Her cheeks filled with color. He longed to lean close and kiss her cheek, feel her heat. He didn’t feel his words were in anyway a lie. He certainly didn’t need a piano since he couldn’t read a note of music. Perhaps her spirit was already in the house, and his recognized it. Perhaps she’d been here on some other plane and he’d felt her, but hadn’t seen her. Hell, he didn’t know and didn’t care. He did know she could play the piano and liked his plates. He did know she was wearing his mother’s favorite day gown, and now after seeing it on Clare, it was his favorite, too. He also knew that when he held her close, she felt as if she’d been crafted to fit him. And he was certain he’d dreamt about her when he was ill. Somehow in his delirium, he’d seen her lovely face. He remembered being lost in that dream plane, but finding her. She’d needed his help. But he couldn’t remember if he helped her or how he helped her.
“I see,” Ben said slowly. “Given your previous illness, I was merely concerned.”
“And I appreciate your concern. I promise, I’m fine now. As good as new.”
Ben looked at Clare. “And did you have a previous fever, too, may I ask?
Clare blinked at him, puzzled. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Your hair is cut short.”
She fought the urge to finger her curls. “No, I didn’t have a fever. It’s just better to keep it shorter. My hair gets unruly when it’s long. Now, about your recent illness…” Clare picked up her tea cup.
Liam couldn’t help but notice her fingers; long, finely manicured, graceful, probably from years of exercise on the piano. The memory of having those fingers pressed against his chest pushed a wave of longing through him. He forced a swallow and cleared his throat. “What about it? I’m afraid I don’t remember much. Gerard tells me I was delirious. I dreamed odd dreams about white walls and bright lights, people dressed in strange green clothes, pants that were held at the waist by a string that tied in the front. Gerard and Millie are certain I was at the gates of Heaven. But I’m not so sure I like the way this so-called heaven smelled.”
She seemed to digest this. “It was just a fever? I mean fever was your only symptom?”
“Well, it started with terrible stomach discomfort. Pain and other things that shouldn’t be mentioned in mixed company or at the table. I also had a headache.”
He noticed she wasn’t the least bit taken back by his words.
“How long did that last?” she asked before she took a sip of tea.
“Is this really the appropriate subject to discuss at the breakfast table?” Ben asked.
“It doesn’t bother me in the least,” Clare put in. “I can discuss Liam’s health at any time, for it is a great concern to me, too.” She looked back to Liam and her face softened. “How long?”
Liam wasn’t used to having a woman defend him. For a moment, he wasn’t certain how to proceed; reassure Ben or answer her.
He felt lost in her eyes. “A day, perhaps almost two. I don’t remember. The fever was beginning to take hold.”
“And you remember the white walls and bright lights?”
“I’ve dreamed about them since then, so on some level, yes.”
“What were you doing or what did you eat just before the stomach ailment hit you?”
“Are you a physician also?” Ben asked.
For a moment, Liam considered jumping to her defense. But she beat him to it. “No, but considering where I come from and it being such a primitive place, knowing the basics of medicine can save a life or two.”
“I understand not one, but two, physicians came here to see me while I was ill, but I don’t remember either of them.”
“Yes,” Ben confirmed. “I requested two, when Dr. Drake, the first, could find no evident cause for the fever. They suggested bloodletting, but Gerard would not allow it.”
Clare smiled sweetly between more bites. “Smart on Gerard’s part, given you need all the blood you have.”
“Oh,” Ben quizzed her more, “you are not for bloodletting?”
It seemed he was determined to find fault with her. But she didn’t appear bothered, and she held her own. Pride rippled through him.
“Not generally. No.”
Ben didn’t seem to intimidate Clare. Truth be told, Liam rather enjoyed watching her respond to his friend. Ben wasn’t used to such a forward woman. As far as he was concerned, women knew little except needlepoint, and the only real purpose they served was in a bedroom. Liam knew Ben frequented Miss Sue Ellen’s more than he did. Though, Ben did walk Penelope home at every opportunity.
“So,” she continued as if Ben hadn’t tried to redirect the conversation, “what were you doing the day before your stomach bothered you? What did you eat?”
“I’m not sure I remember exactly.” Liam again reached out and covered her hand with his. He could not get over how soft she was. He wanted to keep touching her as if to reassure himself she was real and she wasn’t going to disappear as quickly as she appeared. “So much of that entire time seems lost in a fog.”
“We were at a dinner party that week at Oliver and Evelyn’s home,” Ben provided.
“Did anyone else get sick?”
“No, not that I recall,” Ben answered.
Although Liam certainly understood Ben’s skepticism, he hoped his best friend and Clare would not remain at odds.
“What did you eat?”
“What are you thinking, Clare?” Liam asked. While he didn’t believe she was a twenty-first century woman, she did hold a seemingly uncanny grasp of world knowledge. She thought beyond planning the next dinner or working on the next embroidery pattern unlike other ladies he knew. Of his friends, Penelope was the only one who searched for answers and looked past the next party or dress fitting. While he knew all of his friends had been concerned over his illness and his recovery, none had questioned him on it.
“What did you eat?” Clare asked again.
“Duck, if I recall correctly.”
“Yes, I think it was duck,” Ben agreed.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Liam squeezed her hand.
“I’m thinking the fever and the stomach ailment might be two separate incidences, not related at all. I know it may be possible for you to eat a bad piece of duck or something, and everyone else’s could be fine. So you could have had a bout of food poisoning, which would lower your resistance and allow the fever to take over.”
There was more to her words than what she was saying. Liam could almost see the gears turning. Was it something she didn’t want to say in front of Ben? Or something she didn’t want to tell him?
“So what’s your point?” Ben asked.
She looked at Liam. “Have you had any other problems with your stomach since?”
“No.”
She turned her gaze to Ben. “What about you?”
“What about me what?” Ben asked.
“Have you had any stomach ailment?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“What do you see, dear Clare?” Liam asked. She clearly was thinking something.
“I thought Penelope was coming over,” Clare said, leaning back in her chair.
She was changing the subject, which only made him want to continue the line of questioning.
“She cares for her elderly aunt, so perhaps she is busy,” Liam replied.
“I’ll stop in and check on her before I head to the office.”
“Are you a lawyer, too?” Clare asked Ben.
“No. I own the gas company that, thanks to Liam, now supplies gas to every resident in the city.”
Liam almost smiled at the sweet grin she gave Ben. “Well you should sleep better at night knowing you’re helping so many people.”
“Yes, of course.”
There was not a hint of agreement in Ben’s tone. But then he hadn’t been very agreeable to making the gas available to everyone, even though he had been more agreeable than Oliver.
It seemed forever before Ben final
ly tossed down his napkin. “I’d best be going. My colleagues will be worrying over me. And I’ve got some work to do. I bid you both good day.” He stood up. “Miss Clare, it has been an interesting pleasure.”
“I hope to see you again soon,” she said, dipping her head elegantly.
He nodded to her. Liam bid him goodbye, then Gerard saw him to the door.
Liam almost let out a sigh of relief. He looked at Clare. She was putting another corn cake on her plate. He could appreciate a woman with a hearty appetite…at the table and in bed.
“So? Do tell me what you’re thinking, in regard to my illness,” Liam sat forward, infusing his voice with curiosity.
She washed down another bite with a big gulp of her tea.
“I couldn’t help but notice; last night, Penelope’s dress was very pretty. Simple and plain, yet lovely in its simplicity. Blue looks very good on her.”
Though her change in subject was odd, Liam decided to play into it. “I suppose you noticed Evelyn’s gown was in no way plain.”
Clare chuckled. “Lots of beads, lace, jewelry. Yellow, standing out like a canary. It was almost crowded.”
He offered her crooked grin. “That’s a polite way of saying she likes to be showy. Do you have any gowns in your traveling bag?”
“No, just a few flannel shirts and another pair of jeans, and running shoes.”
“Running shoes?”
“Yes, they’re lightweight and comfortable to wear when jogging. I’m wearing them now because the shoes that I found with this gown looked damned uncomfortable.”
“Do you expect someone to chase you?”
“No. I just run to clear my head. Would you like to see them?”
He held up a hand to halt her explanation. “You can show them to me later.”
“I had a larger suitcase, too, and my violin case, but I haven’t seen either of them, and I don’t remember exactly where I set them. Not that it matters, I don’t have a dress in there, either.”
“Your bags are by the front door. So tell me your thoughts on my health, Clare.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to hear it?”
“Of course I’m ready. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The truth was he was ready to hear anything she had to say. He could sit and listen to her throaty, husky voice all day.
She looked him in the eye. Her expression was serious, intense.
“I think someone is trying to kill you.”
Chapter Seven
Liam stared at her for what had to be a full, silent minute obviously understanding now why she stalled for time and tried to change the subject. Then the laugh he let out sounded hollow and forced.
Clare held his gaze and didn’t share his laughter. She didn’t crack a smile. She didn’t move. In fact, she didn’t think she even breathed, but she wasn’t certain.
“I think the fever was just that, a fever, some virus you had to fight off. But the intense stomach pain, that could be a symptom of arsenic poisoning.”
“Why would someone want to poison me? I know of no enemies who would want to kill me.”
How much should she tell him? Last night after her day of travel and her wine and her jump into this century, whatever that was, she would have told him in a heartbeat. Hey, you’re dead by the end of the year. Two months is as long as you get, if that, considering I’m not certain of the date of your death, just that you died of mysterious causes in 1847. So maybe you should start living it up!
Yet as he’d talked over his stomach pain, she’d remembered the words spoken by Forrest, the man she met on the plane who suggested perhaps he’d been poisoned. The fever didn’t pan out. Poison didn’t cause a fever. But maybe the fever had saved him. It had sent him to bed where different remedies were tried. And if someone had, indeed, poisoned him, whoever it was had not been able to get close enough to him to finish the job.
And if there was one thing she remembered from college chemistry and the who-done-it mysteries she enjoyed, arsenic was a very poisonous element, used to poison kings as well as rats. Victims suffered severe abdominal pain, before a horrid death. “You don’t have to have an enemy, just someone who would benefit from you being dead. I mean, I hate to say this, but even your good friend, Ben, isn’t too hip on your so-called causes. If you were dead, his gas company could supply gas to whomever he wanted, without you leaning over his shoulder, demanding he donate to a needy cause.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Is it?” She rubbed her chin, pondering how to proceed.
“Benford has been my best friend since we were ten. I’ve trusted him with my secrets. Please don’t accuse him of something so horrible. I’ve only known you since last night. And while I want you here, Clare, I will not allow you to accuse my friends.”
She knew what he really meant to say was: I don’t know you, stay out of my business.
She had no choice but to tell him what she knew, at least part of it.
He had accepted her, had allowed her to stay in his home, when he could have tossed her out despite her insistence that Camden Place belonged to her. She had to face facts; yes Camden Place had been left to her, but in the twenty-first century. Not 1847.
In 1847, she had nothing but her purse, her backpack, her violin case, and her suitcase. She had no money, no family, no friends. Technically, she did not exist here.
And because of that very idea, she knew she had to tread carefully. But now that she’d met him, spent some time with him, slept in his arms, awakened beside him, she owed him the truth. “What if I told you, you die before the end of 1847?”
Again, he stared at her for a long moment before he chuckled. “Even if it were true, and I repeat, if it were true, how could you know?”
“I told you I’m a twenty-first century woman. I inherited this house. I took the time to learn some history before I packed my backpack and headed here. I knew you built it in 1846. I learned about the city, about you, how you and a group of businessmen made it possible to supply gas power to every resident of the city. And how before your death, you started a project to raise the city jail, actually move the floor up several feet, because an entire group of pirates jailed there all drowned during a heavy rain. And in learning the history, I discovered you died after an illness, after appearing mad, a year after building the house. That would be this year.”
“Since you seem to think this house is yours, perhaps it is you who has come here and is attempting to kill me. If I died, that would certainly be convenient for you.”
She felt his anger from across the table, like heat from a campfire. She let out a huff and tried to let the ugly emotion pass her by.
“Not if no one can see me. Not if no one knows me or believes I’m who I say I am. Do you think any of your friends are going to say, oh, yeah, Camden Place belongs to her? Doubtful. Besides, I wasn’t here two weeks ago when you were ill. And if I had any inkling about killing you, I could have suffocated you last night.”
He rolled his eyes. “No you couldn’t. You were a bit too inebriated.”
She ignored his comment. “Maybe the reason I was brought here was to save you. Because I do know symptoms of arsenic poisoning, aside from death, are acute stomach distress, pain, vomiting, diarrhea. Did you have any of those?”
He sighed. Loudly. “Yes. I had all of those. Plus every muscle in my body cramped up. Then the fever set in.”
“So you weren’t able to attend any other dinner parties.” It wasn’t a question.
“No one at Evelyn’s dinner party tried to kill me, especially Evelyn. Hell, she and her brother have done nothing but push me to marry her. Why in God’s name would she want to kill me?”
“Maybe it isn’t her. Maybe it’s someone else.”
“This is ridiculous. No one is trying to kill me. I ate something bad and then I got a fever. People get ill. It happens.”
“Well, if it happens to you, who stands to gain anything?”
“You tell me,” he
argued. “You seem to know my future.”
“I don’t know. From what I read, it said that a personal friend, a business colleague gained ownership of your house, but then it was sold. It was owned by a variety of owners and it survived the great earthquake of 1886. My uncle bought in the 1980’s, and after he died some thirty-five years later, I inherited it.”
He leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand as if he was bored with her story. “There’s an earthquake? Here? In 1886?”
“Yes. On August 31st. I read all about it. It measured extreme because the Richter scale wasn’t invented yet, and it shifted several buildings to the extent that they eventually had to be repaired by putting rods straight through them to stabilize them. More than fifty people were killed. But that isn’t what’s important right now. What’s important is I don’t think you’re going to be alive to experience it. I don’t think you’re going to see 1848.”
Damn it all to hell, his bored, staring gaze told her he didn’t believe her. She might as well quit wasting her breath trying to convince him.
“Well, right now, I need to see to today,” he said. “I need to get to my office. Then I need to head down to City Jail to see how the construction is coming, and talk to my latest client.”
“Who’s your latest client?”
“I have two actually, a Mr. and Mrs. Jack Brenner. They own a hotel here in Charleston and are accused of robbing their patrons.”
“Oh, yes, you mentioned them last night. You don’t think they’re guilty?”
“I think everyone deserves a fair and speedy trial.”
“Maybe someone doesn’t want you to defend them. Or maybe someone is tired of your causes,” she suggested.
He took her hand. Clare couldn’t believe how nice, how inviting his touch felt. No matter how he touched her, it left her wanting more. It was something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. In fact, a mere brush against a stranger, like at the airport on her journey to Charleston, was enough to make her want to curl up in a corner.
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 9