The Lass Wore Black (6 page)

She nodded once more. “It shouldn’t take more than a few days. Don’t you think, Doctor? Mark?”

He only smiled at her, knowing from previous experience that it was best not to limit treatment to a certain period of time. Healing happened when it would, and not when doctors wished it.

Was he engaged in healing, though? Or simply assuaging his curiosity?

“I pity her so, Mark. She was such a beautiful girl.”

“Pity will not do her any good, Mrs. MacTavish.”

“No, you’re right, of course.” She sighed. “Catriona won’t be happy about my interference, Mark.”

“We aren’t here to please Catriona,” he said. “She’s been entirely too willful as it is.”

That, at least, hadn’t changed.

He smiled. He’d declared war on Catriona Cameron, only she didn’t yet know it.

“W
hat do you mean he’ll oversee my meals?”

Catriona sat in her usual chair beside the window. Dina stood facing her, arms wrapped around her waist, her expression lost in the dark of the room. She would have offered to open the curtains on the window, but it was not yet evening.

The veil shielded her, an article of fashion that had become a shroud. Her heart still beat, her breath still caused her chest to rise and fall. She was without excitement, or fear or any emotion at all except, perhaps, acceptance. A placid and endless acceptance that was now being burned away by anger.

“If I promise I’ll eat, will you keep that odious footman from my door?”

To her amazement, Aunt Dina shook her head.

“No, Catriona,” she said in a firm tone. “I’m afraid it’s gone too far for that.”

“You don’t trust my word?”

“Oh, my dear, I do. But my concern for your well-being is greater than my concern for your feelings. I’m afraid I will be more reassured when . . .” Her voice trailed off, and then abruptly reasserted itself. “. . . when the footman reports to me.”

“Is he going to watch me eat?”

Dina’s chortle of laughter had a surprised edge to it. “I wouldn’t be the least surprised if that’s exactly what he did, my dear.”

“He wasn’t here this morning,” she said.

Dina nodded. “You can eat your breakfast alone, but he’ll be here to monitor your lunch and dinner. Beginning tomorrow, Catriona.”

“I’ll eat what I wish to eat when I wish to eat it, Aunt,” she said.

“No longer, Catriona. He is to report to me each day. I shall not be swayed on this.”

Aunt Dina’s voice trembled just the slightest bit, enough that Catriona suspected the older woman was near tears. She didn’t want to witness Dina crying yet again.

“What does it matter?” she asked.

“It matters because there are people who care about you,” Aunt Dina said. “Jean writes me every week, wanting to know how you are. I haven’t told her the truth, but I’ve decided to do so now.”

Irritated, Catriona sat back in the chair and folded her arms, staring at the other woman. For the first time in a long time, she wished the lamps had been lit. She wanted to see if Dina was bluffing or not.

“My sister is with child, she isn’t to be bothered.”

“You think your death would not concern her?”

She almost smiled at that comment. “I’m not close to death, Aunt Dina.” She was hale and hearty and would, no doubt, live to be an old woman.

“If you don’t start eating more, you’ll grow increasingly weaker, Catriona.”

“Then set your footman on me, Aunt Dina,” she said. “But you’ll not write Jean and bother her, especially now. Do I have your promise?”

To her surprise, Dina stepped away, walking back to the door. There, the older woman turned and faced her again.

“We shall see,” she said. “If I have good reports, perhaps I won’t tell your sister the truth.”

When the door closed behind Dina, Catriona grabbed the arms of the chair, squeezing so tightly her left hand hurt.

A
fter seeing his last patient of the day, Mark entered his carriage, giving Brody instructions to return home.

The house where he lived had been his grandmother’s family home and part of his inheritance. Located near the edge of Old Town, it was too large for only one person, but was ably managed by his housekeeper. Sarah Donnelly also occasionally served as his nurse and welcomed those patients who called on him at home.

He had two distinct groups of patients. The city paid for him to care for thousands of patients in Old Town, ostensibly on a part-time basis. In addition, he had hundreds of society patients.

What made him think he could spare the time for Catriona Cameron?

On arriving home, he said good night to Brody and made his way through the house to his apothecary, where he unpacked his bag. Each night, he performed an inventory before restocking his supply of medicines, most of which he mixed himself.

He’d read once—either a philosopher’s teachings or something he picked up from a physician with whom he’d studied—that a man who works at what he enjoys never truly tires. Ever since he was a child, he’d wanted to be a doctor. He’d wanted to know, to understand, to explore the mysteries inherent in the human body. Because he loved medicine, he only rarely felt fatigue, even after twenty-hour days.

Today, however, was proving to be an exception.

He heard a sound, glanced toward the door, but returned his attention to the task at hand.

By her look, Sarah was evidently annoyed at him.

Access to this room was restricted. Besides himself, only Sarah was allowed in, due to the danger of the medications stored here. As it was, his staff only numbered three: Brody, a young stable boy, and Sarah, along with a woman who came in twice a year to help with the heavy cleaning.

He finished corking the bottles and put them in the bottom of his bag. Only then did he turn and face his housekeeper’s wrath.

“You’re late,” Sarah said, both hands fisted on her hips, a frown transforming her genial face. Her white hair gleamed in the lamplight, looking like a halo. She was short and nearly child-size, but filled with such energy that he rarely noticed her stature. Lines crisscrossed her face, mapping the toll of poverty and suffering of her early years.

However, her brown eyes were warm and filled with good humor. Not unexpected, since she was one of the most generous and compassionate people he knew.

Sarah had been one of his patients in Old Town, and when he’d moved here, he offered her the position. Not once had he regretted it. In addition to keeping him in clean clothes and a tidy house, she also advised him of his Old Town patients, having kept in touch with her former neighbors and relatives.

“Did I miss dinner?” he asked, knowing he had.

“You’re forever missing dinner. I’ve learned to put it back.” She folded her arms, studying him. “You’re tired,” she said.

“I am at that.”

“You work too hard.”

He only shrugged. They’d had this conversation before, many times.

“I might be missing dinner in the next few days,” he said. “I’m about to do something foolish.” It was better to be honest with Sarah from the beginning.

She only lifted one eyebrow, regarding him steadily.

He told her about Catriona. When he was done and she still didn’t speak, he folded his arms, one of his eyebrows mirroring hers.

“You’re right,” she said in that lyrical accent of hers. “You’re being a fool.”

She was old enough to be his mother, and he felt as chastised as when he’d been a child.

“You don’t approve, then,” he said.

“I think the girl needs a good talking to,” she said. “Not you flitting about, pretending to be a servant. Anyone with half a mind could see that you’re no servant.”

“That’s the point, I’m afraid,” he said. “She’s not looking outward. She’s focused too much on herself.”

“You think to fix that, do you? It might not be an illness,” she added. “It might be character instead.”

“You could have a point,” he said.

The stiffness of her expression eased. “I’m right more often than I’m wrong.”

Since that was a comment she made at least once a day, he only smiled.

“Will they put you to work?” she asked. “Polishing the silver and the like?”

“I suppose they will,” he said, realizing he hadn’t thought about it. “If I’m to masquerade as a footman, I suppose I will have to act like one. At least for a day or two.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in humor.

“I’d have them teach you to pick up your belongings,” she said. “Maybe be neater when you shave.”

He sent her a look, but she only smiled at him, suddenly looking pleased about his masquerade just as he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of it.

Chapter 6

W
hen Catriona first returned to Edinburgh, she’d given instructions that all her new gowns were to be dyed black. The only exception was a lovely dress she’d never worn, a pale yellow confection that made her look like a flower or a sunbeam. She’d laughed in delight when Aunt Dina made that comparison, but it was a flattering gown nonetheless, with tiers of fabric, each a different shade of yellow.

She couldn’t bear to have it turned black.

Now, she withdrew it from the armoire where it was tucked behind the rest of her clothing and laid it on the end of the bed, looking at it in the dim light of her chamber.

Here, too, the curtains were closed against the afternoon light, but it was a gray winter day, chilly and unappealing, a perfect accompaniment to her mood.

Her hand reached out and she touched the fabric of the dress, feeling the delicate softness. She could see herself in it, dancing and laughing, flirting with a handsome man.

Her partner would compliment her on her dancing, and she’d smile at him, teasing him with a look. His gaze would grow even more intense, darkening with lust.

Men were so easily charmed.

In those enchanted months in London, she’d learned the full extent of a beautiful woman’s power. She could smile, flirt, and say nearly anything, forgiven simply because of her appearance.

Those moments were gone.

She’d never go to another ball, never listen with delight to rumors of an appearance of a high-ranking member of court. She’d never make an entrance again, standing at the door, her eyes scanning the crowd as she drew everyone’s attention. No more listening to the excited whispers and the speculation as she slowly entered a room.

“That’s her, isn’t it? The Earl of Denbleigh’s sister-in-law.”

“I wonder if his wife is as beautiful?”

From now on no one would ever beg for a dance or whisper a shocking suggestion in her ear, only to be treated to her chiding glance. Not one daring suitor would suggest a stroll on the terrace and kiss her hand with fervency while declaring her lips were his true target.

Instead of tears, which might have been a remedy for the pain inside her, she felt a vast emptiness.

She could live without dancing again. She enjoyed the visits from other women, but she could endure never talking to a contemporary. She loved flirting, teasing a man into smiling at her, having him besotted with her. That, too, was something she would miss, but it would not be the source of her greatest grief.

At Ballindair she’d been a foolish girl, seeking affection from anyone who would offer it, believing that fondness from men would end the ache of loss. None of the men she’d bedded had ever eased her heart more than a few hours. They couldn’t bring back her parents or give her back her life in Inverness.

Yet she still missed passion.

How did she survive for the rest of her life without the touch of another human being? How did she live without pleasure, kisses, or the stroke of trembling fingers on her bare skin? Those learned men who’d treated her, the ones who hemmed and hawed, never looking at her, wouldn’t have had those answers. For that reason, she’d never asked the questions.

The knock on the sitting room door made her glance toward the mantel clock. She knew who it was immediately.

She walked from the bedroom into the sitting room and stood there for a moment, waiting. When the knock came again, she slowly opened the door.

The footman stood there staring at her. Must he be so tall?

“You’re an hour late,” she said. “My lunch should’ve been served an hour ago.”

She moved to close the door in his face, but he elbowed it open, turned and grabbed the tray on the sideboard, and simply marched into her sitting room.

He neither offered an apology for barging in or for being late. Instead, he went to the table, placed the tray on it, turned and regarded her with folded arms. In a gesture surely meant to be mocking, he pulled a chair up to the table. When she didn’t move toward it, he moved the plate, cup, teapot, and silverware from the tray and set it down on the table, arranging it with some dexterity, then put the tray aside.

“You can eat now, though, can’t you? Or have you already eaten?”

He knew she hadn’t.

She folded her arms beneath the veil.

“I’m not hungry.”

Instead of bowing, saying something conciliatory, or simply removing himself from the room, he did something shocking. She should have expected it, truly, especially in light of Aunt Dina’s words the day before. The man took a seat on the opposite side of the table, leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the tabletop.