“Are you sure you’re a doctor?” Simon asked. He was a little worried. After all, Robert was lying there with bloody bandages on his side and his arm. It should have been obvious who had been shot. And with his full beard and long hair, McCain looked more like the rough American trapper he was than a doctor.
“That I am,” Alec McCain said. “Before my trapping days. But I must admit, I’m a wee bit confused about these London marriages.” He laughed again. “We should have visited sooner, eh, Hawthorne?” His friend just smiled.
“Not sure if you remember me, Hawthorne,” Simon said, holding out his hand. “We met briefly in Portugal.”
Simon was curious as to whether Hawthorne would speak. He’d gone mute in Portugal, after Salamanca, Simon thought, or perhaps it was Busaco. They all ran together in Simon’s mind now. He was rarely on the battlefields. His fights had been in the dark of night, in the woods, where he had stealthily crept and killed.
He shook off the memories and met Hawthorne’s gaze. He could see the same memories there.
“I remember,” Hawthorne said, taking Simon’s outstretched hand, and the words carried more weight than just acknowledging an old acquaintance. He said no more, just let go of his hand and looked away. So he was speaking now. And he’d grown. He wasn’t as rough as McCain, but there was more American about him now than Englishman.
“You got shot twice?” McCain asked in disbelief. “A word of advice, son: after the first one, run.”
Robert laughed, but it must have hurt because he grabbed his side. “No, knife,” he said, pointing to the cut on his side. “Bullet.” He pointed to his arm.
“And you’re wet because…?” McCain asked, gently removing the bloody makeshift bandage from the knife wound.
“Fell off the boat when I got shot,” Robert told him.
“You London lads lead very exciting lives,” McCain said, glancing at Christy and Sophie. He pointed at Essie, who had her arm around Mary. “Not sure what to make of that one.” Essie just made a rude gesture.
“Never you mind,” Christy scolded him. “Just fix him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” McCain said with another laugh. “I like a woman with spirit.”
“She’s taken,” Robert said. His voice was a little breathless as McCain poked at his wound.
“Yes, I noticed that.” The doctor reached behind him. “Alcohol,” he said. Hawthorne reached into the bag he carried and passed McCain a jug. He popped the cork.
“You’re going to drink now?” Christy asked shrilly.
“Now never you mind,” McCain said. “I know what I’m doing. I fixed Harry after that Pawnee took his eye, didn’t I? And I fixed Daniel. Didn’t I, ma’am?” he asked Sophie.
“Yes, actually, he did,” Sophie said. “He’s not going to drink the alcohol. Apparently it’s some homemade brew he concocted in America, and it cleans wounds or something. Although he said you can also drink it.” She shuddered. “I tried it. I think it peeled a layer off my innards.”
McCain laughed again. His laugh was starting to get on Simon’s nerves. He got the impression he’d laugh a patient right into the grave.
“It’s not for the faint of heart, that’s true,” he said. “I need a fine needle, missus, if you’ve got one, please. I’ve got to sew him up.” Christy stepped out and called for the maid, Nell. He dug around in his bag and produced some type of thread. He held it up. “Catgut,” he said. He looked at the ladies, and Essie. “Not sure you want to see this, ladies,” he said.
“Don’t be silly,” Sophie said. “I’ve seen many stitches before.”
“I’ve stitched myself up,” Essie said. The whole room turned to stare at her. “What?” she asked innocently.
McCain dipped the catgut in the alcohol, and then he poured a small amount of the stuff on Robert’s cut.
“Damn it all,” Robert swore. “That hurts.” His face was pale and he was sweating.
Simon felt sick to his stomach. Robert’s injuries were his fault. If he wasn’t operating at half capacity because of his physical condition after Africa, he would have been the one to take down all the Russians and to find Van de Berg.
“Stop it,” Robert ground out between clenched teeth. Simon looked at him and saw that he was watching him. “This is not your fault and I’m not going to die.”
“From little scratches like this?” McCain scoffed. “I should hope not. And you brought in a decent doctor, unlike that fool Daniel. Could have lost his leg letting it fester like that.”
“What?” Simon and Robert both asked in disbelief.
“It was that bad?” Simon asked.
“Simon,” Robert said, a warning in his voice. “That was not your fault, either.”
“Really? Well, whose fault was it? He was shot rescuing me in Africa. Christ! How many people do I have to kill before I figure out that I’m cursed?”
“Simon, I’ve known you for over ten years,” Sophie said. “You have not caused any unfortunate ills to befall anyone. On the contrary, you have saved many of us, me included. I will never forget the debt I owe you.”
Simon couldn’t look at her. It was that favor, done for Sophie, that had started him and Daniel on their path in St. Giles as vigilantes. They’d killed Sophie’s brother, who had raped and abused her in her childhood and tried to do the same after she’d married their good friend Ian Witherspoon. Ian and her other lover Derek Knightley couldn’t do it; they’d have been suspected right away. And so Daniel and Simon had done it. They had bided their time, and then they’d found the blackguard and slit his throat. It was what they were good at, what they’d been trained to do.
He looked over at Essie. How could he say he was any better than her or her cronies? He was an assassin, just like them. He could argue that his targets deserved to die, but then so could she, from her perspective. He and Robert hadn’t even gone into that aspect of his past. As a constable Robert had a duty to uphold the law, and Simon had broken it, many times. And he didn’t regret it.
“Here it is.” Christy rushed into the room and immediately noticed the tension in the room. “What? What happened?”
“Simon is blaming himself for everything again,” Robert said.
“Oh, Simon, darling, I’m sorry.” She handed the doctor the needle and looked down at Robert’s side. She turned a little gray and swayed a bit. “I really am sorry. I don’t faint, you know. Daniel steals the whiskey.” Her voice had gotten very weak.
“Catch her,” McCain barked.
Simon dove for her and caught her as she collapsed.
Chapter 35
“She did the same thing when she found out about your back,” Harry said from the doorway. Simon glanced over, Christy now safely in his arms. “I’ve come to see how things are going. Daniel came around and asked for a report. You know how he is.”
“Just a little stitching here,” McCain said. “Looks like the knife didn’t go in too far and the bullet just grazed him.”
“Knife?” He looked at Simon and Robert. “You two have had a busy day. You can tell us all later.” He turned to go. “Come on, Sophie, Derek is champing at the bit to get you back. I wouldn’t let him come because I was worried there’d be an altercation with Barnabas’s Home Office boys.”
“I’m coming,” Sophie said, picking up her skirts and hurrying after Harry. “We’ve got enough to worry about right now.” She looked back and waved. “If you need me, just send a note.”
“Put her next to me,” Robert said. His voice was rough, and Simon saw that McCain had started stitching. He carried Christy over and carefully laid her next to Robert.
“I’ve still got to do the bullet wound,” McCain told Simon.
“You don’t know Christy,” Simon said. “If I tried to take her away from his side, she’d kill me.”
“I don’t faint,” Christy insisted weakly.
“Never,” Robert said. “Put your head on my shoulder so you can’t see what he’s doing.”
“I’ll
be fine.”
Simon sat down next to her so he could see what McCain was doing. “Trust me, darling, you don’t want to see. Put your head on his shoulder.”
“All right.” Christy curled up next to Robert, her head on his shoulder and her face against his neck. Christian started to fuss.
“I’m going to take him down and finish feeding the wee thing,” Mary Peppers said. “I promise not to run off with him.”
“Wait, what?” Christy started to sit up.
“Quit your shillyshallying, woman,” McCain growled. “I’m trying to sew a man up here.”
“I’m going with me girl,” Essie said, and out the door she went. “’Ere, what are you doin’ ’ere?” she asked a moment later out in the hallway.
“You are going to be a challenge,” Barnabas said, “but one that I am up to. Off with you for now.” A second later, he stood in the doorway. “Who have we here? Ah, Hawthorne, good to see you. And this must be the infamous Dr. Alec McCain.”
McCain paused his needle and glanced over. “The very same. And who are you?” He went back to sewing up Robert’s arm.
“Sir Barnabas James.”
McCain’s needle paused again. “I’m told I have to reserve judgment,” he said. “We’ll see.”
“Indeed.” Barnabas dismissed him with that one word. Simon could see Hawthorne fighting a smile. “You gentlemen will be glad to know that we have returned all the black powder to the Royal Ordnance at Woolwich. According to their records, give or take a handful or two, that was all of it. We do not believe they actually had enough powder to attack any more targets. So, well done.”
“What was his plan?” Robert asked as McCain tied off the stitches in his arm. “His method of planting the explosives was not what your experts told us to look for.”
“Yes, well, Van de Berg has some engineering experience. His plan was quite ingenious, although once we started picking off his co-conspirators, it was doomed to failure. He planned to blow the eastern side of each support at the same time, weakening the bridge support to such an extent along that side that the entire bridge would collapse. A collapse at London Bridge at noonday would have been a disaster of monumental proportions. Who can say whether it would have worked or not? I’m sincerely grateful to you both for your efforts to foil their plans.”
He pursed his lips. “Their motives concern me, however. Van de Berg was being paid. An anonymous benefactor. And the Russians are heading toward anarchy with their proletariat revolutionaries. I do not like them invading our shores with their political propaganda.”
He walked over and peered at McCain’s handiwork. “We do have a surgeon on call at the Home Office, you know. The same one that serves Parliament, I believe.”
“Then I’m sure he’s not worth the paper his credentials are written on,” McCain growled. “Are you questioning my work?”
“I would never presume, doctor.” Barnabas straightened. “I believe you will need a few days to recover before returning to work, Manderley. I shall not expect you before Wednesday.”
“Work? What is this you’re talking about?” Robert said. He started to sit up but winced and lay back down. “I don’t work for you.”
“Indeed you do,” Barnabas said. “I found your work on this case to be exemplary. You are wasted with the constabulary. I have informed your superiors as such.”
“Now see here, Barnabas,” Simon said. “Robert likes being a constable. He likes coming home to Christy and the baby each night. Lord knows in our profession that doesn’t happen often.”
“‘Our profession’?” Barnabas asked. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I have also reinstated your position, Gantry. You now work for me again, as well. The two of you and Hastings made a very good team, and I am thinking of having you train the woman, Essie.”
“Oh, God,” Robert said. “Tell me I’m delirious.”
“So you all stopped a madman from blowing up London Bridge?” McCain asked, frowning. “I had no idea I was sewing up a hero.” He clapped his hands together. “But for now, everyone out. This lad needs to sleep. Best thing for him.” He stood up and waved Barnabas out.
“Christy and Simon stay,” Robert said. Simon could hear the exhaustion in his voice. He felt the same way.
“I just need to borrow Gantry for a minute,” Barnabas said. “I’ll send him right back.”
“I’ll be back to check on you and change those bandages tomorrow,” McCain told Robert. “Don’t be overexerting yourself.”
“Sleep. I promise.” Robert’s tone said he was telling the truth.
“I’ll be right back,” Simon said softly, squeezing Christy’s hand.
“And we’ll be right here waiting,” Christy said with a smile as she held his hand. He walked away and distance finally broke their connection.
Chapter 36
“I presume this is where I shall find you from now?” Barnabas said as he pulled on his gloves. “Wallowing in connubial bliss? Well, Manderley may rest, but I will need you to come in tomorrow and sign some statements—the usual protocol. And we have yet to find Alice Gaines or the rest of her gang of cutthroats.”
“Is this what you were angling for all along? Me working for you again?” Simon asked. He followed Barnabas back down the stairs. “What I can’t figure out is why.”
“Does the why matter?” Barnabas asked.
“A little. I haven’t made up my mind whether or not I’m going to dance to your tune.”
“I do not require you to dance,” Barnabas said. He sighed. “I find that what worked during the war is not what is needed here and now in most cases. Did you think today’s crisis at the bridge was the only one I had on hand? I am on my way back to the office in an attempt to avert a financial disaster that will rock not only England, but perhaps all of Europe.” He stopped in front of the door. “Take my advice, invest in property until further notice.”
He put his hat on. “There are no throats to slit, no assassinations to resolve this situation.” He looked at Simon. “There is subterfuge and second story work. And methodical investigation. Things in which both you and Manderley excel.”
“And Hastings and Essie?”
“I didn’t say there were never throats to slit.” He opened the door. “I also find that I would like to have someone that I trust implicitly in my organization.”
“Why, Barnabas, was that a compliment?”
“I do not compliment. I state facts.” He grinned wryly as he stepped over the threshold. “And so I go to save England from her follies once more.”
“How does Mrs. Jones feel about these late hours of yours?” Simon asked. “Does she complain?”
“Of course not. She understands that this is my career. Anyway, that is what Lord Wetherald is for. He can be there when I cannot.”
Simon laughed in spite of himself. “I see. Eventually we all get what we need.” He was thinking of all of his friends, who had somehow managed to find each other in war, a group of like-minded men who shared proclivities, yes, but who were also loyal and steadfast and true. And all of whom had somehow managed to find lovers who were willing to accept both the good and bad that they brought with them, the baggage of war, and of pain and loss, and the stigmatism of those aberrant proclivities.
“No, no we don’t,” Barnabas said softly. He put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I myself nearly didn’t. Your dunderheaded friends, myself included, somehow managed to find the most persistent pains in the backside in England who simply wouldn’t give up on us. But rest assured, Simon, very few men are so lucky. Most people go through life alone. Perhaps surrounded by others who might as well be strangers, who will never know the secret heart that beats within their soul. And they will die alone, with their secrets and their heart and their soul locked inside, never known by another, never seeing the light, never tasting love or acceptance or joy. And that is the way it is.”
Barnabas shrugged. “Life is a cruel and lonely journey. When given the opportunit
y to share the road, I highly recommend you not be an idiot about it.”
Simon was shocked that Barnabas had opened up so much in his little speech and he could see that Barnabas was uncomfortable with it. “Well, that was extremely morose and depressing,” Simon said. “You must be working on a canto.”
“Yes, now that Byron’s gone and gotten himself killed rather unfortunately in Greece, I thought someone needed to take up the torch,” Barnabas said, clearly relieved that Simon had lightened the conversation.
“Your meter is dreadful,” Simon told him.
“My rhythm is perfection,” Barnabas said, with deliberate innuendo. “Wetherald especially sings my praises.”
Simon laughed. “Love has changed you,” he said.
“I should hope so. I shall see you tomorrow.”
“You shall see me next week,” Simon said. “I have things I need to take care of.”
Barnabas paused on the steps and turned back one brow raised in annoyed inquiry.
Simon just smiled. “Goodbye, Barnabas. Take your agents away. We have Essie.” He closed the door.
When Robert awoke, he was naked and Christy was pressed up against his side, sleeping. The house was quiet and the sky pitch black, so he knew it was the middle of the night. He immediately grew tense and looked around for Simon, fearing he had left. He relaxed when he saw him sitting in a chair in the shadows in the corner of the room.
“You’re awake,” Simon said quietly.
“So are you,” Robert said. “Why?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Because you’re in a chair?”
“What? Oh, no. I’ve slept in much worse places.” There was a smile in his voice. “I was just thinking.”
“That makes me nervous.” Christy shifted on the bed, and Robert pulled her close with an arm around her shoulders. “This is new to us,” he confessed to Simon.
“Well, to me, too,” Simon said. “I’ve never attempted any sort of relationship since Giselle.”
Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14) Page 25
