Chapter Nine
It was afternoon by the time Graham reached York. The bruising ride in the bitter cold had finally managed to curb his raging libido. The doctor, a man near his own age, had taken great interest in Graham aboard the ship. Dr. Warner had found his tales of missing memories and loss of identity to be fascinating. In the end, the doctor had provided Graham his direction and the offer to provide any treatment that might impact his memory. Graham could only hope that the doctor’s offer of assistance would extend to his family.
The direction was easy enough to find. The doctor’s home and practice were nestled in a narrow alleyway off the Shambles. The stone building was respectable but hardly grand. Knocking briskly, he was greeted by a short, round woman in a black gown with her hair pulled back in a severe knot.
“I am Lord Blakemore here for Dr. Warner,” he said.
The woman’s eyes raked over his ill-fitting attire that clearly belonged to a working man. “Lord, you say?”
“Aye, Madam. I say. Inform Dr. Warner that I am here,” Graham demanded, pushing past her and into the small entryway.
The woman looked ready to balk, drawing up to the full extent of her diminutive height. “I’ll tell him! And when he says he doesn’t know you, I’ll be shouting for the Watch to come and cart you off!”
“Do as you will, Madam, as soon as you have done as you are told,” he answered.
The woman marched off in a huff, muttering under her breath about those “who don’t know their place”. It was not long until she returned, eyes downcast and a flush on her cheeks.
“The doctor says I’m to show you to the parlor and get you tea.”
He noted that she said the doctor had told her to, not that she would. As he was fairly certain he would be served something less palatable than tea, he declined. “Just show me to the drawing room. I’ll not tax you for refreshment.”
Once in the small drawing room, Graham seated himself on a sturdy looking settee and thanked heavens that the doctor had furnishings more appropriate to supporting his weight than the delicate pieces at Castle Black.
It was only moments later that Dr. Warner entered. The man was dressed casually, his coat forgotten and his sleeves rolled back.
“Graham! Or should I address you as my lord?”
“Graham will do fine,” he answered. “How is your new practice in York?”
The doctor sighed. “Slow, my good man. Slow. It appears the people of York do not appreciate my new and unorthodox methods. They come to me asking to be bled by leeches and call me a madman or a charlatan when I refuse.”
“Then it will not be difficult to persuade you to abandon it for a while?”
Dr. Warner seated himself in the chair facing the settee. “Why?”
“Lady Agatha Blakemore is ill… she has fainting spells and is short of breath. Her existing physician has blamed it on her age and a weakening heart, but I cannot help but feel there is more to it than that.”
“Those symptoms are certainly indicative of a failing heart. Why would you think otherwise?”
“She is not so very old. But more than that, it’s simply a gut instinct, a bone deep belief that there is something more sinister at play than simply her age and failing health.”
“What do you think is occurring, my lord?”
Graham shrugged. “Perhaps she is truly just ill, but the care being provided is intended to simply shuffle her off rather than cure her. I cannot say. I only know that she grows weaker every day and I—I need to feel that I have done everything that I can for her.” He paused, hesitant to admit his greatest fear. But it had to be said. “I need some assurance that my return has not done more harm to her than good.”
The doctor eyed him speculatively for a moment, as if weighing what he had said. “It is likely that I will find nothing untoward. I understand that you have only just been reunited with your family and the prospect of losing your mother so soon after is—well, you do not need me to tell you what it is.”
“Then come to Castle Black not because you can change the course of things, but to give me peace of mind. You owe me that.”
Dr. Warner sighed. “I am well aware that I owe you my life and I am a man who pays his debts…I will agree to come to Castle Black and see to Lady Agatha on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“You must allow me to attempt Mesmer’s techniques with you to unlock these hidden memories of yours. I believe it could work or I would not be so insistent.”
Graham did not believe in Mesmer’s work. The doctor had discussed it with him aboard ship and, even then, he’d found the notion incredible. “Do you believe in animal magnetism, truly?”
“Not in the mystical sense, no,” the doctor said. “But I do believe that the mind is a mysterious and wonderful machine. I believe that your memories still exist and that, given the right amount of concentration and direction, they can be unlocked. Mesmer’s techniques are sound even if I believe his theory to be skewed. Will you attempt it?”
“I will do whatever is required,” Graham promised. “But I should tell you that I have begun to have flashes of memory, images from my childhood have returned… only a few, but they have been verified by others who were present.”
“And the nightmares?” Dr. Warner asked. “When I treated you following your head wound, you suffered greatly from them.”
“They continue,” Graham admitted. “But they are the least of my concerns… I must return to Castle Black. Not everyone is thrilled that I have returned and those who have shown support to me may be in danger because of it. I warn you of this because I do not wish you to enter the castle and then immediately flee.”
The doctor smiled. “I practiced medicine in a den of pirates, my lord. Danger is the spice of life.”
No. Lovely, dark-haired women with compassionate hearts and kind smiles were the spice of life. But he would not say such. “When will you depart for Castle Black?”
“I will leave tomorrow and be there by the afternoon to examine the patient,” the doctor said. “If that is sufficient. Can it wait for another day?”
“I believe so… but I would not allow it to wait much longer. I could be wrong, but my gut instinct tells me that there is something unnatural about Lady Agatha’s illness,” Graham said, giving voice to the fear that plagued him.
“We will get to the bottom of it. I swear it.”
Graham left the doctor’s house after a few moments and headed for the livery stable to reclaim his mount. It was a long journey back and it would be nightfall before he returned.
*
Beatrice sat at her dressing table. She’d spent the better part of her day confined to her room. Other than a brief visit to Lady Agatha who looked so impossibly tired. Afterward, she’d, once again, sequestered herself in her chamber. She did not want to risk another encounter with Edmund, especially since Graham was far from the castle and would not be coming to her assistance.
The dinner gong rang and her stomach did dips and swirls as her nerves got the better of her. But Betsy entered the room then and she knew it was too late to back out.
“Are you certain you want to go nosing like this, Miss?” Betsy asked. “We may find something we don’t want to know about.”
“Whether we want to know or not, if there is something going on under this roof that poses a danger to Lady Agatha or the rest of us, we need to know.” She rose to her feet, took a calming breath, and said, “I don’t have the luxury of cowardice, Betsy. Much as I might wish I did. Someone tried to kill me and I fear that whatever is afoot in the East Tower might be connected. These passages are the best way to find that out undetected.”
Betsy grabbed the candelabra from the table and led the way to a small panel concealed near the fireplace. “All these tunnels are connected. It’s convenient in some ways, but dangerous in others. ’Tis easy to get turned around once you’re in them. No windows. No light save what you brought with you. Don’t ever try this on your own, Miss. Promise me?”
Shuddering as she peered into the small, tight space, Beatrice couldn’t imagine that she’d ever be brave enough to enter them alone. The musty smell, the cobwebs, and the sound of scurrying made her shiver. “You have my word on it,” Beatrice assured her.
In silence, they entered the narrow passage, Betsy in the front leading the way. One close corridor after another, they traversed the length of the family wing and made for the tower. The tunnel shifted sharply to the left and gave way to a small staircase. It was so narrow that her hips brushed against each wall as she climbed the steps.
“How on earth—”
Betsy shushed her sharply. “If you must speak, whisper. The corridors are concealed, but the walls are thin, Miss. You’ll be heard beyond them for sure.”
Beatrice nodded and they continued on, climbing upward until she was dizzy from it and breathless. Once they reached the top, there was a small strip of pale light seeping beneath a panel. Betsy turned back to her and placed a finger to her lips to remind her to be silent. Beatrice nodded again.
Slowly, each movement careful and measured, Betsy eased back a small panel in the door. It was only an inch wide, if that. It allowed just enough space to peer into the room. Was that how the servants managed to appear and disappear without being seen by anyone? They could peek into the room before entering to make certain they were not disturbing the residents?
When the maid stepped back, Beatrice pressed her face to that small portal and curiously examined the room beyond. It was clearly inhabited. There were bottles of brandy and wine littering the top of a table. Books, maps, and charts she could not recognize from such a distance were stacked around it. The bed beyond was rumpled, the linens piled in disarray. But no fire burned in the grate, so clearly whoever was utilizing the chamber did not intend to return any time soon.
“I want to get a closer look,” she said to Betsy.
The maid shook her head. “It’s too dangerous!”
“The coal in the grate is stone cold, Betsy. Christopher, whatever it is that he is using this room for, does not intend to return any time soon,” Beatrice argued. “Show me the way in.”
Betsy let out a long-suffering sigh but, reluctantly, did as she was asked. She opened the small, concealed door and allowed Beatrice to pass into the room, following on her heels.
“You do not have to do this, Betsy. I can do it alone,” Beatrice said softly as she crossed to the table and examined the books and papers littering it. If caught, she’d be scolded. Poor Betsy could be sacked outright. The maid’s answering eye roll was a perfect testament to their long history together.
On the desk, Beatrice found plans of the castle itself, books about the history of it and maps that outlined the property. More disturbing were law treatises that dealt specifically with having a person declared dead. He’d meant to have Graham declared dead and claim the title for himself; that much was clear. Had his plans changed now that Graham had returned?
Betsy had taken up sentry at the door, watching the staircase for any sign of Christopher’s return. Abruptly she turned, wide eyed and panicked. “Someone is coming,” she hissed.
Leaving the mess, Beatrice hurried with her. They’d only just managed to conceal themselves behind the panel again before the door opened. It wasn’t Christopher who entered however. It was Eloise, Edmund’s wife. Dressed in her nightrail and a wrapper, her long, auburn hair was brushed out until it shone and left to fall over her shoulders.
Betsy turned to Beatrice with raised eyebrows and mouthed the words, “Did you know?”
Beatrice shook her head. Of course, she hadn’t known. Who could have? As if to cement their suspicions, Eloise removed her wrapper and lay down upon the bed, arranging herself in a pose that could only be called seductive.
It was only a few moments later that the door opened again and Christopher entered. He didn’t pause or look surprised at his cousin-in-law’s presence. Clearly, she had been expected as he immediately began removing his clothing.
“We need to leave… now,” Beatrice uttered in the softest of whispers.
Betsy nodded her agreement and then began leading the way back through the passage, her footsteps light and careful. Following in her wake, Beatrice was stunned by what she’d just seen. Never outside of those rooms and what she had just witnessed had Eloise and Christopher given the slightest indication that they were even aware of one another, much less that they were intimate. If they could conceal something that significant so successfully, what else might they be hiding?
Once back in the safety of her chamber, dusty and covered with cobwebs, she met the maid’s questioning gaze. “Is anyone in this house not keeping secrets?”
“I highly doubt it, Miss. Let’s get you cleaned up before bed… and no more adventuring tonight. No more adventuring period until his lordship returns.”
Beatrice sighed. “He should have returned by now. He was only going to York. Do you think something might have happened?”
Betsy didn’t meet her gaze, but looked away. It was a telling gesture, even as she offered a reasonable explanation. “The roads are muddy still… might have taken longer than expected to get there. He probably stopped at an inn for the night and will be on in the morning. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
Seated at her dressing table, with Betsy brushing the cobwebs from her hair, Beatrice wasn’t so certain. “I hope you’re right. I’d hate to think something untoward might have occurred.”
“It’ll all turn out,” Betsy reiterated, plaiting Beatrice’s hair into a thick braid. “You’re very fond of him, aren’t you? More so than you expected to be.”
“It isn’t something that I can put into words… it isn’t fondness or liking or anything so simple. I feel drawn to him, compelled to be near him. It’s utterly terrifying,” she admitted softly. “I cannot take such risk, Betsy.”
“Matters of the heart often are… but if it doesn’t scare you a little, then it doesn’t matter enough to risk it anyway.”
A soft knock on the door interrupted their inappropriately familiar conversation. Betsy opened the door to the butler who frowned at her dusty appearance but said nothing. He turned to Beatrice and uttered words that made her heart stutter in her chest.
“Forgive me, Miss Beatrice, but I did not wish to distress her ladyship with the news and Mrs. Blakemore is not in her chamber. Lord Blakemore’s mount has returned… but he has not.”
Beatrice forced herself to think, forced her mind to work and not simply cave under the weight of panic that she felt. “If he was close enough that the horse returned on its own, he is probably on the property itself or on the road nearby. Get the footmen, the grooms, all the stable hands out with lanterns. They will find him. If he’s simply been thrown and not badly injured, he will hear them looking for him and lead them to his position.”
The butler nodded. “Yes, Miss. I will see to it at once.”
She looked back to Betsy as the door closed behind him. “When Christopher entered the tower chamber, he was carrying a pistol wasn’t he?”
Betsy’s face paled as she nodded. “Aye, Miss. He was… and he had mud on his boots.”