by Joan Vincent
Peterson House meant nothing to Hadleigh and Lewes prompted only the thought that he should recall it. Having no answer he ignored her question. “My feet are very ... painful. What is ... wrong ... with them?”
Her father had told Sarah of cases where the mind concealed traumatic memories. Resuming the exercise she decided on a direct answer. “The soles of your feet were deeply cut, scored like a round of beef. You said,” she bit her lip and hesitated as she met his expectant gaze. “You said George had Letu do it.”
His muscles tensed beneath her hands. Memory flooded his eyes. It turned them stark, steel grey with anger and hatred. Her heart constricted.
Hadleigh clasped her forearm. “What date ... is it?”
“It is April. The 25th I believe.”
“April,” he repeated in disbelief. Another coughing fit struck. When it was over he laid back exhausted. “I ... must ... let ... André ... know.”
Sarah counted laudanum drops into a glass of water and held it to his lips. When he refused it, she said, “I shall write André for you after you sleep. Please, Hadleigh,” she begged and was relieved when he swallowed the mixture.
“Stay ... with me?” he asked.
Sarah held his hand until he drifted to sleep.
* * *
Cauley slept until early evening and missed supper. He entered the kitchen just as the cook’s young assistant put away the last pot. “Is there naught left?” he asked with a smile.
Annie, who was in awe of the large bear of a man, shook her head. She pulled a covered plate from the Bodley stove, set it on a small side table, and then stepped back.
Molly came into the kitchen at that moment. She turned up her nose and walked past the batman without a word, then engaged Annie in a whispered conversation.
The words “scoundrel” and “lay-a-bed” reached Cauley’s ears, and this, on the heels of other snipes, fanned his ire. He lurched up, his chair scraped noisily across the floor.
Annie peeked around Molly and gave a frightened squeak right before his large hand fell on Molly’s shoulder and turned her to face him. One look at the glaring pair sent her scuttling into one of the larders.
For a moment the batman and abigail stared at each other defiantly.
Molly’s colour rose. Indignation lit her eyes. “Unhand me, you brute,” she demanded.
“Not before ye tell me what ye’re saying,” he retorted.
Wroth-filled, Molly tried to jerk away, but he held her fast. “In alt again, are ye?” Cauley accused. “Ye’ve had a spur in yer haunch e’er since ye laid eyes on me,” he roared. “I’ll not stand fer it. Specially as it upsets the mistress when things ar’ fraught. Ne’er a greater clapper claw have I e’er seen.”
“Clapper claw,” stuttered Molly, now livid. “Billingsgate language shews yer true colours. My lady will hear of yer disrespect to her and meself.”
“Disrespect?” Cauley’s eyes narrowed. “Ye devil’s daughter. Ye’ll keep that tongue behind yer teeth or I’ll—”
Molly shoved ineffectually against his chest. “Beat me like the brute ye are?” she stormed.
Pulling her closer, the batman glared. “Our differences lay ‘twixt us. Ye’ll not upset Lady Edgerton.”
“Ye bearish oaf.” Molly kicked at his shins and winced when soft slipper met stout boot. “I know ye are gillin’ my lady’s ears with sugar sops and speakin’ agin me.”
Her tear-filled eyes took the edge off Cauley’s anger. “Ye silly wench, why would I speak agin ye?”
“Then why,” Molly looked away from him, “did my lady forbid me to help with the tendin’ of the gentlem’n these last days?”
A glimmer of understanding shot through the batman.
“Putting on airs like ye are better’n the rest o’ us. Just cause ye’ve seen a bit o’ the world’n all.”
“Yer an addlepated gilflurt.” Cauley released her and brushed a hand through his hair, his eyes blazed. “Better’n the rest? Oh, aye.” He stepped away and then rounded back.
“Crammed below deck over rough seas in a stinking hold tighter’n bobbins in a case. Marchin’ over nigh impassable mountains w’little or no food and our shoes fall’n from our feet ‘cause of a cribbin’ merchant. An’ if we didn’t freeze or starve, the Frenchies slashed us to pieces. Aye, better’n ye—safe in this house.” Cauley strode away, rankled that her words, her poor opinion cut so close to the quick.
* * *
May 1st Monday
Gazing at her abigail’s reflection in the dressing table mirror, Sarah eyed the lace-edged cap atop Molly’s black curls. “I shall wear a lace cap today.” She smiled at the woman’s surprise. “Yes, I shall.”
Sarah raised a hand to her hair and was pleased that her latest shampoo had resulted in a luxurious sheen. She glanced at the dull brown dress on her bed. “Get out the green muslin, please.”
“Yes, my lady,” Molly said, happy to return the unflattering gown to the wardrobe.
Sarah turned back to her mirror. Hadleigh will be better cheered by the green muslin than the brown, she temporized.
Molly cleared her throat to get her attention. “‘Tis good to see you in colours, my lady,” she said, setting the cap atop her mistress’s curls. “I could sew a green ribbon on this cap—”
Sarah rose and unfastened the ties of her dressing gown. “Of course not, Molly. Why on earth would you think I would start to wear ribbons at my age?”
* * *
Hadleigh eyed the glass Cauley offered after a coughing fit with distaste but accepted it. He swallowed the concoction in one gulp. If only I could as easily be rid of my anger and frustration. Will I never be well? Will I always be helpless?
Taking back the glass, Cauley asked, “Do ya want ta laudanum now, Mr. Tarr?”
Detesting his need for the painkiller Hadleigh snapped, “No.” He would prove that he could do without it longer each day. “Bring it a half hour before the dammed dressings are changed.”
Cauley disliked the answer but understood. It’d been obvious since he first regained consciousness that Tarr had never been incapacitated before and detested the restrictions his condition imposed. “I’ll fetch yer breakfast.”
“I do not want any,” Tarrant groused. The realization that he should apologize did not improve his temper.
Aware of this, Cauley played his best card. “Lady Edgerton checks with Cook to see if’n you’ve eaten.” He watched the dark head turn in his direction.
Cauley’s steel eyes accused Hadleigh but guilt won. “Dammed tasteless gruel. A small bowl,” he growled. “See that you add some honey to it this time.”
“Aye, sir,” Cauley said and left the room whistling.
Hadleigh rubbed a hand up and down his chest, thankful the weight that pressed on it now felt like two horses, not four. And, though he coughed more, he knew he was better.
The date he learned that morning revealed how much time had slipped away under the regular doses of laudanum. I have to do without it, he thought. Do without it so I can think.
Did I write André? Did Sarah write him for me?
Sarah. She calls me Hadleigh at times but why do they call me Tarr? Beelzebub’s head, I am so dammed pulled I cannot think. Today I will contrive to write André. A wry smile curved his lips. Or find out if Sarah has written him for me.
I should have contacted London long ago. A rush of guilt intertwined with resentment that no one had come to find him.
* * *
A soft knock turned Hadleigh’s gaze to the open door. He smiled at Sarah. She walked in as if shy. Her unusual reserve made him frown.
Sarah’s tentativeness evaporated into concern. “Did you not sleep well, Mr. Tarr?”
“When have I?” Hadleigh snapped. Instant regret made him reach for Sarah’s hand when she halted beside the bed. When she did not accept it he damned himself a fool and dropped his.
His anger faded when he noticed her stylish dress. “Your gown is most attractive.” Hadleig
h’s eyes lit on the cap atop her rich autumn brown hair. He itched to finger one of her tresses. “A fetching cap.”
Sarah could not hide her pleasure. She sternly reminded herself of the image in her mirror. “I know you improve, sir, when you gammon me in such a fashion.”
Raising a brow, Hadleigh reached out. When she placed her hand in his he pressed a kiss on it.
Sarah tried to ignore the heat his touch sent pulsing through her. She did not resist when Hadleigh kept a hold of her hand.
“I have not thanked you for saving my life.” He cocked his head, gave a wry smile. “At least I do not recall doing so.”
His gratitude was not what Sarah wanted. “There is no—”
“Cauley says it is necessary.” He recalled how well she and the batman worked together. A twinge of unrecognized envy tightened his hold.
Tugging free Sarah sat. “Has Mr. Cauley told you he was a sergeant with Moore at Corunna?”
“No,” Hadleigh snapped. How little I know of the man. How little I know of Sarah.
She studied her hands. “Mr. Cauley’s service ended when he escorted the body of his officer, Major Dunbaden, home.”
Hadleigh looked away, his features grim.
Looking around, Sarah asked, “Where is Cauley?”
“I sent him to enjoy the sunshine.” Her approving smile warmed Hadleigh. He swallowed hard. This will not do. “Your husband must find it difficult to do without him.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Cauley was never my Edgerton’s valet,” she answered. “My husband died four years past.”
“I am sorry.” Hadleigh dropped his gaze. A widow. Four years a widow. Unbidden came thought of pleasures widows could provide.
The sudden flicker of passion in his eyes sparked something deep in Sarah. She rushed her words. “I hired Mr. Cauley after you came. You were seriously ill.”
“You hired?” Hadleigh interrupted. His laughter gave way to coughing. After he regained his breath, he eyed her with resentment. “I should pay his wages but I would be hard pressed to pay for anything at the moment, would I not?”
She nodded, uncertain of his chameleon mood.
“Did you—have you written any letters for me?”
Sarah shook her head. “You did ask but you were so weak—”
“Do you have a portable writing desk I might use?”
“I doubt you have the strength. I would be happy to put down whatever you wish, Mr. Tarr.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because it is your name.”
“How do you know that?”
“You were very tarred with mud when we found you?”
The unexpected humour pricked Hadleigh’s curiosity.
“Brady and Cob thought you looked like the greased pig at the Fair after it had been chased by every child in the district,” she continued with an innocent smile.
“Greased pig?” Hadleigh chuckled. He stopped abruptly, surprised he could still laugh.
Sarah beamed, refused to regret it when he coughed.
When he got his breath, he asked, “Why?”
“You told us it was your name.”
His amusement died. “What else did I say?”
Leaning forward, Sarah put her hand on his. “Only Cauley and I heard you, Hadleigh. We made certain of that when we realized—” She faltered beneath his piercing gaze.
Too aware that he stroked her thumb with his, he prompted, “When you realized what?”
Sarah stared at their hands, then drew hers away from his too pleasurable touch. She longed to caress his face but clasped her hands. “That you worked for the government.”
“What were my exact words?”
“You said you must let André know about George and Letu.” She watched him grow rigid. “You can trust Cauley and me. We have not told anyone.”
“The doctor?”
“No. And I am certain you revealed nothing to George. You spoke here because of the fever.” She smiled at his inquiring look.
“Brady is my coachman. He and Cob helped with your care before Cauley came.”
Suspicion reared its head. “Who else has seen me?”
“The magistrate of course, and my sister-in-law, Miss Elminda Edgerton.” A slight frown clouded her expression.
He sensed her annoyance. “Yes?”
“Elminda called one evening with her two dogs. Magnus, a large dog and Minx, a Skye terrier. You do not remember?”
Depression descended when he could not. “Should I?”
An impish grin lit Sarah’s features.
At that the shadow lifted. “What?” When Sarah bit her lower lip, Hadleigh recalled her hands on his arms, his chest, his legs. He lurched away from a surge of desire to have them on him now and repeated his question.
Sarah still hesitated, then saw his pique. “As you know Cauley is rather a large man. I will certainly remember Elminda’s face when he picked her up and put her aside. She is quite a tall woman and rather—” Sarah shook her head, refused to end the sentence.
“Not having met Elminda, you cannot appreciate the sight.” She chuckled but grew serious when his look darkened.
“It was the first time you regained consciousness. Do not worry, you shall recall everything when you are better.”
I remember that God forsaken nightmare with Letu. Too much rather than too little. His face lit with inspiration. “You must tell any who ask that I cannot recall anything.”
Seeing the stubborn glint in his eye, she said, “Of course.”
Hadleigh flexed his feet and grimaced in pain.
Sarah frowned. “You have not taken the laudanum. Didn’t you realize we will soon change your bandages?”
“I wanted a clear head,” Hadleigh retorted. Ill temper at his need for the opium tincture and his need for her to care for him, weighed heavily on his spirit.
“You need only take it before we change the bandages. I will lessen the dose if you wish.”
“Do that,” Tarrant snapped. He glared a mulish challenge. “But I will not take it until you write a letter for me.”
Heavy steps announced Darton. “Pardon, my lady. Mr. Cauley asked that I check if Mr. Tarr needed anything.”
“He is fine, Darton, thank you. Please have my portable writing case brought from my room.”
“At once, my lady.” With a bow the butler withdrew.
Swivelling back to Hadleigh, Sarah smiled. “That was Darton. He served my husband many years before our marriage and was quite put out when I joined the house.”
But the man is old, Hadleigh thought. He tried to calculate Sarah’s age but was distracted by errant desire when she ran her tongue across her lower lip.
“You see, I was not only a second wife but a country physician’s daughter. I was quite below Sir Rufus’ touch but Darton has always been kind to me.” Sarah leaned forward as if to conspire. “I won him over by preparing oil with an infusion of St. John’s Wort.” She paused, recalled the Latin name for the herb, Hypericum perforatum, then continued, “in lavender oil with a touch of rosemary and pepper oils and a pinch of crampbark, Virburnum opolus, tincture. When a heated towel is placed around joints massaged with this oil, it relieves rheumatism.”
Surprise that anyone could resent Sarah was overridden by his interest in how she periodically wrinkled her brow. “What do you think about when you pause?”
Embarrassment warmed Sarah’s cheeks. She lowered her eyes.
Hadleigh’s curiosity grew. “Surely you thought of something that would give him a rash?” he teased.
Her eyes flew up to his. “Of course not.”
“Then what was it, Sarah?” Her nervousness or fear distressed him. He watched as she assumed a calmness he knew with a sudden insight was a mask.
“I have studied the Latin names for the herbs I use. My father had a partial copy of Culpepper’s The English Physician. I mean to master everything in it.”
The determination in her voice made him wond
er who had told her it was foolish. Crandall? What is their relationship?
When he didn’t censure her Sarah added, “Someday I will acquire a copy of Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica.”
Hadleigh wondered what Sarah would think of his hobby. “I also have an enthusiasm,” he dared.
Eager to know more, Sarah asked, “What is it?”
“Some think it rather foolish,” he defended. “André only tolerates it. I understand the difficulty with Latin names.”
“What?” she demanded.
“I collect beetles and hope to write a paper on them.” Hadleigh watched her closely for the expected disdain.
“That must be fascinating.”
“Your writing case, my lady,” Darton intoned from the door.
Sarah motioned him forward. “You shall have to tell me more,” she told Hadleigh as she took it.
“Do close the door, Darton,” she instructed and almost smiled when his expression had a hint of surprise. Sarah opened the desk and saw Hale’s missives. The physician who wished to be more than a friend had written many letters during his latest sojourn in foreign lands. She began to gather them up.
Hadleigh looked from the closed door to Sarah aware for the first time of the need for propriety. “I would not wish you to risk your reputation. Does your sister-in-law live with you?”
Sarah looked up, fumbled the letters, and dropped one on the bed. When he picked it up she held out her hand for it.
Hadleigh gazed at the masculine penmanship and then at Sarah. Surprised and a little unsettled at her dismay, he handed it over at once.
After she jammed it beneath clean sheets of paper, Sarah readied her writing materials. “Elminda need not live with me. I have never had anyone question my reputation because I care for the sick,” Sarah lied.
I am one of her charity cases. Hadleigh recalled that she must have helped clean the mud from his body. Sarah had seen him in a worse than deplorable state. It stung his ego sharply.
“To whom should I address this?”
Hadleigh dragged his mind away from embarrassment. He eyed her hand poised above the paper and wondered about the missive she had dropped and her reaction.
