Pistols at Dawn (11 page)

When the task was done, the doctor scrambled up beside his patient and motioned for the other men to take charge of the reins.

Marcus watched the gig until it disappeared around the bend, then turned to the two sisters. His mouth was compressed in a tight line, lips near white with the force of his shock and outrage.

His gaze locked on Eliza, his amber eyes afire with a molten swirl of emotion. "Well, Miss Kirtland..." In contrast to his look, his voice was very cool and its note of weary bitterness caused a lump of ice to form in the pit of her belly. "Are you now satisfied that justice has been done?"

* * *

"Is there any news?" asked Meredith softly.

Eliza put down her reticule and removed her bonnet before making an answer. "Mr. Giles says Dr. Yount was still at the manor when his boy delivered the requested medicines, but... Mr. Harkness had not regained consciousness." She unpacked the items she had brought back from the village and laid them out with great care upon the kitchen table, hoping to forestall any further questioning. "I trust I have not forgotten any of the things you asked for."

"No, it appears everything is here." Meredith continued a methodical grinding until the piece of willowbark in her pestle had been reduced to a fine powder. She then laid the mortar aside and wiped her fingers on a dish towel. "There is something else, isn't there? Something you wish to keep from me."

There was, but Eliza knew it was pointless to deny it. Her sister would hear of it soon enough. "Apparently Dr. Yount has tried to hire someone skilled in nursing to tend to the young man, but no one in the area will take a position at Killingworth Court, not even Sadie Fathing, who is desperately in need of money."

Ignoring Meredith's gasp of surprise, she added," Indeed, two of the housemaids have already quit, due to the... rumors."

"But—but if Mr. Harkness does not have the proper medical care, he may die!"

Eliza felt her mouth thin to a grim line. "Quite likely. And townsfolk are saying it would be good riddance. They hope such a dire event might also drive the cursed Black Cat away from these parts."

"And you, Eliza? Is that what you say, too?"

Eliza was rendered momentarily speechless by the look in her sister's eyes. It was as if a sudden squall had darkened the normally placid blue into a sea of stormy slate.

"Do all of you really believe you have the right to decide who should live and who should die?" continued Meredith in an agitated voice that was equally at odds with her usual sunny calm. "I cannot imagine, even for an instant, presuming to possess such wisdom."

The words forced Eliza to confront the image of twisted limbs and face beaten to a pulp. All at once she felt the bile rise in her throat, and for a precarious moment she feared she might be physically sick. Her sister's question—as well as the earl's thinly veiled accusation—implied she was playing God. Had she in some way usurped the role of the Almighty in pointing a finger at the one she had decided was guilty?

"Neither can I," she whispered, taking her head between her hands. "Believe me, I know I am all too human to sit in judgment of others. What happened was wrong, no matter what crimes the young man has committed."

Without a word, Meredith untied her apron and went to the still room. When she returned several minutes later, a basket filled with an assortment of jars and crocks was in her arms.

Although Eliza feared she knew the answer, she could not help but ask, "What do you mean to do?"

Glass clinked against glass as another bottle was taken down from a shelf and added to the load.

"Meredith, your intentions are noble, but you cannot go to Killingworth Manor."

"I cannot, in good conscience, stay away when I know I have the skill to help. The earl is in desperate need of someone to move in and tend to Mr. Harkness until he is recovered."

"Move in—are you mad? It can't be done! Not without causing utter ruin to your reputation."

Meredith's chin rose in a defiant tilt. "Is a reputation worth more than a human life?"

"Do you wish to live the rest of your life as a reviled outcast?" countered Eliza.

After a moment of strained silence, Eliza added, "Both questions are much too complex to answer with a simple yes or no." She pushed back a lock of hair from her forehead. "Oh, Meredith, you are guided by lofty principle while I am the practical one, who considers the harsh realities of the world."

"If you were to come with me—"

Eliza shook her head. "I would hardly be considered a proper chaperone, since I am also unmarried and not quite of an age to be thought above temptation. I'm sorry, but as we are not related to the earl, the idea of spending any time under His Lordship's roof is simply out of the question. "

There was a heavy silence, save for the scrape of an earthenware jug against a pine shelf. "But if it were known that I was... engaged to Mr. Harkness, that would quiet any gossip, wouldn't it?" said Meredith slowly, her words quite firm despite the fact that they had been uttered in barely more than a whisper. "Especially if you came along. And... and Mama, too, for naturally she could not be left alone here."

"Good Lord." Eilza drew in a deep breath. "You are serious, aren't you?"

"We could say that we were waiting for Mama to recover her health before making the announcement public, but that given the seriousness of injuries, our family felt beholden to show its support." She added a bundle of dried herbs to all the other things she had assembled. "Even the worst of the tabbies would be hard pressed to find fault with that."

"And when the young man recovers—if he recovers?"

Her sister gave a tiny shrug. "Mr. Harkness would return to London, and after a suitable length of time, I could simply announce that I have decided we would... not suit."

"I suppose it might work," admitted Eliza, noting the look of grim determination etched on her sister's pale features. "But I cannot imagine the earl will like such a mad idea any more than I do."

* * *

"You are proposing
what
?" asked Marcus.

Eliza pulled her shawl a bit tighter around her shoulders. "Come along, Meredith. I told you His Lordship would not agree to any such arrangement."

Her sister, however, refused to be pulled away from the massive oak door quite yet, despite the fact that several oaths had preceded the question. "I realize it is not the most ideal solution, Lord Killingworth, but to be blunt, there are precious few other choices. Dr. Yount did not exaggerate—you will find no one willing to come tend to your nephew. And by the time you can arrange for any help to be sent down from London, it may be too late."

The earl folded his arms across his chest, finding his initial anger turning into a grudging respect as the delicate slip of a girl did not wilt under his sharp scrutiny.

As if sensing a softening of his initial opposition, Meredith pressed on. "Not to speak of the fact that the sort of women sent out as nurses by an employment agency are usually more likely to steal a tipple from your supply of brandy than to offer competent care for your nephew. While I, on the other hand, am accorded to have some skill in the healing arts."

"So I have been told." His lips pursed as he considered the highly unorthodox proposal. "You are willing to do this?"

Meredith nodded.

His eyes swept to Eliza. "And you are prepared to go along with it?"

Her chin rose a fraction. "As my sister said, it is the right thing to do, sir."

He muttered something under his breath, then let out an exasperated sigh. "Then I should be fool—or worse—to decline your offer of aid. Yount has already informed me that he must leave here within the hour, for there are other patients in dire need of his attentions."

"I came prepared to stay, sir," said Meredith quickly. "If you will have someone take me to your nephew's chamber, I will go over with Dr. Yount what he wishes done."

"And I will go on to the village and begin spreading the felicitous news," muttered Eliza, with a good deal less enthusiasm. "Perhaps, if I am lucky, I can keep the flames of wild speculation from burning us all to a crisp."

Stung by the sarcasm in her tone, Marcus found it impossible not to reply with equal sharpness. "You needn't make it so clear that you think you are descending into the bowels of Hell," he growled. "Believe me, I am no more happy than you are about the devilish turn of events, Miss Kirtland. It is, after all, my nephew who lies at death's door, and no matter that the entire shire seems to think he deserves to roast in eternal damnation, none of you had the right to act the avenging angel."

He noted with some measure of satisfaction that his words had brought a tinge of color to her cheeks. "If I were not in agreement with you on that, I would not be here, sir," Eliza replied stiffly. "But you are right—since it seems we are going to forced into close proximity for a while, we should strive to be civil with one another."

Noting the fire that was still smoldering in her eyes, he could well imagine how difficult a task that was going to prove for the young lady. As well as for himself. They seemed to rub together like flint and steel, setting off sparks at the slightest contact.

"If you would be so kind as to send your carriage around in several hours, sir, I will have a trunk packed and my mother ready to be brought here," she added with scathing politeness.

He gave an exaggerated bow.

"I should really make haste to join Dr. Yount," murmured Meredith in gentle reminder as she, too, watched her sister stalk off in a swish of skirts.

"Yes. Of course." Forcing his gaze away from Eliza, the earl stepped aside and gestured for her to enter the Manor. "I will have my housekeeper—assuming I still have one—show you up to the sickroom."

The hawk-faced woman in charge of the staff was none too pleased at having to make preparations for three female houseguests, especially with the shortage of help. By the time Marcus had managed to sooth the ruffled feathers and retreat to the sanctuary of his library, it was he, and not some slatternly nurse, who was ready to steal into the supply of brandy.

But despite the temptation to drown his growing frustration in a bottle of spirits, the earl reminded himself with a baleful grimace that he had better keep a clear head. The Lord only knew what other crisis might arise before the day was over—though how it could get any worse was difficult for him to imagine.

Taking up a poker, he jabbed at the banked fire, fighting back a feeling of raw helplessness. He could strike back against an enemy who had a name and a face, but against a swirl of rumor and innuendo...

A low oath mingled with the crackling coals. It appeared that the Black Cat's legendary luck had finally come to the end of its nine lives. His decision to remove to the quiet of the countryside had only resulted in one disaster after another. Perhaps the locals were right in seeing him as an omen of misfortune, he thought glumly as he ran his hand through his locks. Perhaps he brought nothing but grief to anyone whose path he crossed.

Supper that night did very little to dispel his dark mood. Miss Kirtland's notion of civility seemed to be based on keeping her mouth firmly shut, save for a peckish nibble or two at her food. And as Meredith partook of only the first course before rushing back to the sickroom, the rest of the meal was passed in a gloomy silence, save for the scrape of silver on the heirloom china. He couldn't have been more relieved when the plates were finally taken away by the lone footman and the young lady had excused herself to tend to her ailing mother.

Marcus sought refuge in his study, but after pouring a glass of brandy he suddenly felt the need to escape from the house and drink in a breath of fresh air. The night was damp with the lingering chill of passing shower, yet it was not nearly as oppressive as his own clouded thoughts.

Bloody hell
—what a muddle.

Lighting a cheroot, he leaned up against the terrace railing and blew out a ring of smoke. It caught in a puff of wind and drifted out toward the gardens, only to melt into the mist in the blink of an eye.

Life was just as ephemeral, he mused, thinking of Lucien hovering between this world and the next. As were hopes that went with it.

And dreams.

Had he ever had dreams?
His jaw tightened. Or merely whims and desires?

A light mizzle started again, but the earl ignored the moisture beading along the arch of his brows and pooling in the hollows of his cheeks. Would that it would drown out such disquieting questions. Had his own life really been as meaningless as he feared? All things considered, he could not in truth say that anything he had done so far was of any more substance than a fleeting breath of tobacco-warmed air.

With a slight shudder he ground out the sodden stub beneath his boot and went back inside.

* * *

"How is he?" asked Eliza.

"His pulse is still very weak, but as of yet, no fever has set in." Meredith looked up from folding a length of clean linen. In the flickering candlelight, the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes looked much the same as bruises that mottled her patient's face. "I managed to get several swallows of laudanum down his throat, so right now there is little more I can do but wait."