The Lass Wore Black Page 14

  “He’s new?”

  “Aye,” she said. “New and unskilled. I’ve yet to see him do anything around the house. All he does is talk to Mrs. MacTavish, spend time with her in her room, and he set Isobel’s arm. He doesn’t even sleep where the rest of us do. Instead, he has a room over the carriage house.”

  He turned to face Artis. The woman’s face was twisted in an expression that mirrored her disgust with the world. Did she ever smile? He doubted it, and he didn’t care.

  “She goes to his room?”

  She nodded.

  “Saw her come out of it myself the other night. Sneaking around like the rest of us wouldn’t know.”

  He tried for a smile and failed.

  “They all watch me now after the accident.” Her chin firmed and her eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t my fault the stupid girl fell. I don’t know how much longer I can stay there.”

  Returning to his bedroom, he opened the strongbox and retrieved some coins. Once back in the kitchen, he didn’t drop the money into her extended hand until she was looking at him.

  “I’d like you to stay for a few more weeks,” he said. “As always, in a confidential capacity.”

  Her glance faltered at his look, but she nodded.

  “A few weeks,” she said.

  Now his smile was genuine.

  Chapter 16

  Jean Cameron MacCraig arranged the throw around her lower body, hoping that she looked presentable enough to see Dr. Thorburn. As a physician, surely he was familiar with the sight of a female in the family way, even one as far along as she.

  She’d read somewhere that an elephant carries her baby two years before it gives birth. Right now she felt an affinity for a female elephant. She lumbered when she walked, and when she sat in certain chairs, she required the services of two people to help her rise. She’d lost the ability to see her feet, but her ankles felt swollen. Each morning, Morgan helped her on with her slippers, and each morning, he teased her before bending to kiss her protruding belly.

  The room in which she sat was called, prosaically, the Garden Parlor. She had nicknamed it the Yellow Room, for the abundance of yellow in every fabric, from the silk draperies on the tall windows to the flowered upholstery fabric. The yellow theme was even replicated in the large round carpet, with blowsy yellow flowers blooming along the edge.

  All in all, it was a cheery room, and a warm one even in the depths of winter. Morgan had been profligate in insisting that a fire blaze in every room she occupied. For the sake of their finances, she remained in the Yellow Room, the library, or in the Countess’s Suite.

  Morgan had been foolish there, too, insisting they move out of the Laird’s Tower and back into the main part of the castle, since he was concerned about drafts. She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings by telling him that all of Ballindair was drafty to some degree. As long as he was with her, she agreed to reside in the Countess’s Suite until their child was born.

  After that, however, they were going to occupy the Laird’s Tower again. To offset Morgan’s complaints, she’d ordered new, heavier curtains and directed the carpenter to install shutters on all the windows of the tower.

  Contrary to custom, she was going to raise their child herself, not turn him over to a nurse. She’d converted a corner of their bedchamber into a small nursery.

  When she’d said as much, Morgan only kissed her and held her, making her once again think that the world was a great and wondrous place, as long as he was in it.

  She wished he were there right now, but he was supervising the snow removal from the outer buildings. Otherwise, a few of the roofs might collapse.

  Wiggling into a better position was difficult, but she managed it. For some reason, she couldn’t remain in the same place for more than five minutes.

  She couldn’t pray that the time passed quickly, because such an entreaty might harm their child. She simply had to be patient. For that reason, when she learned that Dr. Thorburn had arrived last night, she’d been delighted.

  Any diversion was welcome, even if it came from Edinburgh.

  No, especially if it came from Edinburgh.

  Dr. Thorburn had been given the famous Ballindair hospitality, installed in one of the guest suites, and warmed and fed. The same had been done for his driver, and the horses that bravely carried them through the snow.

  This morning she’d sent word that she would like to speak to him, and Aunt Mary had arrived a moment ago, saying that he would attend them both soon.

  “He gave me this,” Mary said, handing her a letter from Dina MacTavish introducing the doctor.

  Dr. Thorburn has been caring for Catriona, but has questions I cannot answer. I trust you will welcome him as he proceeds with his inquiries.

  What questions did he have? What did he want to know?

  Her letters from Catriona, although always eagerly welcomed, didn’t tell her much. What Catriona decided to divulge to her was one thing; the truth was another.

  When the knock came, she wiggled into another position, then nodded to her aunt, who went to the door and opened it, standing aside and ushering Dr. Thorburn into the sitting room.

  “Dr. Thorburn,” she said, holding out her hand. He took in her appearance in one glance and smiled as he approached her.

  She had always thought Morgan was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But this man was nearly so. She was to be excused if her heart beat faster. Even in her condition, she was female, and no female could ignore Dr. Thorburn’s masculinity.

  “This is my aunt, Mrs. MacDonald,” she said. “Mrs. MacTavish says you have questions for us.”

  He nodded, smiling. “If you have the time.”

  “Of course. But first tell us about Catriona,” she said. “Is she well?”

  He waited until her aunt was seated, then took a chair opposite her.

  “How is she?” Aunt Mary asked.

  Dr. Thorburn looked as if he were struggling for words. They both waited. Was her aunt feeling as impatient? She wanted answers, and it was all too obvious the physician was attempting to be tactful rather than prompt in his response.

  “I have seen improvement in her,” he said.

  “Is she eating?” Jean asked. “The letters from my husband’s aunt were troubling. They made it sound as if Catriona had not only lost her appetite, but her spirit.”

  “She is eating,” he said. “As well as regaining some of her spirit,” he added with a smile. “Although I’ve never seen the lack of it.”

  “That is indeed good news,” Aunt Mary said. She looked down at her hands, then back at the doctor. “But if she is improving, may I ask why you’ve come all this way?”

  “I’ve discovered that sometimes the best way to learn about a patient is from his friends or family.”

  “I’m not sure Catriona has many friends,” Jean said. “Other than me.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  “Perhaps I misspoke,” she said. “Catriona had a great many acquaintances. People wanted to be around her. She’s personable when she wishes to be.”

  He didn’t say anything, merely concentrated on his hands, draped in front of him.

  “I take it Catriona has not shown her personable side to you, Dr. Thorburn?”

  He smiled, the expression making her heart beat faster.

  “Your sister and I have had a great many disagreements about a great many things,” he said. “She hasn’t had an opportunity to be charming.”

  That was surprising. Normally, Catriona charmed everyone, especially a handsome man.

  “She’s been a different person since London,” she said. “It must be difficult for her. She has always been the most beautiful creature.”

  “Have you seen her since the accident?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I traveled to London to be with her.”

  “Is there much scarring?”

  Surprised, she asked, “Have you not examined her yourself?”

  He smiled again. “That
is only one of the points on which your sister and I disagree.”

  “To answer your question, I was so shocked when I first saw her that I was afraid of crying out. She saw my reaction anyway. I told her, then, and again in Edinburgh, that she was fortunate to be alive. I doubt she feels the same.”

  He looked away, toward the long line of windows framed by the bright yellow curtains. The yellow of the curtains against the gray day made Jean think about her own determined optimism against the despair that Catriona must be feeling.

  “She is a spoiled and selfish creature,” Aunt Mary said in the silence. “But she is a darling girl, for all of that. Catriona is a contradiction, and she always has been. She’s lazy when it suits her and industrious when it pleases her. She can be charming or she can be cutting. She blows hot and cold, Dr. Thorburn, but rarely does she blow warm.”

  The sound of his laughter surprised Jean, but she couldn’t help but smile in response to it.

  “I have found her to be exactly that, Mrs. MacDonald. She is passionate about what she likes and what she dislikes, and I suspect she would fight to the death for either.”

  “If only she felt the same way about her own survival, Dr. Thorburn,” Jean said. “If she did, I would be more positive about her future.”

  “What future do you want for her?” he asked.

  She moved to get comfortable, giving his question some thought.

  “To know that people love her. That we love her no matter what. Yes, she sometimes behaves abominably when she feels cornered, but she’s still my sister. I love her. Nothing she does will ever change that.”

  “What makes her feel cornered?” he asked.

  “Ridicule,” she said, startled that the answer came so quickly. “She doesn’t like to be called names.”

  He nodded, and she had the oddest feeling that he was mentally noting all her comments. Would he put them to paper later?

  “Do you think Catriona was affected by your parents’ death?”

  He did ask the most amazing questions.

  A moment passed before Jean asked, “You know the story, then?”

  He nodded but didn’t comment further.

  “At the time, we were both so desperate to survive that I didn’t notice,” she said. “It was only later that I realized something had broken inside Catriona. Perhaps it was hope, or the belief that things would always turn out right. Whatever it was, yes, I think our parents’ death affected her greatly.”

  When he didn’t speak, she continued. “We were labeled ‘the Murderer’s Girls,’ and singled out on the street. Someone had made up a song about what our father had done, and children lost no opportunity to repeat it.” In the silence, she repeated the words, never having been able to forget them.

  “Old Doc Cameron went upstairs

  When everyone was unawares

  He gave poison to his wife

  And killed the love of his life.

  He was hanged for his crime

  Calling her name the whole time.

  Yet now they’re parted, I’ve heard tell

  She’s in Heaven and he’s in Hell.”

  Aunt Mary leaned over and patted her clasped hands in a wordless gesture of compassion.

  Her tears were for her parents and perhaps her younger self and Catriona. “I’m sorry, Countess.”

  She nodded.

  “So am I,” Morgan said, striding into the room. “This meeting is done, I’m afraid, Doctor. My wife is tired.”

  Morgan wanted her to rest all the time, but at this moment she welcomed him with gratitude and a profound sense of relief.

  As Mary MacDonald stood, Mark did as well. He understood, immediately, that the earl was protective of his wife. The man stood in front of Jean, a hand outstretched toward her. Jean clutched a throw that poorly concealed her condition, a look of embarrassment on her face.

  “You and I will speak in my library,” the earl said. Not a request as much as a command, and one he was tempted to refuse. However, he was the man’s guest and had come to Ballindair for the express purpose of learning more about Catriona.

  Or perhaps he was here to expunge his guilt.

  As Mark followed the earl down the corridor, it occurred to him that Catriona’s rooms in Edinburgh were smaller than the suite he’d been given at Ballindair, yet he’d never felt that sense of confinement there. Was it because he was so fixated on her, rather than the size of the room? That was something he would need to explore later.

  The earl entered a large, two-story library, marched to a massive carved desk, and turned to face him.

  Morgan MacCraig was every inch a peer at the moment, as stuffy, Mark thought, as his father, and as arrogant. But Morgan didn’t know that he wasn’t intimidated by rank. When he faced death each day, what was a title?

  “Why are you here, Dr. Thorburn? My wife is foolishly protective of Catriona. What has her sister done now?”

  The Countess of Denbleigh wasn’t the only one protective of Catriona, if the surge of irritation he felt was to be believed. He pushed past it, wondered if he should tell the earl the truth, and settled for half measures.

  “It’s not what she’s done,” he said, “but what I’ve done.” He told the earl of his pretense, carefully omitting the night he and Catriona had spent together. “I didn’t know what else to do, since your aunt was adamant something was wrong with her.”

  Morgan went and sat behind his desk, motioning for him to take an adjoining chair. “What did you find?”

  “A woman desperately in need of purpose,” he said. “Someone who’d decided to die, possibly. Or was simply wasting away.”

  To his credit, the earl looked disturbed. “After the accident, I never saw her,” he said. “Catriona wouldn’t allow it. My wife was shattered at her appearance and wouldn’t stop crying for days.” The earl glanced at him. “I won’t have her upset.”

  “She’s near her time.”

  “That’s not why. I don’t want her upset under any conditions or circumstances.” Morgan concentrated on the tooled leather blotter before him, touching the small brass nails with a fingertip. “I can’t abide seeing her weep.”

  He nodded, understanding.

  “She was a beautiful girl. Catriona. She was, possibly, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Beauty, however, is not a mark of character, and Catriona’s character was woefully lacking.”

  When Mark didn’t comment, the earl smiled. “You’ve seen a different side of her, perhaps.”

  “I’ve seen a desperately unhappy woman,” he said. “Angry at the world.”

  “She would be, though, wouldn’t she? She was damn lucky to have survived the accident.”

  “How did it happen?”

  The earl shot him a quick look. “I take it Catriona doesn’t speak of it.”

  “I doubt she would, but I haven’t asked.”

  “There’s a mystery there, but I’ve never gotten to the bottom of it. I expect, in your ruse, that you’d be better suited.”

  He frowned, not understanding.

  “The carriage driver in Edinburgh is the same one from London,” the earl said.

  “I didn’t know. I’ll make a point of speaking to him.” He would, as soon as he returned to Edinburgh.

  “I’ve never seen a man so distraught over the death of a horse. Had to put the horse down himself. Evidently, the animal was badly injured when the carriage turned over. A wretched accident, all in all. A girl died. But according to my wife, Catriona doesn’t feel the least grateful for having survived.”

  “People don’t, I’ve noticed,” he said. “Not when they’re in the throes of a crisis. They simply want to survive it. Later, they do, however. They begin to realize they’re alive and look at their lives in a different way. I don’t think your sister-in-law has reached that point.”

  “I wonder if she ever will. Catriona does not see the world like the rest of us. She has a way of getting exactly what she wants with the least amount of effort.�
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  He couldn’t help but think of Catriona paying him, offering the coins with an offhanded manner that had, frankly, shocked him.

  “I wish you success with Catriona as a patient. Now that her beauty is gone, I wonder if there will be anything to her.” He smiled. “My wife is certain of her own plainness,” the earl said. “But I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”

  He stood, but before leaving the room, he turned to his host.

  “You have a midwife for your wife’s lying-in?”

  The earl shook his head. “A physician from Inverness. I have faith in the man.”

  “I wasn’t applying for the position,” he said with a smile. “I have enough patients of my own. But I would recommend one thing. Have him use chloroform for the worst of it. It will spare your wife the greatest pain. I’ve used it with my patients, and women seem to endure childbirth easier.”

  The earl appeared to sag. He didn’t say anything for a moment, being fixated on the surface of his desk. His fingers danced a pattern from one curlicue on the blotter to the next.

  He looked up, the expression in his eyes one of misery. “Thank you, I will. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her,” he said.

  “Everything should go well. She’s healthy, and that’s what matters. I don’t doubt you’ve been attentive.”

  The earl nodded. “Take care of Catriona, though, will you? I don’t want Jean worried about her sister.”

  “I’ll do the best I can,” he said, feeling like a hypocrite as he said those words.

  Chapter 17

  “You give him a great deal of latitude, Aunt,” Catriona said.

  Mark had been gone four days. Four days in which she’d wondered about his errand. Granted, she’d not been bedeviled once, but she was vastly annoyed, solely on Aunt Dina’s behalf.

  “Any other employer would have fired him for all his absences.”