Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
A Safe Harbour (36 page)
Worried that his expression might reveal too much, Sam picked up his napkin and made a show of dabbing at his lips. ‘That breakfast was first rate,’ he mumbled over the crumpled square of damask linen. ‘But now I’d just like to go up and check on Miss Lawson before I go.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Grace Adamson’s tone revealed how frustrated she was that she had been denied a chance to question him alone.
‘I have other patients, and I must get back to take morning surgery.’
‘Of course. Ring for the girl and she’ll show you upstairs.’
‘There’s no need. I know the way.’ He bade a speedy farewell and escaped from the room.
Although he knocked on the bedroom door before entering, his patient did not awaken. She lay with her magnificent hair spread out across the pillows, and the faint feverish flush colouring her fine-boned face only enhanced her beauty. Sam closed the door and crossed quietly to the bed. He picked up the arm that lay across the eiderdown and, holding her wrist, took his watch from his fob pocket and measured her pulse.
Still too fast, he thought. Whatever the situation is here I cannot in all conscience let this girl go home. He lowered her arm and laid her hand gently on the eiderdown. She moaned and stirred but did not open her eyes. Green eyes, as he remembered. Yes, she was ravishing. As well as the high cheekbones she possessed long graceful limbs and Sam had been surprised by her speaking voice. It was not quite that of a lady and yet neither was it that of a rough village lass. Her tone was well modulated and her speech correct.
Had Richard been grooming her? Sending her for speech and deportment lessons? It was not unheard of for gentlemen to treat their mistresses so in the hopes that the women might be accepted by society and even become their wives. But surely not. Not his old friend Richard. He was not the kind of man to be so devious – and it would have been devious indeed to have carried on like this while he was courting Caroline Travers.
Sam felt a stab of anger. Caroline was elegant and well educated and if there was a slight haughtiness in her manner it was solely because of her upbringing as the only child of a wealthy magnate. Caroline would bring wit, beauty and a considerable fortune to the man she married. If she so wished she could make a brilliant match, perhaps even gain a title, and yet she seemed to have set her heart on Richard. She did not deserve to be treated so callously.
The young doctor was honest enough to admit to himself that his thoughts were prompted by jealousy as well as concern. He admired Caroline himself but knew that his position was hopeless. Although not poor, his scholarly father had devoted most of his inherited fortune to medical research and the education of his son. Caroline Travers would never consent to be the wife of a humble man of medicine.
‘What is it?’
Sam was shaken out of his reverie to find that the woman before him had opened her eyes and was staring up at him with a puzzled frown. Her hands fumbled at the bedclothes and pulled them up to her chin in an instinctive gesture of modesty. He was almost taken in by it.
‘I am Dr Phillips,’ he said. ‘Remember? I came to see you before.’
‘Yes, I remember.’ She eased herself into a sitting position, still clasping the bedclothes. ‘But I meant what is it that’s troubling you? Am I very ill?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But the look on your face . . . it was . . . disquieting.’
Her eyes were huge. He found himself wanting to comfort her and was prepared to prevaricate. ‘That was just the everyday countenance of a busy doctor of medicine, I’m afraid. All the cares of the world on my shoulders – that sort of thing.’
She responded to his words with a gentle smile. ‘And I have made your life more burdensome.’
‘How is that?’
‘I’m sure you do not usually visit patients before breakfast.’
‘Not unless the case is urgent.’ Her smile trembled and his heart lurched. ‘And yours is not, I assure you. But Richard – Mr Adamson – insisted that I come.’
The young woman’s smile vanished to be replaced by a look of anxiety. She could no longer meet his eyes and his heart hardened.
‘That was . . . that was good of him,’ she said.
‘No doubt he had his reasons.’
She caught the cool edge to his voice. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Mr Adamson was obviously concerned about you.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Can you tell me why?’
‘He is a good man.’
‘That’s not what the villagers think of him, is it? Particularly your own family.’
She seemed to shrink back and pull the bedclothes closer to her body. ‘My family?’
‘You are a Lawson. I read the report in the newspaper about the riot.’
‘It was hardly a riot.’ Her eyes flashed.
‘The demonstration, then. But even if the newspaper reporters exaggerated, my friend ended up with stitches in his cheek. I know because I patched him up that day, and he still has the scar. The stone was thrown by a Lawson, I think.’
‘Thomas. My brother.’
‘And yet Richard is so concerned about you, the young criminal’s sister, that he brings you into his own house when he finds you ill on the beach at night.’
He noticed how tightly she gripped the bedclothes when she replied, ‘My brother is not a criminal.’
‘He broke the law. He was the leader of an unlawful assembly and he was also the one who assaulted Richard Adamson. He could have gone to prison if Richard had pressed charges.’
‘I know that. But Mr Adamson understands why my brother and the other men are so angry. He wants to help them—’
‘He’s told you this?’
‘Yes, and I believe him. And I also believe him to be a good man. But as for why he brought me here instead of taking me back to my cottage, I have no idea.’
She raised her chin as she glared at him. She was good, he thought. If this was an act she ought to be on the stage.
‘And if it disturbs you so,’ she continued, ‘I shall leave this house as soon as my clothes are returned to me.’
‘I’m told your mother will be bringing some things for you later today. But you cannot go home.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you still have a fever. You must stay in bed.’
‘I can stay in bed at home.’
‘Of course you can, but in the circumstances there is another reason why you should not be moved too soon after your ordeal, isn’t there?’
‘Circumstances?’
‘I presume you don’t want to endanger your unborn child.’
She caught her breath and one hand released its grip on the bedclothes and fumbled at her neck where it caught at a piece of loose ribbon. ‘How do you know?’
‘I couldn’t be certain, but there are signs. I am a doctor, you know.’ He smiled faintly when he said this. He could see how distressed she was and he found he couldn’t harden his heart completely.
‘Nobody knows,’ she said and her voice was husky.
‘Nobody? Not even—’
‘My parents? Yes, but no one else.’
‘I was going to say not even the father of the child,’ Sam said. Suddenly he saw what was attached to the ribbon she was playing with. ‘Are you married?’
Swiftly she tucked the wedding ring down the neck of her nightgown and raised her head to look him in the eye. ‘No.’
‘Are you going to be?’
‘No.’
‘But does the father . . . I mean does the man know he’s fathered a child.’
‘No.’
Her obdurate tone caused him to lose patience. Once more, despite the fact that there was something straightforward about her, something that proclaimed her honesty, he began to think that, after all, she was involved in something dishonourable.
‘Are you going to tell him?’
‘That would be impossible.’
What did that mean? he wondered. That whoever it was was not free to marry her? Or, worse, that she simply didn’t know who the father was? Then he saw the sheer misery in her eyes and stopped himself from questioning her further.
‘You mustn’t tell anyone,’ she whispered.
‘Of course I won’t. Whatever you say to me is in confidence.’
Sam flushed when he said this because he realized that, until he had met Howard Munro at the breakfast table and seen his concern for the girl, he had probably been going to tell Richard that Kate Lawson was with child. And that was because he had assumed that his old friend had taken the girl as his mistress and was the father. Now he knew that he couldn’t take anything for granted, and he was glad that professional etiquette would bind him to keeping her secret.
He had done his duty as a doctor and would continue to call until he deemed it safe for her to leave this house. But, as Richard’s friend, all he could do was step back and keep his own counsel. And be ready to help, when, in the nature of things, the girl’s condition became a secret no more.
Joan Donkin showed Nan Lawson into the room and departed without a word. Kate, still in her nightgown, was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up and her eyes shone.
‘Oh, Ma, I was expecting you nearly four weeks ago.’
‘I came along the first day you were here but I was told that the doctor said you had to rest. No visitors. Not even me.’
Kate sighed. ‘I know. I’m not blaming you. But, Ma, I’ve missed you so!’
‘There, there, lass.’ Nan looked pleased and a little awkward. ‘Have you been here all by yourself, then?’
‘The only other folk I’ve seen are Joan Donkin and Dr Phillips.’ Suddenly Kate couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. She dropped her head and examined her feet swinging to and fro. She had imagined that Richard Adamson would come to see how she was. She had been racked with embarrassment when she tried to conjecture what he would say – and how she would reply. Would he refer to what had happened in the few moments after he had rescued her from the cave? Or would he pretend it had never happened? And how would she respond to him?
But she hadn’t been put to the test. He hadn’t come. Neither had his mother. She had been well looked after but she had been almost completely isolated.
‘Where shall I put your things?’ her mother asked. She was carrying a large bundle wrapped up in brown paper and tied with kitchen string.
‘Here on the bed. And then why don’t you sit down by the fire while I get ready?’
Her mother did as she was bid, and looked around the room wonderingly. ‘Isn’t this grand?’ she said. ‘Pretty wallpaper, nice curtains, and the wardrobe and chest of drawers so highly polished.’
‘Joan does that,’ Kate said.
‘The polishing?’
‘And tending to the fire, and the dusting and the sweeping and the fetching and carrying for me all the time I’ve been here. It seems Mrs Adamson thought it better for me to see a “friendly face” while I was poorly. That’s what Joan told me. But most of the time her face looked as though she’d just drunk a bottle of vinegar – especially when she had to deal with my chamber pot!’
‘Let me see it.’
‘What? The chamber pot? What on earth for?’
‘I’ll bet it’s a bonny one.’
‘As a matter of fact it is. And, as it’s empty, I’ll humour you!’
Kate slipped off the bed and knelt down. She pushed the hanging bedclothes aside and reached for the chamber pot. When she drew it out she heard Nan give a gasp of appreciation.
‘Let me hold it,’ she said.
Kate carried the chamber pot over to her mother, who took it as though it were something precious. ‘Best china,’ she said, ‘not like our old pot jerries. Look at this – such pretty red roses. Why, they’ve even got a rose inside for you to water when you—’
‘Ma! Stop it!’ Kate said but she was smiling. ‘But look over here – it matches the set.’
Kate walked over to a triangular washstand that fitted neatly into the corner of the room. On it there was a large jug standing in a bowl, a medium-sized jug, a lidded dish and two beakers. Every piece was white china decorated with the same pattern of red roses.
Nan Lawson rose from her chair and carried the chamber pot almost reverentially over to the bed. She knelt down and pushed it back into place. When she stood up, slowly, Kate noticed the fleeting expression of pain and the gasp for breath. But she knew if she asked her mother would brush it aside with some remark about her old bones. Kate knew it was the hard life her mother endured rather than age, for Nan was still in her forties.
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