Chapter Three
Liam stepped from his final lecture of the day onto the Trinity grounds and, unexpectedly, directly into the path of Dr. Poole.
“Mr. Rafferty,” the man greeted. “Have you made progress on the matter Rev. MacDonnell and I put to you?”
“I have, yes.”
“And what is your impression?”
They walked as they spoke.
“Mr. Fitzsimmons is quiet and not overly personable. He does not seem to have friends among his fellow students.”
Dr. Poole nodded as Liam spoke. This, apparently, was not new information.
“I did not find anything truly suspicious about him,” Liam said.
His conversational companion’s silver brows pulled low. “Nothing at all? He hasn’t a single friend in all the school. And none of the dons or fellows seem overly fond of him. He is given a wide berth by literally everyone. That does not seem unusual to you?”
“If lawmakers intend to pull down medical schools because one of their students isn’t friendly or social, there won’t be any left.”
Dr. Poole seemed neither amused nor convinced. “I am not concerned that Mr. Fitzsimmons is unpersonable, though that will make his professional life more difficult. There is something else not quite right about him. I cannot shake that impression.”
“He struck me as odd,” Liam admitted, “but not sinister.”
“How much time did you spend with him?” Dr. Poole asked, his eyes narrowing.
How had things moved from “look into this suspicious student” to “you are now the subject of my suspicions”? Good heavens.
“I admit, I didn’t spend a terribly large amount of time with him,” Liam said. “But I did have a nice gab with his sister, and she did not give the impression that the family is hiding anything.”
“I asked him about his family once,” Dr. Poole said. “He flatly refused to speak on the matter.”
“That confirms my evaluation that he is shy.”
Dr. Poole shook his head. “There was anger in his refusal. Firmness, or even annoyance, I could understand. But anger was too unfounded a reaction not to catch my attention.”
That was unusual. Oh, heavens. What if there truly was something about Fred Fitzsimmons that needed investigating?
Liam found the mystery of it intriguing.
But the lingering memory of Winnie’s expressive eyes, her cleverness and friendliness, and her soft, lovely smile gave him hesitation. He didn’t want to cause her any grief.
As luck would have it, Fred himself came within view, crossing the green with his arms full of books and his head dipped downward as always.
He wore a hat as ill-fitting as his clothes.
His jacket was horribly wrinkled. His trousers hung large on his slight frame.
The students he passed eyed him before looking almost immediately away.
Sometimes, they rolled their eyes. Sometimes, they laughed.
Most looked disapproving and dismissive.
“Perhaps I could simply ask the students who know him what they think of Mr. Fitzsimmons,” Dr. Poole mused aloud.
That couldn’t possibly end well. Fred was already looked down on.
He’d be endlessly ridiculed if he were known to be the subject of an investigation.
At least Liam would be kind to him, spare his feelings and, hopefully, prevent some jesting at his expense.
There was no guarantee that Dr. Poole’s approach would offer the man any such consideration.
“I’ll chat with him some more,” Liam said. “I’ll let you know if I discover anything.”
“And I will let Rev. MacDonnell know you are not one to give up overly quickly.” That was too pointed a remark to be ignored. It seemed Dr. Poole knew the provost’s approval would be quite beneficial to Liam.
With a quick word of parting, Liam slipped off to catch up with Fred.
How had he managed to get himself mixed up in this?
He’d assumed, when he’d taken on the puzzle, that it would prove to either be a great deal of ado about nothing and Dr. Poole would accept that, or Fred would prove a truly dastardly person he could feel good about tossing to the dogs.
That neither was the case complicated things significantly.
“Fred!” he called out as he hurried toward the man.
Hunched over, his face hidden beneath his hat, Fred twisted enough to look back at him.
Liam caught up to him at last. “Good afternoon. You likely don’t remember me.”
“The tree,” Fred said, gruff and muttered as always.
Liam nodded. “I didn’t catch you at your flat but still wanted to apologize in person.”
“I got your note.” Fred began walking once more.
There was nothing for it but to walk alongside him.
He’d far rather let the man have the privacy he clearly preferred, but if he didn’t make a show of investigating Fred, Dr. Poole would simply begin interrogating everyone else, and likely with far less consideration of the impact that doing so would have on him.
“I fear I owe your sister an apology for the broken plate,” Liam said. “She was very kind about it, but I still feel awful.”
“She wasn’t upset.” Fred kept his books tight against himself, his gaze on the ground ahead of him.
The same student who’d sneered at Fred that day under the tree passed by in the very next moment. With a laugh, the student said to Liam, “I don’t know what wager you’re trying to win, but cut your losses, mate.”
Fred didn’t look at either of them. He didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened. The insult wasn’t lost on him.
Perhaps Dr. Poole’s real problem in the medical school wasn’t the quiet, grumpy students, but the ones who took delight in tormenting them.
“Seems to me I’m winning my wager,” Liam said to the tormentor. “The subject was whether you’d come along and be an utter saucebox.”
He swore he saw a hint of a smile on Fred’s face. The man’s hat and insistence on keeping his eyes on the ground made it almost impossible to say for certain, but Liam took the change as a good thing.
Mr. Saucebox flared his nostrils but didn’t say anything else. He moved along without another jab at Fred.
“Thank you,” Fred muttered, still walking with unshakable focus. Indeed, the two of them hadn’t even slowed their forward progress during the back-and-forth with Fred’s insulter.
“He seems like a bonehead.”
“He is.” A loud exhale followed. “But thank you.”
Fred spoke in spurts—quick bursts of words kept quiet and muttered. ’Twas little wonder so many found him a bit off-putting. He gave the impression of being exasperated. Perhaps he was. But he was also mistreated and looked on with suspicion. That would render anyone a bit exhausted by company.
Which meant Liam’s mystery was no longer sorting out Fred but rather determining whether Fred’s tendency to be withdrawn and disdainful was pushing people away and making him seem questionable or if people pushing him away and treating him questionably made him withdrawn and disdainful.
And he needed to sort a way of doing it that didn’t put Fred in an even more unenviable position. He suspected the man suffered enough as it was.