Chapter Twelve #2
He needed the laughter of his friends. He’d found it, too, in odd moments. That mad game with Withy when they’d first arrived. The first evening together in the library with too much brandy and too much to say—that had been just like the old days.
As was darts at the King’s Arms, although Fosterson quickly realized Withy’s mind—and aim—were not on the game. He kept sloping off to engage various people in conversation.
“He’s asking questions again,” Hale said, as though amused. “You know, I don’t remember him being that...worldly.”
“He always noticed things,” the professor said. “And people, even when he couldn’t tell them apart.”
“Best tutor I ever saw, too,” Hubb remarked. “I sat in with him and his students a couple of times, and it was a revelation the way he made them think and work. He didn’t just tell them what to read and leave them to it. Made me a bit ashamed to be honest.”
Withy came back and sat down to finish his pint, relaxed and oddly elegant in his nobleman’s rig, not one but two quizzing glasses slung around his neck. Incongruous, surely, in the environs of the taproom, and yet...
“Shall we go back?” Withy suggested.
“Home?” Fosterson asked in surprise.
“Not as young as I used to be,” the professor apologised, setting down his mug.
“And I daresay the ladies are missing us,” Hubb added. “They don’t have the same past together as we do.”
Of all the young bachelors, only Fosterson had no woman to worry about. Peggy the maid’s pretty face flashed through his mind and was banished.
“And Fosterson has a patient,” Mal added.
Something twisted inside Fosterson. He had a patient, or at least one he shared with the local doctor. He could not afford to forget his patients, nor demote them below the selfish pleasures of his own life.
Although he laughed and joked as they walked back up to the house, he could not help feeling slightly deflated. And uneasy.
“What did you learn?” he asked Withy when they happened to be walking side by side.
“That one of my suspects was here until midnight on Saturday night, and that the others went home exactly when they said they did.”
“And that means something to you?”
“It all adds up,” Withy said vaguely. “Like little pieces of a puzzle that have to go in the right place to make sense. Plus, you need all the pieces.”
“Are we pieces in your puzzle, Withy?”
“Yes.”
That caused another twist in his stomach. What would he uncover?
Withy met his troubled gaze and smiled faintly. “But at least I am familiar with those pieces. Didn’t you see anyone or anything when you were up so late that night?”
A graceful figure in the glow of a lamp. Words that should not have been said. Fosterson banished the vision and shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid not.”
Withy’s gaze seemed to linger on his face, although Fosterson faced forward.
Withy had always been an elusive character, secrecy skulking behind his shy, amiable manners and his unparalleled sense of the ridiculous that could make you cry with laughter.
That elusiveness had been part of what had always drawn the curious Fosterson to him. He had never found it dangerous before.
Had Withy changed? Or had Fosterson?
Or was the fresh air giving the local ale he’d drunk new life? In truth, he felt just a little foxed as they returned to the house. Withy let them in with a key, but Fosterson chose to lurk outside for a few minutes more.
“I’ll lock the door behind me,” he said.
He wondered if he was unconsciously waiting for Peggy, ready to break the self-imposed rules he lived by.
The pleasures of a woman’s soft body were just what he needed right now.
But when he thought about it, it was not the maid he wanted.
It was a companion, a love that meant something more than the transient joys of the flesh. Or perhaps it was just purpose.
Sighing, he went inside, closed and locked the door, and hung the key on the high hook.
“Psst!”
The sound was so unexpected that he thought he must have misheard. Ignoring it, he turned toward the staircase.
“Dr. Fosterson.”
Again, it sounded more like a hiss. Peering into the dark hallway, he realized someone stood in the glow of the lamp. Lady Petteril, beckoning him urgently.
He could only obey her. For an instant he wondered if he’d drunk too much or fallen asleep into an unlikely dream.
“You have to know something,” she said low, “but I want you to keep it to yourself, at least until I can speak to Piers.”
“He just came in.”
“I must have just missed him. I’m glad I caught you, though. Come.” She turned to the baize door that led to the kitchen, and he knew she was taking him to the patient.
“I was going to have a quick wash and a cup of tea first,” he said humbly.
“Sorry, but it’s important... There’s only Mrs. Riley left in the kitchen.”
Fosterson was intrigued. The young viscountess seemed to see nothing wrong in leading a single man alone into the depths of deserted rooms. Mrs. Riley, studiously ignoring them, was not much of a chaperone.
Blithely, Lady Petteril led him into the footman’s temporary bedchamber, closing the door behind them.
“He woke,” she said, the words bursting from her with quiet intensity. “He opened his eyes and looked right at me.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. I’m not even sure he understood me, but he turned his head, took a drink, and closed his eyes. Is that not a hopeful sign?”
Fosterson wished he had his medical bag with its listening device. As it was, he took Edward’s pulse and laid his ear against the man’s chest.
“What do you think?” she asked eagerly.
“His pulse is stronger. I think...I think he is sleeping naturally now.”
“Then he could wake at any moment?”
He had the impression she had already suspected as much. “And tell us who struck him.”
“Exactly. This puts him in fresh danger, doesn’t it? If his attacker hears he is awake, he could try again. I think we should keep this between ourselves.”
Fosterson blinked. “Just you and me?”
“And Piers.” She frowned. “And, I think, Mrs. Riley. She was snoring when he was attacked, and I believe she can be sworn to secrecy. If nothing else, she can keep the other servants out of this room.” She must have seen the doubt on his face, for she added quickly, “I know we won’t be able to keep it up for long, but hopefully it will be enough time for us to discover who did this to him. ”
He hesitated, for she looked so determined and eager that he felt a scoundrel for crushing her hopes. “He might never wake again, you know. And even if he does, his brain could be permanently damaged. He might shout or groan and give himself away.”
She nodded slowly. “I did wonder about him calling out...But I think I have to try. Piers and I will sit with him tonight.”
“With respect, Lady Petteril, you need to rest.”
Her smile dazzled its way into his heart. “Oh, I can sleep anywhere.”