Carla Kelly Read online

  Jess pulled his cloak tighter with one hand and took a firmer grip on his medical sack, a shapeless leather bag that had quickly replaced the elegant case—a gift from his mother—he had brought from home when he came to Spain. Through the rain he looked toward the damaged ramparts of Burgos, seen at a greater distance, now that they were quartered in one of the little towns nearby. Damn this siege, he thought. Maybe it is time for me to take up a practice in Dundee.

  He and Daniel walked in silence for most of the distance to the officers’ quarters. At least the Masons weren’t in a tent. For some reason—surely not because he was thinking of his wife or daughter’s comfort—Bertie had managed to snag an abandoned casucha. Jess knew where it was, but had never been there. He was no cardplayer, so he was never invited to join a game. Besides that, he was as low on funds as most of Wellington’s army. Even beyond that, when did a surgeon have a moment for cards?

  Nell met them at the door, relief palpable on her face. Jess sighed inwardly, recognizing that look, and steeling himself against it. I can’t give you a miracle, my dear, he thought. Don’t look at me as though I just came from turning water to wine at Cana.

  “Hey, now, my dear,” he told her as she stepped aside so he could enter. “The Chief said your mother was looking good this morning. What can we do now?”

  “Pray, do something,” she said. He wanted to run his finger over that frown line between her eyes and make it go away. He followed her down the short hallway, then paused at the door to take a deep breath.

  In the smoky glow of a cheap tallow candle, he saw a woman dying. Audrey Mason’s eyes were sunk deep in her head, her breathing was spookily irregular. He couldn’t be sure from the shadows in the room, but it looked like her blood had already started to pool, leaving her face drained of color, but her arms mottled.

  “She wouldn’t eat anything today,” Nell said, standing next to him as he pulled back the coverlet to take a better look at her mother.

  He looked, then tucked the coverlet back in place, not eager for a longer look at the woman’s rickety thin body. You’re a long way from home, Mrs. Mason, he thought. He leaned his shoulder against Nell, wanting the touch of her; there was nothing he could do for her mother. “I’ll go find your father, Nell. Any idea where he might be?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Someplace where there is a card game, and you hear men laughing.” Her voice sounded unusually hard to his ears. The easiest thing in the world was to put his arm around her, which he did.

  Jess turned to Dan, who stood in the doorway. “Can you find Captain Mason?”

  “Go, too, daughter.”

  Jess looked down at the bed in surprise. Audrey Mason’s eyes were open. It must have taken an enormous effort to speak, because drops of sweat formed a fine and dignified line across her forehead. It filled him with sadness that she had to die so far from England. He looked at the dying woman, deeply aware that he had always thought her frivolous and somewhat stupid for staying with the worthless Bertie Mason. I fear I never saw you, Mrs. Mason, he thought. I do not think Hippocrates would be so proud of me right now.

  He followed Nell from the room. Daniel stood at the door, distracted, saddened. “Do you know, Nell, she made the best ash cakes,” he said simply.

  Nell’s eyes filled with tears. Jess sighed and laid another stripe on his own back. I never knew that woman, he thought. Daniel mentions ash cakes—how homely is that!—and he is exactly right. On a whim, he took Nell by the hand. “What happened, Nell?” he asked, his voice low. “The Chief said she was much better this morning.”

  He did not let go of her hand, and she made no move to pull away. “She and Papa had a row this morning,” she told him. She looked at his face, then quickly away. “He was badgering her to give up her little gold locket. The officers in the 28th Foot were auctioning off a dead man’s property, and he wanted some better epaulets.”

  “She’s still wearing the locket,” he said when she stopped talking. He could tell she was listening to her mother’s irregular breathing. He deliberately began to run his fingers over her knuckles, trying to distract her. She gave him a long, slow look, and he felt his own respirations behaving strangely. Oh, who is distracted? he asked himself.

  “She told him it was my legacy,” Nell continued. “My legacy! The last piece of jewelry she had not given to Papa for some reason or other.”

  He knew the reasons. “This upset her?”

  She shook her head. “It upset him! Oh, Captain, he stood by her bed and berated her for selfishness. He accused her of staying with him because he was a meal chit and…and…oh, I can tell you anything…a warm bed. Only that wasn’t what he said.”

  She was crying now, tears of frustration and helplessness. “What a wicked thing to say!” She accepted the handkerchief he held out to her. “All these years of following him from garrison to garrison. All the hardship, to accuse her like that! She gave up so much for him, and all he could see was her selfishness.” She dried her eyes then. “What must you think of us?” she said simply. “He left, after slamming the door really hard.” She shrugged. “It was his usual response. At least Will wasn’t there to slap and berate.”

  He took her other hand. “He does not beat you, does he?”

  “No, no. These days he just looks aggrieved and wonders why I’ve never attracted a wealthy officer who would pay Papa’s debts to marry me. Or why I couldn’t have been a boy like Will, and make my fortune somewhere. Just words, Captain.”

  “Sometimes words are worse.”

  She nodded, and freed both her hands from his. “They’re killing my mother. She turned her face to the wall when he stormed out. She is dying, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Then she surprised him beyond his wildest imagination by reaching out and touching his face. “I know how you hate to admit that, Captain,” she said.

  “It’s the job,” he replied, his voice shaky. She has been watching me! he thought.

  “I’ve watched you after a battle,” she said, confirming his thoughts. “You sit at your desk, or by a cot so quietly.” She managed a little smile. “The Chief tells me not to bother you, then.”

  “He…he does?”

  She nodded, then looked up when Daniel came back into the room. Nell rose and went for her cloak. She stood still a moment after Daniel put the cloak around her shoulders. That look of humiliation came back into her expressive face.

  “Tell us, Nell,” he said. “You know we care.”

  “Mama told me that Major Bones came by this morning just after I went to the hospital tent,” she said. “He reminded her that Papa owes him a dreadful amount of money.” She paused, unable to look at either man, as the color rose in her face.

  “He has a way to cancel that debt?” Daniel asked.

  She nodded, then looked from Daniel to him. “I need friends,” she said simply. “Come, Dan. Let us find my father.” She touched Jess’s arm. “I think she doesn’t want me to be here right now.”

  He understood, and also understood her hesitation. It didn’t surprise him that she came back to the door of the sickroom and opened it. She stood there a long moment. She leaned against the door. “Mama was so beautiful,” she said. “I have a miniature of her.”

  “I’ll stay with her, my dear,” he replied. “Daniel, don’t let Nell out of your sight.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

  He was relieved when they left, so great was his anger. He stood in the little room until his anger passed, but he could not get beyond the great disgust that filled him to think that there was a biped on the earth who would threaten a dying woman with her own daughter. He knew that in these last eight of his twenty-nine years that he had seen men at their worst and their best, but that much depravity appalled him. How long has Major Bones been letting feeble Bertie get deeper and deeper in debt, with Nell as his goal? The thought made his stomach surge, as not even amputation did.

  For some inexplicable
reason, he thought of his own mother, a gracious woman living a life secure in the knowledge of her husband’s protection and love. Jess looked toward the sickroom door. “Audrey Mason, I have misjudged you all these years. Somehow in your chaotic life, you raised a lady, with precious little help.”

  There was nothing to do but go into the sickroom now and pull up a chair by the bed. He sat there in the gloom, contemplating the folly of medicine in general, and the foolishness of physicians in particular, especially those who thought they could heal the sick. “But not if the sick don’t want to be healed, eh, Mrs. Mason?” he said softly.

  She surprised him by opening her eyes. He reached for her hand. She seemed perfectly comprehending. “Mrs. Mason, I sent Nell and Daniel to find Captain Mason.”

  She thought about that. “Then you will have two sillies on your hands.”

  He had to smile at her words, even though he could tell it cost her to say so much. What do you want to hear from me, he asked himself. This is no time for drawing room wit, even if I had any. He was silent a moment, then, “My dear, I have been remiss all these years in not complimenting you on your excellent children.”

  It was the right thing to say, to his gratification. “They are fine, are they not?” she said, and there was no mistaking her pride, even in her circumstance.

  “Nell tells us that Will does famously at Pembroke.”

  She almost beamed at him. “Were you a Cambridge man, too?”

  “University of Milan, ma’am. The Transmontane College.”

  She was silent then, as though the business of breathing occupied her exclusively. He leaned forward to raise the pillows behind her, but she shook her head. “I don’t want an extra fifteen minutes of Burgos,” she said then, her voice most distinct.

  “I can appreciate that,” he said, “but you know, we are retreating.”

  “I am tired of retreating, Captain. Hold my hand.”

  He did, marveling at the fragility of her bones. Nell had that same fragile air about her. “Nell would want you to stay here,” he reminded her.

  “I cannot protect her any longer,” Audrey Mason replied. “I think her own father is going to give her to a fellow officer to repay a debt. What can I do about that?”

  So Nell had not guessed wrong. “Such things aren’t allowed to happen,” he told her, but it sounded feeble to his own ears.

  She gave him a look that could have flayed away his flesh. “I know what people think of the Masons, Captain. They wouldn’t care under ordinary circumstances, and during a retreat, they are concerned only about themselves.”

  He also could not deny the truth of what she was saying, as much as he disliked it. “What do you want me to do?” he asked instead.

  “Protect her,” the woman said. “Promise me.”

  I can’t even keep Major Bones from dumping ink on my reports, and you want to trust me with your daughter, he thought. Oh, Mrs. Mason, you really don’t know how to choose men, do you?

  “I depend on you, Captain. I don’t think you are like all the others.”

  She closed her eyes. While she struggled to breathe, he struggled to think what to say. It was as though someone was trying to hand him the greatest desire of his life, and he was pushing away the gift with both hands. He couldn’t understand himself.

  She got her breathing under control. He dabbed at the line of perspiration on her forehead. “I wish I had some ice,” he said.

  She smiled without opening her eyes. “I remember ice in Canada,” she said, then, “Captain, could you not see your way to love her?”

  The curious juxtaposition of thoughts jolted him with its strange jumble of the profound and the mundane. “I love her right now,” he replied quickly. “Ma’am, I will do all I can for your daughter.”

  It was that simple. The woman opened her eyes. “I can’t feel my feet.” Panic filled her voice now.

  “Just hold on, Mrs. Mason,” he told her, touched by what was happening, moved by his enemy death, even as death began to press down. Be gentle, you demon, he thought.

  “Do not lie to her. Make no promises you cannot keep.” He could tell she yearned to tell him more, but death was gliding up her body.

  “You can relax now,” he said, his voice soft. “I will do as you say.”

  The fear seemed to leave her. Her breathing became quieter and quieter. She surrendered to death as he watched. She had extracted a promise from him, and he felt the binding force of it as if he were standing before a tribunal.

  “I will not fail you,” he whispered. He was not a religious man by any means, but he traced the sign of the cross on her forehead.

  One long breath, then another. She exhaled, and did not breathe in again. Her hand relaxed in his. He released her hand and leaned back in the chair, pulling out his timepiece to ascertain the time of death for the records. Damned reports and forms, he thought. He put down the watch and just contemplated the woman before him.

  Something was gone that had been there before. No instructor had ever attempted to explain the phenomenon, because there was nothing scientific about it. “There you are, but where are you now?” he asked. It had to be a better place than scruffy Burgos.

  He closed her eyes with a gentle hand. Out of habit, he put two fingers on her wrist. He expected no pulse, and there was none. He remembered the first time he had pronounced death. Someone had sent a runner to the Transmontane College, and his maestro had sent him. The victim was a street vendor crushed between horse and cart. Jess recalled with a wry smile how he had followed through with every possible confirmation of morbidity, terrified that the man would suddenly sit up in the morgue and demand to know what foolish medical student had consigned him there prematurely.

  He placed the dead woman’s hands together across her stomach. On second thought, he pressed against her chest to exhale any remaining air that sometimes startled the unwary. It came, and he pressed again until he couldn’t hear anything else. No need for Nell to be jolted unnecessarily when she returned.

  He heard voices then in the street, just beyond the outside door. No telling what kind of a scene Bertie Mason would make. He stood up and took another look at Audrey Mason, old beyond her years for the harsh life she had led, but timeless now. As he looked, the glimmer of her locket caught his attention. Without even thinking, he slid the clasp around the dead woman’s neck, released the locking mechanism—praise God for dexterous surgeon’s fingers!—and pocketed the necklace as the door was thrown open.

  He didn’t even draw another breath before Captain Bertrand Mason’s rather imposing bulk filled the doorway to the sickroom. He watched, hoping his face was impassive.

  “Is she…is she…gone?”

  Jess hated euphomisms. She’s right there, you twit, he wanted to say. “She died about ten minutes ago, Captain,” he said instead.

  “And I wasn’t here?”

  He wasn’t sure when he had heard anything that sounded more tragic, unless it was on the stage in Edinburgh one time. “Well, no, you weren’t,” he said, not even minding the sharp look that Mason gave him. “Please accept my condolences, Captain.”

  Mason nodded. He seemed to realize that his audience was not appreciative of overblown anguish. He went quietly enough to the bedside and stood there for a long moment. “Didn’t she have a gold locket around her neck?” he asked finally.

  My God, Jess thought. My God. If I had placed shillings on her eyes, they would be in his pocket now. As he stood there in dismay, Nell came to stand beside him. Without giving it a thought, he put his arm around her waist. To his utter stupefaction, the darling woman slipped her arm around his waist.

  “I’m so sorry, Nell,” he whispered into her hair.

  She shook her head. “Was it peaceful?”

  “Yes.”

  She leaned her face into his shoulder, and he could feel her crying, rather than hear it. He encircled her with his other arm, marveling how well she fit within his orbit. She was far from the first person he
had comforted after a death, but never had he meant it more. “She was a good mother, wasn’t she?” he asked.

  Nell nodded. “She read to us and drew pictures, and she always hoped for something better,” she said when she could speak. “I don’t suppose anyone ever knew except Will and me, but it was so.”

  “I am certain it was so,” he replied. Nell, all I saw was the frivolous woman who elevated the artful sigh and the pitiful look to a fine art, and whose crochets set you and your brother early onto a life of work and worry, he thought. I’ve been wrong before. This is obviously one of life’s lessons.

  Bertie Mason must have heard them whispering in the doorway, because he heaved a huge sigh of his own, dropped to his knees by the deathbed, and sobbed in good earnest. “Audrey, how will I manage without you?” he cried out.

  He misjudged his audience. Her face stony now, Nell pulled away and went into the front room. Jess stood another moment in the doorway. As he watched, the captain continued to sob—at least his shoulders were shaking—and began to pat around the bedclothes. Jess touched the locket and necklace in his pocket. Sorry, Bertie, but you’re too late, he thought. He closed the door quietly, noticing with his well-honed sense of irony that Bertie was silent immediately, and joined the other two in the front room. Without a word, he took the necklace from his pocket and dropped it in Nell’s lap.

  She gasped, then looked around quickly. “Oh, thank you,” she whispered.

  “Hide it,” he ordered.

  She slid it into her apron pocket just as the front door opened and Major Bones came in without knocking. She took a deep breath, and Jess put his hand on her shoulder. “Major,” he said, keeping his voice even. From habit, Dan had risen to put himself between the major and Nell. “Is there something that you want?”

  His question seemed to catch Bones off guard, so he pressed his advantage. “Miss Mason is not without friends, Major.”