A Perfect Weakness

by Jennifer A. Davids

  When he reached the stables, a boy directed him to a stall where Charlie groomed Fortis. The horse rumbled at his approach, and Charlie’s face hardened.

  “Good morning, my lord.” Charlie faced him, gave him a bow of the head, and resumed grooming.

  John winced. “Mr. Milford?”

  “What can we do for you today, your lordship?” He gave Fortis’s hindquarters a swift sweep of the brush.

  “Charlie.”

  The man paused, but the horse’s sleek coat held his attention.

  “I’m sorry. You and Arthur were right. Your actions saved many lives.”

  “That’s all right. But you did your own share savin’ lives as well. Arthur couldn’t have done it without ya.”

  The stillness intensified. He could almost hear it. “I did?”

  The groom cocked his head at him. “Of course. You’re a doctor, after all, aren’t ya?”

  Was he? He didn’t have an answer. “Have you heard from Arthur? Do you know where he is?”

  “No. I can’t say that I do.”

  Joseph had claimed ignorance as well, and John had received no answer from the note he’d sent Mrs. Wilcox. “If he comes here, find me. I owe him an apology as well.”

  “Of course.”

  John stroked Fortis’ neck. “Can you saddle him? I think I’ll go for a ride.”

  Several minutes later, John trotted Fortis down the gravel path toward the road. He was well out of sight of the house when he saw a figure in the distance running toward him. Miss Howard. His heart dropped. He dismounted and ran to her.

  She was soon sagging in his arms, gasping for breath.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?’ he asked. He took her by the forearms and gently pulled her upright. A metal band wrapped itself around his chest. Her face was like chalk.

  She gripped the lapels of his coat. “My friend … Clara … Clara Bromley. She’s sick.”

  “How? Is it cholera?”

  “No, I think she drank something.” Her hold tightened, and the panic in her eyes eclipsed to outright fear. If she, of all people, was afraid … “And someone has attacked her. Please come. I don’t know what to do.”

  The gravity of her last statement plowed into him. The stillness was gone, and he felt himself sliding. He gripped her tighter. “Let me take her to the hospital.”

  “There isn’t time, and we can’t take her there.”

  “Why?”

  She looked away for a moment. “Because we can’t. Please!”

  “Penelope.” He clenched his jaw and swallowed. “I thought I made it clear I don’t deserve to be a doctor.”

  She locked her eyes on him, her fear receding as they quickly welled with compassion and something else he didn’t dare hope to name. “The only thing you made clear to me was that you are a soul in need of grace and healing.”

  She didn’t go on. She didn’t need to. He mounted Fortis and pulled her up in front of him, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing her back against his chest. Her hair, loosed from its bun, brushed his neck and cheek as they rode. Lavender and roses. My grace is sufficient … Please don’t let us both regret what I’m about to do.

  They arrived within a few minutes. John eased her to the ground and followed her to the cottage. He stopped short at the door, gagging at the smell. He gripped the doorframe and coughed. “No. Not that.”

  “You know what it is?”

  “Pennyroyal.” Beth had taken it. Memories rushed at him. Maggie’s crying, Beth’s limp, pale form. Warm fingers grasped his hand, and he started.

  “Come back,” she whispered. “Don’t let it paralyze you.”

  How did she always know? He drew in a deep breath and walked into the cottage. Miss Bromley lay on her bed. One eye was bruised and swollen shut. More bruises lay across her face and wreathed her neck.

  “She was on the floor when I found her.” Penelope held up a bottle. “This was lying beside her. Empty.”

  He took it from her, and his heart sank. It was the oil. Why couldn’t it have been the tincture, the less potent of the two? “Do you know how much she drank?”

  “No, but there was some on the floor near where she lay.”

  He took her pulse. It was there but weak and quicker than it should be. And despite her bruising, she was altogether too pale. At least there wasn’t evidence that something more severe had been done to her. He rubbed the back of his neck. Was it the pennyroyal making her unconscious or the concussion she’d sustained?

  He rubbed her wrist. “Miss Bromley? Clara?”

  Her good eye opened for a moment and she lifted her head. Hope lifted in John’s chest. She wouldn’t be able to be roused if it was pennyroyal. But she wasn’t awake for long.

  “Students …” she muttered and was insensible again.

  He looked to Penelope.

  “She runs the girls’ school from here. They’re due to arrive soon.”

  He picked Clara up. She was petite and light. With Penelope’s help, he could get her in the saddle and climb up after her. “Come on.”

  Penelope preceded him out the door and brought Fortis to the gate. He lifted Miss Bromley, and Penelope somehow managed to keep her upright as John climbed up behind her. He wrapped one arm around her and steadied her as she slumped against him. He looked at Penelope.

  “You can’t take her to the hospital,” she said.

  “I know. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a woman use pennyroyal.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen a woman so badly beaten either. “I’ll take her to Fairview.”

  “No.”

  “But it’s closer.”

  “The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

  Why was she so resolute? He caught her gaze, but she looked away. Miss Bromley moaned slightly. Questions would have to wait.

  “All right. I’ll take her to the Hall. I think I can get her in unnoticed through the side door to the library.” If he approached the Hall from the far side and around the gardens instead of the main drive, he could slip in that way.

  “I’ll enter through there as well, once I deal with the girls.” She reached up and laid her hand over his. The warmth traveled up his arm, generating more heat in his chest. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He wouldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t.

  “Why?”

  “Neither of my last patients survived.”

  Fortis snorted. He didn’t like being made to slow down as they made their way through the woods surrounding the southern part of the house. John guided him around tree roots and uneven ground until they could see the Hall across a short clearing. Miss Bromley had remained unconscious the entire ride, but she needed to get inside as soon as possible. He looked around the clearing and saw no one. He made for the library side door.

  But how could he get her down from the horse without further injuring her? He’d have to take a chance with one of the servants. He rode close to the library windows, peering through them, hoping to see Parker or Joseph. A young maid was inside dusting, but how to get her attention?

  Just then, she turned. Her eyes widened, and he motioned toward the library door. She walked out, dust rag still in hand.

  “My lord? Shall I go for Mr. Parker?” she asked.

  “No.” He trusted Parker, but Penelope was right. As few as possible should know about this. The maid was young but tall and appeared strong. “Come here and help me ease her to the ground.”

  The maid threw the cloth to the side and walked up to the horse. He gently slid Miss Bromley into her arms. She held her upright until John climbed down and picked her up, ignoring the pain in his leg.

  “I need to get her upstairs, quietly. Preferably to a more remote room in the house.”

  “Of course, my lord.” She thought for a moment, then brightened. “I know just the place.”

  They made their way through the rear of the library and into his study, and from there into the morning room. T
here, she walked ahead of him and cracked the pocket doors leading to the rear of the entry hall. She peered through the opening and motioned him to follow.

  They encountered no one on the stairs or as they walked down the hall toward the rear of the house to a bedroom in the northwest square tower. The maid shut the door behind them and turned down the covers so John could lay Miss Bromley in the bed. Sheets covered the rest of the furniture in the small square room.

  He straightened and rubbed his leg. “Thank you...” He grimaced, unable to recall her name. “I’m sorry—”

  “Ellen, my lord.” She rested the sheet and coverlet across Miss Bromley’s chest.

  “Ellen, I have to ask you to tell no one that she is here, even Mrs. Lynch.”

  “Of course. You’ll be needin’ an emetic, my lord?”

  He stared at her. “How do you know?”

  “My granny was a midwife, so I know that smell about her,” she said. “Mrs. Lynch keeps an emetic on hand.”

  “Good. Fetch it while I’m gone, and see if you can get any in her once you’ve loosened her stays. I have to see to my horse before anyone notices. I’ll be right back.”

  Once Fortis was in the hands of a groom, he slipped up to his room, got his medical bag, and returned to the tower room. Ellen had done as he asked as well as uncover the washstand and the rest of the furniture. She rose from a chair next to the bed when he entered.

  “I tried to get her to swallow it, but she woke for a moment and pushed me off.” The girl looked at Clara’s bruises with wide eyes. “Who did this to her, my lord?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He picked up the bottle of emetic and the spoon that lay beside it and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Do you need anything else, sir? I’ll need to be getting back to my duties before I’m missed.”

  “Cold compresses if you can manage it. You can say they are for me if anyone asks. And Miss Howard will be arriving shortly through the library. Show her up here.”

  The girl bobbed a curtsy and left. Miss Bromley groaned and raised up on her elbows. One look was all John needed to know what was about to happen. He grabbed the bowl from the washstand and wrapped his arm about her shoulders as she got sick. It was not much, and it did not smell as strongly of pennyroyal as he would have thought. Thank the Lord. He considered a plan for her treatment.

  When she was through, he set the bowl on the floor and handed her a handkerchief before easing her back down on the bed. She remained awake this time and darted glances about the room. Finally, she noticed him.

  “Lord Turner.” She covered her battered face and sobbed.

  “It’s all right.” He sat on the edge of the chair. “You’re at the Hall. Miss Howard found you on the floor of your cottage. Who did this to you?”

  “Do you know, my lord? She had to tell you, didn’t she?” She didn’t wait for him to answer but went on. “I deserve what has happened to me.”

  His hands clenched to fists. When his jaw finally loosened, he had a hard time keeping the edge from his voice. “No woman deserves this.”

  She lowered her hands. “It was my choice to get myself in the state I am. And I deliberately tried to kill the life growing inside of me.” She closed her eyes. “That is unforgivable.”

  “No. Nothing is unforgivable.” She turned her head away from him, unconvinced, but he sat back as his own words washed over him. “No one is beyond redemption.”

  Penelope stood on the threshold with a cold compress in her hands. She walked over and stood over him. “Please say you believe that,” she whispered.

  He rose. “I can’t.” He drew in a jagged breath. “See to her.”

  He closed the door behind him. A solitary chair sat on the other side of the hall, and he sank into it. It wasn’t that easy. Not for him. It couldn’t be. He put his head in his hands.

  Either a minute or a half hour later—he wasn’t sure which—the door opened, and Penelope stepped out. “She’s asleep.”

  He had to get away from her, but she blocked his path. “What you said. You’re right. You have to believe that.”

  He had to tell her now. There was no way around it. He had to tell her all of it.

  “I became a doctor with honorable intentions. Help the sick and hurt. Heal them. Rescue the dying. I went to war to fight all three, and I thought I was winning.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even come close.”

  She grasped his hands. “But the war is over now.”

  “It’s more than that, Penelope.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I should have stopped practicing medicine then and there. But did I? No. I thought I could redeem myself. When the war was over, I went home to Philadelphia and worked with the poor. I didn’t take a cent from them. I worked the docks during the day to earn my keep and walked them as a doctor at night. But the war wouldn’t leave me alone. It haunted me in my dreams. So I drank. Then I met Maggie.”

  She dropped his hands. Good.

  “She thought she cleaned me up. But I would still indulge, behind her back or after we fought. That’s how her little sister, Beth, got attacked. It was my fault. One night while we fought over my drinking, Beth slipped outside to go for a walk.” He stopped, bile rising in his throat. Heat rose in his cheeks and eyes, and he blinked. He choked out the next words. “Maggie recognized what a monster I was when Beth and her unborn child died at my hands.”

  She turned away. He drank it in. But she knew now.

  “Am I still a doctor in your eyes?” When she didn’t reply, he continued, “You once told me that pedestals were dangerous things. You were right. The one God placed me on when I became His child is the most dangerous one there is. I fell, and I’m still falling. For eternity.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “Are you sure Miss Bromley did not say who she went to stay with?” Thomas frowned as he guided the cart to church Sunday morning. They were just approaching the lane that led to Clara’s cottage. His eyes lingered on it as they went by.

  Penelope sighed. “Yes, I am sure. All her note said was her illness returned, and when some friends came to visit, they insisted she go stay with them.”

  “If she writes you again, tell me.” He urged the horse a little faster.

  Should she tell him? He was certainly very concerned about her. No, it wasn’t her secret to tell.

  The story was not strictly a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth. Most people had accepted it readily enough, even Mr. Gregory. He decided to have Penelope close the school for the time being. With the harvest coming up, the girls would be needed at home anyway. Clara was still at the Hall, recuperating under her and Lord Turner’s care. Penelope had gone each day since to help and to sit with her and try to cheer her. Ellen also came and assisted them, with encouraging words of her own. Yet while Clara’s body was healing, her spirits were not.

  As for Lord Turner, she couldn’t be sure.

  He had moments when he would look at Clara and then shake his head. She could not help but hope he was thinking back to the day they’d taken her to the Hall. Nothing is unforgivable. He’d said those words as if he might believe them. She longed to see him accept God’s grace and make his spirit whole again. But inside that solution lay another problem.

  If he were whole, if he returned to God, what did that mean for them? She wasn’t a fool. She knew why he’d bared everything to her. He loved her. And she loved him. She drew in a slow, deep breath. Her heart would fly out of her chest if she didn’t slow it. He had no business wanting her. She couldn’t give him an heir. She had to encourage him to go. There was no other way around it. Best he leave believing she was the woman he imagined her to be. Not the ruined woman she was.

  The church was not as full as usual, a stark reminder of the sickness which had swept through Woodley. But Mr. Gregory gave thanks that it was not worse and praised the efforts of those at the cottage hospital. He mentioned not only her but Lord Turner as well. While he was not there to accept their thanks,
she accepted them on his behalf.

  She had just finished speaking to someone when Thomas came to fetch her. “Are you ready? Hannah and Fanny started back several minutes ago.”

  “Lord Turner is absent again this week,” Thomas commented as he helped her into the cart. “Has he told you why?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked as he climbed up beside her. “How should I know why?”

  He stared at her before urging the horse forward. “I mean you’ve been practically living at the Hall. You can’t possibly be going that often and not know.”

  “I’m helping one of the maids with something. And there’s the Harvest Dinner.” Her cheeks heated. There wasn’t a Harvest Dinner. In light of his departure, Lord Turner had called it off.

  Silence followed. It was several minutes before her brother spoke again. “When will Lord Turner propose, I wonder?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Propose? Why would he?”

  “The question, dear sister, is why wouldn’t he? Or are you blind to the way he looks at you?”

  She clenched her hands. What could she say? She should deny it. It wasn’t as if they had a future together.

  “So you’re not. Now the question is what will Miss Howard do when he does ask?” Fresh heat rose in her cheeks, and she was still at a loss for words. He continued, “Surely you will accept. Or are you still pining away for Mr. Kern?”

  “No.” She snapped her mouth shut. That answer had been far too quick.

  “I thought not.” His face was unreadable. He said nothing the rest of the ride home and was equally uncommunicative over luncheon. He left Fairview on horseback afterward, claiming something pressing had arisen at one of the farms and needed his attention.

  Penelope paced in the parlor. Did he know about Edmund? And if he did, how had he found out? They had been careful, very careful. Not even Hannah knew or suspected. Why even bring him up if he didn’t know something? More upsetting was the way he seemed to feel about her fall from grace. Almost happy. She sank down into her mother’s chair by the fire.

  A soft rap at the window had much the same effect on her as if someone had pounded against it. Ellen stood outside with wide eyes and a fist to her mouth.