The Lady in the Coppergate Tower (Proper Romance)

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “Hazel, she may indeed be mad. Perhaps what you saw through her eyes is not an accurate reflection of reality.” He paused. “And if she is indeed locked in a room or a home, it might truly be for her safety or the safety of others. It would also explain why he continually digs for information about you, about your ‘gifts.’ When he witnessed your healing abilities today with his own eyes, he was extremely satisfied.”

  “Are you defending him?”

  He chuckled. “Not in the least. I still do not trust him an inch. His motives, however . . . If your sister is losing her sanity, I can understand the necessity for restraint.”

  “You do not believe that. We’ve argued with other doctors about inmate treatment in asylums!”

  “Asylums, yes. Barbaric care that is only now coming to light, yes.” He paused. “Do you believe Marit is in an asylum?”

  Hazel frowned and rubbed her forehead. “No, whatever I saw, it is the same as what I’ve seen in dreams all my life. The vibrancy has faded, though. The paint is no longer fresh. The room feels . . . old. Sad. She is losing hope.” Her eyes burned. “And she hates me, because I am out here.”

  Sam looked as though he might question that, but held his tongue.

  Hazel dropped her hand and looked directly at him. “Sam, she hates me.”

  The following day and night were blessedly uneventful, and Hazel was grateful for small mercies. During the day, she spent time in the library, ate awkward but benign meals with Dravor and Sam, and she and Sam worked on patient notes and a few files he’d brought from the clinic. She had difficulty focusing, however, which was not usually an affliction that plagued her. She couldn’t shake the memory of walking in circles in that endlessly turning room, desperately looking for a way out and knowing it didn’t exist.

  The effort to remain cordial and objective with her uncle was more difficult than she’d imagined. She heard his claims of a “blood disorder” constantly in her head and knew she would feel better if she could at least find some Vampiric Assimilation Aid in his office or cabin. Then she would have proof. Gaining entry to either room would be a challenge, of course, and she’d have to evade Sam, which might be the hardest part of all. Since her dream the other night, he’d watched her like a hawk.

  The perfect moment arrived shortly after breakfast, when Sam returned to the infirmary to check on Sally in preparation for moving her back to her room, and the count responded to a summons from the Control Room. She made her way quickly down the long corridor from the guest suites to her uncle’s room. She passed three ’tons on her way, each of which nodded to her. As she reached the count’s door, she looked back over her shoulder to see all three ’tons watching her.

  She forced a smile at them and turned with purpose, making a show of knocking on the door. She didn’t look back, but wondered if they were still there. She knocked again and was surprised when it swung open. Renton towered over her, scowling. She saw the moment he must have told himself to be pleasant, because he smoothed his features and managed a parody of a smile.

  “Lady Hazel?” The insolence in his tone was unmistakable.

  “Hello, Renton.” She straightened her shoulders. “I was hoping to speak with my uncle. Is he in?”

  “He is not. Tell him you called, shall I?”

  She smiled, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll find him.” She didn’t trust Renton at all. She suspected him of involvement in Sally’s accident, though one bright spot in the aftermath had been exonerating Eugene from all responsibility. His tins corroborated his version of events during the time Sally had been frightened enough to run for safety.

  Renton tilted his head to the side. “Remarkable.”

  Her heartbeat increased. “And what is that?”

  “How much you resemble her.”

  She paused, knowing he was baiting her, trying to make her nervous. “My sister? Stands to reason, as we’re twins.”

  “Lacks your sass, though.”

  “Probably a result of being locked away her entire life with nobody but herself for company.” She tossed the comment into the air and hoped he would confirm or deny it.

  He looked at her for a long moment and then slowly smiled. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Yet you know enough to recognize our similarities.” She folded her hands together tightly—clearly a sign of stress—and when his eyes followed her movement, she wished she hadn’t.

  “How fares Miss Tucker?”

  “She has yet to awaken from surgery.”

  “Pity. She’s not been able to explain her accident, then.”

  “No, but Doctor MacInnes is the best in his field, so I have every confidence she will awaken soon.”

  His eyes flickered, something angry passing through them. “We’ll hope for that.”

  “Good day, Mr. Renton.”

  “Good day, my lady.”

  She made her way back down the hallway with a concerted effort to keep her movements deliberate but unhurried. She didn’t hear the door close and wondered if he watched her as the ’tons had. When she turned the corner, she picked up her pace, heading down one deck. Irritation, born of fright, settled into her thoughts, and by the time she reached the infirmary she had very nearly convinced herself to turn around and demand Renton explain his vague implications, his knowledge of Marit.

  She found Sam seated at Sally’s bedside, tapping a pencil against a journal he used for sketching medical devices. The pages were blank, however, and he stared at the wall above the bed.

  “Hello,” she said quietly and gave a light knock on the open door with her knuckles.

  “Oh!” He pushed up on the chair to stand, and she waved him back down. “Where have you been? I thought you were joining me here directly following breakfast.”

  She chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “I paid a visit to my uncle’s cabin.”

  He raised one brow and said slowly, “He isn’t in his cabin. He was called down to the Control Room.”

  To confess or not to confess? Hazel weighed her options. “I had hoped to gain access to his cabin. I wanted to look for Assimilation Aid.”

  He stared. “You want to find evidence that he’s a vampire.”

  “Yes. His ‘blood condition’ is suspicious, wouldn’t you agree? And there’s a strange feeling in the air whenever he’s present, and that could well be the reason.”

  “How were you planning on gaining entrance?” he demanded.

  “Isla taught me how to pick locks.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “The fact that you’re here and not there suggests you did not meet with success.”

  “I never had the chance to try. Renton was there.”

  His eyes flew open. “He caught you skulking around his master’s door?”

  “I was not ‘skulking.’ I knocked to be certain nobody was there. Well, and to put on a show for the ’tons. I’m relatively certain they’ve been programmed to spy on us, or at least gather information about our movements aboard the ship.”

  He regarded her without comment. “Hazel,” he finally managed, “are you feeling well?”

  “Of course, I am. Are you concerned I’m channeling my mad sister again?”

  “You must admit, breaking into a man’s locked room isn’t exactly in keeping with your character.”

  “My boring, staid character? Perhaps my acts of bravery in recent months have been unconscious efforts to toughen my hide.”

  “Or perhaps they have been a result of Marit’s influence.”

  She pursed her lips. “My actions are my own.”

  Sam tapped the pencil to his lips, thoughtfully. “You mentioned earlier that you’ve felt a ‘compulsion,’ I believe you called it. A drive to try dangerous things you actually had no desire to experience.”

  Her irritation rose. “What are you suggesting
, Sam?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am suggesting—I am begging you to be sensible. Cautious.”

  “I am being sensible. Nothing about this situation is normal, and my customary reserve will get me nowhere. You must agree.”

  “I’ll agree that our circumstances are odd, but I will not agree that you should feel justified in throwing caution to the wind! Reckless behavior leads to missteps and mistakes.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” she repeated. Somewhere during the conversation, her fingers had planted themselves on her hips and he’d risen fully from his chair to stand nose-to-nose with her.

  “I suggest we exercise a modicum of reason!” The color in his cheeks was high, and Hazel realized she’d never seen him agitated with her before.

  So be it! After all, her own frustration was climbing by leaps and bounds, though she was unable to put her finger on exactly why she was upset. Everything he said mirrored sentiments she’d have expressed herself less than a week ago, before reality had shifted beneath her feet.

  “I am perfectly reasonable, but I am tired of being acted upon. I need to do something, not sit idly by while my life erupts. We are trapped here, like rats on a sinking ship, so I shall make good use of my time by determining the true nature of my uncle’s ‘condition.’ Seems like an excellent time to investigate, as my schedule is clear and I have no pressing commitments.”

  “Hazel, we do not have the luxury of being impulsive! You mustn’t do anything else without consulting with me first.”

  “I am not a child, and you are not my keeper!” Heat rose in her cheeks, the hue probably matching his.

  He threw his arms wide. “I am not claiming to be! I am your partner in this, however, and your actions will not affect you alone!”

  Frustrated and slightly confused, she looked away from him, took a deep breath, and searched for calm.

  Her gaze landed on Sally, who lay pale and motionless on the bed. “Why has she not awoken?” she asked.

  Sam blinked and then looked at Hazel for a long moment. Assessing, ever assessing. She knew what he was thinking, how his mind worked. “I’m at a loss,” he finally said. “You and I both know she ought to have been conscious yesterday.” He frowned. “I worry the ether dosage may have been too high.”

  “I’ve never known you to miscalculate dosage.”

  He looked at Sally and lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps this marks the first.”

  “Or perhaps my Healing skills are not as strong as I’d hoped.” Hazel frowned. “She is so pale. More than usual, considering the transfusion.”

  Sam paused. “Her blood volume is low,” he admitted. “I had Eugene analyze it.”

  “Why would someone’s blood volume be low?” She bit back another sarcastic comment and told herself to relax. “A vampire attack would be one possibility.”

  Sam eyed her flatly. “I thought of that, but she bears no puncture marks on either her neck or pressure points. She may be anemic.”

  Hazel nodded reluctantly. Anemia wasn’t uncommon, and living in poor conditions as the Tucker family did, Sally was probably unaware there was treatment for the fatigue from which she likely suffered.

  “Not all vampires utilize pressure points.” Hazel tenaciously clung to the idea that her uncle was undead. It would explain so much that was strange about him.

  “Hazel.” Sam glanced outside at passing ’tons and quietly closed the door. “Your assumption is that Petrescu is a vampire, and from his wealth and stature, one might assume a very old one. Possibly not,” he added, holding up a hand, “but that would be my guess.”

  Hazel pursed her lips, refusing to speak.

  “We know an inexperienced vampire tends to make a mess of things, often not bothering with pressure points or the bounty of the jugular vein. Do you, for one moment, imagine the count behaving in such a way? Even if he were turned only yesterday, I cannot see, with his measured and cold personality, his behavior as anything other than . . . tidy. Efficient.”

  She sighed. “Sam, I am not wrong.” She rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps it is not vampirism, exactly, but I know there is something about him that is not . . .”

  “Not quite right? I believe that wholeheartedly. And he may be a vampire. All I ask is that you not go alone on a crusade to prove it. That is not an unreasonable request.”

  “Then what shall we do? I need a plan, steps to follow, something to study.”

  His lips quirked. “Ah, there she is. That is the most Hazelish thing you’ve said since entering the room.”

  She scowled at him. “You’ve never seen me under duress, Samuel MacInnes. I am allowed the odd fit of temper.”

  “Of course, you are. You’ve spoiled me, though. In the past year, I have seen you perform in emergency medical situations without batting an eye. To see you flustered, or angry, is something new.”

  “I suppose every person has a breaking point,” she admitted quietly.

  “Of course.” He smiled. “Your back holds strong longer than most.”

  Silence filled the short distance that separated them. She remembered the warmth she’d felt when he’d pulled her to him after her nightmare. She’d been too traumatized to fully appreciate it at the time. Her irritation ebbed away, and in its place crept the familiar yearning, the self-conscious awareness she always experienced around him. She found it hard to believe she’d been shouting at him moments before.

  She looked at the floor, the patient bed, anywhere but at him. “I apologize for being quarrelsome.”

  “Do not apologize. I am not sorry in the least. I found it enlightening.” He offered a half-smile.

  “In what way, exactly? In a ‘Hazel is actually combative’ sort of enlightening?”

  “In a ‘We can disagree and still maintain civility’ sort of enlightening. I am glad of it.” His smile grew. “We’ve never argued before. I suspect it has happened now in part because you have finally realized a fundamental truth.”

  She smiled. “What would that be?”

  “That you and I are equals.”

  She couldn’t conjure a response, witty or otherwise, and she felt a blush creep upward from her neck.

  “Now that we have moved to a different plane, I expect a fair round of shouting at least weekly.”

  She laughed. “I shall try to think of reasons to be irritated.”

  “If the well runs dry, I shall manufacture some for you.”

  She extended her hand, and he took it. “Agreed,” she said.

  “Agreed.” He held her hand for a long moment, only releasing it, slowly, when a knock sounded on the door.

  “Hazel, dear?” The count’s voice sounded from the other side.

  Hazel released a sigh and opened the door, allowing Dravor to step into the room. “Uncle, hello.”

  “Renton informed me you sought an audience with me?” His voice was deep, resonating in the small room. His accented English was clear and precise.

  Hazel nodded. “I wondered how long it will be until we surface near Greece. I’m anxious to send a telegram to my mother.”

  “Eighteen to twenty-four hours.” He frowned, the very epitome of paternal concern. “Renton told me you seemed agitated. Is anything amiss?”

  Curse that Renton! Aside from her hand-wringing, she’d presented a calm facade!

  “No, nothing is amiss.” She sighed, knowing he would see through the flimsy lie. “I am simply anxious to send a message to my mother, as I said. And to meet my sister. And I am worried about Miss Tucker. I can’t imagine who is responsible for her accident, since it clearly was not the doctor’s ’ton.”

  Dravor frowned. “Yes, Dr. MacInnes informed me of his findings after analyzing the tins. Have you any suspicions?”

  She pulled her brows together in faux thought. “I haven’t a clue. I thought it odd that Renton
was on the scene so quickly, but he was clearly closer than we were.”

  “Mmm. Clearly.” Dravor settled his hand on her shoulder. “I shall be on Deck One in my office, should you have need of me.”

  The count nodded to Sam, gently squeezed Hazel’s shoulder as if they were affectionate relatives, and left the room. Hazel watched his progress through the open door as he crossed the hall and headed up the Grand Staircase.

  “Did you notice?” she said to Sam as the count disappeared from view. “He didn’t once ask after Sally’s welfare.”

  Hazel paused outside the Main Room before dinner. “Table is still being set,” she told Sam, looking over to where the count sat with Renton.

  Sam glanced in the room, appearing to make a mental note of the number of servants. “I’ll go check on the patient. I’ve postponed moving her from the infirmary because I’m concerned about her continued unresponsiveness. I would rather have her close at hand for safety’s sake; Eugene will carry materials up, and we shall create a makeshift infirmary in her cabin.”

  Hazel nodded, then a thought struck, and she swallowed. “If I have a mad spell in my sleep, it may not be safe to have her close to me.” The notion made her ill.

  “We can trust Eugene, and we can keep him at her bedside. You’ll rest easier, and Sally will be protected day and night.” He frowned. “If she doesn’t awaken soon . . .”

  She watched Sam descend the stairs to Deck Three. He had been preoccupied the entire day, instructing Eugene to run diagnostic tests on Sally, who lay as unresponsive and cold as ever. Hazel offered another transfusion, but Sam preferred to wait.

  She turned her attention to the duo in the Main Room, swallowed a sudden knot of nerves, and then forced a smile. The men rose when she approached, and Renton sketched a quick bow. “I’ll leave you to your dinner.”

  The count nodded at him and indicated an empty seat near the hearth for Hazel. He sat opposite her with a smile. “We’ve a few minutes before dinner. Perhaps you’d like a drink?”