A Heart Deceived (34 page)

She threw back her shoulders, refusing to wince at how it jolted her back. “Let’s see … I’m locked in an asylum against my will, forced to care for women who are dying right and left. I am bone-tired and could use a long soak in a tub of rose water. Other than that—”

“Delightful!” A smile covered half his face. “So happy to hear it.”

Nettlesome man! She frowned.

“Oh, don’t fret, my dear. I have not forgotten our bargain. Soon this will all be but a memory for you.”

She swept a hand across her brow. Her fingers came away damp. “See that you don’t, for I shall hold you accountable, sir.”

“No doubt. Very well, now have at it. Try out those powders on the women, and I’ll tend to the men.”

Miri touched his sleeve before he could turn. “My brother?”

Pembernip patted her hand. She should probably feel patronized but couldn’t work up the effort.

“Intriguing as ever,” he said, “and wholly, completely healthy. Thus far, at any rate.”

He turned away, and Miri watched him go, relief rendering her motionless until the groans of the women behind her broke her stupor. Fortified with a deep breath, she spun and retrieved the cup she’d left by Lil, then zigzagged to the other side of the room where a large pot sat. Dumping in the contents of the envelope, she stirred, pausing to sneeze yet again. She stirred some more, trying to remember what to do next, but who could think when it was so stifling in here? Oh, for a cool breeze.

Setting down the spoon, she fanned herself. The action made her sleeve snuggle down to her elbow.

Her hand faltered to a stop.

She lifted her forearm inches from her eyes, mouth dropping. So did her stomach. She stared, mesmerized in a freakish way.

Thousands of tiny red pinpricks dotted her skin.

35

Ethan climbed the steps of St. Mary Woolnoth’s, the summer sun warm on his shoulders. He paused at the spot where he’d collapsed on his last visit and lifted his face to the sky. Heat warmed his cheeks, gratitude his soul.

So much has changed, God. Thank You.

He pressed on and pushed open the scarred oak door. Some churches kept strict hours, but not this one. Newton would have it no other way.

Charlie, the warden’s boy, was busy scraping wax from a candle stand in an alcove off the foyer. When he saw Ethan, he stopped so suddenly that the wrought-iron stand wobbled. “G’day, sir. Show you to the sanctuary?”

“I came to see Reverend Newton, lad. Can you tell me where he is?”

“I can do better than that. I’ll lead you.” The boy wiped his hands on his shirt and scooted past Ethan, eager as a puppy after a bone.

Ethan grabbed Charlie’s collar and gently tugged him back. “I wouldn’t want to take you from your work. You can simply tell me. No doubt I’ll find my way.”

The boy darted a look around, then cupped a hand to his mouth, whispering for only Ethan to hear, “I don’t mind a bit, sir. Scrapin’ wax is my least fav’rite duty.”

“I see.” He knew that look of desperation on Charlie’s face, a reminder of hated tasks in bygone days. He relented with a nod. “All right, then. Lead on.”

They skirted the sanctuary and entered a side door, then descended a stairwell. Foggy memories of the last time he’d been here, sick and on the run, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Charlie stopped and knocked on a door, opening it after hearing a hearty, “Enter.”

A booming voice met Ethan’s ears before he could cross the threshold.

“Well, well.” Newton rose from a chair, twirling one finger in the air. “Let’s have a good look.”

Ethan held out his arms and turned. His cutaway jacket, fashionable yet not gaudy, fit him well. Brass buttons were enough glitz for him. He’d chosen quality fabrics, refusing all ruffles, laces, and frills. Just because he was an earl didn’t mean he had to look it. He lifted one brow. “Satisfied?”

“Only God satisfies, boy.” The grin Newton flashed bordered on wicked. Was that allowable for a reverend? “Or should I say
my lord
?”

“You may say what you please.” Ethan strode to the man and clapped him on the back. “But I won’t answer to it, not from you.”

Newton laughed, the bellow filling the room like a tidal wave.

“At least you smell better.” The reverend pushed an empty chair toward him and took the other. “I suspect you came to talk of things besides your appearance though, eh?”

Ethan sat, smoothing his palms along his thighs. Suddenly this courtesy call didn’t seem nearly as trivial. He’d known the man for what, five, maybe six months?—and in that time his respect and affection for the reverend had grown deep roots. Pulling away might leave a bigger hole than he imagined.

He swallowed back a swell of sudden emotion. “I came to say good-bye.”

His sober proclamation robbed the smile from Newton’s face. “I thought as much.”

“Did you?” He locked eyes with Newton, wondering how this one man could know him through and through, more intimately than his father ever had.

“Aye, lad. Besides the fact that you’re a high and mighty landowner now, I suspect there’s a certain young lady ye’ll be wantin’ to claim. Am I right?”

The thought of claiming Miri, of making her his own, burned a fire through his veins. He pulled at his neckerchief for air. “Aye. That you are. And none too soon for my liking.”

“I should like to meet her someday.” Newton’s eyes twinkled. “She must be a fair treasure.”

Ethan took a deep breath. The man couldn’t have spoken a truer word. Everything about Miri was fair, from the way the sun glinted copper strands in her curls, to the curve of her cheeks and softness of her lips. But she possessed far more than beauty. Nursing him back to health, caring for him at the risk of her own censure … how many other women would take in a vagabond, especially one bearing tidings of her brother’s death?

He nodded. “She is a treasure, indeed.”

Impatience urged him to his feet, and he offered his hand to Newton. “For that and other reasons, I must make haste. But I could not leave without a good-bye, my friend. Your words of faith have been a lifeline. Without you, I …”

His throat clogged, and he had to work to clear it. “I’d still be on my way to hell, were it not for you.”

“Don’t thank me, lad, thank—”

“I know. And I do.” Ethan glanced at the ceiling. “Thank You, God.”

Newton clasped his forearm. “Keep that up, no matter the circumstance.”

“I shall.”

“You promise?” The man’s grip tightened on his arm. His tone took on an unmistakable urgency.

Ethan cocked his head, studying the reverend’s sea-grey eyes. A storm brewed there, one his answer would either quell or unleash. How curious and … unnerving.

“I promise,” he said.

Newton’s head bobbed. “I hope so, lad. I hope so.”

Ethan frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

The pain in Miri’s head competed with the ache in her muscles as she pushed up from the stool. A wince twitched her cheek. Even her bones hurt, down to the marrow. How much longer could she keep this up? She steeled herself against giving in to a coughing fit and willed her feet to move. She’d keep this up until each of these women was well, that’s what. Then Pembernip would have to honor his word to set her free.

Focus on that, girl. Focus.
Better to set her mind on that than on the chills shaking through her limbs.

She wound her way to Lil’s pallet, an easier route now that so many bodies didn’t block the path. Thank God Lil wasn’t one of those resting six feet under behind the asylum. Kneeling by the girl’s side, Miri set a cool cloth on her forehead. Lil’s eyes opened, bright and clear.

Miri smiled. “You’re better!”

Half the girl’s face lifted, the biggest grin she could likely manage.

“Oh, Lil.” Miri’s words traveled on a sigh. “I’ve been so afraid.”

The girl reached out and patted her hand. Her fingers felt like ice, causing a sudden shiver.

Lil’s eyes widened. “You’re sick?” she honked.

Panic increased the pounding in Miri’s head. No! She wasn’t sick. She’d probably heard the girl wrong.

“What’s that you say?” Dr. Pembernip’s voice asked from behind them.

How had she missed his footsteps? Miri stood on legs that wobbled like a foal’s.

Pembernip grasped her arm. “Are you well?”

How did he do that? He stood inches from her, but his voice was in the other room.

“I’m fine.” She jerked her head aside. Her voice was out there too.

He crooked a finger under her chin and turned her face to his. “Perhaps I should be the judge of that.”

To give in to the horrid sensations attacking her senses would break their bargain, and she’d never get out of here. Summoning all her strength, she pulled away. “I said I am fine, Doctor.”

He nodded, but a shrewd gleam lit his eyes. “As you say, my dear.” He glanced down at Lil. “I see your patient is recovering nicely.”

Relief should have eased the tension clawing into her shoulders. It didn’t. “Yes. I think Lil is …” She scrunched her brow, trying hard to remember. “Lil is …”

“You were about to say?” asked Pembernip.

Exactly. What was she talking about? She pressed her hand to her forehead, willing her thoughts to gel.

“Miss Brayden?”

She startled.
Pull yourself together, girl.
“Yes, I meant to tell you, we need more …”

Licking her lips—oh, how dry she was—she tried to think beyond the hammering in her skull. They were out of something. Something important. She was supposed to ask him for … Think.
Think
.

“ … not good. Not good at all.” Pembernip’s voice ran off to the other room again, though his eyes burned into hers.

No, that wasn’t right. The only thing burning was her.

At least the floor felt cool as she folded onto it.

36

Ethan pulled hard on the reins, halting his horse in front of the rectory. Glancing up at a window, he pictured Miri, nose pressed against the glass, waiting for him. She’d run out the door any minute now, arms open wide, and nestle against his chest. Never to part again. He smirked at the irrational expectation, then slung his leg over the saddle before his mount completely stopped. He’d have a fair amount of explaining to do before he could expect such a reaction as that. The horse blew out a snort. Apparently the fast clip he’d ridden from London wasn’t appreciated.

He took the steps three at a time, reaching the door in five long strides. His heart pounded as loud as his fist on the oak frame. Oh, how good she would feel in his arms. How sweet she would smell.

No one answered.

“Hello?” He banged harder with the heel of his hand. It smarted, but no matter—Miri waited on the other side.

“Miri!” He’d hammer loud enough to be heard in the garden if he had to—

That’s it. Mayhap she tended her garden out back on such a fine, late summer morn. He dashed down the steps and sprinted around the corner.

Gradually, his feet slowed. Across the field, some pony carts, a wagon or two, and several tethered horses congregated close to the sanctuary. A chorus swelled out the open door. Idiot. He’d given no thought to the day of the week.

He straightened his riding jacket and smoothed his breeches, brushing off the dust from the road, then crossed to the church. Slipping in the door, he remained at the back, straining for a glimpse of Miri. With everyone standing, he could not see past the heads of taller men in the last rows.

But he got a grand view of the vicar up in the pulpit. He was a bald, sweaty sort, red in the face and gullet, with a long neck, like a turkey in a holy smock. How odd. Where was Fothergill?

The hymn ended, and the man lifted his hand in blessing. After a passionless benediction, pew doors opened and feet shuffled into the aisles. That must’ve been some sermon. Ethan leaned to the right, desperate to catch a glimpse of Miri.

A voice came from the left. “Good day, sir. I don’t believe we’ve met. I am—”

“Magistrate Buckle.” Ethan recognized the voice and turned.

The man’s face screwed up as he tapped a finger to his chin. “You are … no. Don’t tell me. I feel I know you.”

Squire Gullaby joined his side, wide-eyed. “Mr. Goodwin?”

Their shock, while amusing, hindered his search for Miri. He gave them a curt nod. “Gentlemen, please excuse—”

“How you have changed!” Gullaby’s eyes traveled the length of him, landing on his signet ring. “And for the better, I might add.”

“Yes,” said Ethan. “Now, if you’ll ex—”

“But how did you”—the squire stepped up to him, his head barely cresting the top of Ethan’s shoulders. He aimed a fat finger at him—“meet with such fortune?”

Ethan knew that look well. Even more, the tone. Generally, though, he’d been guilty of the theft the question implied. Not this time, nor ever again. He lifted his chin, making the squire appear all the shorter. “My father, Lord Trenton, has recently passed. His estate is now mine.”

“
Lord
Trenton? But that would make you …” Understanding registered on the squire’s red face, and he retreated.

“Exactly.” With a look he’d seen his father use a thousand times, Ethan dismissed him and peered over the man’s head for Miri. By now several others had gathered around as well, making it impossible to see as far as her pew. “As I’ve said, gentlemen, excuse me.”