This Gun for Hire (32 page)

“I am aware,” Quill interrupted. “I want to hear about these other symptoms.”

“The flush in his cheeks. That’s telling.” He put out a hand when Quill would have interrupted again. “I know what I said to Miss Nash, but please appreciate how difficult this is for me. I will do right by my patient, but to be put in the position of accusing Beatrice, that I cannot do. What Miss Nash observed is the result of Mr. Stonechurch not being able to use the air he is breathing. The toxins in the elderberry affect the body’s capacity to carry oxygen. He would have experienced shortness of breath on previous occasions, but since the symptoms can pass if he ingested only small amounts, he would think it was his heart. About tonight, all I can say is that if he has even half the determination of his brother, he will recover. I will never think that he cannot.”

“I want to believe that.” Quill glanced at the open doorway, frowned. “I need to go downstairs. Someone should be bringing your coffee by now.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Go on. I will call for you if I need help. And Ann is close by.”

Quill nodded. He left the doctor changing Ramsey’s compress yet again and followed Calico’s back stairs route to
the kitchen. The quiet that met him as he neared the bottom of the steps put him on alert. By the time he reached the door, every hair on the back of his neck was standing up.

He pushed through cautiously. A lighted oil lamp on the table was casting its dim light in a small circle around it. The stove had not been fired. There was no evidence of a coffee canister or the pot anywhere in the room. The cups and saucers were all accounted for in the dish cupboard.

He stood still, listened, and when he heard nothing, he decided there was only one direction worth pursuing. He headed for the back door off the mudroom and found it was blocked.

Calico’s body lay sprawled across the
threshold.

Quill went back for the lamp and set it on the floor beside Calico. There was no obvious injury. He ran his fingers through her hair and over her scalp. He found a small lump near the crown of her head but no blood. She had been cracked hard enough to knock her unconscious but her assailant had stopped at one blow.

Quill laid one hand on Calico’s shoulder and shook her while he said her name. She moaned softly the second time he gave her a shake and opened her eyes on the third. He gave her a moment to collect herself, which for Calico involved cursing and self-recrimination, and then helped her sit up. She put a hand to her head and gingerly felt around the lump with the tips of her fingers.

“This is not done swelling, I think,” she said.

“What did she hit you with?”

“I’m not sure. I only had a glimpse of her, but I would not be surprised if one of the guns in Ramsey’s case is missing.”

“Let’s get you out of the mudroom and into the kitchen.” He helped her up, but once she was on her feet, she shrugged him off and moved to the kitchen table unassisted. She did
accept the chair he pulled out for her. “You think she’s left the house?” he said. “Are you sure of that? I can look around.”

“She was dressed for outside. I saw that much. When I got here and found the kitchen empty and no coffee made, I figured she had been planning her escape since Dr. Pitman arrived. She seized the opportunity when he asked her for a cup of coffee.” Calico rubbed the bridge of her nose as she considered the order of events. “She must have gone to her room, dressed, and then gone downstairs when I moved out of the doorway. I went down shortly afterward. I was thinking it through when I heard the back door open. I figured I could stop her, so I followed. She was still in the mudroom, and that’s when she clubbed me.”

Shaking her head, Calico sighed deeply. “God, that I could be so careless. I have had less trouble from men twice her size.”

“True, but then you drugged some of them.” He merely grinned at the sour look she gave him.

“You don’t seem concerned that she’s gone,” said Calico.

“It had not occurred to me that I should be. Aren’t you Calico Nash?”

She was silent a moment, taking that in. Her senses were not so boggled that she couldn’t recognize the compliment. “What a lovely thing to say.”

Quill took her hand, squeezed it. “Whether or not Beatrice has figured out that you’re Calico Nash, I don’t know where she imagines she can go that she can’t be found, and if she has realized who you are, then she must know she has very little freedom left.”

“She could have killed me.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying. The infection that festered in your wound was a good attempt.”

Calico remembered the brown stain on the bandage. Beatrice had assured her it would help. “All those teas she insisted that I drink . . .” Her short laugh was humorless. “I might have died if she had ever served me one that I liked or stayed around to watch me drink entire pots of the stuff. I wonder if I have ever misjudged anyone as I misjudged her.”

“You’re in good company. I asked her to help you with exercises for your arm.”

“And she did. She also took the time to encourage Ann’s newfound interest in Boone Abbot. And then she came to my room with steamed towels and informed me that I had made a mistake in introducing the pair. She said Ramsey would not approve, that Boone is a painful reminder of his brother’s accident and death.”

“She said that? That Boone is a reminder?”

“She did. She said that Ramsey would not allow him to return to work in the mines for that reason.”

“I happen to know that Ramsey has offered Boone a position in his office on several occasions. Boone turns him down. Boone Abbot is happy where he is. He likes the horses and his wages are good because Ramsey supplements them through an arrangement with the livery owner.”

“Why would Beatrice make it out to be different than it is?”

“Maybe we’ve been thinking about this wrong. Ramsey has said he wants his daughter to leave Stonechurch and experience the larger world. What if it is really Beatrice who wants to keep her close? So close that she sees even someone like Boone as a threat to her. All her words to the contrary, she never accepted you. Hell, she tried to kill you.”

“I don’t know. Ramsey has kept Ann on a short leash. She was never allowed to attend the local school. She is not permitted to visit the mines. She doesn’t ride. She does not—” Calico stopped because Quill was regarding her with a raised eyebrow. “Oh. I see. The Beatrice effect.”

“She has more influence than either of us has suspected. That’s probably true for Ramsey and Ann as well. Can you imagine Ramsey Stonechurch admitting that his sister-in-law has manipulated him? Not only recently, but for years. Where Ann is concerned, he was an easy mark. He loves his daughter, he wants what is best for her, and it would not be hard for Beatrice—for anyone—to use that against him.”

Calico slowly shook her head. “Poor Ann. Isolated. Protected. It is little wonder she doesn’t want to leave. Promise
me we will not do that to our children. I could not bear to see them caged by so much love and good intention.”

Quill stared at her. It was hard to know exactly how to respond to that. Finally, he said, “But you are generally not opposed to loving them.”

“Of course not.”

“And just to be clear, you are not opposed to having them.”

“Of course not.”

“Good to know.”

“Really, Quill, I was the one who Beatrice cracked on the head.”

“Uh-huh.” He rubbed behind his ear. “But sometimes . . .”

Calico smiled. “It’s the same for me.” She started to rise, felt a wave of nausea, and dropped back into the chair. “But not at this moment.”

Quill reached out to steady her. “Dizzy?”

“A little.”

“Stay there. Beatrice is not leaving town. There is no train until late morning. I am going to get Dr. Pitman and send him down. I will sit with Ramsey. I don’t want to disturb Ann yet.”

Calico reached for Quill’s hand and laid hers over it. “One of us has to tell her what’s happening.”

“I understand, but right now you need attention and I need to dress. I will bring your clothes to you as soon as Pitman tells me you are able to—” He stopped because it was clear from the look she gave him that there was no point in putting any conditions on her leaving the house. “Right,” he said. “I will bring your clothes.”

She squeezed his hand. “Just to be clear,” she said quietly. “I love you whether or not you give me my way, but I think you will find I am easier to love if you do.”

Quill regarded her with wry amusement. He was on the point of telling her what he thought of that when Dr. Pitman called down to them. “I’ll go,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

The doctor was standing in the hallway when Quill
arrived. Pitman gestured to Quill to hurry and then disappeared into the bedroom.

“Has he come around?” asked Quill as he approached the bed. Before Dr. Pitman could answer, Quill saw movement behind Ramsey’s eyelids. A moment later, he opened his eyes. “And so he has.”

Dr. Pitman put out his hand and waved it slowly above Ramsey’s face to see if his eyes would track. They did. “Mr. Stonechurch?”

Ramsey slowly turned his head. His eyes were rheumy, his gaze still vaguely unfocused. His lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“His color has improved,” said Quill, and by that he meant that Ramsey’s cheeks were no longer unnaturally flushed. “Does that mean he is finding it easier to breathe?”

Pitman nodded. He wrung out a compress and carefully wiped the watery discharge from Ramsey’s eyes and wet his lips. “I called you as soon as I saw he was conscious. Where is Miss Nash?”

“Still in the kitchen. I need you to attend her.” He explained what had transpired since Calico left. “I’ll stay with Mr. Stonechurch until you return.”

Without a word, Pitman picked up his leather satchel and left.

“Obliging, isn’t he?” Quill said to Ramsey. “And he saved your life. Keep that in mind when he starts ordering you around. He’s earned the right.”

Ramsey tried to say something again and had to settle for giving Quill a sour look.

“Noted,” said Quill. “Do you want some water?” When Ramsey nodded, Quill soaked a clean compress in water and put it against Ramsey’s lips. “Suck on that. You can’t have more until Pitman says you can. I know. It’s miserable.” He held the compress to Ramsey’s mouth until he indicated he’d had enough, and then he put it aside. “Did you hear what I told Pitman about what happened downstairs?” Ramsey’s nod was slight but noticeable. “Do you understand what it means?”

Quill waited, but Ramsey did not respond. It was not possible to know what his silence meant, but Quill’s best guess was that Ramsey was as reluctant as Dr. Pitman to believe that Beatrice was culpable.

“As best I can piece this together without a confession from your sister-in-law, Beatrice has been slowly, methodically poisoning you. She disguised her intent by using small amounts at first, only enough to give you discomfort and set a pattern of mild ailments that could have any number of causes. Headaches. Stomach distress. Fatigue. You rarely complained, but when you did, you took those complaints to Beatrice and unwittingly gave her further opportunity to poison you.”

Quill observed a slight widening of Ramsey’s eyes and stillness in the rest of his body. “So that is how it was,” he said. “She had the means to end your life at any time.”

Ramsey’s eyes darted past Quill to the door. He lifted a hand and placed it against his throat. “Ann? She’s all right? Safe?”

“She’s the one who found you in your study and roused the rest of us. She refused to leave your side until we insisted that she rest so she could have a turn sitting with you later. I’ll get her in a moment.”

Ramsey’s features contorted slightly as a stomach cramp seized him. He sucked in a breath and drew up his knees. His hands briefly curled into fists. When it passed, he swore softly. The clarity of the cursing pointed strongly toward his recovery. “Goddamn Pitman,” he muttered. “What did he give me?”

“A purgative. I watched him force it down your throat and I still don’t know how he did it. You were not cooperative.”

Ramsey grunted. He carefully unfolded his body in anticipation that another cramp would eventually pull him taut again.

Quill waited for him to settle. He said, “What did Beatrice offer you earlier? Tea? Wine? Was she still with you in the study when you collapsed?”

Ramsey said nothing.

Quill allowed the silence to linger, hoping it would prompt Ramsey to speak up. It did not. He said, “I suppose you have your reasons for wanting to protect her, or at least not think the very worst of her, but she tried to kill you, Ramsey, and without the intervention of your daughter and Dr. Pitman, she would have succeeded.”

Ramsey’s mouth twisted as his stomach contracted again. It required considerable effort on his part to speak, but he forced the words out. “I want to see Ann.”

In spite of his frustration, Quill merely shrugged. He was gone from the room before Ramsey’s grimace had faded.

Ann did not call out to Quill when he knocked. He had not thought she could actually fall asleep, but it seemed that she had. He knocked more loudly the second time. When she still did not answer, he opened the door just enough to put his head inside. Her bedcovers were turned back and she was not under them. That prompted Quill to step inside.

Ann’s room was larger than the guest bedrooms, but it shared dressing and bathing areas with the bedroom on the other side. Quill, because he had made it his business early on to learn the layout of the house, knew that neighboring bedroom belonged to Beatrice, and that the arrangement harkened back to the days when the common area had been a nursery and then a sitting room. Until now, he had never considered how the configuration contributed to Beatrice’s attachment to Ann and the influence Beatrice had over her.

Concerned, but not yet alarmed, Quill called out before he entered the bathing and dressing rooms. They were empty. He did not announce himself as he moved through to Beatrice’s bedroom. Ann was not there.

Quill stopped at the foot of Beatrice’s bed and stared at it, trying to make sense of something he was seeing and not quite understanding. The bedcovers were turned back but not disturbed in any other way. Beatrice had not been sleeping when Ann had gone to get her to bring her to the study. Quill returned to Ann’s room. He had seen that the bedcovers were turned down, but he had only been concerned that
she was not in bed. He had not fully comprehended then that she had not slept in her bed either.

He cast his mind back to what she told him earlier.
I was restless, couldn’t sleep.
That seemed to confirm his observation. Had she and Beatrice been talking late into the night? Calico had mentioned there was discussion about Boone Abbot. It was conceivable that the conversation could have still been going on, especially if Ann was excited and Beatrice did not want to discourage her. Ann seemed to suggest she had found her father because she had gone downstairs in search of something that would help her sleep.

Could he believe her?

Quill recalled the panic in her voice when she asked,
If this is because of something he ate, will he recover?

“Christ, Ann,” he said, shoveling his fingers through his hair. “What the hell did she persuade you to do?”

*   *   *

Calico was impatient and doing precious little to hide it. She prepared Pitman a cup of coffee to demonstrate that she had her wits, but when he insisted on a medical assessment, she snapped, “You can tap my skull and examine my eyes and hit my knee with that little hammer of yours as long as you understand it does not make a bit of difference what you say about any of it. As soon as Quill gets down here with my clothes, I am leaving.”

“I never thought it would be otherwise. In fact, he warned me that would be the case. I am here because it is important to him.”

She sighed. “It is. He cannot help himself.” She pointed to the lump on her skull that he needed to look at. “Well, have at it.”