The Lass Wore Black (33 page)
The door suddenly opened, and instead of a majordomo, a short, wizened woman looked up at her. Since she rarely towered over anyone, she couldn’t help but be surprised.
The woman had bright white hair wound into a coronet at the top of her head, and a face crisscrossed by so many wrinkles it appeared to be a map of Edinburgh. Her smile, however, was welcoming.
“You’re the lass in black, I’m thinking,” the tiny woman said.
“Lass in black?”
“It’s what you’re being called.” She leaned forward and whispered, “But I must admit, I started it. I think it’s a lovely title, myself, don’t you?” She frowned. “But you’re wearing blue now, aren’t you?”
She stood aside. “Come in, though. It’s a cold day, isn’t it? But still, there are touches of spring in the air.” She peered beyond to where Mr. Johnstone stood by the carriage. “You go on in; I’ll send your driver to the stables where they’ll offer him something warm to drink.”
“We’re not staying long,” she began, but the little woman simply ignored her, grabbed her shawl, and trotted down the stairs.
She entered Mark’s castle and stood speechless.
Had the house once been used as a church? Or had the builders wanted to create the atmosphere of a cathedral?
The ceiling soared above a winding stair, the buttresses creating shadows where statues lingered, looking down at the visitors. Cherubs held their wings close to their bodies, women smiled while holding the hems of their gossamer dresses. Men, dressed in togas, stood either holding a tablet or pointing an accusing finger.
The statues, however, were not the only indication that this was a unique home. At the landing, where the staircase split in two, each side going in opposite directions, there was a massive, round stained-glass window. The winter sunlight bathed the space in crimson, emerald, and bright yellow.
She’d heard people discussing Notre Dame in Paris. Had this window been designed with it in mind?
The foyer smelled of beeswax and lemon, and there must be dishes of potpourri set in places she couldn’t see, because sandalwood perfumed the air.
“You’ll be here to see Dr. Thorburn, of course,” the woman said, entering the house and closing the door behind her.
She nodded.
The woman didn’t say anything else, simply started walking. She had no choice but to follow her.
“I can put you in the parlor,” the woman said. “Or you can sit with me in the kitchen, where it’s warmer.”
“The kitchen will be fine,” she said.
She wasn’t going to be here that long. She was simply going to deliver her message and leave.
The aroma of baking biscuits, something made with ginger and cinnamon, made her stomach grumble as they entered the kitchen.
“It’s a grand home,” she said, looking around. Even the kitchen was four times the size of the one at their town house. “Does Dr. Thorburn live here alone?”
The woman smiled at her as if the question was amusing.
“Are you thinking that he must have a family hiding here?”
“It’s a large house for one person.”
“That it is. We’ve one floor we don’t even use,” she said. “I put the kettle on, and you’ll be having tea with me,” the woman added.
Not a request as much as an order.
The woman pointed to a large square table surrounded by six sturdy chairs.
“You take your place; choose any chair you wish.”
Was this a test?
She chose one with a view of the garden, a wide space with a high brick wall. She couldn’t help but wonder how it would look come spring.
A good choice, or so it seemed, when the woman nodded her approval.
“I’m Sarah Donnelly,” the other woman said, smiling. “I’m the housekeeper here. Although I’m more than that from time to time. When one of Dr. Thorburn’s patients comes, I settle them down, give them some tea, and keep them calm until he arrives.”
“I’m not one of Dr. Thorburn’s patients,” she said. “Is he here?”
Sarah smiled broadly. “He’s not, but until he comes, you’ll sit with me. I want to know the things he didn’t tell me about you.”
“He talked about me?”
She’d been here a scant few minutes and already the visit was a surprise.
“It was himself playing at being a footman,” Sarah said. “I knew from the beginning that nothing good would come of it, but did he listen to me?”
Sarah’s smile was so engaging that she felt her tension ease. “He’s a stubborn man.”
“Aye, you have the right of it. Burning the candle at both ends, he was. Tending to all his patients, and you, besides.”
“I didn’t know who he was. If I had, I would have sent him away.”
“Och, didn’t he need to do what he did, then? You, with your dislike of doctors.” Sarah busied herself pouring hot water into the teapot. “Although how a body could think such a magnificent man was a footman, I’ll never know.”
Since she’d done exactly that, she remained silent.
Was Sarah this blunt with all her visitors? Or had she been singled out for a lecture?
“I’ve been doing for Dr. Thorburn for three years now. Of course, he was at university for years before that, but he didn’t move here until he became a doctor.”
Sarah looked around the walls and the ceiling of the kitchen, as if to encompass the whole of the house in her gaze.
“His grandmother gave it to him. Do you know about her?”
Feeling bemused, she shook her head, then realized Sarah might not be able to determine her answer through the veil.
“No,” she said. “I don’t.”
“A daughter of a duke, she was. Pretty little thing. She had four children, all in all. Two of them died in infancy, but a daughter and a son survived. The son is Dr. Thorburn’s father, a more intractable man I’ve never met. Have you had the pleasure of meeting him?”
“No,” she said.
“You will,” Sarah announced. “When you do, just remember, he hasn’t many friends and a great many enemies. He’s not a nice man, or a kind one. It’s a miracle that Mark is such a good man. That, or good blood. His grandmother was a saint, I hear.”
Her thoughts were reeling. All she’d wanted was to tell Mark Thorburn not to meddle in her life. In its stead, she was receiving a summation of his family, and an assurance that she would meet his father.
Sarah put the tea things on the table, returning a moment later to put a plate of biscuits before her.
She didn’t see how she was going to drink in front of the woman who was watching her so carefully. However, she could manage a biscuit. She took one from the plate and nibbled on it beneath her veil.
“The whole time, his father was against Dr. Thorburn studying medicine,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “But Mark was determined to be a physician, and his grandmother was determined to help him. When she died, she left him all her money and this great house. Her way of saying how much she approved of Mark, his drive, his ambition, and his talent.”
Sarah took a sip of tea, sighing with obvious enjoyment.
She should stop the woman from divulging Mark’s secrets. Instead, she nibbled on the biscuit and listened avidly.
“He was number one in his class in university, you know,” Sarah said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Will you take that thing off?” Sarah asked, nodding in the direction of her veil.
She hadn’t expected the request. When she hesitated, Sarah said, “I imagine it’s hard to breathe in that thing.”
Slowly, she moved her gloves from her lap to the table. One by one she took out the pins holding the veil in place. When that was done, she removed the veil, revealing her hair arranged in a coronet not unlike Sarah’s.
She placed the veil on her lap, moving her hands over the lace. She didn’t look up for a few moments because she didn’t want to see Sarah’s interested study of her scars.
“You’ve had a time of it, haven’t you?” Sarah said.
Finally, she raised her head to look at the other woman.
Sarah took another sip of her tea and studied her for a moment.
“I’m thinking that you were in a lot of pain for a long time. Pain does something to a body,” she said. “I know, I’ve seen enough of Dr. Thorburn’s patients. Some of them, pain makes angels. Some of them, it makes into devils. Which one were you?”
“I’m afraid I was a devil,” she said softly.
Sarah nodded. “I’m thinking I’d be the same.” She picked up a biscuit and ate it with relish.
The oak table bore scars that looked to be old. She trailed a finger down one particularly interesting gouge. Had someone sat here one night, bored and listless, and carved it out with a knife?
“Now, then,” Sarah said, the biscuit finished, “you’ll be telling me why you, a single woman, would be calling upon Dr. Thorburn all by yourself.”
“My maid is feeling under the weather,” she said.
Sarah nodded. “That might be true enough, but I think it’s an excuse. What’s the real reason you came alone?”
She felt her face flush. “Because I’m here to have a fit,” she said. “I didn’t want a witness to it.”
Sarah sat back in the chair, both eyebrows raised. “Are you now? What are you going to have a fit about?”
“Dr. Thorburn has gone behind my back and arranged for someone to follow me. I don’t like it, I don’t appreciate it, and I want it to stop.”
“He is a stubborn man, that’s for sure. He does think he’s right most of the time.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Am I to disappear?’ Sarah asked. “When this fit begins?”
“If you could,” she said, “I’d be grateful.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’d prefer to listen.”
“I’ve a feeling Mark’s not the only stubborn person in this household,” she said.
Sarah smiled. “That’s the right of it. He’s a fine man, Dr. Thorburn, but he hasn’t had a good time of it lately. I’d rather be sure that you’re not here to make him more miserable.”
She missed Jean acutely at that moment. Her sister was the only person who’d ever been as protective of her.
“I won’t make him more miserable,” she said. “I wish he’d agree to do the same.” She reached for her veil, but before she could fix it, a door closed somewhere in the house.
Panicked, she looked at Sarah.
The housekeeper nodded, answering the unspoken question.
Mark had returned.
She steadied herself, placed her hands back on the veil, and straightened her shoulders. Now was the best time for him to see her, to know what kind of monster she was.
They waited in silence, listening as Mark walked through the house. A door closed, footfalls on the wood floor, another door.
“He’s going into his apothecary,” Sarah said. “He does that first when he comes home.”
She nodded. Her stomach rolled; her feet felt damp in her shoes. She fisted the veil in her icy hands. Could she do this?
She stood, unable to sit and wait any longer. Her right hand was braced against the scarred oak table. The footsteps grew louder, each step drawing the chain around her chest tighter until she could barely breathe.
Dear God, please give me the courage I need.
I
n the last three years, his life had taken on a frenzied energy, one that suited his personality. However, Mark couldn’t remember being as tired as he was lately or as downhearted.
Despite being employed by the city of Edinburgh on a part-time basis, he had over three thousand patients in Old Town alone. Add those to the ten dozen or so paying patients, and his workload could have occupied a few men.
But it wasn’t the sheer number of patients that was affecting him as much as Old Town itself. The unremitting poverty, the endless human degradation, the lack of hope, seemed to melt into his skin. The conversation he’d just had with Alex MacBain added to his mood and caused him to cut his day short. He needed to smile, and a smile seemed far away.
He’d had to tell the man that his wife would not live to see the spring. Even if they had come to him earlier about the lump in Mrs. MacBain’s chest, there was nothing he could have done.
Medicine was making strides every year, but there were certain diseases he couldn’t cure. Perhaps one day they’d be able to do so. Until then, however, he’d have conversations like the one he’d just had, and watch a woman with two little children die before his eyes.
He’d be damned if he had to like it.
This was what his father said was beneath him, the struggle between life and death. Lord Serridain’s narrow-minded autocracy continued to amaze him.
As was his habit, he entered the room set aside as his storeroom and apothecary. Hanging his coat on one of the hooks by the door, he dropped off his bag on the workbench and took a quick inventory.
He was concerned about the amount of morphine he’d need to ease Mrs. MacBain’s pain in the coming months, as well as the medicine he mixed together for Harold Donaldson’s ague. The medicines refilled, fatigue pressed down on his shoulders.
Tonight, surely he would sleep better.
Since Sarah hadn’t joined him in the apothecary, he went in search of her, heading for the kitchen.
There, like the answer to a schoolboy’s prayer, stood Catriona Cameron. She was in his kitchen waiting for him, standing there without her veil.