Was devilment the right word? If those wild surmises of his were true, it might well be…
But he could do nothing here. Especially not if his guesses were true. “She is completely unresponsive to stimuli, and I am baffled as to the cause of her state. It might be a stroke—or it could have some external cause. If she had been outside, I might even suspect lightning—”
There was a flash of interest at that. The woman seized on his possibly explanation so readily that even if he hadn’t suspected her of treachery, he’d have known something was wrong. “She was standing right beside that window when she collapsed,” Madam said, and her even and modulated tones somehow grated on his nerves in a way he found unbearable. “Could lightning have struck her through the window?”
“I don’t know. Was it open?” he asked, then shook his head. “Never mind. The cause doesn’t matter. This young woman needs professional treatment and care—”
This young woman needs to be out of here! he thought, his skin crawling at the sight of Madam’s bright, but curiously flat gaze as she regarded the body of her niece. The hair on the back of his neck literally stood up, and he had to restrain himself to keep from showing his teeth in a warning snarl. You are responsible for this, Madam. I don’t know how, but I know that you are responsible.
He had to control himself; he had to completely, absolutely, control himself. He daren’t let a hint of what he felt show.
And he had to say things he not only didn’t mean, but make suggestions he did not want followed. “—for tonight, it will be enough to put her to bed and hope for the best, but if she has not regained some signs of consciousness by tomorrow, you will need both a physician and trained nurses,” he continued, knowing that if he showed any signs of interest in Marina, Madam would find someone else. Devilment… she’ll want indifferent care at the best, and neglectful at the worst. I have to convince her that this is what I represent. And to do that, I have to pretend I don’t care about having her as a patient. “A physician to check on her welfare and try methods of bringing her awake, and nurses to care for her physical needs. She will need to be tube-fed, cleaned, turned—”
“What about you?” Reggie interrupted, his eyes shrewd. “What about your people? You’re not that far away, why can’t you come tend her here?”
“We have a full schedule at Briareley,” he replied, feigning indifference, though his heart urged him to snatch Marina up, throw her over his shoulder, and run for the carriage with her. “I cannot spare any of my nurses, nor can I afford to take the time away from my own patients to—”
“Then take her to Briareley,” Madam ordered, quite as if she had the right to give him orders. “There’s the only possible solution. Where best would it be to send her? You are here, Briareley has the facilities, and you have the staff and the expertise.” She shrugged, as if it was all decided. “We want the best for her, of course. It should be clear to you that no one here knows what to do, and wouldn’t it be more efficacious to get her professional help immediately?”
“It would be best—the sooner she has professional care, the better—” he began.
Madam interrupted him. “What is your usual fee for cases like this?”
She might have been talking about a coal-delivery, and if he had been what she thought he was—
He had to react as if he was.
He didn’t have a usual fee for cases like this because he’d never had one—but he blandly (and with open skepticism, as if he expected them to balk) named a fee that would pay for a half dozen more nurses and two more strong male attendants for Briareley, a fee so exorbitant that he was sure they would at least attempt to bargain with him. But he knew that he dared not name a price so low they would think he was eager to get Marina to Briareley—much less simply volunteer to take her without being paid. He had to look as if he was exactly what Madam thought him; a quack who was only interested in what he could get for warehousing the weak-minded and insane. He was walking a delicate line here; he had to make them think he was motivated by nothing more than money, yet he didn’t dare do anything that might cause them to send Marina elsewhere.
Stomach churned, jaws ached from being clenched, heart pounded as if he’d been running. Everything told him to get her out of here—
“Naturally,” Madam said, so quickly it made him blink. “Poor Marina’s own inheritance will more than suffice to cover your fees, and as her guardian, I will gladly authorize the disbursement.” The Odious Reggie made a sound that started as a protest, but it faded when his mother glared at him. “I’ll ring for a servant; she can be moved, of course?”
“Of course,” he agreed, then did a double take, “You mean, you wish me to take her now? Tonight?”
“In the Oakhurst carriage, of course,” Madam replied breezily. “I should think it would be the best thing of all for her to be in the proper hands immediately. We know nothing—we might make errors—she could even come to some harm at our hands.” The woman gazed limpidly up at him. “You understand, don’t you, doctor? There must be no question but what we did the best for her immediately. No question at all.”
He shook, and strove to control his trembling, at the implications behind those words. That this creature was already calculating ahead to the moment when—she expected—Marina’s poor husk would take its final breath, and Briareley would boast one less patient. If nothing else would have told him that Madam was behind this, the cold calculation in her words would have given him all the proof that he needed. This had been planned, start to finish.
“Well,” he said slowly, concentrating very hard on pulling on his gloves, “I can have no objection, if you are providing the carriage. And-ah-I can expect my fee tomorrow? I bill for the month in advance, after all.”
“Of course,” Madam agreed, and rang for a servant.
Not one, but three appeared, and when Madam had explained what she wanted, they disappeared, only to return with heavy carriage-rugs, which they wrapped Marina in carefully. Then the largest of the three picked her up.
“My people will show you to the carriage,” Madam said, needlessly.
The first two servants beckoned to him to follow, and the third carried Marina, following behind Andrew to the waiting carriage, his face as full of woe as Madam’s was empty of that emotion.
The rain had stopped; they stepped out into a courtyard lit by paraffin torches, puddles glinting yellow, reflecting the flames. A closed carriage awaited, drawn by two restive horses; one of the servants opened the carriage door, while the other pulled down the steps. Andrew got into the waiting carriage first, followed by the giant carrying Marina, who took a seat across from him, still cradling the girl against his shoulder. “Ready to go, sir.”
Andrew blinked. He had expected the man to put his burden on the seat and leave. Madam didn’t order this.
But the look in the man’s eyes spoke volumes about what he would do, whether or not Madam ordered it.
Good gad. She has the servants with her. No wonder Madam was worried about appearances.
He cleared his throat as the carriage rolled forward into the damp night, the sound of the wheels unnaturally loud, the horses’ hooves even louder. “When Miss Roeswood collapsed—did you see or hear anything—ah—”