Rupert provided a welcome distraction as he arrived with a folded piece of paper in his hand. “I have a note for Mr. Manton, from Chief Garrett.”
Gina knew better than to expect Rupert to turn the note over to her—Drake tipped too well. “He’ll be done in a minute,” she said.
In less than that, the door opened and Drake’s latest patient left. Gina followed Rupert in. She wanted to know what it said, too.
Rupert handed over the note and received his tip. “I’ll wait outside to see if there’s a reply.”
“What does it say?” Gina asked when Rupert had closed the door behind him. “Is it about Shorty?”
“Yes,” Drake said with a smile. “Chief Garrett informs me that Mr. Callahan has left town. For good, it appears. He took all his things and paid his shot at Mrs. Zimmerman’s. The chief doesn’t think he’ll be back.”
Hope surged through her, and Gina pulled the article from her pocket. Lately, she didn’t keep it far from her. But as she glanced at it, her hopes faltered. “It didn’t change anything.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If Shorty is gone, how can he set the fire that causes my demise?”
“I don’t know—maybe he’s convinced one of his friends to do it, or maybe he just wants us to think he went out of town, and he’s gonna sneak back to do you in. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Drake frowned and perused the note once more. “I don’t think so—the chief seems fairly certain he’s gone for good.”
“But the article didn’t change—you still die.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it won’t change until the date has come and gone.”
He was putting entirely too much stock in this little note from the chief. “No, that wasn’t true with Madame Rulanka—her article changed immediately after she decided to change her itinerary.”
“Regardless, you know I can’t leave unless Mrs. Rutledge goes with me.” He folded the note carefully and placed it in his desk. “Could you send the next patient in, please?”
Sighing, Gina left, knowing argument was futile. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t give in so easily, but after six months’ experience in trying to beat some sense into Drake, she knew argument wouldn’t sway him. The only way to deal with him was to take matters into her own hands.
There was no hope for it—she would just have to put her plan into action.
Rupert was waiting for her, bouncing impatiently on his toes. “Is there an answer?”
“No, but wait a moment. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
She sent in the next patient, then pulled Rupert into the hallway where they could converse without being overheard. “Okay, it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to put Plan B into action.” Luckily, word had gotten around the resort that a spirit summoned by Madame Rulanka had predicted Drake’s death if he stayed at The Chesterfield. Since many of the staff believed firmly in the spiritualist and her claims, Gina hadn’t found it difficult to convince a few of her friends that what she was about to do was for Drake’s own good.
“He won’t leave?” Rupert said with anxiety.
“No, he thinks he’ll be safe.”
“Are you certain this is the right thing to do?”
“I’m sure,” Gina said firmly and decided to fib, just a little. “Madame Rulanka told me she even knew the date of his death. He’ll die in a fire on December 22—tomorrow—unless we do something to prevent it. Can’t you see this is the lesser of two evils?”
When Rupert didn’t answer, she pressed further. “You want Mr. Manton to live, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then we have to do this. Trust me, he’ll thank you later.” Then, without giving him a chance to have second thoughts, she said, “Do you still have that special note I gave you?”
He patted his chest. “Yes, right here.”
“Then let me have it. I’ll make sure Drake gets it, and you go tell Sean Quinn it’s time.” The stablemaster would take it from there.
Rupert headed off with obvious reluctance, but she knew he wouldn’t let her down.
Well, it was time for her performance, and she’d better make it convincing. Gina burst into Drake’s office, ignoring the startled look on his patient’s face. “Excuse me,” she said breathlessly, “but this note just came for you.”
Drake scowled at first, but as she knew he would, he must have figured the note was from Annabelle or she wouldn’t have disturbed him otherwise.
“Excuse me,” he said to the patient, “but this is a very important missive.” He skimmed it quickly, then added, “I’m sorry, but an emergency has come up. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our session short.” Though the woman appeared a little disgruntled, she left with good grace.
“It’s from Annabelle, isn’t it?” Gina asked, though she knew very well what the note said since she’d written it herself.
“Yes—she’s gotten free and wants me to meet her at the stables.” He frowned. “I wonder why we aren’t meeting at the tower as we arranged? And why now?”
Why was he asking questions? “Who cares? Come on, I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Oh, yes it is,” Gina said forcefully. She wanted to make sure nothing went wrong.
Shrugging, Drake grabbed his hat and hurried out the door. Gina followed him, sending up a silent prayer that they wouldn’t encounter the Rutledges on the way.
Her luck held and they made it to the stables without encountering anyone. The stablemaster was waiting outside and gave Gina a questioning look.
She nodded significantly and a look of determination came over the middle-aged man’s face.
“Where’s Mrs. Rutledge?” Drake asked.
“Just inside,” Sean assured him.
Then when Drake passed him, the small man brought up a cloth and pressed it with surprising force against Drake’s nose, using all his wiry strength to hold it there as Drake struggled briefly.
Gina stifled a shriek as Drake crumpled to the ground, unconscious. She’d known it was necessary, but she hated to see him like this. “What did you use?”
“Chloroform,” Sean said. “We keep it around for the animals, but it works just as well on humans.”
Well, at least Drake wasn’t hurt.
Sean signaled to a couple of his stablehands and they lifted Drake’s inert body and placed it in a wagon. Then, for good measure, Sean tied his hands together in front of him, then his feet, and covered him with a blanket.
“All right, Jem,” Sean said, addressing one of the stablehands. “Take him as far away as you can.”
“Yes,” Gina added. “He mustn’t be able to make it back here until day after tomorrow.”
The stablehand nodded. Then, since Sean had already hitched the horses to the wagon, he rode away with Drake covered up in the back.
Gina stared longingly after him. She would have liked another chance to say good-bye, but they had already said their farewells and it would have only made him suspicious. A tear tracked down her cheek, and Sean patted her on the shoulder.
“It’s all right, young Gina. You did the right thing. He’ll be safe now.”
Gina brushed away a tear. Yes, she’d done the right thing. She’d accomplished the task she was sent here to do, so now all she had to do was find the pistol that would send her home tomorrow.
Drake woke, woozy and disoriented. When he tried to move, he found his hands and feet had been tied, and he couldn’t see anything because a rough blanket lay over him. At first, he had thought he was lying on some kind of wooden floor, but since the floor was moving, he realized he must be in a wagon.
A few minutes more of trying to focus his scattered thoughts, and he remembered Gina leading him to the stable. Was she responsible for this, or had both of them been kidnapped?
He managed to get some of the blanket off his face and squinted up into the sun to see who was driving the wagon. I
t was a young man he recalled working in the stables. Since there was no one else sharing the wagon bed with him, he put the pieces of the puzzle together . . . Gina strangely not arguing, her leading him to meet Annabelle at a different place from the one they had agreed upon, and the strange expression on Quinn’s face.
No doubt about it—Gina was responsible for this.
The realization stunned him for a moment, until he realized it was exactly what he should have expected of her. And though he should feel betrayed and angry, he felt nothing but disgust—at himself. It was his own fault. He should have been more careful.
And he should have taken her into his confidence. He had received a note from Mrs. Rutledge the day before saying her husband had planned an all-male hunting trip for tomorrow. Since Rutledge planned to be gone most of the day, it was the ideal time to slip away.
Drake had planned to spirit Mrs. Rutledge away and be long gone before Shorty could return and set any fires, but knew Gina would panic at the thought of waiting until the last minute, so he hadn’t told her.
He grimaced ruefully. If he had told her, she might not have gone to such lengths to protect him. Now, he needed to figure out how to get back to The Chesterfield in time to meet Mrs. Rutledge and get her to Boston.
But how? He recognized the lingering, distinctive sweet odor of chloroform as the agent they’d used to make him unconscious. He couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of hours, so it must be late afternoon . . . and the position of the sun confirmed it. Now, if he could just find a way out of this, he might be able to get back in time.
Tilting his head back to peer at the driver, he called out to get the lad’s attention, glad that they’d spared him a gag at least.
Startled, the driver jerked and stared down at Drake with wide eyes.
“What’s your name?” Drake asked.
“Jem.”
“Well, Jem, could you see your way clear to getting me a drink of water?”
“I’m not supposed to let you loose until late tomorrow,” Jem said dubiously.
“I’m not asking you to let me loose,” Drake said in a reasonable manner, though his heart sank at this confirmation of his fears. “I just want some water. That drug your stablemaster used on me gave me a powerful thirst.”
“All right,” Jem said, pulling the wagon over and bringing it to a stop. “But don’t try to pull nothin’. If’n you do, I’m supposed to bash you on the head.” With a stubborn look, he brandished a stout cudgel.
“I won’t,” Drake promised. At least, not until he was certain he could overpower the stablehand and get away on his own.
He got a better look at the lad and found they had made a good choice. Jem was big and hefty, though he couldn’t be more than seventeen. He would be difficult to overpower, especially since Drake was bound and had no weapons at his disposal.
Drake wriggled until he was able to achieve a sitting position and as Jem dipped water from the barrel someone had so thoughtfully provided, Drake looked around. His heart sank. They weren’t on a main road, and he didn’t recognize any landmarks. All he could see was a small stream alongside the small road, flowing back the way they had come.
Jem raised the dipper to his lips, and Drake drank thirstily as the young man watched him with wary eyes. Maybe if he could engage Jem in conversation, he might find out a few things.
“So,” he said conversationally, “why are you doing this?”
Jem shrugged as he hooked the dipper back on the barrel. “Mr. Quinn tol’ me to.” He paused, then added as if it were justification, “Fer yer own good, he said.”
“I see.” He did, too. It explained how Gina had been able to convince them to go along with this harebrained scheme.
Drake glanced casually around. “Where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere—jus’ makin’ sure ya can’t get back tomorrow.”
“Where are we now? A few hours north of Hope Springs, would you say?”
“Mebbe.”
Drake frowned. Jem was more close-mouthed than he’d hoped. “Well—”
“ ’Nuff talkin’,” the stablehand said, and abruptly returned to his seat, setting the horses in motion again.
After that, Jem wouldn’t respond to any of his questions, so Drake was left to brood and make plans. But how could he get loose when he didn’t have any weapons? He wracked his brain until he finally realized he did have one weapon at his disposal—his mind—though he was going to have to wait to employ it.
A few hours after it turned dark, Jem finally decided to stop again. After he took care of the horses and set up camp by the stream, he came to check on Drake. By then, Drake was getting rather cold and grateful for the meager shelter of the blanket.
Brandishing his cudgel at Drake once more, Jem warned him to be still, then set about doing something with the rope at his ankles. When he was through, Drake’s feet were still bound, but now hobbled so he could at least walk.
Grateful to get out of the wagon, Drake shook off the pins-and-needles sensations and walked over to the fire at Jem’s gesture.
“Siddown,” the boy said.
Drake sat. He would have to wait for a chance to put his plan into action, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a good meal first. He huddled close to the warmth of the fire and watched as Jem cooked the food he had brought.
When Jem finished and brought him a plate, Drake held up his bound hands. “Aren’t you going to release me?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“You kin eat like that,” he said uncompromisingly.
And so he could. Drake ate the generous meal someone had provided, and brooded over how long this was taking. He had to get back to the resort by tomorrow morning or he wouldn’t be able to get Mrs. Rutledge to safety. Nor would he be able to say his final good-byes to Gina before she went back to the future.
Strange, but he wasn’t angry at her or any of the employees she had talked into kidnapping him. By now, he knew this was just Gina’s way of showing she cared enough about him to make certain he didn’t die.
He shook his head. He never thought he’d actually come to understand and sympathize with her crazy schemes. He must be in love or something.
Yes. . . .
The realization blossomed within him, slow but sure. He loved her. Not just as a dear friend, and not just because they had been intimate. He loved her as a man loves a woman, a woman who was kind, funny, enchanting, strong, and never ever boring. She had brought him back to life with her engaging and unexpected ways, breathing life into the humdrum, bleak existence he had been living since Charlotte died.
Now he understood why he had made all those marriage proposals. It wasn’t to satisfy propriety or to atone for compromising her, it was because he very simply wanted—no, he needed—Gina in his life. His own mind had known it before he had. And she must love him, too. She had to, to go to so many lengths to save his life.
All of a sudden, he realized he couldn’t let her leave without making some attempt to ask her to stay, to ask her to be his wife once more. If he didn’t at least try, he would never forgive himself and always wonder what would have happened if he had broached the subject.
Sudden urgency filled him. If he was to get back tomorrow early enough to catch her before she left for the future, he must find a way to escape. Soon.
Jem came back from washing the dishes and stowed them in the wagon, then sat across from him at the fire. Good—this was a perfect time to put his plan into effect.
As Jem stared into the fire, Drake said, “Intriguing, aren’t they? The flames . . . each one is different and ever changing.”
Jem grunted acknowledgment and Drake watched him carefully as he continued to stare into the flames. Softly, he said, “Legend says that if you continue to watch, to let the images in the flames fill your mind, you will see everything that ever existed, everything that ever will be.” He paused. “Do you see them, Jem?”
Jem nodded slowly,
and Drake continued in a monotone, telling him what he saw in the fire, letting the leaping flames slowly mesmerize the stablehand.
Once it was clear Jem was under, Drake felt a leap of excitement as he realized this was really going to work. “Look around you,” he said. “Can you see the signs? We’re in for a devil of a storm tonight.” They weren’t, of course, but Drake had to find some way to convince him to return to the resort.
Jem’s expression turned concerned and he nodded.
“We have to return to The Chesterfield or we’ll be in danger. You see that, don’t you?”
Jem nodded again, slowly. To reinforce his suggestion, Drake said, “We need to leave now, so we can get back to The Chesterfield by tomorrow morning.”
“But I’m not s’posed to let you back until day after tomorrow.”
“The storm overrides everything,” Drake said. “You said yourself they don’t want me killed, and we will both surely die if we have to stay out in this weather. Look, a few snowflakes are beginning to fall.”
Seeing that Jem believed firmly in his imaginary snowflakes, Drake added, “There’s no shelter farther up the road, so we have to return to the resort or we’ll both die. You know this is what Mr. Quinn would want you to do.”
“We’d best be goin’, then.”
Drake sighed in relief. “Yes, we must hurry. And it will go much faster if you untie my hands and feet.” Jem paused and Drake added, “We’re going where I want to go, so I won’t be any trouble.”
Then, after Jem untied him, Drake reinforced his suggestions so Jem would continue to believe in the storm and brought him out of the trance.
Drake spared a moment of apology for the horses, though at least they had had a couple of hours of rest. And they weren’t in any danger. Now that night had fallen, it would take longer to get home than it had to get here, but the track was visible enough in the bright moonlight. He just hoped it was enough to get back in time.
[Hope Chest 01.0] Mesmerist Page 25
