“But it’s over now, isn’t it?” Elsie examined the wound and dried it off. “There, it’s all cleaned up, but you’re going to have a scar when it has healed.”
The unfeeling wretch began to hum under her breath as she completed her ministrations, then drew the edges of the wound together with three strips of plaster and bound them neatly in place.
Kate ran her fingers over the dressing. “How did you learn to do that? What a stupid question! You’ve been reading Mrs. Beeton’s book again.”
Elsie nodded. “There’s not much that lady doesn’t know about doctoring.”
The maid was still humming when she went to the clothes press and shook out a set of clothes for her mistress to wear. “He’s a real gentleman, isn’t he, miss? Lovely manners and a sweet smile.”
Kate was silent. She was watching her maid hold up the traveling ensemble she’d worn for the journey. It was a brown challis with a cinched waist and a jacket to match with a rabbit’s fur collar. It looked better against Elsie than it did on her. Magda always said that brown was not her color.
“What else did Mr. Hepburn say to you?”
Elsie sighed and laid the traveling gown over the back of a chair. “That I was to stay with you until he came to relieve me. Look, I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea and toast to go with it. Drink your tea, then I’ll help you get dressed.”
Kate sipped her tea and nibbled on toast while she watched her maid. Her blood seemed to slow and her heart clenched.
Will Rankin was dead. She refused to believe it until Hepburn himself told her.
She pushed out of the blanket and told Elsie to help her get dressed.
Six
Kate had just finished dressing when there was a knock at her door. When Elsie answered it, Gavin stepped into the room. He crossed to Kate at once and took her hands in his.
Before he could say a word, she shook her head. Her lips formed a denial, but all that came out of her mouth was a hoarse whisper.
Elsie cried out, “Miss, what is it?”
Gavin said at once, “We found Dr. Rankin not far from the hothouse. It looks as though he had been drinking heavily and knocked himself out on a picnic bench. The cold did the rest. I’m sorry, so sorry. I’ve sent for the police, but it may take some time for them to get here.”
Elsie burst into tears, which she scrubbed away with the hem of her frock.
Turning to her, Gavin said, “Your mistress is in shock. Find a footman and have him bring a glass of whiskey here. Oh, and have one yourself. Tell one of the kitchen maids to make a fresh pot of tea for Miss Cameron. Tell them nothing about Dr. Rankin. Do you understand?”
Elsie’s tears dried, and she hastened to do his bidding.
Kate searched Gavin’s face. She could tell by his pallor and the way he clenched his jaw that he was just as shaken as she, if not more so. He and Dr. Rankin had been friends since they were infants. He’d known Mrs. Rankin before her death, though Kate, herself, had never met the lady. His grief far outstripped hers. She felt so inadequate and frightened.
She reached out and pulled him into the chair beside hers. “You look bone-tired,” she said, “and more in need of a restorative than I. You must be hungry. Shall I ask Elsie to bring a tray for you?”
He shook his head. “We don’t have much time, Kate, so listen carefully to what I tell you. I know how the police work. Until they are sure that Will’s death is an accident, they will treat it as”—he hesitated over his words—“as a suspicious death, and they’ll look around for someone to blame.”
“The man who pursued me and tried to kill me—won’t they look for him?”
His answer was immediate. “Can you prove that someone tried to kill you?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head.
He let out a short breath. “Do you have the note, Kate?”
“No. I told you. I must have lost it when I ran.”
He sat forward, arms braced against his knees, and stared at his loosely clasped hands. In a voice that was just above a whisper, he said, “You have to tell me what the note said. Will’s death changes everything. You do see that, don’t you?”
It was the voice of her dreams, the same voice that she’d heard when she was in the cottage, only half aware of where she was and what had happened to her, the velvet voice that soothed all her fears and slipped by all her defenses.
There must be something about this man’s voice that appealed to her if she’d taken it as the model for her long-lost friend.
When he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, she was struck again by the intensity of his stare. There was no sign of the easygoing, charming rogue whom Juliet had warned her against. His gaze, now, was so probing, so intense, that she felt as though he was trying to mesmerize her.
“Kate,” he said, reaching for her.
She jerked back and stared at him warily. “What does it matter what it said? I felt threatened. That’s why I wanted to talk to Dr. Rankin.”
He looked down at his hands again. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t you trust me, Kate?”
“With my life. I think that’s obvious.” And before he could completely demolish her defenses, she said quickly, “What about the cut on my shoulder? Won’t that prove that I’ve been attacked?”
He let out a breath. “They’ll only put it down to a lovers’ quarrel. You and Will . . . well . . . you seemed very close.”
“I had a professional relationship with Dr. Rankin,” she protested.
Once again her unwary gaze was caught in his stare. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t breathe, could only wait for him to release her.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he gave her his crooked grin. “I believe you,” he said, “but it’s the police we have to convince. You spent the night with me. What do you think they will make of that? They’ll think Will was jealous—”
“It was entirely innocent!”
“Was it, Kate? Who undressed you? Who put you to bed? Do you remember? Or were you”—his grin lifted both corners of his mouth—“completely insensate?”
Her jaw dropped. What he hinted at wasn’t impossible. She remembered the velvet voice of her dreams and how she would have done anything to keep that voice with her.
The sound he made was close to a growl. When her eyes flew to his face, she saw that he was scowling.
Through his teeth, he said, “I am not in the habit of seducing innocent young women. You have nothing to fear from me.”
She shot him a nasty look. “I was never afraid of you, Hepburn.” It was the truth. She was more afraid of what he would find out about her.
He smoothed his frown with the tips of his fingers. “We don’t have much time to discuss this,” he said. “The footman will be here in a moment or two. Here’s how I think we should play this out. We’ll stick to the truth as far as possible. You were in your room when you heard a dog howling. You went downstairs to investigate and left the hotel by the hothouse door. You followed the sound of the dog but became disoriented. It was snowing heavily by then. Let’s say you tripped and something sharp pierced your shoulder. You have to say something about that wound if you’re asked. If your maid mentions it to the police, they’ll want to know how you came by it.” He stopped, then said gently, “Are you with me so far?”
“I’m ahead of you,” she replied. “Your dog found me and led me straight to your door.”
“And as soon as it was light enough, we set out for the hotel.”
“What?” he asked when she was silent.
She heaved a sigh. “What an accomplished pair of liars we are!”
He got up. “We’re not liars. We’re simply not telling the whole truth, not at this point. However, I will defer to your conscience. By all means, tell the police everything, but be prepared for the consequences. Oh, one other thing. Say nothing to anyone until we’ve spoken to the police.”
His face was set and forbidding when he walked to the door. She would have said something conciliatory to prevent him from leaving, but a footman arrived with the whiskey, and the moment was lost.
He tried to put his conversation with Kate out of his mind and spent the next little while looking for the note she said that she had dropped in her mad dash for freedom. Without betraying his purpose, he wandered through the hothouse before idling his way outside. It was hopeless. The snow blanketed everything as far as the eye could see. He’d hoped that he would detect anything out of place with his psychic power, but it was not to be. When it came to detecting, he was no better than the next man.
He could have told Kate a lot more—and when had he started to think of her as Kate? She always referred to him as Hepburn, and sometimes as Mr. Hepburn. As though her formality could keep him at arm’s length! He’d been chosen to protect her, and whether Miss Kate Cameron liked it or not, they were fated to see a lot more of each other.
What in blazes was in that note that she didn’t want anyone to know about? He corrected himself. She had told Will, and they had agreed to meet late at night in the hothouse. This is where things got tricky. How did the villain know that Kate and Will had agreed to meet? Was the attack random? Was there a deranged patient of Will’s waiting in the wings to kill her, too?
Will had suspected something was amiss in his clinic in Aberdeen. He’d mentioned the word “murder” and then retracted it. Kate had received a note.
No, this was no random attack.
She was grieving for Will, but it was grief for a friend not a lover. He had deduced that much when he had come to her door earlier and found her asleep, moving restlessly and mumbling to herself. He had tried to slip into her mind, but it wasn’t his gift. All he’d gotten was a multitude of unconnected impressions and a brick wall at the periphery to keep thieves out.
What was she hiding from him?
She’d called him “friend,” but she wasn’t thinking of him. Then who? He had to know, not from any base motive, not because he was jealous, but because the more he knew about her, the easier it would be to keep her safe.
They were connected, and one way or another, he was going to smash the wall she had built to protect her secrets. They were connected. How could he make her accept it?
The police had yet to arrive, and guests were beginning to come downstairs, so he found the hotel manager and gave him an edited account of what had taken place.
“You should assemble the guests,” he said, “and tell them that there has been a dreadful accident that the police will want to investigate. No one is to leave the premises until they get here. Oh, and post a footman at every door to prevent anyone leaving.”
The poor manager stuttered and stared until Gavin barked out, “See to it, man. At once, do you hear?”
The dining room staff had already begun to set out chafing dishes for the influx of guests for breakfast, so Gavin took the opportunity of helping himself to beef-steak and scrambled eggs. When he sat down to eat, however, he discovered that he didn’t have the stomach for it. He still couldn’t take it in. At any moment, he expected to hear Will’s belly laugh. He’d look up, and Will would be grinning down at him.
He did look up, visualizing Will’s red hair and freckles, but the face he stared into was evenly tanned and framed by dark, windblown locks.
“May I join you?” asked the younger Massey.
“By all means.” Gavin pulled out a chair.
Massey sat down, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked at Gavin’s untouched plate of food and smiled faintly. “Yes,” he said, “appetite is the first thing to go when one loses someone close.” He looked over his shoulder. “Do you think anyone would mind if my parents were to go on to Braemar as planned? This is all very upsetting for older people.”
Gavin followed the direction of Massey’s gaze. Mrs. Massey was weeping into a voluminous handkerchief, and her husband had his arm around her, his hand patting her in a consoling gesture.
“They would never get through,” Gavin said, “even if they could find a conveyance to take them. I’m afraid we’re all marooned here until the roads are open.”
Massey nodded. “That’s what I told them, but your opinion will carry more weight. You live in the area, don’t you?”
“Across the river.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Even so, I wouldn’t tempt the elements unless I had a good reason to try for home.”
“That’s what I thought.” A moment of silence went by. Finally, Massey said, “Have you spoken to Dalziel?”
“Dalziel?” That got Gavin’s attention. “Is he ill?”
“No, not exactly, but he’s taking it very hard. He shouldn’t be alone, but he refuses to leave his room.” He swallowed another mouthful of coffee. “He has this odd idea,” he went on, “that because he is an employee, it’s not his place to fraternize with his betters. That’s the likes of us, by the way. I can’t talk him out of it, but I think you may succeed where I failed.”
Massey drained his cup and got up. “I need more coffee,” he said, and he moved away, leaving Gavin feeling rather abashed.