 01.0] Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “If you don’t leave the resort soon, you’re going to be a dead man on December 22.”

  A cold feeling washed over him. Suddenly, he had the unshakable conviction that everything she said was absolutely true.

  Scanning his face anxiously, Gina said, “Do you believe me now?”

  Just as quickly, he doubted himself. It was just too preposterous. “Perhaps,” he hedged. “But it doesn’t change my plans.”

  “What do you mean?” She snatched the paper from his hands so swiftly that a small piece of the corner tore off.

  It was just as well—he didn’t want its morbid contents in his hands any longer anyway. “Well, even if this is the time and method of my death, then all I need do is avoid the hotel on that day.”

  Gina paused. “Well, it sounds logical,” she conceded, “but I don’t think it’ll be that easy. To be safe, you’d better leave right away.”

  She certainly seemed overeager to get rid of him. Curious, he said, “What’s your interest in this? Why are you so worried if I live or die?”

  “Can’t I just be concerned about you?”

  He thought about that for a minute, but it didn’t ring true. “No, you were trying to get rid of me before you even knew me.”

  She sighed again. “Okay, I’ll tell you why. Apparently, the reason I came back in time was to save your life. I can go back to the future again on December 22, but if you die after everything I’ve done to prevent it . . .”

  “Then you might be stuck back here forever, is that it?”

  “Maybe. Even if I do go home, you—your ghost, I mean—promised to haunt me for the rest of my life unless I keep you from doing something stupid.”

  So, she didn’t really care about him at all. He was just the means for her to get back home—or so it seemed in her odd little fantasy. That decided him. She might not care what happened to other people, but he did. “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “I made a promise, and I won’t break it.”

  “You’re kidding. What kind of promise could possibly be more important than your own life?”

  “One I made to Charlotte,” he said bleakly. “My sister—after she died.”

  “Your sister?” Gina asked softly and reached out to lay a hand on his. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  It was about time she understood. “Charlotte was two years younger than I, and was always a happy child . . . until she married our father’s choice of husband.” The pain hit him anew, and he had to pause for a moment. “The man was a cad. He . . . he railed at her night and day, telling her she was stupid and childish, that she was worth nothing. Finally, she believed it . . . and took her own life.”

  Gina gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Drake said. “She came to me and tried to tell me of her problems, but I was so absorbed in my studies, I didn’t see . . . I didn’t understand . . .”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Gina said as she hugged him.

  He gathered her to him, needing the comfort of her embrace. “Yes, it was. I was studying mesmerism at the time. I should have seen what she was going through. I should have known.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” Gina said in a consoling tone.

  He held her tight, marveling at how much solace he felt in her arms. “Least of all me . . . and Charlotte is dead because of my lack.”

  “It wasn’t you—it was her husband who was to blame,” Gina insisted.

  “Yes, he bears part of it,” Drake conceded, drawing away, “but so do I.”

  “So that’s why you’re so intent on helping people?”

  “Yes. I know it won’t bring Charlotte back, but it will help me atone, in some small way, for not heeding her when she needed me.” He gazed down at her, pleading silently for her to understand. “It’s a matter of honor, don’t you see? Now that people have indicated they need my help—young women just like Charlotte—I can’t go back on my promise.”

  “Not even to save your own life?” she asked incredulously.

  “No,” he said firmly. “Especially then.”

  Chapter 10

  The next day, Gina felt rather at loose ends. They didn’t have to practice now that the lecture was over, so she had nothing to do.

  Nothing but find Drake and try to beat some sense into him. The lecture had gone very well, just as she’d planned, but the aftermath was another story. After all she’d done to help Drake, found a way to improve his lectures, got him some patients, and saved his life, she couldn’t believe he had so casually thrown it all away.

  The biggest problem was that he didn’t believe her story. She could understand that—she’d found it hard to believe herself. But she had to find a way to make him believe it—his life depended on it.

  She finally tracked him down in his room. When he opened the door, he raised an eyebrow. “Have you come with more preposterous tales to entertain me this afternoon?”

  Well, that didn’t bode well for changing his mind. But maybe she had something else that would. She slapped the morning edition of the newspaper into his hand. “Have you seen this?”

  He glanced at the headline: Manton Mesmerizes Hope Springs.

  “Yes, it’s very flattering.”

  “Not the article.” She pointed to the sketch accompanying it, one portraying Drake with his hands raised, his white streak dramatically highlighted, and lines of force radiating from his eyes. “That.”

  He glanced at the sketch. “What of it?”

  “Look familiar? It’s the same one I showed you last night.” She stabbed it with her finger for emphasis. “They’re going to run it again for your obituary. Do you believe me now?”

  “No, but I believe that you know the artist and somehow managed to fake the article.”

  “Give me a break. When have I had time to go into town to meet these guys? I’ve been with you most of the time.” Not to mention Chloe and Letty.

  “Why would you need to? You have your lackey, Rupert, to do it for you.”

  “That’s not true.” But this was getting her nowhere. “What can I do to convince you I’m telling the truth about where I’m from?”

  “Perhaps you could arrange for my own ghost to visit me in bed some night? I imagine that would be quite convincing.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” What she had to say next she didn’t want overheard, so she tried to push past him, but he held firm.

  “Our chaperones are nowhere about, and it isn’t proper for you to be in my room.”

  “All right, then.” She glanced around and didn’t see anyone in the hallway, but figuring she couldn’t be too careful, she lowered her voice. “Your ghost is in the future, remember? After you’re dead?”

  “Oh, that’s right. How inconvenient.”

  “Come on, there must be some way to convince you. And I’m not going to leave until you tell me what it is.”

  He glared down at her, then thought a moment. “Perhaps there is. If you let me mesmerize you, and your story is the same—”

  “Forget it.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I see. The story wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Yes, it would, but I’m not going to let you hypnotize me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want you messing around in my memories, asking me questions that are none of your business.”

  “I see. You don’t trust me.”

  He even sounded a bit hurt. Annoyed, Gina snapped back, “Look who’s talking. According to you, I’m in cahoots with the entire hotel! Think of something else.”

  “No, I believe that’s the only thing that would convince me.”

  “It ain’t gonna happen,” she repeated.

  “It seems we are at an impasse, then.”

  “For now.” But she was going to find a way to convince him, no matter what it took.

  He glanced at his pocket watch
. “It’s almost time to meet my first patient of the day.” He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

  That’s right, she’d forgotten he was supposed to meet Mrs. Rutledge at two o’clock . . . the beautiful woman whose name was linked with his in his obituary. “You know,” Gina said casually, “the Major thinks I still work for you, so I’d better go along, too.” Gina fell into step beside him.

  Drake shook his head. “I won’t have need of your talents today. You may have the day off.”

  “Thank you,” Gina said insincerely, “but I’ll pass. You need me whether you realize it or not.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, to avoid the impression of impropriety, shouldn’t you have someone present while you consult with your female patients?” Especially one Annabelle Rutledge.

  “No, I’m a professional, much like a doctor, and people must feel free to tell me their secrets. They won’t be willing to do that with you in the room.”

  “But—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  That implacable tone in his voice told Gina she wasn’t going to budge him on this. But if she couldn’t stop him from seeing Mrs. Rutledge, she could at least make sure there wasn’t any hanky-panky going on. No matter what Drake thought now, Gina knew he’d soon be seeing Mrs. Rutledge romantically—she had seen it in black and white. “Okay, then, I’ll be your receptionist.”

  He cast her a doubtful glance. “Receptionist?”

  “You know, someone to screen patients, take appointments, and make sure you aren’t disturbed while you’re with someone else.” Surely he couldn’t object to that.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said, then stopped abruptly. They had reached the waiting room, which was packed with people. When the potential patients saw him, they looked up expectantly and all began to speak at once.

  Over the confusion, Gina said, “Still think you don’t need me?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Well, perhaps you’re right this time. I told Mrs. Rutledge I would see her at two. Could you sort out the others?”

  “Sure,” Gina said in triumph. “Just let me know how long you’ll want for each appointment.”

  “Fifteen minutes for the initial consultation, I think. Then if I think I can help them, we’ll schedule hour-long appointments later.”

  Seeing her chaperones in the waiting room, Gina carefully left the door open as she followed Drake into his office. Rummaging around in the doctor’s desk, she found some blank paper and a pen and ink.

  Going back to the door, she said, “Mrs. Rutledge, Mr. Manton will see you now.”

  The blonde rose and her husband followed her to the door.

  Drake frowned. “I’m sorry, but I shall need to see Mrs. Rutledge alone.”

  “Why?” the beefy man boomed in a voice filled with suspicion as his wife looked at him with trepidation.

  That’s what Gina wanted to know, too, and Mrs. Rutledge looked very uncertain as if she didn’t quite know what to do unless someone told her.

  “Because the application of the mesmeric technique is most effective when the patient isn’t distracted by others.”

  “But you did it in front of a whole crowd last night,” the man exclaimed.

  “That was merely for show, and the people being mesmerized were not trying to change their habits, they were just performing the actions I suggested to them.”

  “But I gotta tell you about her bad habits,” the man whispered in a carrying tone.

  Mrs. Rutledge cringed, as if she was afraid her husband was about to enumerate them in public. Drake cast her a sympathetic glance and said, “I’m sure Mrs. Rutledge is more than capable of explaining them to me herself.”

  “I dunno . . .”

  Gina could see Drake’s point. With this man overpowering his wife, Drake would never be able to get anything out of her. And Mrs. Rutledge needed a little backbone, if nothing else.

  “I’m sorry,” Drake said firmly, “but that’s the way I work. And this first time is most important. I need to judge your wife’s temperament and symptoms, to see if I can even help her.”

  The man looked as though he was ready for war, so Gina stepped in and grasped his arm. “That’s right,” she said confidingly and turned her most charming smile on him. “It’s the only way Mr. Manton can help your wife change those bad habits of hers. Now, why don’t you just sit over here and wait a bit, and talk to the nice gentlemen in the waiting room.” As she steered Rutledge out of the doorway with one hand, Gina pushed his wife in through the doorway with the other. Gina cast a quick glance over her shoulder and was glad to see Drake had picked up on her maneuver and was steering Annabelle into the office. Annabelle cast her an odd glance compounded of gratitude and trepidation. Well, she’d soon find out there was nothing to fear from Drake. Mr. Rutledge allowed himself to be persuaded over to one of the waiting chairs, though he didn’t look at all happy about it.

  Though Gina was dying to know what was going on inside that office herself, she busied herself by speaking to the others in the waiting room, and scheduling initial consultations. For those who really indicated a need, that is. To the sensation-seekers, she just gave the date and time of Drake’s next lecture.

  She had gotten most of the way through the waiting room when Drake’s door opened, and Annabelle came out with a timid glance at her husband.

  Rutledge stood. Without sparing his wife a glance, he glared at Drake who stood behind her. “Well?” he demanded.

  “Yes, I think I can help her.”

  “Good,” Rutledge exclaimed, and Annabelle appeared to be relieved.

  No matter what adulterous things Annabelle might do in the future, she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Taking charge before Rutledge could discuss any of his wife’s supposed bad habits in public, Gina said, “I’ll just schedule another appointment for Mrs. Rutledge, then.” She glanced up. “Mr. Wilson, you’re next.”

  The small man went into the office and she scheduled Annabelle for the following week. There were only a few more people left, and Gina took care of them with dispatch.

  Now, she had nothing left to do but show people in and out—and sit and think about her situation. Unfortunately, nothing she could think of would sway Drake, and she doubted she would ever convince him of the truth. At least, not without subjecting herself to hypnosis.

  But the thought of surrendering herself to someone else’s control was abhorrent. What if he had her do something crazy? What if he dug around in her thoughts and feelings while he was in there? What if he found out how she felt about him?

  And how do you feel about him? a small voice asked inside her head.

  Well, to tell the truth, Gina wasn’t quite sure. Half the time she was with him, she felt as if she were under a spell of enchantment, mesmerized by his intensity, his gallantry, his magnetic eyes. . . .

  The other half, she was irritated by his pigheadedness. But it didn’t matter—she didn’t want him to know about either half. He was right, she didn’t trust him. And, according to the newspaper article of his assignation with a married woman—Annabelle—she had darned good reason not to.

  But if he didn’t listen to her, he was a dead man. The thought was agonizing, but what could she do?

  Unfortunately, if he was still here on December 22, despite her warnings, there was nothing she could do. Maybe she should just worry about herself—at least she had some control over that. Since Esme had said she didn’t have to save his life to go back home, maybe Gina should concentrate on finding the pistol that could send her home.

  Where could it be? She tried to picture it, but all she could remember was that it had a long barrel and the grip was half-melted. Melted . . . Hmm, that must mean it was in the fire that claimed Drake’s life. No wonder it had sent her back.

  So, if it was in the fire, and the only two who had died in the fire were Drake and Annabelle, then one of them must have had it with them. Gina couldn’t imagine Annabell
e carrying around a weapon like that—she just didn’t have it in her. So where did it come from? Drake had said he didn’t own any weapons.

  Gina paused. Yes, so he had said. But could she take his word for it? Would he admit to being armed with a dueling pistol? In this century, men didn’t tell ladies things they thought might upset them. And if she asked again, he’d deny it even if he had it—he wouldn’t want to admit to having a pistol she might claim as the instrument that had sent her back in time.

  Well, then, she wouldn’t ask. She’d just go check for herself. She sent the next patient in, then called Letty over. “I have to take Scruffy for a walk, so could you fill in for a little while until I get back?”

  “Of course,” Letty said, and Gina smiled. A month ago, the girl would have stammered and blushed, but now she was confident enough to take on some small responsibility. For a mesmerist, Drake made a darned good psychologist.

  Leaving Letty in charge, Gina went in search of Rupert. She waited until he was through helping a guest, then pulled him aside. “Rupert, I need you to let me into a guest room.”

  His expression turned wary. “You know I can’t do that, Gina.”

  “Oh, yes you can.” She lowered her voice. “I have reason to believe he’s hiding a dangerous weapon.”

  “So? Most men carry a gun.”

  “So what if he uses it on another guest?”

  “What if who uses it?” Rupert asked suspiciously.

  “Mr. Manton.”

  Rupert pulled his arm away. “Uh-uh. I ain’t getting involved with pulling anything on Mr. Manton again. He was nice enough about it the first time, but—”

  “He won’t know,” Gina insisted. “He’s in the middle of his consultations now.”

  “No—”

  “Come on, Rupert. Just let me in to his room. I have a really good reason, but I can’t tell you what it is. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  “You’re probably right, there.”

  Sarcasm, from Rupert? “Please? I promise no one will know.”

  “I don’t—”

  “And if I do get caught, I’ll tell them . . .” She paused, searching for a suitable cover story. “I know, I’ll tell them Jack O’Riley dropped his keys and I borrowed them. What do you say, Rupert? I just want to make sure he doesn’t have a gun, that’s all.”