by Clee, Adele
Finlay turned to Sloane and D’Angelo. “I suspect the doctor has gone for a midnight stroll whilst we’re talking to Maud. One of you check Crook Lane, the other Upper Thames Street and see if you come across him on your travels. He’s thirty or thereabouts, six foot, brown wavy hair and a patrician nose.” And would be scurrying away like a rodent from the ratcatcher.
His colleagues nodded and set out in search of the medical man.
“So, you know damn well Mr Archer is in London!” Sophia’s temper flared. After years of worry and torment, who could blame her? “You must know of his plans. This is your fault. You’re to blame for Jessica’s accident. You’re to blame for ruining her life.”
“No, my lady! No!” Maud cried and grabbed hold of Sophia’s cloak. “Bartholomew came to an arrangement with your father. They used me for their own gain.”
“Used you?” Sophia batted Maud’s hand away. “My father? What has he to do with this?”
“I—I can explain if you’ll let me.”
This all began when Jessica found Archer tupping the maid. It was the first link in a long chain of events. “I suggest we return to Dr Goodwin’s abode. The truth is like a caged animal and must be set free.”
“Don’t blame the doctor,” Maud pleaded. “Bartholomew can be ruthless and cruel. He’s without conscience and forces everyone to do his bidding.”
But Sophia had the bit between her teeth. One question dominated her thoughts. “Tell me what this has to do with my father?”
This wasn’t a conversation to have in the street.
“Let’s go inside,” Finlay said.
The clip of booted footsteps on the cobblestones preceded the arrival of Sloane. “Is this the fellow?” He thrust the doctor forward whilst gripping the collar of the devil’s coat.
“Indeed.” Finlay grinned. “How strange to find you here, Goodwin, when you have so many needy patients in Godstow.”
The doctor struggled to hold Finlay’s gaze. “If you’re here, then you know I’ve not been to Godstow in years.”
“Just like we know Jessica isn’t ill,” Sophia countered. She hurried forward before Finlay could stop her and prodded Goodwin in the chest. “Just like we know you’ve been administering medicine to keep her subdued.”
Goodwin released an apologetic sigh. “Forgive me. I’m but a man trapped in a tangle of lies. Come inside, and I shall tell you everything.”
D’Angelo rejoined them, and the doctor led them into Number 4.
The house was dark, damp and dusty. No servants came to greet them, to take their outdoor apparel, or await instructions. And so they stripped off their hats and greatcoats and hung them on the coat stand. In the sparsely furnished drawing room, a fire flickered in the grate. Evidently, Maud planned to return after her trip to the mews.
The bolster cushions positioned on the rug near the hearth proved most interesting, as did the empty wine bottle and two glasses left on the floor. A glance at Maud’s gown revealed the absence of stays. Maud had dressed in a hurry. A fact D’Angelo would have noticed the moment the woman removed her cloak.
Anger surfaced.
Finlay should be making love to Sophia before a roaring fire, not chasing the blasted doctor around town.
Gratitude followed.
Because of this rogue’s wicked deeds, Finlay had visited Sophia at Blackborne and opened his heart to the possibility of rekindling their lost love.
While the doctor lit the lamps, D’Angelo picked up a silk stocking and handed it to Maud. “I believe this belongs to you, madam.”
Maud’s cheeks flushed, and she snatched the white hose from D’Angelo’s grasp.
The doctor scooped up the cushions and put them back on the sofa before inviting them to take a seat.
“Do you not employ servants?” Finlay asked, dropping onto the sofa next to Sophia. The usual thrum of awareness penetrated the fabric of his coat, seeped soul-deep.
“I find myself currently low on funds,” the doctor explained as he stoked the fire.
“Five years ago you sold the house in Godstow for a sizeable sum. Are you struggling for patients?” Finlay mocked. “Or does your expenditure exceed your means?”
“M-Miss Draper is my only patient.”
Sophia cast Finlay a sideways glance and frowned. “But how can that be? What of Mr Harris and his gout? Or Mrs Walcott, who feigns illnesses just to have you sample her fruit scones?”
Goodwin hung his head. “I invented the tales. Told lies to make me sound credible.”
“Credible?” Sophia’s mouth twisted as if she had bitten a lemon. “You’re a charlatan. A fraud.”
“I am,” he admitted. “And for that, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry! Sorry cannot replace those stolen years.” Sophia covered her mouth with her hand as though she might cast up her accounts. Tears welled. “Tell me Jessica recovered recently and you’re merely plying her with medicine to collect your fee. Tell me she was ill from the beginning, and my reasons for marrying Lord Adair were not unfounded. Tell me!”
Goodwin’s beady gaze flicked nervously around the room. He was about to speak but hesitated.
“Answer the lady, or I swear I’ll drive a poker through your black heart,” Finlay barked. “And I don’t care if I damn well hang.”
The doctor’s Adam’s apple bobbed like a cork in water. “Miss Draper took a blow to the head and suffered a concussion. With a few weeks rest, she would have made a full recovery.”
“What does that mean?” Sophia struggled to sit still.
Finlay cursed Goodwin to the fiery pits of hell. “It means he’s been drugging her from the beginning, making you believe she is ill so he can visit her weekly.”
“No. No. That’s not possible.” Sophia shook her head repeatedly. “No. I want to hear it from his mouth. I want to hear him say the words.”
Goodwin gulped. “Mr Cole is correct. I only pray the constant use of laudanum has caused no lasting damage.”
Silence descended, yet the air hummed with the explosive energy of a thunderstorm.
Sophia shot off the sofa and struck the doctor. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she cried, pounding Goodwin’s chest with her clenched fists. “Do you know how many lives you’ve ruined?”
Guilt saw the doctor stand and take his punishment.
Finlay let Sophia hit the doctor once more before jumping to his feet and drawing her back into an embrace. She whirled around in his arms, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
He stroked her hair, knowing Jessica would never regain the years she had lost. One man’s evil actions had altered everyone’s lives, and yet his motive was still unclear.
“This isn’t about collecting your weekly fee,” Finlay said, trying to understand why Goodwin would risk his reputation for little reward. “There are plenty of ways a professional man can earn a living.”
The doctor straightened his waistcoat and gave a mocking snort. “That’s just it. I’m not a professional man. I’m not a doctor. I only wish I were, then the devil would have had no cause to blackmail me.”
Sophia raised her head and wiped her eyes. “You’re not a doctor?”
“No.”
“But you studied in Vienna. Held a position at Guy’s Hospital.”
“My father paid for my studies abroad, but I’m not suited to the work. Let’s just say, I spent the money on reckless things, fed my father lies until his stomach was fat and bloated.”
It was a story Finlay had heard many times—irresponsible young men failing to make their fathers proud. “Someone knew you lived like a Sybarite and threatened to tell your father.”
“I fooled those in Godstow for a short time.” Goodwin took the poker from the stand and prodded the fire—more for protection, it seemed, than a need to stab the measly lumps of coal. “But I made the mistake of confiding in Archer.”
“Bartholomew blackmailed him,” Maud said as she sat, hands clasped in her lap, watching Goodwin’s reluctan
t confession. “He was to make people believe Miss Draper was ill so Bartholomew could marry me.”
“No disrespect,” Sloane interjected. “But why would Archer want to marry the maid and not Miss Draper?”
Maud raised her chin and sneered. “I thought he loved me, though have since discovered he needed money. Mr Draper paid Bartholomew a vast sum to take me to India and pretend to be Jessica Draper.”
“My father was trying to protect Jessica’s reputation.”
“What? By keeping her locked away?” Maud countered.
“He didn’t want her committed to an asylum.”
“Had she gone to an asylum, perhaps someone would have discovered there was nothing wrong with her.” Maud’s tone held a hint of arrogance. “The truth would have come to light. No. The most important thing for your father was avoiding a scandal.”
Finlay tried to remain calm for Sophia’s sake. But knowing he might have been spared years of heartache, knowing Hannah might still be living a quiet, provincial life as a spinster, left his blood boiling.
“So, Archer needed money and used Jessica’s accident as an opportunity to extort funds.” Finlay clenched his jaw. His hands throbbed with the need to drive his fist into Archer’s devious mouth and let him feast on broken teeth.
Goodwin rubbed his neck and sighed. “Yes, but there’s more.”
Sophia found Finlay’s hand and gripped it tightly. “No doubt.”
“Perhaps I should explain,” Maud said.
Goodwin nodded and hung his head.
Maud pushed shakily to her feet. Standing gave the impression one spoke with authority. The maid wanted to convince them there was truth to her tale.
“I can say it now without crumpling into a quivering wreck.” Maud straightened her shoulders. “A year ago, I found old letters written by Dr Goodwin to my husband, written when the doctor lived in Godstow. It was easy to work out what Bartholomew wrote to receive such a response.”
“The crux of it is this,” Goodwin interrupted impatiently. “Archer hoped Maud would die in India. He planned to return to England, whereupon I would reduce Miss Draper’s medicine and restore her to full health. Then they could marry as originally intended.” He punched the air in a sudden burst of anger. “If only you’d let me hide her in Oxford.”
“Bartholomew wants her inheritance,” Maud blurted. “He wants to kill me, marry Miss Draper and take control of her money. That is the crux of it.”
“No one knows my sister is to inherit,” Sophia said.
Goodwin winced. “Miss Draper knows. She told me about it during one of our sessions a few years ago. I told Archer. I was trying to reason with him. I said it wasn’t too late to put matters right. Miss Draper could marry another gentleman, and no one need know of our duplicity.”
Despite the fact Goodwin still held the poker, Finlay stood slowly. Goodwin moved to step back, but Finlay grabbed the man’s cravat and delivered a hard punch to the stomach.
“You white-livered swine. You’re lucky I don’t rip your damn head from your shoulders. I’d haul you to the nearest police office were it not for the fact I need you.”
Goodwin coughed and spluttered.
Finlay grabbed the fraud by his scrawny neck. “Where the hell is Archer now?”
“Somewhere near Windlesham,” Goodwin rasped. “He’s been stalking the woods at night these last two weeks, hoping to meet Miss Draper and persuade her to run away with him.”
It would be easy to abduct a confused woman. And after visiting the apothecary, Finlay knew why Jessica wandered aimlessly at night. “You were supposed to meddle with her mind, make her believe she still loved him. I stole a vial from your bag and had an apothecary determine the contents. It contained small traces of amanita muscaria, commonly known as fly agaric. Not enough to cause any lasting damage, but enough to cause confusion and hallucinations.”
Goodwin winced, anticipating another punch. “No, just enough so she might believe she still loved him, but Miss Draper was adamant she never loved him at all.”
Probably because she loved Blent. Was there anything more attractive to a woman than a man who would give his life to protect her?
“Of course she doesn’t love him.” Maud’s downturned mouth conveyed her bitterness. “He’s a lying scoundrel. Once they’re wed, he’ll take her money, take her to India, and leave her to die from loneliness and boredom.”
There were many flaws in Mr Archer’s plan. The main one stood with her hands braced on her hips, throwing daggers of disdain.
Finlay released his grip of Goodwin’s neck. “To marry Miss Draper, he would have to get rid of you, Maud. I presume you’ve come here hoping Goodwin will help put an end to your husband’s madness.”
“I have to find him, plead with him to stop this nonsense before something terrible happens to Miss Draper. Before I meet a horrible end, too.”
“You went to Godstow. Did Mr Stapler say you might find Goodwin here?”
“The haughty old fool told me nothing. His housekeeper took pity on me and hurried down the drive to say where I might find the doctor.”
So, that part rang true.
Sophia’s snort rang with mockery. “What makes you think you can trust him?” She jabbed her finger at the doctor. “How do you know he’s not conspiring with Mr Archer to kill you and take my sister instead?”
Maud glanced at the rug near the hearth, and her lips curled into a sensual grin. “We have come to an understanding.”
She meant she had seduced the wastrel into siding with her.
But two things were crystal clear. Goodwin and Mr Archer were devious devils and deserved to dangle from the hangman’s noose. The moment Finlay let the doctor out of his sight, he would likely be on the next ship heading for the Americas.
“Nothing matters but saving Miss Draper,” Maud said. “It’s the least I can do after what happened in the attic.”
If Maud was so concerned for Jessica, why did she not write to Sophia when she found the letters, and warn her of Archer’s intentions?
In the brief hush that followed, the air thrummed with internal chatter, unspoken words of vengeance, disappointment and regret.
“What shall we do now?” Sophia’s question dragged Finlay from his reverie.
Finlay turned to Goodwin. “Tell me where I can find Mr Archer.”
He would summon Daventry to the Order’s office in Hart Street, have him alert Sir Malcolm Langley, Chief Magistrate at Bow Street.
Goodwin shrugged. “He refuses to reveal his location. At present, he doesn’t know Miss Draper has left Blackborne. I’m to leave a note beside a tombstone in St John the Baptist churchyard in Windlesham before dusk tomorrow night, confirming our arrangement.”
“A note?”
“Bartholomew is growing impatient,” Maud interjected. “The doctor is supposed to make an unexpected call at Blackborne, make an excuse to see Miss Draper and lure her into the woods. If he doesn’t, Bartholomew has threatened to report Dr Goodwin to the authorities.”
It took the mental fortitude of a saint to keep Finlay’s rage at bay.
But a man consumed with emotion was of no use in an investigation, and he could see the end of their troubles in sight.
Finlay inhaled deeply, attempting to reduce his boiling blood to a simmer. “Then you will do as Archer asked. We shall all return to Blackborne tomorrow and lure the devil into our trap.”
Chapter 18
Unlike Jessica, sleep was the last thing on Sophia’s mind.
She sat in a chair in her bedchamber in Keel Hall, watching the gentle rise and fall of Jessica’s chest. A host of crippling emotions attacked her conscience. Guilt threw the first punch, a hit so hard she clutched her abdomen and wept.
Why had she trusted Dr Goodwin?
Merciful Mary! The man had attended Jessica for years merely to keep her in a drug-induced state. He had sunk so deep into a mire of treachery, he could not haul himself free without drawing attention to his dev
ilry. And she could hardly blame her father for hiring the fraud. In trying to protect Jessica, he’d lacked foresight, too.
Anger flowed in her veins, releasing its bitter poison. When they encountered Mr Archer in Blackborne Wood, she would pull a pistol from her muff and shoot the fiend. The beast had ruined countless lives and deserved to pay for his betrayal. She would hang for the pleasure of watching him die.
But what of Finlay?
Love for him burst to life in her chest, filling every cold, lonely space—an antidote to every dark thought and feeling. What would happen once this was all over, when she resumed her place in society, and he took a new case for the Order? Would his old doubts resurface? Would the past still plague them both?
Jessica stirred and muttered something incoherent.
Sophia pushed to her feet, stroked her sister’s hair and pulled the coverlet up around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes to stop the tears. “I was the one tasked to protect you, and I have failed miserably. Forgive me.”
Jessica looked so peaceful in slumber, so innocent.
“I shall dedicate my life to ensuring your happiness.”
Sophia pushed away from the bed lest she crumple to the floor, a blubbering wreck. Sunrise was but an hour away. The day would bring more answers, more guilt, more pain. While in this morbid mood, and with the end of the nightmare in sight, she could almost feel Finlay slipping from her grasp.
She moved to the window and parted the curtains.
Gazing out over Mr Sloane’s verdant gardens made it easier to breathe. The sun sat deep below the horizon, the faint tint of yellow and orange a sign of its slow ascent. When Finlay was away in Belgium, she would stare at the sky for hours, hoping he was looking heavenward, too. It brought comfort, helped her believe they still shared a connection.
Feeling a sudden tug on the invisible thread binding them together, she glanced at the garden once more. That’s when she saw him—Finlay Cole—not in her mind’s eye, but strolling along the gravel path running between the formal beds. He looked lost, so alone, her heart cried out to him. She placed her palm on the glass as if it could heal his torment. His burden was heavy, indeed, for his gait seemed laboured. Only when he stopped to smell the roses did she notice he gripped a walking cane.