The Artist's Healer

by Regina Scott

  Jess cocked her head as if remembering. “I didn’t trust him, not at first. He hadn’t been content to stay before. Why would I think he would stay now? I was born in Grace-by-the-Sea. I didn’t know anything beyond its borders. I had to look inside my heart and realize I could love him—here, there, wherever he went, so long as we were together.”

  Abigail nodded. “You took a chance on him.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to risking all for love.” She drank deep of the warm, effervescent waters, then set down the glass. “Oh, but I don’t know how you suffer this every day.”

  Jess laughed. “I don’t. I just fill glasses so others can drink.”

  Linus came out of the examining room then. Meeting Abigail’s gaze, he smiled, and something far better than mineral water bubbled up inside her. He crossed to her side.

  “More water, I see,” he said with a nod to the empty glass. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything is perfect,” she assured him.

  Jess excused herself with a smile. Abigail shook her head. What, did her friend think they would exchange words of love in the middle of the spa?

  Where nearly everyone was now watching.

  She turned her back on the guests. “Is your day going well?”

  “Well enough,” he said. “I sent a note by post this morning. A friend of my father is serving in India. I asked him to look up your brother, encourage him to write home.”

  Tears threatened. “Oh, Linus. How thoughtful.”

  He took her hand, pressed a kiss against the back. “Do not thank me yet. India is a vast nation. Doctor Petry may not be where I last heard from him. He may not be able to find your brother.”

  “It is far more than we had,” she said, clinging to his hand a moment. Mrs. Rand trotted past, surprisingly spry after yesterday. In fact, she made a show of heading for the examining room. Abigail released him so he could attend to his duties.

  “I cannot focus on anything,” she told Eva when her friend came to congratulate her as she was working in the shop later that afternoon. She didn’t ask how Eva knew. The story was obviously flying all over the village.

  “I remember,” Eva commiserated, leaning against the counter. “I’ve only been married a month, after all, and two of those weeks James was in London. I’d be delighted to help, whatever you need.”

  They strategized details between customers, and Abigail had a better idea of what might suit her and Linus by the time she closed the shop that evening. She even had a list of questions to ask him. Did he prefer beef or fish? Dancing or merely fellowship? It generally fell on the lady’s family to organize a wedding, but she and Linus were to be partners, after all.

  On the way back down the corridor, she stopped in her studio. The painting she’d started for him sat on its easel, waiting.

  She eyed it. As a youth, she’d started painting the sea because it was big and complicated, and its many moods matched the tumult inside her. Seascapes had been so popular with their visitors that she’d continued to paint them. She rarely included people in the scene. Someone might look like someone, and they wouldn’t be flattered. Or someone else might be hurt that she hadn’t chosen them as her subject instead. But there, in the foreground of this painting, she could almost picture people, gazing toward the horizon and the future. She reached for her smock.

  Her mother found her there a short time later. “I expect Linus here any moment. Don’t you want to see him?”

  Linus. Even her mother felt comfortable using his first name now. Abigail smiled as she stepped back. Three people—a man, a woman, and a boy—gazed into the blue. “Certainly I want to see him. I’ll just be a bit longer.”

  Her mother didn’t move.

  Abigail turned to find her face slumped, tears gathering. She set down her brush and pallet. “What’s wrong?”

  Her mother’s voice trembled. “You blame me, for your father.”

  Abigail reared back. “What? Of course not.”

  Her mother nodded, lower lip starting to tremble as well. “You do. I knew it. I see it. You don’t trust me to take care of you.”

  Abigail wiped her hands on her rag. “It’s not a question of trust, Mother. I had skills I could use to benefit us.”

  “Where I was useless.”

  She bit her lip to keep from responding immediately. Thanks to her father, her mother still doubted her abilities. When he’d died, she’d been willing to exist on whatever village charity provided, all the while thinking she hadn’t deserved even that.

  “You were never useless, Mother,” she said. “You took care of me and Gideon. You keep our home now. You make sure I’m fed. You teach and care for Ethan.”

  Her mother sniffed. “All activities you despise.”

  “All activities at which I don’t excel,” Abigail corrected her. “You do. And I am thankful. Because of what you do, I can do what I do.”

  She nodded toward the canvas. “Then why did you leave me out?”

  Abigail stared at the scene. “You’re absolutely right. I knew it wasn’t done yet. Give me a moment.” She switched to charcoal and sketched in another person on the other side of Ethan.

  “There,” she said, stepping back. “I’ll paint it tomorrow.” Turning, she found her mother frowning at the piece.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m sure I’m not that broad in the hips,” her mother said.

  “Oh, Mother!” Abigail enfolded her in a hug. “I will paint you as thin as a sylph or with a mermaid’s tail, if that pleases you. Just know that I love you, and you will always be part of my life.”

  “Even when you leave me alone to live with Linus and Ethan?” she asked.

  Abigail leaned back. “I thought you’d like having the place to yourself. Would you prefer to live with us?”

  Her mother’s tremulous nod made her hug her again.

  “There are four bedchambers in the new house,” Abigail told her. “I’m certain you’d be welcome to one of them. Please know I am not leaving you behind. You’re my family.”

  “And please know I am tremendously proud of you,” her mother murmured, pulling back to wipe a cheek. “I have no idea why God blessed me with such a clever, talented, beautiful daughter, but I thank Him every night.”

  “And I have not thanked Him enough for giving me such a caring mother,” Abigail told her. “Nor have I told you enough how much I appreciate you. I will do better in the future.”

  “So will I,” her mother vowed. “Now, let’s go get your hair combed before Linus arrives.”

  ~~~

  Abigail Archer was going to be his wife. Linus couldn’t help the height of his head, the strut in his step as he escorted her, her mother, and Ethan to services on Sunday. It seemed the entire village and all its guests knew, for he and Abigail were congratulated time and again before and after Mr. Wingate preached a fine sermon on being thankful for the Lord’s deliverance. Linus would have been the happiest man in England but for the cloud that hung over his head.

  Suspicion. Doubt.

  It didn’t help that the man crowding his thoughts did not attend services.

  “Has no one seen Mr. Donner?” Abigail asked as they walked back down Church Street with others returning home or to the spa.

  “I’ll ask Mr. George to look in on him,” Linus promised. “He was staying at the Swan last I heard.”

  As if putting a good face on it, Donner appeared at the spa later that afternoon. He and Mr. George made a point of rejoining the Widow Harding’s set, where they were welcomed warmly and teased about their disappearance during the chaos on Saturday. Doctor Owens, in particular, gave them a jibe.

  “Young men like you should be leading the charge against the French,” he insisted.

  Mr. Crabapple drew himself up. “No, indeed. Wiser and older heads must lead in these uncertain times.”

  Mrs. Harding took his arm. “Well said, Warfield. You are my rock.”

  Linus had never seen such color rise in th
e fellow’s cheeks.

  Yet he could not throw off his suspicions. They dragged at his shoulders like a sodden cloak, tugging at him throughout the day. Was he being overly protective of his spa, his village, Abigail and Ethan? If he expressed his doubts to the wrong person, he would be branding a man with treason.

  But his conscience would not be silenced, so he excused himself early Sunday afternoon to speak to the magistrate.

  He found Howland at his home near the church. The garden in front of the house was crowded with flowers. Some seemed to be moving. Linus blinked as he let himself in the gate, then smiled as a butterfly flitted past his face. So that was why the magistrate’s home was called Butterfly Manor.

  “How might I be of assistance?” Howland asked after his secretary had shown Linus into a well-organized study with glass-fronted bookcases, a claw-footed desk, and a view down toward the cove.

  No reason for roundaboutation. “I may know the identity of one of the French spies,” he said as he seated himself in the chair opposite the desk.

  Howland sat straighter. “Indeed. Did you spot one of your abductors in the village?”

  Linus shook his head. “Worse. I suspect he’s been hiding in plain sight at the spa.” He took a deep breath. “Allow me to sketch out my reasoning. Abigail was shot the night of July ninth. You and the militia were lying in wait for at least three fellows, who we suspect arrived on our shores shortly before then.”

  James nodded. “Correct. We captured Harris, the French sympathizer, that night. By his confession, we thought there were three or four of them in the area.”

  “Four,” Linus said. “The two who kidnapped me, the man who was injured, and their leader at the spa. Before I tell you who I suspect, I must know. What are the consequences if I’m wrong, and he’s innocent?”

  “We can keep the matter quiet for now,” Howland said.

  Linus raised his brow. “In Grace-by-the-Sea?”

  Howland smiled. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But I occasionally visit the spa, as you know. A quiet conversation among three gentlemen may not be remarked upon.”

  “And if he’s guilty?”

  His face darkened. “Then he will be questioned and remanded into the custody of the War Office on charges of treason.”

  The sodden cloak he had felt about his shoulders tightened around his neck. “Then come with me,” Linus said, “I’ll explain on the way.”

  ~~~

  Mrs. Denby was serving tea when Linus and the magistrate reached the spa. Most of the guests smiled or nodded a welcome their way. As if she alone suspected their purpose, Mrs. Tully began a military march on the harpsichord.

  Mr. Donner looked up as they approached, and Linus nodded with a pleasant smile. He led Howland to where Doctor Owens was listening to Mrs. Greer, who had apparently joined them that afternoon.

  “And my eyes,” the slender blonde was complaining. “They twitch every time I go out in the sunlight. Our previous physician, Doctor Chance, told me to wear a broad-brimmed hat. Is there not a more appropriate treatment?”

  “No doubt Doctor Bennett will know,” Owens said, seizing Linus’s arm and drawing him closer as if he feared to drown.

  Mrs. Greer brightened. “Doctor Bennett, Magistrate. How nice that our spa has such distinguished gentlemen in attendance. I do hope we’ll have the pleasure of the earl’s company soon.”

  “At his earliest convenience,” Howland assured her. “But I believe Mrs. Denby has the particulars. I’m sure she would be delighted to share them with you.”

  “I will ask this very moment.” She hurried off to intercept the spa hostess.

  “I pity Mrs. Denby,” Owens said, “but I appreciate your efforts to extract me from that conversation. Being a spa physician is never easy, eh, Bennett?”

  “Indeed,” Linus said.

  “Which is why we are here,” the magistrate said, voice and look pleasant. “There appears to be reason to believe you are not a spa physician or even English.”

  Something flashed across his face, but he glanced from Howland to Linus, brows up. “What’s this? I’m English through and through.”

  “But not, I think, a physician,” Linus said. “Your employment agreement at Scarborough would have to be generous indeed to allow you to be away so long, particularly during this busy season. And yesterday, you were concerned about Mrs. Rand’s heart when it was clearly her lungs involved.”

  He waved a hand. “I cannot be expected to issue accurate diagnoses under such primitive conditions as the middle of a crisis, sir. And if I were not a spa physician, why would I take up so much of your time?”

  “I’d like to know the answer to that question as well,” Howland said. “Were you trying to determine the defenses of Grace-by-the-Sea or merely using the spa to hide? Or attempting to identify Doctor Bennett’s capabilities so you could kidnap him to tend your cohorts?”

  “Tend my cohorts?” Once more he glanced from Howland to Linus, and this time his face reddened. “See here, sir. One might think you were accusing me of being a French agent.”

  “If you are not one,” Howland said, “I suggest you compose yourself. I would not wish to blacken the reputation of a good Englishman.”

  Owens glanced around. So did Linus. A few curious gazes were aimed their way. Lord Featherstone was frowning.

  “I see your point,” Owens allowed, tugging at his cravat. “But I promise you, I am no Frenchie.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “However, I believe I may have crossed paths with one in the melee yesterday. He was watching the evacuation from the shadow of the church tower before I caught up with Doctor Bennett here. I, of course, encouraged him to escape with the rest of us. He refused to address me. At the time, his manners appalled me. Now I wonder—would his accent have given him away?”

  “Possibly,” Linus allowed. “The men who abducted me refused to speak as well.” He looked to the magistrate.

  Howland was watching Owens, as if he could see guilt or innocence emblazoned on his face. “Do you know where this man went?”

  Owens nodded. “He walked up the hill and disappeared beyond the spa.”

  “The same direction I was carried,” Linus noted.

  Owens cleared his throat. “If I may, I was told by another traveler of a public house in that direction, between here and Upper Grace. The fellow seemed to think I might enjoy the less savory company there, though I have no idea why.” He shuddered.

  “The Grey Wolf,” Howland put in. “I’ve had more than one complaint about the place.”

  “If I were seeking your Frenchmen,” Owens said, “I’d try there. And soon. They must know you’re searching for them. They may already have been rescued by the ship we saw. But if you go, watch how you dress. You will easily mark yourself as a gentleman, and they will be alerted.”

  Howland inclined his head. “Thank you for the information, Doctor. We will take it under advisement. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

  “No harm done,” Owens assured him. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for my native land.”

  Howland’s smile was brief and tart. “Doctor Bennett, a word?”

  With a nod to Owens, Linus followed him toward the door. “You believe him then,” he said as soon as a potted palm hid them from Owens’s view.

  “Not necessarily,” the magistrate said. “But he certainly wants us to visit the Wolf, and I’m inclined to oblige him.”

  Linus frowned. “If he is aligned with the French, wouldn’t he be sending you into a trap?”

  “Very likely,” he said. “That’s why I’m taking you and Denby with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Linus walked slowly home from the spa that evening. Owens had gone out of his way to assure him he was no traitor, alternating between entreaty and righteous indignation. It was very much how another physician might react to such an implication. Yet Linus still had doubts.

  And even more doubts about what to tell Abigail.

&nbs
p; She would demand to come, and he could not allow it. Even if they discovered nothing nefarious, the very location endangered her reputation. The situation could well endanger her life. And he could not see French spies unburdening themselves to three men and a lady. He’d tried to dissuade Howland from including him.

  “If these are the men who abducted me, they’ll know me on sight,” he’d protested as he’d walked the magistrate clear of the spa.

  “And if one of them is the man you treated, only you can identify him,” Howland countered.

  “Then perhaps we should bring the militia,” Linus reasoned.

  Howland had regarded him. “You’ve seen my troop in action. They are improving and acquitted themselves better than I might have expected during the evacuation, but would you trust them on a mission of this delicacy?”

  He would not. But he had to trust Abigail or what chance did they have in their marriage?

  Her mother met him at the door. “Linus.” Her face puckered. “I may use your given name, may I not? You are going to be my son-in-law.”

  “Of course,” Linus told her. “Would it please you to have me call you Mother Archer?”

  The pink of her cheeks attested as much. “That would please me very much indeed. And Ethan can call me Nana.”

  Some of the weight on his shoulders lifted. He followed her to where his son was packing up his things.

  “Another book, I see,” Linus mused with a smile.

  “From the vicar. Tales of chivalry.” Ethan glanced up. “That means gentlemen who brave great things.”

  “Often in the name of love,” Abigail agreed, coming down the corridor. “Like your father.”

  Ethan leaned back. “What did you brave, Father?”

  “Nothing as impressive as what Abigail braved,” Linus assured him. He turned to Mother Archer. “I wonder, would you mind keeping Ethan overnight? I have some work that might last longer than his bedtime.”

  Ethan raised his chin. “My bedtime is too early. Charlie says he often stays up until dawn.”