Katie Rose (26 page)

By God, she would.

“What are you doing?” Winifred asked as Jennifer hauled out the washtub.

“His Majesty has decided he wishes a bath.” She scowled, filling the kettle with water. “He has also determined that his roast be cooked medium rare, and that he wants to eat soon. That man! I wish I’d never laid eyes on him.”

“It is good that he agreed to stay out of sight,” Winifred reminded her as she hastened to fill another kettle. “I’m sorry, Jennifer. I realize that part of this is my fault.”

“It’s all our faults,” Jennifer said quietly. “We made a mistake, and it’s coming back to haunt us. I don’t know what we’ll do tonight.” When her sister looked at her questioningly, Jennifer explained. “We have Mrs. Hawthorne coming for a séance.”

“That’s right,” Winifred agreed. “We’ve got to get rid of him. We both know how he feels about our business. I am certain he’ll do everything in his power to ruin tonight’s session.”

“Maybe we should cancel,” Jennifer mused. “And reschedule Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“We can’t. We’re booked solid through the month,
and she is a new client. I don’t think she’d appreciate being bumped, particularly at this late hour.” Winifred stared at the wine bottle thoughtfully. She had selected another good vintage for dinner, certain that Gabriel would insist upon that as well as his roast. Her frown gradually curved up into a smile, and when she turned to Jennifer, her eyes sparkled with merriment.

“I’ve got it!”

“What?” Jennifer grinned, sensing what was coming.

“I’ll put a sedative in his wine. He’ll fall asleep directly after dinner, thus solving our problems! We can get him safely out of the way, hold our séance, and no one will be the wiser!”

“It’s brilliant!” Jennifer cried as Winifred bowed, pleased as always to have her remarkable intellect recognized. Her own enthusiasm dimmed slightly as her sister retrieved the bottle, then began to pour it into a decanter. “Are you sure it won’t harm him? We really have done him enough damage.”

“No, silly. I’ll use Aunt Eve’s sleeping tonic. I think it’s half alcohol anyway, and it never seems to cause her any ill effect. We’ll have to be careful to make it look like we’re all drinking the wine, though. He’ll get suspicious if he’s the only one.”

“How do we manage that?”

“We’ll use two identical decanters. We’ll pass them continually around the table, so that Gabriel thinks we’re drinking the same stuff. I’ll cap the bad wine with the diamond-cut stopper, and the good wine with the solid one.” Jennifer watched in admiration as Winifred poured a generous portion of the sleeping draught into one decanter, then filled it with wine. The second got wine only, and she stoppered them as she’d described. When she finished, the twin bottles stood on the sideboard.

Jennifer clapped. “Gabriel Forester has another think
coming if he thinks to best the Appletons. We’ll just have to make sure Penny knows the difference as well.”

“I’ll warn her. Now you take up his bath, and I’ll start getting the meal ready. Before we know it, our troubles will be sleeping.”

“This roast is excellent,” Gabriel commented as he enjoyed his third helping. The Billings had thankfully departed on schedule, and dinner had been served exactly when Gabriel had commanded. Jennifer’s outrage at preparing his bath was almost tangible, but there was nothing she could do other than fulfill his every request, protesting only when he teasingly suggested she scrub his back. He thought about demanding that she shave him, but experience had taught him to be cautious where she was concerned, and he had no wish to see his throat cut.

He had to admit he enjoyed his role as tyrant, and the occasional twinge of conscience he felt was easily dismissed because he knew he’d be leaving soon. And after all, the Appletons had treated him worse than any criminal, and deserved much more than the meager retribution he’d given them. The three women had run rampant far too long. And someone, Gabriel thought smugly, had to show them their place.

He refilled his plate, aware that Jennifer, Penelope, and Winifred were aghast at the immense amount of food he consumed. Gabriel noticed that they ate modest portions, and went to great lengths to save any leftovers for another meal. Frowning, he twirled his wineglass, aware that money, for the Appletons, really was a major concern.

He’d noticed other things during his stay, as well. Twin Gables, the family home, had at one time been a mansion, but had now fallen badly into disrepair. Gabriel had noticed that the roof leaked, and that the chimney was
crumbling. Although the inside of the house was comfortable, there were drafts everywhere, the steps creaked, and water had leaked into the basement. Many of the bedrooms were unusable, so the three sisters shared a room. Even here in the dining room, there was water damage to the ceiling, and the chandelier swayed ominously. While the condition of the house was beneficial for their séances, it wasn’t good for the inhabitants.

When he’d mentioned this to Jennifer, she’d merely looked at him in disbelief, then once again reiterated their financial situation. While he’d always believed her story—well, that part, anyway—seeing the deterioration of the manse only confirmed what she’d told him.

“Would you like more wine, Mr. Forester?”

Winifred addressed him politely and his gaze turned to Jennifer’s bluestocking sister. A pang of pity struck him as he realized that Jennifer’s ambition for her was not unrealistic: The woman had one of the finest minds he’d ever seen. Yet he acknowledged that even with a law degree, she’d have a hard time finding clients. For a brief instant, he understood what women like Elizabeth Cady Stanton were preaching about, and what a pity it would be to silence these gifts. He nodded in response to her question.

“Yes, I would. This wine is even better than the one I had earlier. It seems your uncle didn’t share the Appletons’ frugality.”

“Uncle didn’t need to,” Jennifer explained, watching her sister pour the wine with a strange intensity. “He was relatively well-to-do until the war. Like many other widows, Aunt Eve didn’t experience financial distress until after he died.”

“I see.” Gabriel sipped the wine, suddenly aware that all eyes were on him. Why were they all … he sniffed his wineglass. Surely they couldn’t have … He glanced suspiciously around the table, then relaxed when he saw that the girls were all drinking as well. He was even more relieved
when Jennifer refilled her own glass and sipped deeply of the contents.

“And your father?” he continued. “I know he died in an accident, but why didn’t he leave an inheritance?”

“Father was heavily in debt,” Jennifer explained. “We don’t know what happened, only that it took us many years to pay back what he owed. It is something we’ve always wondered about, and something we’ll never know the truth of. All Aunt Eve ever told us is that Father once loved someone he couldn’t wed. Our mother loved him, so he married her, but he never seemed to have much ambition after that. We were astonished to learn about the disastrous state of his affairs. It was almost as if someone was out to ruin him.”

Gabriel frowned, wondering if Jennifer’s imagination was running wild, or if there was something to her theory. He’d heard of cases like this before, where one of New York’s wealthy families, fearing their daughter’s disgrace, forbade her to wed and set out to destroy the “improper” man so that he could never pose a threat. Could such a thing have happened to Jennifer’s father? Or was it more likely that her father, like his own, just couldn’t manage a business?

It was an interesting thought. Gabriel yawned loudly, wondering why it had become so difficult to think. His words sounded slurred even to his own ears, and, in spite of the small quantity he had drunk, he felt curiously weary. He reached for his coffee cup, but found himself yawning again.

“More wine?” Penelope asked sweetly, refilling his glass.

His previous suspicions came back to haunt him. As he looked around the table, he saw Winifred studying her plate as if it were of great interest. Penelope looked directly at him, her eyes full of watchful curiosity, while Jennifer
glanced away guiltily. He rose unsteadily, outrage spreading slowly through him.

“You … you’ve poisoned me!” The words came thickly, and he cursed as his body moved clumsily away from the table. The parrot squawked, unmindful of the presence of the threatening kitten, while Angel leaped to his feet like a genuine tiger prepared to defend his mistress. Jennifer gasped as Gabriel lunged toward her, but his legs felt like dead weights and they refused to do his bidding. Instead, he collapsed onto the table. Sleep overcame him, and he fell immediately into its dark, dizzying depths.

“Is he out?” Penelope asked cheerfully, stooping to peer at Gabriel’s face. A loud snore confirmed her belief. “That was close! Thank goodness he missed the potatoes! For a second there, I thought he would attack you.”

Jennifer looked at the slumbering body in awe, her hands pressed to her lips. Gabriel was but inches away, and his hand still clasped the tablecloth directly in front of her. “Are you sure he’s all right?”

“Of course he is,” Winifred said indignantly. “I only gave him twice Auntie’s draught. He’s sound asleep, that’s all.”

“Let’s get him upstairs,” Penelope said quickly. “We don’t have much time before our appointment, and the sooner he’s out of here, the better.”

The three girls hefted Gabriel’s body in the direction of the steps. Jennifer took his shoulders, Winifred his torso, while Penelope got his feet. It was no easy task, especially since Jennifer had to walk backward, hauling his shoulders up the stairs one step at a time. Penelope giggled as his rump hit each step, in spite of Winifred’s best effort.

“Can you lift him any higher?” Jennifer gasped, struggling toward the next step. “He’s going to be black-and-blue tomorrow.”

“I’m trying,” Winifred grunted.

They all gasped as Jennifer lost her balance and Gabriel’s head struck the stair. Filled with horror, Jennifer leaned closer, and saw to her relief that Gabriel was still breathing, and there was no blood.

“Looks like he’ll have a headache, too,” Winifred remarked dryly. “Come on, we’ve only got three more steps to go.”

The sisters made one last supreme effort and dragged the body up to the landing, then into the guest bedroom. They stood back, breathing heavily from the exertion, while Gabriel slumbered peacefully on the bed as if he’d just fallen asleep there.

“Whew! He’s a lot heavier than he looks.” Penelope wiped her brow.

“Probably everything he ate,” Winifred sniffed. “All right, ladies, let’s get the dinner cleaned up. Mrs. Hawthorne will be here at midnight, and we need to prepare.”

Jennifer nodded, but her eyes kept straying back to Gabriel. His dark curls had fallen over his forehead, and his thick black lashes barely fluttered. He looked like an innocent little boy, but there was nothing innocent or boyish about his strong, muscular body. Jennifer swallowed hard. He would be furious again when he awakened, she thought as she locked the door behind her.

It seemed to be becoming a habit.

Pain. That was all he could feel. Gabriel fought consciousness, knowing instinctively that what awaited him beyond sleep was the headache of all headaches. He could feel the blind throbbing from a distance, as if his brain were trying to burst out of his skull, and he moaned.

He lost the fight. Slowly, he came to wakefulness, and his groans became louder and more insistent. Wracked with pain, he raised his head a few inches, and nearly howled in agony. A nice-sized lump had formed on the back of his head, and when he pressed his fingers to it, he had no doubt as to the source of his anguish.

Collapsing back onto the pillow, he breathed slowly, trying to see in the total blackness surrounding him. It was then that he realized his pain was not limited to his head. No, that was merely where the worst of it hovered, torturing him like a python wrapping itself around his skull. Everything hurt, from his arms to his legs, and amazingly, even his posterior. Gabriel groaned once more as he made the mistake of running his hands down his torso to check for damage. It seemed there wasn’t an inch of his flesh that didn’t throb as if it had been stuck with hot needles.

What in God’s name had happened to him? Had he been in an accident? He tried to force his mind to think, to get past the incredible ache and form coherent thoughts. He hadn’t been in his carriage since that morning. He’d gone with Jennifer to buy groceries, had dinner, drank wine …

The wine. He sat up swiftly in bed, regretting the motion as soon as he’d completed it. Nausea rose in his stomach, and he had to force it down. His mouth was like cotton. None of this made sense. It was as if he’d drunk a gallon of hard spirits, even though he’d had only a few glasses of wine. My God, what had they done to him? Was it poison? But that didn’t explain the pain. Had he pushed them too far? Had they beaten him out of revenge?

Fury pulsed through him, making his headache turn ravaging. The Appletons had turned the tables on him, poisoned him, and done something to him to make his body feel like it had been run over by a team of horses. He tried to sit again, but his rear end turned to fire. He gasped, then moved sideways to slip off the bed. Rising to his feet, he looked into the mirror and gaped at what he saw.