A Matter of Grave Concern (11 page)

They traveled the remaining blocks in silence. But once they could see St. Mary’s, Emmett pulled Max to a stop. “So . . . what is it you wanted that whore to do?”

Max hid a smile. He had the boy’s imagination going. “I guess you should have followed me inside.”

He offered Max a sheepish look and wiped the rain out of his face. “I was afraid you might break my jaw if I did.”

“You’re smart to trust your instincts there,” he said and clapped him on the back. “Because if I ever find you following me again, I
will
break your jaw.”

Emmett’s eyes widened when he realized that Max was serious. “I was just doing what I was told.”

“Then you might want to apprise Jack of the danger.”

“That means tell him, right?”

Max dipped his head to confirm it. “That’s exactly what it means.”

The house had been silent for some time, making Abby believe Jack had left. She didn’t hear from him or Tom, but as the hours inched along on leaden feet, she grew more and more worried about Max. Darkness fell and he didn’t return. He had left her a platter of bread and cheese and a pot of tea, but the food was gone. Surely, he would remember that she needed more to eat and would arrive soon to tend to her needs, since she had no way of tending to herself . . .

Where are you? Why aren’t you back?

While she’d spent her day worrying about how Max might react to the dress she had made at his expense, or remembering how warm and oddly content she had been at various moments when she was pressed up against him the night before, she’d spent the evening consumed with imagining Jack, or someone Jack had put to the task, trying to prevent Max from returning to Farmer’s Landing, possibly for good.

Had he been murdered like that woman downstairs probably was? Were Jack and Tom out right now, selling
Max’s
corpse to one of the colleges for ten guineas?

If so, he would soon be dissected and, more likely than not, no one would ever be the wiser . . .

Pivoting at the window, she recalled Max checking behind them repeatedly when they were walking to St. Catherine’s that morning.

She could only hope he was still watching his back as carefully—because if he didn’t return, she may never see her father again.

Chapter 12

Abigail must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, it was pitch-black, with just a thin sliver of moon grinning through the window and Max was climbing into bed with her. Knowing he was safe doused her worry. Thank God! But where had he been? And why would he leave her for so long?

“What time is it?” she mumbled.

“Late,” he replied. “I’ve brought food. Are you hungry?”

She could smell it, but she was too upset to eat. “I don’t want anything.”

“Are you sure? Do you need to go to the privy?”

“
Now
you ask?” She was secretly so relieved to see him she could cry, but she wasn’t about to throw her arms around him like she wanted to—not after what he had put her through.

He tried to pull her into the cradle of his body, to settle her for sleep as they had slept the night before, but she wouldn’t let him. She had taken off the dress she made—she still didn’t know how he was going to react to
that
—and was in her drawers and shift. She had decided to help him keep the linens clean since he was so meticulous about it, but that didn’t leave her with a lot of modest options. She didn’t want to sleep in her new dress and her gypsy rags were too filthy. She would have washed them but she didn’t want them to be wet when Max returned. Then she wouldn’t be able to wear them, and she wasn’t quite ready to show him that she’d cut up his clothes to make a dress.

“You scared me.” She kept her back, which was turned to him, ramrod straight.

“I know. You must have been terrified when I was gone for so long. I’m sorry. I came as soon as I could.” He caressed her arm, obviously trying to get her to forgive him, but she told herself she shouldn’t do that too easily. He deserved to be rebuffed after leaving her for hours and hours.

“Jack won’t let you get away with humiliating him in front of Tom,” she voiced, now that she had the chance, what had been going through her mind all evening. “He . . . he wants to best you in some way. Show you that you can’t outdo him. Maybe he even wants to . . . to seriously harm you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Abby,” he assured her. “Or you.”

She turned to look at him but could make out only the gleam of his eyes and a few of the planes and angles of his face. “How can you be so certain?”

“I will see to it.”

He had promised her safety, but he couldn’t control
everything
. With the animosity she sensed coming from Jack, it was difficult to believe Max would be able to keep
himself
safe, let alone her. “You don’t have eyes in the back of your head. Anything could happen.”

“Shh . . .” He stroked her hair, smoothing it away from her face. “If I don’t check in regularly with that man you saw me meet today, he will go straight to the police
and
your father. I have instructed him to do so.”

“
Instructed
him? Why would he listen to you?” Her voice cracked, offering proof that she was suddenly and inexplicably battling tears.

He must have noticed because he pulled her closer in spite of her resistance. “He has good reason. Don’t cry. That makes me feel even worse.”

“My father didn’t come today,” she blurted. “Do you think he doesn’t care that I’m gone?” It was Thursday. Maybe he had been too busy to notice. He and Mr. Holthouse had their general and morbid anatomy lecture at half past two, but surely Mr. Holthouse could have covered the class. They didn’t even have a cadaver for their lectures this year, which was why she had been trying so hard to procure one. They had been limping along using various well-preserved samples her father had collected through the years, as well as some exhibits loaned to him by Sir Astley Cooper.

Max leaned up on one elbow. “I’m sure nothing could be further from the truth.”

“It could be that he’s glad to no longer be saddled with the burden of a daughter who should be married but isn’t.”

“He’s pushing you to marry?”

“Of course. What else is there for a woman?”

“That’s true. Perhaps you will be more amenable to it after this little adventure,” he said as he lay back down.

“Are you suggesting that being abducted should endear me to men?”

“I haven’t abducted you! You came to me.”

“You are holding me against my will. And I don’t even know why.”

“I am keeping you here for your own safety—and to guard against a surge of conscience. The more variables I control, the better off I will be.”

“And me? Will I be better off, too?”

“You won’t be here for very long.”

“I could be, if my father doesn’t care enough to even look for me.”

“Your father is probably searching right this very minute. No doubt he will be here by morning.”

She swallowed against the lump that clogged her throat. “If I were a son, I would be a surgeon already.” She wasn’t sure why she volunteered that—except she feared her father lamented her gender as much as she did.

“You are every bit as good as a son,” Max said. “And I bet your father would be the first to admit it.”

How could she be as good as a son? Her father couldn’t share his love of medicine with her as he would have with a male child. How many times had he admitted that he didn’t know what to do with her—or for her? She had done her best to meld into his world, but even there—
especially
there—her femininity stood between her and true integration.

But she had revealed more of the insecurity that plagued her than she had ever revealed before and didn’t want to say more. It was this situation, her vulnerability, that caused her to be so fearful and doubting. Otherwise, she would never question her own father’s love.

She changed the subject so she could salvage
some
of her pride. “Did you get that . . . that corpse off the sofa downstairs?”

“We did. It’s gone; you can forget about it.”

Forgetting would be impossible. Abby had seen a number of dead people over the years, but never had she been forced to contemplate the possibility of someone being murdered for the sake of anatomy—at least not so close to home. Burke and Hare had operated in Edinburgh, which was half a country away. It turned her stomach to think her willingness to pay for a corpse from this very gang might have caused such a heinous crime. “You didn’t take her to Aldersgate.”

“Of course not. Sir William Blizzard has a surgery coming up, on a gentleman of consequence, and wanted a cadaver to practice on.”

“He settled for a woman?”

Max hesitated but eventually responded. “He didn’t pay us as much, but . . . yes.”

“So you’re pleased with your night.”

“I’m tired, if you want the truth. And relieved to be back and find you safe.”

He sounded sincere, but how much could he really care? He was the one who had kidnapped her! Her own father hadn’t even bothered to track her down. If her father was concerned at all, surely he would have arrived at Farmer’s Landing by now.

“I have to go to the necessary-house,” she announced, rustling the bedding to cover a sniff.

“Come on. I’ll take you.” He got up and waited while she pulled on her gypsy rags. Then he lit a lamp and draped his coat around her shoulders. Why he hadn’t hung it on the hall-tree downstairs, as usual, she didn’t know. It made her wonder if he had been telling the truth when he said he had been worried about her. Maybe he had gotten home and immediately hurried up to see her . . .

That was probably nonsense, she told herself, something she made up to feel important to
somebody
.

“You should let me go,” she said as they stepped outside, but she didn’t sound all that convincing, even to herself. She was beginning to wonder if she didn’t belong at Aldersgate, either. After all these years of giving the college such dedicated service, hadn’t anyone missed her?

Maybe her father didn’t even realize she was gone.

Or had she been kidding herself all along, trying to fit in where she would never be accepted?

It was chilly and starting to rain when they trudged to the privy. Borax was taking cover under the eaves. He snarled to let her know he noticed that she had finally abandoned the safety of her room, but after a quick rebuke from Max, he whined and curled up to sleep. Even a dog could sense Max’s authority.

The weather and Borax’s reaction seemed fitting, given Abigail’s mood. Never had she thought she would be at such loose ends—grateful that her kidnapper had returned to curl up beside her (wasn’t a kidnapper someone she should hate?), disappointed that no one had come to find her (how could her father and her other associates at the college not have noticed she was gone?), afraid to remain where she was but too sad to fight for her freedom (where else would she go if those at the college didn’t want her?).

“Are you coming out anytime soon?” Max asked.

Once she had gone inside and taken care of her business, she had remained there despite the stench. It made her feel slightly better to make Wilder wait in the rain after what he had done to her. “Coming.”

Dashing a hand over her cheeks, she took a few more minutes to compose herself. Then she straightened her clothing and emerged.

“I’m soaked,” Max grumbled.

“If you want to have something to complain about, try being locked in a room all day without sufficient food,” she responded tartly.

“Was that eternity in the privy your attempt to punish me?”

“It was subtle, but I’m hoping it was effective.”

He chuckled as they approached the house. “I have a feeling I am going to miss you when you’re gone.”

“Are you trying to get my hopes up that I will be leaving soon?”

“Merely encouraging you. Your father will be here tomorrow, Abby. I can’t let you go with him, but at least you will be reassured that he is looking.”

When she said nothing, he sighed. “Wait here. I’ll get your mirror and brush set. Maybe that will cheer you up.”

When he crawled under the house to retrieve it, she didn’t even try to run. Borax would have sprung into action and taken a chunk out of her leg if she had. But that wasn’t the only thing holding her. Trying to escape suddenly seemed like it would require too much effort.

“Here,” he said when he returned with her package. “It made you happy this morning.”

“Because no one had ever given me anything like it,” she grumbled. “But now maybe I understand why.”

He took hold of her shoulders. “You are jumping to conclusions—the
wrong
conclusions,” he said with an emphatic shake.

He had a point. She needed to quit thinking and doubting and sleep, so she could gain some control over her emotions. Maybe her father had tried to find her but Bransby, thinking she wouldn’t want him to, hadn’t come forward to help.

Although such a scenario was almost inconceivable, she supposed that
could
be the case. Regardless, no amount of self-pity would change the situation.

Her prospects would look better in the morning, she told herself. She felt somewhat better after she had eaten. But once Max changed into some dry trousers—apparently he didn’t have a nightshirt—and she removed her outer garments and climbed into bed, it wasn’t long before she noticed something hard pressing against her backside. And the more she shifted around, the bigger it grew.

“Lie still,” he finally snapped.

But with her blood suddenly rushing through her veins and roaring in her ears, it felt as if she had slept long enough.

From the moment he had fallen into bed with Abby, Max had been fighting the desire to run his hands up under her shift, to seek out the soft mounds of flesh that strained against the thin fabric. The fact that her behind kept brushing his lap made the impulse that much stronger.

“Are you not tired?” She shifted again.

“I said I was, didn’t I?” He didn’t mean to be terse, but it was difficult to be polite when he was waging such a battle against his body.

“I guess you did.”

She sounded chastened, as if he had struck her, so he softened his voice. “I thought you were tired, too. You were asleep when I arrived.”

“That was before we went out in the dark and cold.”

“Might I remind you that you are the reason we were out for so long?” In spite of that small rebellion, he would have hugged her tighter. He felt terrible that he had to keep her from her home and wanted to offer as much reassurance as possible until he could return her to safety. But if she wasn’t aware of his arousal, he preferred she not encounter evidence of it.

“Do you really think my father might come tomorrow?” she asked.

Did they have to talk about this again? Max wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the surgeon when he arrived, but he knew it would involve a great deal of lying, and he wasn’t looking forward to the encounter. “It’s a possibility.”

“So tonight could be our last night together.”

“I doubt it, but no one can predict what might happen.” As depressed as she had been a few moments ago, he didn’t want to extinguish
all
hope.

“Then maybe—”

“Abby!” He spoke her name through gritted teeth when she brushed against him yet again.