“Thank you.” Through the crowd, Arabella could just make out a middle-aged woman in a pinafore and cap with the look of a nursing sister about her, sitting at a wooden desk at the back of the room. By the time Arabella introduced herself and Dr. Radcliff had finished treating his current patient, she was flushed and perspiring and grateful indeed to be ushered into the quieter, cooler physician’s room.
Dressed rather informally in his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and trousers and a stained apron, Dr. Radcliff was clearly in the thick of things. Nevertheless, his voice was filled with warmth as he greeted her. “Miss Jardine . . . I mean, Lady Langdale, how wonderful it is to see you again.” His brown eyes were just as kind as Arabella remembered as he bade her to sit down on a wooden chair before his scuffed deal desk. A fair amount of sunlight filtered through the lace-curtained front window, and there was also a small barred window and another door, which Arabella assumed led out to the alley at the back of the building.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she said as she placed her satchel on the desk and then nervously smoothed her skirts. “I can see how busy you are.”
He removed his apron and hung it on a peg between a cracked leather settee and a glass-fronted cabinet filled with an array of bottles, including Kendal’s Black Drop and Godfrey’s Cordial. “It’s always busy,” he said. “But it would be remiss of me not to see you after all this time. How are you?” He took a seat on the other side of the desk and folded his hands with their well-manicured nails on the blotter. Arabella immediately recalled the time she’d tried to capture the touch of his fingers in her hand on that long-ago rainy day at the Foundling Hospital. My goodness, how innocent she’d been back then.
Dr. Radcliff spoke again, pulling her from her memories. “I was most surprised to receive your letter informing me you’d wed. And to someone as illustrious as the Earl of Langdale.”
Arabella wasn’t sure if there was a sarcastic edge to his voice as he’d uttered his last pronouncement. Choosing to ignore her suspicions, she smiled. “Believe me, I was most surprised when he asked me to marry him too. I certainly didn’t set out for the Continent in the hopes of finding a husband. Especially an earl.”
“Well, I think your grandfather would have been most proud you’ve made such an excellent match. So tell me . . .” He leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you? I hope I’m not being rude by asking if this is a purely social call, or is there something else you would like to discuss? If I recall correctly, your second to last letter—the one you sent from Paris—mentioned you wanted to speak with me about the financial considerations involved in establishing a place like this”—he waved an expansive hand—“or perhaps even a foundling hospital or orphanage.”
Oh, he had received her letter but hadn’t responded. At least she now knew. But it didn’t really matter now that she had his full attention and he seemed interested in discussing her project. Arabella sat forward in her seat. “Yes, I would indeed. Obviously right now is not an ideal time to talk considering how many people I saw in the waiting room. So I’d be happy to come back another day or we could arrange to meet elsewhere . . .”
Dr. Radcliff grimaced. “It won’t make much difference. I’m always needed a hundred different places at once. Though there’s a particularly nasty ague going around at the moment that’s keeping me on my toes. I’m actually running out of laudanum.” He nodded toward the glass-fronted cupboard. “I usually have another nurse who assists me, but she’s succumbed to the ague too.”
“Oh, no. How unfortunate.” The earsplitting wail of an unhappy toddler penetrated the room, and Arabella was struck with an idea. “As you know, I have nursing experience, as I used to assist my grandfather in his clinic. I would be quite happy to help you out for a few hours in exchange for the opportunity to pick your brain. Think of it as a trade. We can talk in between patients.”
Dr. Radcliff frowned. “Are you certain? I mean, you are a countess now.”
Arabella waved a dismissive hand. “I hardly think that signifies. Besides, my husband is away at the moment attending to . . . to a business matter. I won’t be missed. And to be perfectly frank with you, I do miss helping out with patients. I also have something special to show you.” She patted her satchel. “In here, I have a new medical instrument called a stéthoscope that can be used to enhance auscultation. One of the physicians at L’Hôpital Necker invented it.”
“Very well, Lady Langdale. We have a deal.” Dr. Radcliff smiled as he stood. “I have another pinafore here so that you can protect your gown while we work.”
“Wonderful.” A feeling of immense satisfaction settled over Arabella as she rose too. “I’m going to enjoy being of use. Just let me tell my driver and footmen that they can collect me again in a few hours, and then you shall have my undivided attention.”
Langdale House, St. James’s Square, London
“I’m afraid Lady Langdale is not at home, my lord,” said Jervis after Gabriel swung through the front doors of Langdale House and asked after the whereabouts of his wife.
He frowned as he passed his hat and gloves to the butler. After traveling nonstop on a wild-goose chase to Scotland and back—as he’d feared, he’d not found anything useful in Springfield—he was exhausted, dejected, and frustrated, not to mention hot and bothered. But the sight of Arabella’s lovely face would no doubt restore him.
“So when will she be back?” After he’d bathed and eaten, Gabriel intended to have his wicked way with her if she was also so inclined. He still hadn’t quite forgiven MacQueen for interrupting them.
A shadow of concern flickered across Jervis’s face. “In a few hours I expect, my lord. Lady Langdale instructed Soames to fetch her later this afternoon . . .” He swallowed nervously, which was very out of character for Jervis. He was never rattled.
What the hell is going on? Gabriel tugged at his damnably tight cravat. “From where? Is she with one of her friends? She shouldn’t be out shopping on her own. Unless she took one of the maids.”
“I’m afraid she is by herself, my lord. I’m of the understanding she went to visit a medical dispensary in Seven Dials . . .”
What? Gabriel froze as alarm and fury rose in a great wave. He pinned Jervis with a white-hot glare. “What did you say? Because I really hope to God I misheard you.”
To his credit, Jervis didn’t look away as he repeated that Lady Langdale was currently visiting a dispensary in the slum of Seven Dials. And yes, she was on her own. “When she dismissed Soames, he was led to believe she would be assisting the dispensary’s physician this afternoon. A Dr. Radcliff? She requested the town coach return at three o’clock to pick her up.”
A muscle twitched in Gabriel’s jaw as he fought to suppress the urge to rip out someone’s jugular. Whether it was Soames’s, Dr. Radcliff’s, Jervis’s or anyone else’s for that matter, he didn’t overly much care. According to the hall clock, it was half past one. “Send for the coach now,” he growled. The savage menace in his tone was clear. “And summon Soames and whoever else was with her. I want to know why my staff thought it was remotely acceptable to leave their mistress in one of the most dangerous parts of London. They’re bloody lucky I don’t have time to horsewhip them.”
Whether he horsewhipped the doctor or not remained to be seen.
The Seven Dials Dispensary, Covent Garden, London
By the time his carriage pulled up outside the dispensary, Gabriel had managed to rein in his anger to the extent that the lives of his footmen and driver weren’t in any immediate danger.
Although, that might change if anything untoward had happened to Arabella. Soames’s piss-weak excuse for leaving—that Arabella had dismissed them so they wouldn’t have to wait about in the hot afternoon sun—was simply not good enough, not by a long shot. He was still toying with the idea of dismissing the whole bloody lot of them for not doing their duties.
Throwing the coach door open, Gabrie
l leapt out without waiting for the steps to be let down. The Seven Dials Dispensary was situated on a street that was at least wider than some of the other narrow lanes and alleys that led into the cutthroat rookeries. It had been a long time since he’d ventured into the depths of this slum with his father, both of them looking for trouble just for the hell of it, so he knew exactly how dangerous this area was.
The dispensary’s waiting room seethed with disgruntled adults and screaming children, and it was quite an effort to carefully push his way through the crowd to reach the back. A perspiring middle-aged woman who sat behind a desk—a nurse perhaps—looked up in surprise when he grasped the handle of the only other door; a small brass plaque proclaimed the office to be Dr. Graham Radcliff’s.
“Wait, you can’t go in there, sir,” she cried and began to rise from her seat, but it was too late. Gabriel had pushed through into the room beyond.
“Gabriel? What are you doing here?” Arabella was standing by the office window holding a red-faced, crying baby on her hip. Behind her glasses, her eyes were owlishly wide with surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.”
“I’ve come to take you home, dear wife.” Gabriel’s tone brooked no argument as his gaze darted to the room’s other occupants: the baby’s mother, haggard beyond her young years, sat on a wooden chair with a grubby, runny-nosed toddler squirming in her lap. A trim-looking man with graying hair at his temples ceased his attempted examination of the noncompliant child.
“Lord Langdale, I presume,” he said as he straightened and eyed Gabriel with annoyance. “I’m a tad busy right now if you hadn’t noticed.” He rumpled the toddler’s matted hair.
“I’m not here to interrupt you, Doctor,” Gabriel said drily as he lounged against the door. “I just have need of my wife.” His gaze locked with hers across the room. “Arabella?”
Arabella blushed to the roots of her hair. She clearly understood his double entendre. “I . . . ah . . . I made an arrangement to assist Dr. Radcliff this afternoon,” she said with a frown.
Gabriel cocked a brow. “An arrangement, you say?”
“Aye.” Arabella transferred the squalling baby to her other hip, and it gripped one of her flyaway curls in its tiny fist. Once she’d freed herself, she added, “His nursing assistant is unwell so I offered to help. And I wanted to show him my stéthoscope.”
“That’s very admirable but I’m afraid it’s time to go. I’m sure Dr. Radcliff won’t mind. Will you, Doctor?”
Gabriel watched as Radcliff schooled his expression into one that approximated “professionally pleasant.” “No, of course not.” He nodded at a glass-fronted cabinet near Arabella. “If you wouldn’t mind passing me a bottle of Godfrey’s Cordial before you go. Little Tom here has a fever, but a few drops will soon have him feeling a lot better.”
“Yes, certainly.”
Godfrey’s Cordial. Gabriel swallowed as he watched his wife take the dark bottle of opiate tincture from the cupboard and carry it over. His heart crashed against his ribs as if he’d just run a mile, and his hands began to shake.
“Are you all right, my lord?” Arabella’s brow furrowed with concern as she handed the bottle to Dr. Radcliff. “If you want to step outside, I’ll join you in a minute.”
Gabriel’s gaze fixed on the doctor’s hands as he uncorked the bottle. Ravening need gripped his throat while shame and self-loathing curdled his gut.
“Gabriel?”
He drew a ragged breath and forced himself to look at Arabella. “No, I’m not all right,” he whispered. And then he bolted from the room.
* * *
* * *
When Arabella stepped outside, Soames nodded in the direction of the alleyway. “He’s just down there, my lady.”
What on earth? Arabella rushed into the narrow, dark, filthy space and gasped with shock when she saw Gabriel doubled over, his fisted hands on his thighs. His breath came in short, hard pants.
“Gabriel . . .” she murmured. She hovered by his side, wanting to offer comfort but sensing he was in such a state of distress that he would reject her.
“Christ . . . Arabella . . .” He lifted his head and stared at her with the haunted, terrified eyes of a trapped creature. “I don’t . . . I don’t want you”—he sucked in another breath—“to see me like this.”
“Believe me, I’ve seen far worse,” she said quietly. And that was the truth.
He straightened abruptly and scrubbed a shaking hand down his face. His breathing, while it still sawed in and out, seemed to be slowing.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and took a step closer. A sliver of guilt penetrated her heart. “I should have asked you to leave the room before I took the laudanum out of the cupboard. That was unthinking of me.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” He sagged against the wall, eyes closed, one booted foot propped against the dirty brickwork. His long black lashes were a sooty smudge against his ashen cheeks. “Laudanum. I swear it’s devil’s water.” His Adam’s apple convulsed, and when he spoke, his voice was low and raw. “I want it so much, I hate it. And I hate myself for being so weak. Every time I see it, the craving for it grips and tears at my insides. Sweet Jesus.” He tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What you must think of me, Bella.”
Arabella bit her lip to stop herself from crying. To see Gabriel like this made her heart weep. “I think you are a wonderful man, and I don’t think any less of you because of this,” she said gently. “We all have things we’d like to change about ourselves. No one is perfect.” Soames appeared at the head of the alley, but she waved him away. “How long have you been battling this affliction?”
Gabriel shrugged a shoulder. “It feels like forever. But in truth, ever since I was eighteen. It was my father who introduced me to the stuff. Evil bastard.”
He opened his eyes and expelled a shaky sigh. “It didn’t become a fully fledged problem, though, until Waterloo. After I was shot, I took laudanum to ease the pain, especially after the wound became infected. But then I came to rely upon it more and more until I was drinking the stuff at all hours of the day and night, for no other reason than the pleasure it brought me. After I nearly stepped out in front of a carriage in Pall Mall one night, Nate, MacQueen, and Max were so horrified, they carted me off to MacQueen’s remote hunting lodge on the Isle of Skye. That was almost three years ago. I’ve overcome the physical need for the drug, but every time I see a bottle of it . . .” He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “The hunger eats at me like nothing else. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of it completely.”
Arabella nodded, then reached for his clenched hand. When his fingers relaxed and curled around hers, she smiled. “I’ll help in whatever way I can,” she said softly. “I’m here for you.”
Gabriel nodded but he didn’t return her smile. The expression in his eyes was grave, perhaps even a little hard and cold as he said, “It would help if you didn’t decide to visit a dispensary located in one of London’s worst slums, Arabella. On your own. What, in God’s name, were you thinking?”
Arabella blinked at him, astonished by his anger. “I was perfectly safe. I was with Dr. Radcliff.”
“That man wouldn’t stand a chance against any of the ruffians around here. Even the street urchins could best him in a fight. Come.” His hand still gripping Arabella’s, Gabriel tugged her toward the street and his carriage. “Let’s go.”
Arabella followed, but all the while, irritation bristled at his high-handedness. Was this how things were going to be? She understood Gabriel’s concern, but really, he was overreacting.
Once they were in the carriage and on their way, she tugged off her glasses and slid them into the pocket of her borrowed pinafore; they were pinching the sides of her head and she could feel a megrim brewing. She’d left her gloves, bonnet, satchel, and stéthoscope behind in Dr.
Radcliff’s office, but that didn’t really matter. What mattered was her husband sounded like he might be about to forbid her from visiting the Seven Dials Dispensary. And she wouldn’t stand for that.
She drew a bracing breath. “Gabriel, I’m sorry you were worried about me. The last thing I want to do is upset you. But surely, you must understand that from time to time, I will need to visit poorer areas like Seven Dials. My charities will be less effective if I don’t have a good understanding of what needs to be put in place—”
“Arabella, you need to understand that as my wife, the Countess of Langdale, you cannot venture into the worst parts of London with little to no protection.” Tension was etched into every line of Gabriel’s face, and his eyes blazed with strong emotion. “There’s danger lurking around every corner. Even in plain sight, for that matter. Anything could happen to you. I’m happy for you to set up any number of charitable concerns, but I don’t want you visiting slums like Seven Dials. I’m firmly of the opinion that you’re too good for a place like that.”
“Gabriel,” she said softly. “I was born in a place just like that. A Glasgow slum. And years later, my grandfather discovered that my mother probably died in that same Glasgow slum after my father, a ne’er-do-well soldier, abandoned her. It breaks my heart knowing that she’s likely buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave somewhere. So you see, I’m not so very different from the people who live in Seven Dials.”
“Oh God, Arabella, I had no idea.” A sympathetic light filled Gabriel’s eyes. “That’s utterly tragic.”
Arabella nodded as tears misted her vision. “I’m grateful my mother was able to place me in the Great Clyde Hospital and Poorhouse before she passed away. As I told you once before, I was a wee infant, only a few months old, when the hospital took me in, so I don’t remember her at all. But I miss her all the same.”
Gabriel’s black brows descended into a puzzled frown. “You also mentioned your grandfather found you. That he was the one who came to claim you.”
How to Catch an Errant Earl Page 25