Dearest Millie (The Pennington Family)

by May McGoldrick

  The monkey quieted down the moment the cage was opened. Clearly seeing herself as superior to the rest of the animals, the little mammal climbed calmly up Millie’s arm and sat on her shoulder, holding on to the collar of her dress and eyeing the rest with benign disdain.

  Millie felt the same pang of regret she’d had yesterday after sending her note to Dermot, demanding today’s meeting. She should have held off, for she was curious to know what other companions he might have sent her.

  As a man and a doctor, Dermot McKendry had fascinated her since before she ever met him. It was not just the stories Jo told her or the initial state of his office. He had an absolutely wicked sense of humor. This latest foolishness was tremendously endearing and totally unexpected. Since the arrival of her menagerie, she’d had no time to think. No time to wallow in the gloom of her situation. These past few mornings, she’d opened her eyes with a sense of expectation, hurrying downstairs to discover what new gift had been delivered.

  To Millie’s surprise, the canary trilled for the first time a moment before the knock came at the front door. She glanced toward the clock just as it chimed the hour.

  Dermot was, of course, on time.

  WHATEVER EXPECTATIONS or misgivings he’d had about how his mischief had affected Millie, they were cast to the wind the moment Dermot entered the drawing room. She’d kept all of his gifts, and they were running freely about the room.

  “Close the door. Quickly! We can’t allow them to escape now, can we?”

  Formality was forgotten. The footman backed out immediately, and Dermot turned in time to have a yellow bird fly at his face. He gently tried to shoo it away, but the canary seemed to have a mind of its own.

  “I believe she’s the angriest of all.” Millie stretched out her hand, and the bird landed on it. “She did, however, sing for the first time only a moment ago.”

  Millie was a vision from a fairy tale. She was dressed in white with a monkey on her shoulder and a bird perched on her finger. Her hair was in slight disarray. Her cheeks glowed pink. He wished he had some artistic talent, for this was an image that needed to be painted and admired. He quickly dismissed the thought; he could never capture the vibrant essence of her personality on canvas.

  “The canary is a she?” he finally asked. He didn’t have the heart to tell her only the male bird sings.

  “They’re all female. I imagined you knew that.”

  She motioned to a table holding the tray of sandwiches and pastries and such. The red squirrel sitting on the tray grabbed the last walnut from a dish and scampered off.

  “No excuses today, Dr. McKendry. You’re joining us for refreshments.”

  “Ouch.” He looked down at the chickens pecking viciously at his trousers. “Get away.”

  “Reason with them. Tell them it’s your fault the cook has tied a different color ribbon to their feet to identify the day they’re to go into the stew.”

  He noticed the ribbons. She wasn’t jesting. “Perhaps they should be fattened up a wee bit first.”

  “You’re right.” She encouraged the canary to sit on an unlit lamp and led the way toward the table. “I’ll speak to the cook about it.”

  Dermot moved cautiously, with the clucking chickens weaving between his legs and continuing to peck at him. “Stop! Is this any way to treat the man who delivered you here? There are far more ignominious fates than ending up as Lady Millie’s dinner...though at the moment, I can’t think of one.”

  Millie stopped and faced him. “So you admit these gifts came from you?”

  He bowed. “You’ve caught me out. I may have had something to do with it.”

  As his hostess proceeded toward the table, he frowned at the monkey who was perched on her shoulder and sticking out its tongue at him.

  Millie sat, and he joined her. With a little nudge, the monkey climbed down and followed the squirrel, who had returned and was pawing through a plate of sandwiches.

  “Would you care for one, Doctor?”

  The red squirrel lifted her face, both cheeks stuffed full. The monkey paused as well and glared, a sandwich held in each hand. The warning was clear.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Coffee, then?” She poured out a cup and handed it across the table.

  Dermot was about the take a sip when the yellow bird flew across the room and landed on his shoulder. It trilled prettily in his ear, and he began to think he hadn’t chosen too badly—in this case, at least—when the feathered rodent flew away, leaving a spot on his blue coat.

  He put the cup down.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  The hens were at his feet again, this time going at his boots. When one attacked his knee, however, Dermot reached down, grabbed the offender, and tossed it over his shoulder. It sailed off in an indignant flutter of feathers and squawks, the red ribbon trailing behind. “Nothing at all.”

  The canary flew back and perched on his other shoulder. Obviously, it was not finished. Looking him in the eye, it crooned a few low notes and then flew off, leaving its mark there, as well, as he’d anticipated. Perhaps it was a ‘she’, after all.

  “Are you finding my little friends to be a nuisance?”

  “Not at all.” The chickens were back, pecking away with a vengeance. He shook his napkin at them and crossed his legs.

  “Are you comfortable, Dr. McKendry?”

  “Absolutely,” he lied.

  “And enjoying yourself?”

  “Absolutely.” At that moment, the red-ribboned hen jumped up on his knee, digging in with her sharp talons. “How could I not be?”

  When he batted the bird away, the squirrel leapt off the table and ran through his legs, and the monkey stood on the tray and screeched in support. The canary was back, this time landing on top of his head, pecking at his scalp.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Dermot jumped to his feet, his hands and feet moving simultaneously as he tried to ward off the assailants.

  “Excuse my outburst,” he managed to get out between defensive maneuvers. “But how ever did you train them in such a short time?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently, calmly watching as if nothing were amiss. “You do live in the Highlands, Doctor, do you not?”

  He caught the hint of a smile on her lips. He’d brought these beasts to her door, but it was her eyes that danced with mischief.

  “The last time I visited the Abbey, I walked through the farms. Working farms. I can’t understand why you’d be so troubled by an animal or two.”

  “Very well. I’ll say it. I apologize for afflicting you with this plague of wild things.”

  Then, as suddenly as they began, the animals lost interest in him. The chickens wandered off, the squirrel and the monkey resumed their breakfast, and the canary flew to the top of the clock, where it began to sing.

  Dermot shook his head and sat down again, returning Millie’s smile.

  She tilted her head toward the door. “I’ll be sure to pass on your apologies to the staff. The housekeeper was ready to resign her post last night. And the butler thinks I’ve gone mad. The maids run away and hide whenever the footman opens the front door.”

  Dermot eyed the chicken with the red ribbon warily. She was peering at him from behind Millie’s chair. He would offer his own apologies on the way out. He didn’t know how to tell her exactly, but chaos wasn’t the only result he’d wanted to achieve. Her raised spirits were the thing he’d hoped for, and her bright face told him he hadn’t miscalculated.

  “First the piglet. And then these animals.” She waved at the creatures around them. “Why did you go to such trouble?”

  Millie’s question was direct, and it helped him. Perhaps the time had come to speak candidly. He reached out to pick up his cup, saw the warning looks on the faces of the monkey and the red squirrel, and thought better of it.

  “I know it was not your intention to raise the stakes on the pranks we’ve been playing on each other.” She
folded her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “And I know you’re not doing it to court me. There’s something else.”

  He wished his actions had been an attempt to court her, but he pushed the thought away.

  Dermot was a master at maneuvering a person’s thinking to calm them or to challenge them. The years spent in his profession had equipped him with invaluable tools that he could employ to help someone afflicted with grief or melancholy or some other state of mental distress. And many times this past week, he’d thought of this very moment. But suddenly, his mind had gone blank. He could only speak from his heart.

  “My intention was to distract you.”

  “Distract me?” She was surprised. “Why?”

  “Because I know what you’re going through right now.”

  She started to respond but stopped. The cup moved slowly to her lips. He didn’t want his words to undo whatever ground she’d gained these last few days. Go slowly, he told himself.

  “What is it exactly that you know, Dr. McKendry?” she finally asked, putting the coffee cup down on the table.

  It was not possible to evade her questions, even if he wanted to. Directness defined the way she lived her life. The way she saw the world. Dermot was the same. “I ran into you—or rather, you ran into me—a few days before the ball at Baronsford. It was in a lane above Cowgate. You were too upset to look up, but I recognized you.”

  Her eyes closed momentarily, and she massaged her temples. She was looking for a plausible way to explain her being there. But he didn’t want any more fabrications muddying the waters between them.

  He reached inside his pocket and took out the card that he’d been carrying around since that day. “You dropped this when you were giving your money to some children in the lane. It’s Dr. Jessen’s card.”

  She glanced at it and shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I did walk in Cowgate once during that week but—”

  “Don’t, Millie,” he said softly, tossing formality aside. “I know. I went to speak with him . . . as a physician. He told me the difficult news he’d had to deliver to the young woman who just left his office.”

  Her chin lifted. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Dermot wanted to move to her side, take her into his arms, tell her that all would be well.

  “Who have you told?”

  “No one. Your decisions, your choices, are for you alone to make. I would never undermine you in that,” he said with passion, meaning every word. “It was as a friend and as someone in the medical profession that I took the liberty of trying to distract you and to make you aware of options that are open to you.”

  “Bringing the lecture notes about surgical procedures was part of your plan.”

  “It is an option that’s available that Dr. Jessen might not have discussed with you. And there are excellent surgeons in Edinburgh. I told you about Dr. Isabella Drummond because she is always referred to in the highest terms and she’s a woman.”

  “You took me to the museum, to the Royal College of Surgeons.”

  “I wanted you to meet other doctors. Jessen is a fine physician, but he is not close to the best for treating a patient with your condition.” His voice shook, but he tried to keep his tone convincing. “Your life is at stake, Millie. You can’t trust one person and one opinion. You have the means to—”

  “What if no one can help me?”

  Susan’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, and like ashes caught up in the wind, the image disintegrated, whirled, and flew away. Dermot hadn’t helped her. He hadn’t known how, and he’d made a mistake. This was now, he told himself. He’d grown. He had far more knowledge, more connections. And he needed Millie to trust him.

  “Someone will help you. I’ll help you. There is a way, and we’ll find it.”

  Her eyes glistened as she leaned toward him. “Thank you.”

  Her hand stretched across the table. He took it in his own. Her fingers were cold, and they clutched his tightly. He couldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.

  “I’m grateful to what you’ve done, and for your friendship, but right now, I need time,” she whispered, taking her hand back. “Time to think.”

  He understood, but he also felt like a failure. He had so much more on his mind that he wanted to share. She mattered to him. More than as a friend, or as his partner’s sister-in-law. Millie had become essential to him. She’d filled a gaping hole in his heart that had lingered there for years.

  “Millie.”

  “It’s all right. But please, right now, I need you to leave me.”

  THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND Dermot, and her tears welled up and overflowed. Millie sat on the edge of the chair as her sobs overtook her. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to go through the illness on her own.

  The monkey climbed onto her shoulder and put her arms around her neck.

  Millie laughed through her tears, petting the little animal.

  Dermot knew her secret. He cared. He was affected by what she was going through. He had hope when she didn’t dare to have any. She wiped her face and tried to calm herself. She wanted to share some of the weight she’d been carrying for the past few weeks with him.

  But she couldn’t do this to him; Mr. Turner’s words kept coming back to her.

  Dermot had loved, and he’d lost. He’d suffered badly, to the point of being committed to an asylum.

  She could feel his affection for her. If she accepted his help, would he be hurt once again? She could not forgive herself if her own affliction caused him pain.

  And what about her? Would she be satisfied if he helped her as a family friend . . . remaining impartial? She cared for him too much already. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She had no answers.

  Chapter 8

  THE HORSE’S HOOVES rang out on the granite cobblestones of Heriot Row, raising sparks as the rider from Bellhorne reined in his mount and vaulted to the pavement in front of the Pennington town house. As he banged on the door, rousing the footman and the rest of the household, the bells atop St. Andrew’s a few blocks away pealed out the hour of three.

  Handing off his message for Lady Millie, he was back on his horse in minute and racing through the murky predawn light toward Baronsford.

  The message from Captain Bell was clearly rushed and relayed very little information, except to tell her that Phoebe had already started feeling labor pains, and she wanted her sister with her.

  Millie cried, she laughed, and then she felt the urge to get on the road immediately. As her maid helped her dress and pack, she called for a driver and footmen to have a carriage ready. When the housekeeper ordered the maid out to prepare for the trip, Millie stopped her. She wouldn’t be taking her. She had another plan.

  An hour later, the carriage clattered up to the entrance of White Horse Close. One of her footmen offered to take a message into the inn for her. But she wouldn’t have it. She cared nothing about society’s rules now. What did reputation matter when there was no certainty of tomorrow?

  It was well past four in the morning when she rapped on Dr. McKendry’s door, and he pulled it open. Her heart skipped at the sight of him, bathed in the dawn light coming in the window in his room. Untidy hair, drowsy eyes, his shirt open and exposing a muscular chest. His trousers hung low on his hips, and his feet were bare.

  He became immediately alert as soon as he saw her. “Millie, what’s wrong?”

  “I know it’s completely inappropriate to come here. And I understand I have no right to ask this of you, that I’m abusing our relationship.”

  “What is it? Tell me. Ask anything.”

  “Phoebe is in labor. She wants me with her in Fife. The babe is coming early.” Panic washed through her, and the words came tumbling out. “What if something goes wrong? What if everything goes wrong? I’m frightened. I think I’m going mad. Sad thoughts . . . horrible thoughts . . .”

  Millie didn’t realize she was shaking until Dermot pulled her into his embrace and she felt his muscular arms aroun
d her. He caressed her back and shoulders, whispering reassuring words in her ear. She pressed her cheek against his warm chest, breathing in his scent and holding him as he held her.

  “She needs me. But I’m filled with terrible doubts. I expect the worst. I don’t think I’m strong enough to go to her.”

  His chin brushed against her hair. “You’re her sister. And you are strong. Plenty strong. And you’ll fight the battles that need to be fought. Slay the monsters that threaten. You’ll do everything you need to do. You’ll go there and stand beside her and hold her hand and support her. She’ll get through the childbirth, and all will be well. Think it. Believe it. All will go well.”

  Phoebe’s beautiful face appeared in her mind’s eye. Phoebe the writer. Phoebe the danger seeker. Phoebe the opinionated sister who was different from Millie in personality and temperament. And yet, they were like two halves of a whole. Where one erred, the other mended. Where one slipped, the other kept them on solid ground. They loved and complemented each other.

  As recently as a year ago, where one went in the world, the other followed. Then Phoebe married Captain Ian Bell, and life had changed for both of them. It was the natural progression, and Millie had embraced it with happiness. Now, she only wished the child would come into this world without difficulty, that it would bring joy and laughter to Bellhorne, where they’d been absent for so long. The Bell family had been in mourning for a long time, ever since Ian’s younger sister Sarah had been lost to them.

  Tonight, however, the focus was on Phoebe. Millie agreed with everything Dermot said. And whatever she was going through with her own health, it had no business intruding on what needed to be done for her sister.

  He drew back, tilting her face upward. His thumbs brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. “Better?”

  “Much,” she whispered. He was a gift. His words were what she needed to hear. “You’re the only one who knows what I’m going through. The only one who understands.”

  He caressed the line of her cheek. His eyes studied her, as if he was branding into his memory this moment. Millie wished she could stay here, gathered in his arms, forever. How easy it would be to press her lips against his, to run her fingers on his skin, to close the door behind them and shut out the world.