The Lass Wore Black (3 page)

Beside the door was a long sideboard, and on it a tray with Catriona’s evening meal, still untouched.

“Does she take her meals in her room?”

Had he not been listening?

“She doesn’t leave her room, Dr. Thorburn. Not during the day, at least. She will not even allow the maids into her room. We have to leave her tray outside the door. If she’s hungry, she’ll eat. If not, she won’t.”

“She hasn’t been eating?”

Dina shook her head. “Another worry,” she said, and then told him the truth, the reason she’d asked him to call. “I’m afraid she’s willing herself to die.”

This time his expression of concern was the mirror of hers.

Chapter 3

M
ark knocked firmly on the door, but received no response.

He glanced at Mrs. MacTavish. The woman made no effort to conceal her worry. She bit at the knuckles of one hand, the other supporting her elbow. The foot that had tapped so impatiently in the sitting room was now beating a rhythm on the green runner before the door.

“Are you certain she’s inside?”

The woman nodded.

He knocked a third time and heard movement on the other side of the door. Was Catriona standing there, listening to their discussion?

“I wish to see you, Miss Cameron,” he said.

His voice carried well enough, but he might as well have been whispering, for all the response he received.

If Catriona meant to annoy him, she was succeeding. He was expected at his parents’ home in a quarter hour. Even if he didn’t attend his grandfather’s birthday ball, he could always find something to do that was a damn sight better than standing here waiting for a spoiled miss to answer the door.

“Miss Cameron,” he said, “I must insist. I’m not leaving.”

“Go away.” The voice sounded husky, as if she didn’t often speak. He pressed his fingers against the wood of the door and turned to Mrs. MacTavish.

“Does she admit any of the servants?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Even to clean her room?”

“Only for her earth closet and chamber pot,” she said, looking away. “She cleans her room by herself.”

“What does she do during the day?”

Surprisingly, she sent him an irritated look. “My dear Dr. Thorburn, I don’t know. She won’t even admit me. The moment we returned to Edinburgh, she decided that she was going to be a hermit, and a hermit she has been.”

“She can’t be allowed to continue such behavior,” he said. A comment that earned him another annoyed look.

He removed his coat, handing it to her without a word. She looked startled, but not as much as when he removed his vest, cravat, bib, and collar. She stood there blinking down at her armful of his clothing, then back up at him.

“Do I look the part of footman?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly from side to side.

Ignoring her, he moved to the sideboard, peered beneath the napkin, then put it back into place. Hefting it in one hand, he knocked on the door with the other.

“Miss Cameron,” he said. “You need to eat.”

“Go away.” This time the already resolute voice was stronger.

He sent Mrs. MacTavish a look of apology, drew back his right leg and slammed his foot into the door beneath the latch.

The door swung open, bouncing against the wall. He’d have to send a workman over tomorrow to repair the door frame. But for now, still hoisting the tray in his left hand, he entered the room.

When Mrs. MacTavish would have followed him, he shook his head slightly, stepping into the darkness alone.

Immediately overwhelmed, he took a step back toward the open door. As he did whenever he was reminded of his intolerance for small spaces, he made himself stop, look over his surroundings, and take a deep breath. The room wasn’t that small. The darkness merely made it feel suffocating. Another deep breath, another step away from the doorway, and he’d mastered the sensation.

The room smelled of potpourri, something like apples and cinnamon, but it was much too cold in there, as if she’d recently closed the window.

Was she trying to freeze herself to death as well?

“Get out.”

He turned his head toward the voice. In the corner of the sitting room sat a shadow, darker than the gloom. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he moved to the window.

“If you open the curtains,” Catriona Cameron said, “I shall scream.”

That was unexpected.

“I doubt you have the strength to scream,” he said. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“Get out.”

He made his way carefully to a large circular table in the middle of the room and placed the tray in front of a chair.

“Would you like me to light a lamp?” he asked.

“Get out.”

“Or a candle, perhaps?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the new footman,” he said, wondering if she’d believe him.

“I’ll have you dismissed.”

“I’ve just begun this position.”

“You’ve just ended it,” she said. “Get out.”

“Are the other servants afraid of you?”

She didn’t answer. Nor did she move. No doubt she was glaring at him from her position in the corner.

“I was hired for my tenacity,” he said, a true statement, if she only knew it.

“Get out.”

“You should find another command. That one is growing old. You need to eat.”

“Get out.”

“Not yet,” he said. “After you’ve eaten, I’ll take my leave. Your dinner is cold, but perhaps something is still edible.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I find I don’t care,” he said. “You still need to eat something.”

“Is that why you’ve been hired? To be obnoxious and irritating? If so, you’ve done your duty,” she said. “You can leave. Tell my aunt you did everything within your power to get me to eat. Including violating my wishes. If nothing else, perhaps she’ll give you a bonus.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“No.”

“You’re not punishing her by refusing to eat?”

“Why should I answer a footman?”

“Because I’m curious,” he said. “Because I genuinely want to know why you intend to starve yourself.”

“Whatever I do,” she said, “it’s none of your concern. Now leave.”

“One bite,” he said. “One bite and I’ll leave.”

“I’m close enough to the bellpull,” she said. “I’ll summon my aunt.”

“She’s right outside the door. Shall I call her?”

“I doubt if Aunt Dina would allow you to break down my door.”

“Shall we ask her?”

She remained silent.

“No doubt it’s hunger that’s making you so quarrelsome,” he said.

He removed the napkin from the tray, placing it beside the plate, and picked up a pastie.

“One bite and I’ll leave.”

“What I eat or don’t eat is none of your concern.”

“I’m new here,” he said. “I’ve been put in charge of your eating. It seems to be my only task. You wouldn’t want me to fail at it, would you?”

A pause stretched between them. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer, she said, “I don’t care if you lose your position or not.”

What was he doing here? Why was he catering to a woman’s moods? In his practice, he saw many hysterical females, a variety of wealthy women sent to him by his mother. Women who were too intent on the slightest ailment. Was the irritation on her finger a cancer? Was her spring cough a sign of consumption?

Each of these irritating patients was surrounded by luxury, servants, and wealth. If they’d had to endure only a few of the conditions he found in Old Town, they’d spend every day on their knees in thanks to God for their blessings.

Catriona Cameron had turned into one of those.

Besides, what recourse did he have against a woman’s stubbornness? Most of his patients agreed to listen to his advice. They didn’t require that he carry trays and pretend to be a servant.

He turned and was at the door before realizing he still had the pastie in his hand. He turned back and retraced his steps, continuing on to the corner where she sat. She was draped in a widow’s veil, or perhaps more than one. How did she see?

He held out the pastie.

“One bite,” he coaxed. “Only one.”

“If I do, will you leave and never return?”

“I’ll leave,” he said. Beyond that, he wouldn’t promise.

A gloved hand slowly emerged from beneath the veil.

He put the pastie on her palm and watched as her hand retreated. In the confusion of shadows, he wasn’t certain if she took a bite or simply dropped the pastie to the floor.

When he turned, intent on the door, her voice called after him.

“Go away and don’t come back.”

“W
hen are you going to return?” Elizabeth asked her husband.

Andrew Prender looked up from his notes, facing his wife of a dozen years or more. The time spent being married hadn’t concerned him. Until this moment, Elizabeth had been a conformable spouse, a biddable woman.

She’d never asked him about his schedule.

“You’re leaving tomorrow. When will you return?”

“Soon enough,” he said.

“When is soon enough, Andrew?”

He was surprised at her tone if not the question itself. In all these years, she’d never said a word about his living arrangements. Not once had she demanded that he spend more time with her and the children.

He studied her, wondering at her daring.

Her narrow face was nearly gaunt and her nose long. If she would have listened to his advice, he would have suggested that she not scrape her black hair back in such a severe bun. The style did not flatter her nor give any softness to the severity of her face.

She was not, however, given to any type of fashion advice, or she would have padded her flat bosom or done something to spare him the sight of her angular hips.

Elizabeth had never been beautiful, but the expression she wore now made her ugly. As a rule he preferred to surround himself with attractive people.

She’d borne five children, and for that he was suitably grateful, especially since all of them were hale and hearty and seemed to take after him in appearance more than after their mother.

Now, however, she was being remarkably grasping, and at the worst time.

“Why do you suddenly care, my dear?”

“It’s a Scottish bitch, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a few steps toward him. “You’ve been different ever since you came back from Scotland. What happened, did a woman reject your advances?”

He’d been known for his flying visits to his country house periodically to inspect the children, all five of whom were growing at an alarming rate. But he’d erred when returning from Scotland. Instead of nursing his wounds in London, he’d come home. Evidently, his actions gave his wife the impression that she had the right to comment on his behavior.

She had nothing to complain about. He didn’t challenge her expenditures on herself, the house, or the children. If she needed more money than he had allocated for her, she had only to go to his solicitor.

“I never minded all the other women,” she said. “But this one is different, isn’t she?”

What a remarkable change had come over his wife. He regarded her steadily for a moment, wondering what would teach her the fastest and best learned lesson. To cut off her money? Doing so might harm his children, and he did love each and every one. Giving her a few lashes? Surely he could obtain a whip from the stables.

He decided that he didn’t have the energy for corporal punishment. Perhaps the truth would be the hardest lesson of all.

“You know my friend Morgan?” he asked her amiably.

“The Earl of Denbleigh?”

He nodded.

“The man who got a divorce?” she asked. “Is that why you bring him up now? To warn me?”

“I can do the same, Elizabeth.”

She startled him by smiling. “She doesn’t want you, though, does she?”

The next time he returned home, he would have to do something to punish her for that remark.

“Where I’m going or what I’m doing is none of your concern, Elizabeth.”

“Go after her, then, and I wish you good luck,” she said, leaving the room.

Perhaps it was a good thing this new task of his would take some time. When he returned home, his temper would have cooled.

The Scottish bitch, as his wife had so richly described her, was living in Edinburgh. After he dispensed with that matter, he’d school his wife in the proper way to address him.

C
atriona sat with the pastie in her hand, and because she’d taken one bite, she took another. Her stomach clenched. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Long enough that she was suddenly ravenously hungry. Another irritation to lay at the feet of that footman, odious and arrogant as he was.

What had Aunt Dina been thinking to hire someone to coax her to eat?

She moved to the ruined door, pressed it closed, and arranged a chair in front of it for good measure. Only then did she walk to the table and sit. Slowly, after a glance at the door, she removed her veil and ate some of her cold meal.

She’d send Aunt Dina a note complaining about the new footman’s behavior, insisting that he be dismissed immediately.