Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  “What are you going to do if you find one?”

  She hadn’t thought about that. “Uh, nothing. I just want to know where it is. And if I think it represents a danger to the hotel or the guests, I’ll report it to the Major.” She added quickly, “I’ll just tell him that I think Mr. Manton has a gun—I won’t tell him I saw it in his room.” She tugged on his arm once more. “Whaddaya say, Rupert? It isn’t much to ask, is it?” When he still looked doubtful, she said, “I’ll just pester you until you do it.”

  That did it. “All right,” Rupert said, “But this is the last time I help you.”

  He walked with her to Drake’s room and glanced furtively about. Once the hallway was empty, he used his passkey to let her in to the room, whispering fiercely, “Be careful now. And don’t tell anyone I let you in.”

  “I won’t,” she promised, and Rupert shut the door behind her.

  Now that she was inside, Gina wasn’t sure where to look first. Drake had left his trunks inside the room instead of lining the hall as many of the guests had. Probably because they were still half-full. Whatever the reason, it was easy to rummage through them. She didn’t find much—mostly books and old papers. His desk yielded much of the same, and she didn’t find anything inside any of his pockets.

  Well, since it wasn’t in his trunks, desk, or wardrobe, where else could it be? She glanced at the bed. Would he hide it there? She checked thoroughly under the bed and the mattress, but found nothing. Darn—it looked like he didn’t have it after all.

  A small frame on the bedside table caught her eye and she picked it up. It was a miniature portrait of a young girl with dark hair and dark eyes much like Drake’s. It must be Charlotte, the sister who had meant so much to him.

  A key suddenly turned in the lock, startling her. Oh, no, she couldn’t be discovered here—by anyone. Hastily putting the portrait back on the nightstand, she realized she couldn’t make it out the window in time, so she dived into the wardrobe, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Squeezing in behind his clothes, she held her breath, hoping whoever had entered would leave soon. Drake should still be in the middle of his consultations, so maybe it was a maid. Unfortunately, hidden as she was behind the dark clothing, she couldn’t see a thing.

  She heard someone moving around, then the door to the wardrobe opened. She held her breath, hoping she had concealed herself well enough. When the door closed, she let out a sigh of relief.

  She heard another door open, and the tones of a man and woman having a short conversation, frustratingly muffled by the wardrobe. The door closed again, and Gina listened carefully. Had the intruder gone? Was the coast clear now?

  Suddenly, the wardrobe door swung open again and she heard Drake’s deep voice. “So, have you taken to wearing my clothes now?”

  Gina sighed. Damn, she was caught. Now what? “No,” she said in a small voice. She felt a little silly being caught hiding like a child, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to face him either.

  “Come on out,” Drake said, then watched in amusement as Gina struggled her way past the confining clothes. She looked a little shamefaced, as well she should. He ought to be angry at her, but this latest escapade was so very Gina, he just couldn’t. It was rather like training a puppy—it did no good to get angry with them. They were just too cute when they were caught doing something wrong.

  “Come out quietly,” he added. “Mrs. Biddle informed me you were in my room, but I don’t think she believed me when I told her you weren’t here. No doubt she’s lying in wait in the hall to catch you coming out.”

  Gina grimaced. “How’d she know I was here?”

  “Apparently she spotted you coming down this hallway, so she immediately came to me.”

  “But shouldn’t you be interviewing potential patients right now?”

  “Yes, I should be, but Mrs. Biddle threatened to go to Major Payne unless I checked . . . so I canceled them and came straight here.”

  Gina glanced longingly toward the window.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said with a grin. “You run away every time things don’t go your way, but not this time. This time you’ll have to stay and face the consequences. Besides, it’s daylight outside. Someone would see you.”

  She twisted her mouth into a grimace. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I know I am. So, why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured toward the wing chair and Gina seated herself as he sat on the bed.

  She looked a little uneasy, which was just as well. She was too impulsive—she needed to think about the consequences of her actions. “Since we’re trapped here for awhile, why don’t we talk?”

  “You’re not trapped here,” Gina pointed out. “Just me.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Actually, I am. You see, I told Mrs. Biddle I would stay here to do some research in my notes. And I asked Jack O’Riley to let me know when she stops hovering around this hallway. So, until the porter arrives, why don’t we talk?”

  “What about?” she asked warily.

  “We could start with why you were in my room . . . and hiding in my wardrobe.”

  “I was hiding because I didn’t want anyone to find me here,” she said, stating the obvious.

  It wouldn’t get her off the hook. “And why were you in my room?” Seeing the mulish expression on her face, he added, “And no fairy tales, please.”

  “I was looking for the dueling pistol.”

  “Here? But I told you I don’t carry any weapons.”

  “I know, but you might have forgotten. . . .”

  Her tone was unconvincing. “I see. You didn’t believe me.” He was surprised to find the realization hurt.

  “Not really,” she assured him. “I thought perhaps you were just trying to save my feminine sensibilities or something. You know—you’re such a nice guy, you might have thought it would frighten me or something if I knew you had a gun in your room.”

  No, he rather thought nothing would daunt the intrepid Miss Charles. But he was flattered by her description. “Thank you for that, anyway.”

  She shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Why are you so intent on finding this pistol?”

  She scowled. “You told me I couldn’t talk about that.”

  He sighed, afraid that would be the case. “Tell me anyway.” Then, “Wait, I think I know. This would be the pistol you claim will take you back to the future.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “And how is it supposed to do this? The recoil shoots you into the future? Wait, I know—it’s a magic bullet that does it. Or maybe you shrink to the size of a pea and shoot yourself out of the gun?”

  “Very funny,” Gina said with a disapproving frown. “No, all I have to do is hold it—on the winter solstice.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid you might have to use it on me.”

  She threw him an annoyed glance. “I might yet, if you don’t stop with the sarcasm.”

  “But you’re such an easy target. . . .” When she said nothing, he asked, “Why did you think I had it?”

  “Because when I found it, it was half-melted, as if it had been in a fire. Since you and Annabelle are the only ones who die in the fire, I figured one of you must have brought it with you.”

  It made a strange kind of sense . . . if you believed in the ridiculous story to begin with. Trying to see it from her point of view, Drake said, “Well, I don’t have it, and I highly doubt Mrs. Rutledge would carry a weapon—especially one as large as a dueling pistol.”

  “That’s what I figured, too,” Gina said. “But if neither of you have it, I don’t know how it gets to the fire and into my hands.”

  Strictly through your vivid imagination. But Drake kept the thought to himself. “Perhaps she borrows the pistol from her husband. Maybe Mr. Rutledge has it.”

  Surprise dawned on Gina’s face. “You know, you might be right. We’ll have to look there.”

  “We?”

  “Well, yes, you w
ouldn’t want me to get caught there, would you?” she asked with a grin.

  “Well, no.” But he quickly changed the subject, hoping she would drop the whole idea. “So tell me, when are you going to marry me?” he asked lightly.

  She rolled her eyes. “That again. You know I can’t, so stop asking me.”

  “But I can’t,” he protested with a smile. “Your reaction is always so . . . interesting.”

  “Interesting? Is that why you ask me? Because I have interesting reactions? What am I, a science experiment?”

  He regarded her with pursed lips, amused by her outrage. “No, I rather think you are a delightfully vibrant woman who is endlessly fascinating.”

  Gina flushed. “ Oh. “ Then apparently casting about for something to say, she came up with, “How about Annabelle? How do you feel about her? Did you declare your undying love for each other?”

  Annoyed by her repeated assumption that he and Mrs. Rutledge would have an affair, he said, “Of course not. I just questioned her about her symptoms, to see if mesmerism could help her.”

  “Since you gave her another appointment, I guess it can. So, what are her symptoms?” Gina asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential.” He was surprised she asked.

  She pouted. “After all I did to help you get your patients, you’re going to keep this from me? I deserve to know.”

  “I do appreciate everything you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean I can breach client confidentiality.”

  A gleam appeared in Gina’s eye. “You would if I were another professional you were consulting on her case. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, if I felt the need for assistance, I would contact another professional. Why?” he asked warily.

  “Well, you did say I was very good at reading people and you’re not . . . so how do you know you’re reading her correctly?”

  The truth was, he didn’t. “That’s what I hope to determine in the course of her treatment.”

  Gina grinned. “Well, why not save yourself and your patient some time and grief, and consult with a professional people-reader? Me.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Her instincts had been invaluable in pinpointing the areas where Chloe and Letty needed assistance. Perhaps she could help with his other patients as well.

  “I am right.”

  “Then . . . all right. Your insights would be useful.”

  “Good,” she said, squirming in delight. “Does that mean I can sit in on the sessions? I think I’ll need to, so I can catch what you miss.”

  He thought for a moment. “Only if the patients don’t object, and it doesn’t impair their treatment.”

  “Great. Okay, tell me about the session with Annabelle. What are her bad habits?”

  Drake remembered how woebegone poor Mrs. Rutledge had seemed when she related her troubles. “One bad habit is that she prefers to read romance novels rather than attend to her domestic duties.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad—who wouldn’t?”

  “Her husband doesn’t agree. And she has a problem pleasing him. . . .” He paused, wondering how to phrase this.

  “In bed, you mean?”

  Why had he worried about Gina’s sensibilities? “Yes, there . . . and elsewhere. She has a problem anticipating his needs.”

  Gina snorted. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but it seems the only bad habit Mrs. Rutledge has is being married to Mr. Rutledge.”

  He nodded. “That’s the conclusion I came to. But I was unsure if I was reading her correctly, or if I was seeing things in her marriage that aren’t there.” His gaze slid toward his sister’s miniature. The same things Charlotte had found wrong in her marriage.

  Gina’s gaze softened. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you read her right.”

  “Thank you. I just hope I can help her. . . .”

  “You can,” she said bracingly. “You’ve already helped Chloe and Letty so much—you’ll be able to help Annabelle, too. So, what about the other patients?”

  Before he could answer her, someone knocked on the door. Gina darted over to hide beside the wardrobe, and Drake cautiously eased open the door, glad to see it was O’Riley. “Is Mrs. Biddle gone?” he asked the porter.

  “No,” Jack whispered fiercely. “That ol’ biddy is settlin’ in for the winter. But I have an idea to get rid o’ her.” Raising his voice, he said clearly and distinctly, “Ye know that woman ye wished to see?”

  Playing along, Drake said, “Yes?”

  “Well, she wants to see ye now.” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper that would be clearly audible to any listeners. “In the bathhouse.”

  “Thank you, “ Drake said loudly and placed a token of his appreciation in O’Riley’s fist. Closing the door, he beckoned Gina over and said, “O’Riley is a genius. I’ll just go meet this nonexistent woman in the bath house. Mrs. Biddle is sure to think it’s you and will follow me.”

  “Good idea,” Gina said, her eyes twinkling.

  “I’ll make sure to lead her on a merry chase. Then, once we’re out of range, Jack will let you know when the hallway is empty.”

  She smiled. “Thank you for being so concerned about my reputation. You’re too good to me.”

  Once again, Gina had surprised him, this time with her sensitivity and heartfelt thanks. Giving in to an impulse, Drake stooped and gave her a swift kiss. Grinning at her stunned expression, he said, “I know.”

  Chapter 11

  Gina changed from her uniform into a pretty emerald green dress to get ready for dinner with Drake. She didn’t have many clothes here and was sick of wearing the same old thing all the time, so she’d spent some of her wages on a dress down in Hope Springs.

  She usually didn’t change for dinner, but felt she needed to acknowledge this day in some way. As of today, she had exactly two months remaining until the winter solstice. Only two months left in which to convince Drake he was going to die.

  Not that it would do her much good. Drake’s third lecture last week had gone just as well as his second, so it had generated even more clients for him—more clients who convinced him he needed to stay at the resort. And Lester Suggs was long gone, miffed because Drake had spurned his offer.

  Even the Major seemed in cahoots against her. He had given Drake his own office since he was such a draw to the resort, which allowed him to see even greater numbers of clients.

  Strangely, now that Gina worked even more with Drake, she seemed to see less and less of him. He was busy with his patients, especially Annabelle who seemed to require a great deal of his time. And if he wasn’t seeing a patient, he was writing notes or reading books. The only chance she really got to talk to him was at dinner each evening.

  Esme had set aside a private table for them in the dining room to discuss the day’s cases. It was the one time they were free of their chaperones, since they had convinced the Major that they needed the privacy to discuss Drake’s patients. And since the table was in clear view of the other guests, the Major had agreed.

  She joined Drake in the dining room, and thought even Mrs. Biddle couldn’t be worried about them being together now. He had papers and books spread out all over the table and was studying them with such concentration that he didn’t even notice her arrival.

  Usually, Gina wouldn’t care if a guy rose when she entered. Heck, she rarely noticed. But she had gotten so used to Drake’s reflexive courtesy that the lack of it annoyed her, and she refused to sit down until he acknowledged her.

  But she wasn’t going to wait either. She waved her hand in front of his face and Drake jerked back, to the amusement of the other diners.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, rising. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I know,” Gina said as he held her chair for her. It was kind of humbling. He hadn’t proposed marriage for at least a week either, and she wondered what she had done wrong. Though she refused him every time, she had gotten kind of used to the pro
posals.

  Bridget, who had become their regular waitress, hurried over to take their order. A few of the other girls resented Gina’s elevation from dog handler to receptionist for the resort’s most eligible bachelor, but not Bridget. She was always cheerful and nice. And she had helped soothe Sasha when Gina had resorted to eating only one course each evening. If she didn’t quit eating the rich food, she wouldn’t be able to fit into her uniform anymore.

  Bridget took their order and left. But before Drake could bury himself in his notes again, Gina said, “Can we have one night off?”

  “Off?”

  “Yeah, you know, one night when we don’t discuss other people’s problems. One night when we can just eat and talk like normal people.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, and said, “All right. I think we can do that. What do you want to talk about?”

  That twinkle for one thing. Ever since he’d caught her searching his room, he’d apparently decided she was there to provide entertainment. So instead of being annoyed by some of the things she did, he seemed supremely amused. It bugged the hell out of her, but discussing it wouldn’t do any good—he’d just twinkle at her some more.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Anything but other people’s problems.” Especially Annabelle’s. “How about yours?”

  “But I don’t have any problems . . . save for your contention that I’m going to die soon.”

  His smile didn’t even falter when he said that.

  “It’s not funny—it’s true.”

  He shrugged. “What would you have me do? Wear sackcloth and ashes until I reach the date of my supposed demise?”

  “No, what I would have you do is leave this resort,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “Well, as you so quaintly put it, that ain’t gonna happen.”

  Gina sighed. She’d known what his reply would be, yet she had had to try anyway.

  “How about you?” Drake asked suddenly.

  “What about me?”