Читать книгу Scandal with a Sinful Scot - Karyn Gerrard - Страница 10

Chapter 2

As Abigail Wharton Hughes gathered her cloak, bonnet, and gloves, she mulled over her plans for the day. Very little happened in Standon, Hertfordshire, and she reveled in the serene quiet of the small country village. Living here the past fourteen years had brought contentment to Abbie.

She’d been a widow for more than two years, and seeing as her late husband, Dr. Elwyn Hughes, had been the local physician, she held a position of respect. Living in her tidy brick and wood bungalow on the outskirts of the village gave her the quiet privacy she needed. Since Elwyn had died, she spent her days toiling in her garden or volunteering at her late husband’s clinic.

Mrs. Jones would be by later to clean the house, so she must return by four o’clock. It gave her ample opportunity to shop at the small bakery. Well, it was not much of a bakery; a woman sold goods out of her front parlor. Then Abbie would stop in to the medical clinic and assist Dr. Gethin Bevan and his daughter, Cristyn.

Gethin Bevan, a colleague of her late husband, was a friend but nothing more. Although he’d hinted more than once that they could marry, seeing as he was a widower and she a widow. At thirty-two, Abbie was young enough to find another husband, only she did not want one. She was not looking for companionship or a lover. Living a quiet, contented life meant she could avoid any messy dramas that often accompanied most relationships. She’d never find another amiable partner like Elwyn—they were all too rare.

Stepping outside, she inhaled the crisp January air. A dusting of snow clung to the ground, but the temperature was not too cold for a brisk walk. The semi-frozen soil crunched under her boots as she headed to the village proper.

Once she’d purchased fresh rolls and a currant cake, Abbie made her way to the clinic, or as Gethin wished it to be called, the Standon Sanatorium. Being alone most of the week suited Abbie fine, though she was looking forward to her daughter Megan’s visit Friday afternoon. Megan attended Miss Bartley’s School for Young Ladies in nearby Little Hadham. Megan was not Elwyn’s, but he’d accepted and loved her as if she were.

Abbie smiled softly as she thought of her late husband. A kind and gentle man close to twenty years her senior, she grew to adore him, if not exactly love him. He had assisted her out of a tight spot, and because of it, she would be eternally grateful and cherish his memory.

At the tender age of eighteen, she found herself in a frightening predicament: unwed, alone, and pregnant. Until a friend of her father’s, the kindly Dr. Hughes, came to her rescue. It was another reason to esteem her late husband. Her heart ached that she could not love him as he deserved, but he often said he would take what she had to offer and be glad of it.

Striding along the lane, the sound of thundering horses’ hooves filled her hearing. A black carriage whizzed by her at a rapid pace, nearly spinning her like a child’s toy top and running over a couple of sheep grazing lazily on bits of grass visible on the snow-covered ground. What on earth?

Curious, Abbie hurried along the lane until the sanatorium came into view. Three men emerged from the carriage. Two of them were assisting another, who looked to be unconscious or close to it. Her blood stilled, and she dropped her basket. No. It couldn’t be him. Not here in this tiny village. Not after all these years.

But there was no mistaking the breadth and height, or the shoulder-length hair the shade of a fire blazing in the hearth. He seemed bigger than life, larger than she remembered. But then they were both barely eighteen when last they spoke. Curling an arm about her stomach to stem the nausea, she shook her head as if to convince herself that it was not Garrett Wollstonecraft heading into Gethin’s medical facility. They stood near the door, and the large man turned slightly.

Dear Lord, it was him. There was no mistaking the handsome perfection. She stumbled, her vision turning hazy as if she’d been pulled into a heavy mist. The memories she’d buried broke free and roared to the surface. Along with it came the intense emotions, whether she wanted them or not. For years she’d packed them neatly away, to the point she wondered if what had transpired between her and Garrett that summer had been merely a dream.

A younger version of Garrett stepped into the mist of her mind, tall, leaner, handsome beyond measuring. She’d first encountered him in the woods riding a large stallion. When he pulled up on the reins and smiled warmly at her, time stood still.

As it did now. Blood thundered in her ears, her heart racing. More memories flickered through her dizzying brain, of stolen kisses and fumbling in the hayloft and weeks of heated, clandestine meetings where they had taught each other about love and passion. The glorious moment when he had first entered her. A doleful sob escaped her throat with the remembrances.

It had all started with a summer visit to Alberta Eaton’s uncle’s small estate in Kent. The holiday had changed her life. Her future. She and Alberta were dear friends, and they had kept in contact through the years. Alberta and her brother-in-law, Jonas, had visited her in Standon twice. They exchanged long, gossipy letters, so Abbie was aware of Uncle Keenan’s death and Alberta’s inheriting the small manor house. But during those visits and letters one truth held firm: the name Garrett Wollstonecraft was never to be mentioned.

It was as if it had all happened yesterday, not more than fourteen years past. The emotions were still powerful and passionate. Prickles of searing electricity tore along Abbie’s spine as she gazed at him. Through the years, she’d often wondered what she would do if she’d ever encountered Garrett. Considering that he had broken her heart, would she rail and scream, pound his massive chest and curse him to the depths of hell? Or would she weaken and throw herself into his strong, warm embrace and sob uncontrollably?

Well, she would do none of it here. This was not the time nor place. Bending, she almost fell forward as her shaking legs buckled. Taking a deep breath, Abbie gathered up her basket, then broke into a run.

In the opposite direction.

The dam had burst. The unruly water rushing out of control. There would be no gathering all the memories and emotions and hiding them away ever again. First, she must write to Alberta and find out all she could about Garrett. Then she must decide if the past should be confronted at long last.

* * * *

“Damn it, this is nothing more than a barn. Where have you brought my nephew?” Garrett hissed through clenched teeth as they carried Aidan into the exam room.

“It’s a converted barn, actually,” Dr. Bevan replied. “All paid for from treatment fees. You may lay Mr. Black there.”

A young woman came to stand beside the doctor. Garrett cast a sidelong glance at her and made note of her beauty. Petite, dark haired, and fair skinned, with eyes the shade of a field of violets.

“Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Cristyn. She is training under me as a nurse, and is my trusted assistant.” The doctor turned to her. “My dear, burn the blanket. The clothes will be next.” Glancing up, he said to Edwin and Garrett, “If you will wait outside. There is usually someone here from the village to see to you, but she is late. Cristyn will be out directly to fetch you something to eat and drink while I perform my exam. Opium, you say?”

“And gin. God knows what else,” Garrett muttered.

Aidan stirred and started to thrash about. “I’m sorry…so…so sorry.”

Garrett clasped his hand and squeezed it tight. “It’s all right, Nephew. I’m here.”

“I take it your name is Black as well?” the doctor questioned.

Hesitating, Garrett nodded. It would be best to keep the name Wollstonecraft out of this tragic situation. At least initially.

“Then, Mr. Black, I will have a more inclusive picture to discuss shortly.”

Reluctantly, Garrett released Aidan, who didn’t even seem aware of his presence.

Edwin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come. Dr. Bevan knows what he’s about.”

He followed Edwin out into the hallway. Before he sat, he took a moment to inspect the premises. The large barn structure had been cordoned off into a long hallway with numerous rooms on either side. It was clean, bright, and not at all what he’d expected when they had first arrived. His initial thought was Edwin had brought him to a place out of the medieval era. The ancient stones and wood timbers that made up the bulk of the facade proved his theory.

He’d never been to Hertfordshire. Unlike Julian, who had travelled extensively, Garrett had not been north of London. Except for Scotland. He never believed he would find a sanatorium here in the middle of farm country. Exhausted, he plunked down on the large chair in the hallway. They sat in silence for God knows how long, and while they did, Garrett tried to think of a way to break this to the family. However he framed the narrative, it would be a jarring shock.

The trip to Standon had been harrowing. As Edwin had predicted, Aidan’s symptoms of withdrawal began about halfway through the journey. The chills and vomiting were the first to appear. Garrett glanced down at his shirt. A good thing he’d brought his valise, for he needed a wash and a change of clothes.

Cristyn stepped into the hall. “If you gentlemen will follow me. I hope you don’t mind sharing a room. It’s at the end of this hall. You can freshen up, and I will bring you a bite to eat. Slices of bara brith and tea.”

Garrett stood and fell in step beside Miss Bevan. “I am very much obliged. What is bara brith?”

She smiled. “It’s Welsh for speckled bread. It is a tea loaf, with currants, spices, and fruit peel.” Her gaze roamed over Garrett. “Are you Scottish?” He nodded, not bothering to state he was only half. He was well aware that he looked as if he’d stepped directly out of the Highlands.

“Then you will like the bread.” Cristyn opened the door and held out her arm. “Make yourselves comfortable. And please, don’t worry; your nephew is in good hands.” She closed the door softly behind her.

“As soon as I have my tea and cake, I should see if the carriage driver and the horses are settled in. The coachman is taking a room at the George Inn.” Edwin strode to the basin, picked up the pitcher, and poured water into it.

“Thank you for making all the arrangements,” Garrett said solemnly.

Edwin splashed water on his face, then reached for the small towel. “It won’t be cheap. My fees, hiring the men for St. Giles, the carriage, accommodations, not to mention the costs for treatment. You do realize your nephew may be here several months?”

Garrett leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “How long were you here?”

Once he dried his face, Edwin laid the towel on the table. “A little over three months, and I was not in the shocking condition Aidan is.” He turned to face Garrett. “Prepare yourself for possible dreadful news. There could be any number of complications. Considering the orgies, syphilis may be a possibility, or any other poxes one catches from excessive and indiscriminate sex. He may even have sold himself or others for money. Those chasing the dragon will stoop to low levels to obtain the euphoric highs of opium.”

Garrett shook his head sadly. “Then let us hope that he escapes such a fate.” He paused. “What is ‘chasing the dragon,’ by the by?”

“Chinese slang, for inhaling the vapor from smoking opium.” A knock sounded at the door. “Ah, our tea and cake. Try to relax, Garrett.”

Only he couldn’t relax or stop his mind from racing. He tried not to wallow in guilt over not intervening sooner. Instead, he puzzled over why Aidan would live such a desolate, dissipated life. Hell, the lad had everything going for him. Why toss it all away on an opium pipe? But now was not the time to judge his behavior; Aidan needed empathy and support. Garrett would be standing by, ready to offer it.

His nephew looked horrible, filthy, a shocking change from the carefree lad he’d been previously. Aidan had often invited him on his erotic adventures, but Garrett soon grew weary of the meaningless sex and declined further romps to London or Bath. He’d found more gratification staying at Wollstonecraft Hall raising and breeding his horses. His father used to employ a steward, but about five years past, Garrett took charge of running of the estate and seeing to the tenants. The position gave him purpose.

Aidan obviously had no purpose in his life. No responsibilities. Society called him a ‘notorious rake.’ The nom de guerre fit. Perhaps he and the entire family should have taken Aidan to task. But since his oldest nephew was the heir apparent, sowing wild oats was expected, and, sadly, accepted. Only Aidan went too far—right off the cliff into complete darkness.

After they consumed the food and drink, Edwin headed for the village, leaving Garrett alone with the doctor. Bevan’s face was grave as he took a seat in his office. “Aidan is malnourished and dehydrated. I would guess he’s lost close to two stone.”

Jesus. Garrett recalled the last family meeting Aidan had attended in September. The lad had looked thin. But everyone was caught up in their lives and causes and didn’t think to question him on his gaunt appearance—or his behavior. He’d stumbled in drunk in the middle of the night on more than one occasion. While there was enough blame to go around, the focus must be on Aidan’s recovery.

“His body shows signed of abuse,” Bevan continued.

Garrett froze, thinking of Edwin’s dire warning. “Tell me, Doctor. I want to know it all.”

“There are indications of beatings, with various old bruises and scars. Someone held a lit cigar to his back, making a circle. The scars have healed, for the most part. But the most grievous is the indication of recent…violation. You know of what I speak?”

Garrett’s stomach turned as his blood ran cold. He had no words, and merely nodded in response.

“The injuries are inconclusive; there is no way to know if Aidan was a willing participant or not. Again, he will heal, and we can only hope that your nephew has no memory of the incident.” Dr. Bevan paused and clasped his hands on his desk. “I have seen this in others. The further one sinks into opiate-fueled oblivion, the more they no longer care about anyone or anything. Or what is done to them. Only procuring the drug matters, and the elation it brings.”

“Does…does he show signs of any pox or syphilis?” Garrett whispered.

“Not that I’ve observed. There are no open sores as such. But most symptoms occur two to twelve weeks after infection. Rest assured we will monitor the situation. Aidan is sick, running a fever, and has rat and flea bites on his hands and torso. Then there is the withdrawal. It will be extremely rough going.”

“I will stay here with him,” Garrett stated firmly.

Dr. Bevan shook his head. “There’s no need,” he said in a gentle tone. “He won’t recognize you, especially during the next two weeks as he goes through the worst of it. After that? Once he becomes lucid again, the guilt and shame will overtake him. I have found having family members around only exacerbates the feeling of low self-esteem in the patient. My advice is to leave tomorrow with Edwin. I will send detailed updates.”

Garrett didn’t like the sound of this. Leave Aidan here with strangers? What if Edwin was wrong about this man? Yes, he and Edwin were friends. The man upheld the law, first as a Bow Street Runner and now as an investigator. Hell, he did trust him. If Edwin said this Dr. Bevan could be trusted, what choice did he have but to believe it? Aidan needed help most desperately. “You may send the reports in the care of Garrett Black, postal office in Sevenoaks, Kent. And what of the payment?”

“Ah. My fee is a monthly charge, regardless if the patient stays the entire thirty days. Shall we say two hundred pounds a month to start? The fee may seem excessive to most, but it funds this sanatorium and allows me to take on patients who could not otherwise afford to stay here.”

Well, he had to admire the doctor’s honesty. Edwin said it would be expensive. “My family is progressive, Doctor. We have our causes. It seems that I have just found mine. I can think of no better cause than assisting those suffering from addiction, especially those who cannot afford it. Money is no object. I wish to make a donation above and beyond the monthly fees. Shall three thousand pounds be sufficient?”

Bevan’s eyes widened in surprise. “More than sufficient, Mr. Black, and most welcome. Be assured Aidan will receive the best of care. We will bring him out of this dark abyss, never fear.”

Garrett reached in his coat pocket, pulled out a roll of pound notes, and placed them on the desk. “There is five hundred pounds, enough to pay for a couple of months of Aidan’s stay. You have a solicitor?” The doctor nodded. “Excellent. Give me his name before I depart tomorrow and we will set up a payment schedule for the fees and the donation. I will warn you, Doctor, once our family takes on a worthy cause, we are all in.”

“If I may ask in what way, Mr. Black?”

“We like to be involved in all aspects, such as planning for the future. Perhaps I can fund a scheme for expansion. More doctors, new clinics. I will contact you when I have it worked out. Now, I wish to see Aidan. I understand that he won’t recognize me, but I must see him, for I have to report all this to the family. To his father.”

Dr. Bevan clasped the roll of notes and placed them in his coat pocket. “Then come with me, sir.”

He followed the doctor to a room farther down the hall. Dr. Bevan opened it and bade Garrett to step in first. Aidan lay in what looked to be a comfortable bed, the blankets pulled up to his mid-chest. The doctor’s daughter stood by, wiping Aidan’s brow with a cloth.

She gave Garrett a slight smile. “He is sleeping, though fitfully. Mr. Black has been bathed and put in a clean gown. The garments that he wore when he arrived have been burned. I will try and coax him to take a little broth later.”

A lump formed in Garrett’s throat as he gazed at the napping Aidan. There was no denying he was deathly ill. “I will send along some of his clothes and personal articles as soon as possible.” He clasped his nephew’s thin hand. It was cold and clammy to the touch. Leaning down, he kissed him on the forehead. “Get well. I love you.”

Never did Garrett feel so utterly helpless.