by Jo Goodman
"Move her to the bed," Dr. Emmet said. "She's going to have a mighty crick in her neck, sleeping that way."
Gently, cautiously, Walker slipped his arms under Skye, one beneath her knees and the other at her back. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he carried her to the bed. She murmured something he couldn't make out as he laid her down. There was the faintest smile on her face.
Walker backed away from the bed, but he didn't leave.
Dr. Emmet put his black leather case on the side table and opened it. Without looking up he said, "You have to leave now. I'm not conducting my examination with you here." When Walker hesitated, the doctor glanced up, scowling. He pointed to Annie, who was standing at the foot of the bed. "She can stay. It doesn't appear a stick of dynamite would move her anyway."
"It'll be all right, Mr. Caide," Annie told him. "You just wait in the hall."
Clearly indicating he didn't like it, Walker left and cooled his heels in the corridor. From the muffled sounds inside the room he realized that Skye had awakened. He could imagine her objections without having to hear them. The doctor would have his hands full.
The examination lasted just over twenty minutes. When the doctor entered the hall, Walker pushed away from the door where he'd been leaning. "Well?" he asked.
"Well, nothing," Dr. Emmet said. His brows were thick and wiry and they overhung the low edge of his forehead like snow on a mountain crag. They pulled together in single line as he hefted his case under one arm. "It's not for me to talk to you," he said. "I'll speak with Mr. Parnell. Mrs. Reading was specific about that."
Walker wondered if it might have been different if Corina hadn't met them at the door and announced their employer's very definite wishes regarding Skye Dennehy. "I'll get him for you. You can wait downstairs in the parlor."
Parnell was slow in answering the door to his workroom. Walker had to knock twice and call his name.
"The doctor's finished with Miss Dennehy," he said, when Parnell poked his head out. Parnell's complexion was slightly flushed and his eyes were furtive, as if he'd been caught at something he didn't want to explain. Walker noted these things but didn't comment.
"All right," Parnell said curtly. "I'll be there in a moment." He shut the door in Walker's face.
Walker Caide stared at the closed door, in the exact spot where Jonathan Parnell's face had briefly appeared. Walker's features remained impassive while he entertained certain violent images. The difficulty wasn't in dismissing the scenes that played in his mind's eye, but in not revealing his pleasure in them.
Parnell appeared again within the minute, this time looking calm and in control of himself. Walker followed him to the parlor and waited in the doorway to see if he would be invited to hear what the doctor had to say. He wasn't surprised when he was summarily dismissed. He stepped out and closed the doors just as his employer offered the doctor a drink.
Walker glanced at the main staircase and considered his options. Parnell might never share anything with him regarding Skye's condition. It was doubtful Skye would have much to say. But Annie? Walker smiled to himself. Annie might be very forthcoming.
Walker caught her in the hall just outside of Skye's room. "What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously. "You can't go in there."
"Wouldn't dream of it." His voice clearly suggested he was thinking otherwise.
"Go on with you," Annie said. "I know when my leg's bein' pulled." She thrust the tray she was carrying into his arms. "Let's move on. It wouldn't do to have her know she's being talked about."
"Then you'll tell me what the doctor said."
Annie's expression was pained. "I didn't say that. Doctor Emmet wouldn't like it, and neither would Miss Dennehy."
Walker touched Annie's elbow and got her to slow her steps, then halt completely. "It's important I know, Annie."
"Please, Mr. Caide, don't make me say."
He hesitated, wanting to press the issue, then decided against it. Annie owed her position in the house to Skye. It wasn't fair to ask her to betray a confidence. "All right," he said. He nudged her with his hand, urging her forward. He didn't follow even when she turned to look at him. "Go on," he told her. "Take the tray to the kitchen."
Walker didn't move until Annie disappeared around a turn in the hallway. He let himself into Skye's room without announcing himself. She was standing at the French doors, staring out. She didn't turn. He wasn't certain that she knew he was in the room. He used the moment to study her without fear of reprisal.
She had a small elegant frame with a narrow waist and long legs. It had been no effort to lift her or hold her against him. She had strength in her, but it was no match for his. As he watched, she folded her arms in front of her and leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass. He could imagine her shutting her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking.
"What do you want?" she asked tiredly. A small shudder went through her shoulders and down her back. From beneath the cuff of her sleeve she pulled out a handkerchief and touched it to each eye before she turned on him. The scrap of linen was clutched in her left fist. "Never mind, I know you want to see me dismissed. That's the real reason you're here, isn't it?" When he only looked at her blankly, she went on. "Mr. Parnell will let me go if you're caught in here."
"Did he say that?"
"No, but he was very clear that he didn't expect me to entertain you again." She sighed, impatient with herself for explaining. "Please leave."
Instead, Walker's fingers twisted the key in the door behind him, locking them in the room. "No one will know I'm here," he said quietly. "I promise." His approach to Skye was almost soundless. She held her ground until he was a few feet away, then she leaned back against the French doors. He stopped. "What did Doctor Emmet say?"
The cornered, nervous look did not leave her eyes. "It's none of your—" He would never leave if she didn't tell him. It was there in his implacable expression, in the set of his shoulders. "He said I showed signs of exhaustion."
"That's all?"
She nodded. "I told you I hadn't been sleeping well."
"You told me you thought you hadn't. It's not the same thing at all."
Skye shrugged. Her fingers opened and closed around the handkerchief.
"You're not pregnant?"
"No." Her tone was bitter and angry. "I'm not pregnant. Is that the first conclusion everyone reaches? Or did you put that idea in that doctor's tiny brain? Is that why he insisted on—" She didn't finish. She couldn't finish. The memory alone was humiliating. Discussing it with anyone was painful.
"He examined you?" Walker asked bluntly.
Tears welled. She forgot about the handkerchief and knuckled them away with her right hand. "You shouldn't have brought him," she said, swallowing a sob. The tears could not be restrained. They slipped over her cheeks. Her voice was plaintive. "Do you think I wanted his hands on me?"
Walker hadn't considered that. "I thought I was the only one who couldn't touch you."
Hugging herself, Skye shook her head. She was frightened by what was happening to her and more afraid to admit it to anyone. "Please go, Mr. Caide. I don't want you here. I only need to rest today." She pointed to the bedside table. "The doctor left me something."
Walker glanced at the small brown bottle next to the lamp. "Laudanum?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Be careful with it."
"I know the dangers." The opiates in laudanum were addictive. "My sister told me all about it." Maggie had studied a great deal in preparing for her entrance exam to medical school, and Skye was forced to hear most of what she'd learned at one time or another. "She's going to be—" Skye stopped as she became aware of what she had almost blurted out. She was more tired than she realized. In another moment she would have been talking freely of Maggie's plans to become a doctor. "She's going to be addicted herself someday if she's not careful." Forgive me, Maggie.
Walker frowned, but he set the bottle down. "I didn't know you had a sister."
"I don't think I've ever discussed my personal life with you." Skye's full mouth thinned a little. "And I don't think I care to." She was on the verge of pleading with him to leave again when a knock at her door forced the issue. Her panicked eyes flew to his face.
He put a finger to his own lips. He'd been prepared for this possibility when he turned the key in her door. He pointed to the French doors and motioned her to step aside. As soon as she did he opened them and went out onto the balcony. Frigid air slipped into the room before he shut it out.
The knock came at the door again and Skye started backing toward it, unable to take her eyes off Walker on the balcony. He was perfectly visible. Where did he think he could possibly go? She held her breath as he climbed on the balcony rail. Skye knew from her own estimates that it was at least ten feet to Parnell's balcony. With no running start, how did he expect to—
Her chest ached from holding her breath. He leaped. Skye forgot about the door. The only insistent pounding she heard was her own heart. She ran to the French doors and looked out. Walker was hoisting himself over Parnell's stone rail.
"One moment," she said, composing herself. She wiped damp palms on her gown and retucked the handkerchief in her cuff. Skye opened the door to Parnell himself.
"I didn't expect your door to be locked," he said, his eyes quickly going over her.
"Doctor Emmet said I should rest. I thought it would be better if I were undisturbed."
He had the grace to flush. "I apologize. I had only your welfare in mind. The doctor just left. Hank's taking him to town because we couldn't locate Walker." When he spoke, his glance strayed past Skye's shoulder as he tried to scan the room.
Pretending not to notice his intent, Skye casually opened the door wider. Parnell didn't ask to come in, nor did she invite him. She let silence speak for her innocence.
Parnell's attention returned to Skye. "Mrs. Reading will address the rest of staff regarding your illness."
"I'm not ill."
"No, of course not," he said quickly. "I meant to say that she'll simply tell them you need some rest."
"I don't think that speaks very well for me, Mr. Parnell. Are you certain you wouldn't rather give me my notice now?" The question was a challenge, and Parnell seemed a bit taken back by it.
"Give you your notice, Miss Dennehy? Just because you need a day's rest? I don't know what you were used to elsewhere, but that's not how I do things here. I expect you'll be fine tomorrow."
Skye was niggled again by doubts. Were Jonathan Parnell and Jay Mac partners in some scheme, or was Parnell's interest in her genuine? Both things could explain why he was adamant that Walker stay out of her room. Which was true? Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.
She rubbed at the back of her neck, at the sudden building of tension she felt there. "Was there something else, Mr. Parnell?"
He hesitated. "Would it be presumptuous for me to ask you to call me Jon? When we're alone, that is."
"Yes," she said. "It would be presumptuous." Very quietly, but with clear intent, Skye closed the door in his face.
* * *
Skye knew it would happen. She slept on and off throughout the morning and afternoon and by evening she was restless. She was also more than a little scared. Restless and scared. One or the other could have put her off sleep until after midnight. Together, Skye thought she would still be awake when the sun came up.
Every lamp in Skye's room was burning. Hank had carried extra wood to her room earlier and now Skye had a fire blazing with no fear that it would die anytime soon. Her half-eaten dinner was on a tray by the door. Annie refused to take it away when she saw Skye hadn't finished it. The dishes were covered, but Skye imagined she could smell them anyway. The odor of baked trout made her queasy. The pot of tea was cold and bitterly strong now. It wouldn't settle on her stomach any better than the first cup she'd poured.
The clock on the mantel ticked off the time with agonizing slowness. Skye watched it more than she cared to. Sometimes she looked out the French doors, even going so far as to stand on the balcony once. It was just after ten o'clock when she pushed her tray into the hall. At eleven she sat at her writing desk to compose a letter. At midnight she tore up the letter and tried her hand at poetry. When she couldn't think of a word to rhyme with "bloodcurdling," she gave it up.
She felt all of five again, excitement and dread mingling in her mind. She could have been in the attic of her summer home, sitting at the windowseat, watching for the ghost. The same sense of anticipation captured her imagination. Fire shadows leaped eerily.
"Ridiculous," she said softly. She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Skye listened to the clock and counted. It should have made her drowsy. At one o'clock she was still wide awake.
The house was silent when Skye tiptoed down the main staircase. She carried a lamp. Her shadow jumped when she took the last two steps as one. Her first destination this evening wasn't the kitchen, but the library. The room felt unbearably cold when she strayed off the rug onto the hardwood floor. She set down the lamp and tied her robe more tightly. She brushed a bit of dirt from her sleeve, a remnant of the previous night's excursion.
The book took her a while to find. Having researched subjects as diverse as medieval castles and the chemistry of dynamite, Skye knew libraries well enough to know there was little rhyme or reason to the way this one was organized. The history of the Granville family was situated between Darwin's The Descent of Man and Mill's Principles of Political Economy.
She made a little face as she examined the other titles. "Something my sisters would read," she said softly. "Something they probably have read." When Skye wasn't reading to prepare for adventures, her own tastes went to Poe and Hawthorne. She removed the Granville history carefully and slipped it under her arm.
It had never been Skye's plan to return immediately to her room. The book gave her an excuse to be downstairs. She hardly dared breathe as she padded down the hallway to the kitchen. She stopped several times to make certain no one else in the house was stirring.
The door to the cellar was locked. She twisted it twice, just to be sure. Frustrated, she made the decision to go through the outside entrance. Leaving the book behind but taking the lamp with her, Skye left the back porch. She propped the door open with a jar of beets from the pantry and circled the rear of the house.
The moon and stars were not her companions this evening and she was glad to have the lamp. The wind was bitterly cold. Skye was shaking before she reached the slanted double-door entrance. She bent down and gave one of the door handles a yank, fully expecting it to open for her.
The door didn't budge.
Confused, she tried the other. It didn't move, either. The doors were locked again from the inside. Skye was too cold to stand outside and wonder how it had come to pass, who had found them open and thrown the bolt, or why no one had been confronted about the lapse. At least one person in the house knew she had been in the cellar the night before.
Skye retraced her steps quickly, pushed aside the beet jar, and closed the back door behind her. Giving her feet a little stamp to warm them, Skye locked the door and went back to the kitchen.
Walker Caide was sitting at the table, casually thumbing through the history of the Granvilles. He didn't look up as she stood rooted in the open doorway. "This should make for interesting reading," he said, turning another page.
"That's why I got it," she said weakly.
He glanced up. "I take it you couldn't sleep again."
"That's right."
Walker nodded thoughtfully, his attention still on the book. "And while you were down here you heard something outside."
"Mm-hmm."
"So you went to investigate."
"Yes."
"You're intrepid, Skye. I'll give you that."
In another place, at another time, Skye would have been thrilled by that evaluation of her character. She was wary, though, of Walker's estimation. Her reply was feeble. "I try."
A faint smile touched his lips. He closed the book in front of him and gave Skye a considering look. "But you're not a very good liar," he said. Walker held up his hand to halt the interruption and protest she was prepared to make. "Come outside with me. I want to show you something."
"I don't think—"
He leveled her with a hard gaze this time. Pleasantness vanished from his voice. "It wasn't an invitation, Skye. It was a command."
Dread clenched her insides. The feeling was so powerful, so real, that Skye drew her arms across her middle. Her eyes followed him warily as he came around the table. He extended his palm and indicated she should precede him.
"Here," he said just as they were about to step outside. "Put this on." He slipped out of the jacket he was wearing over his nightshirt and trousers and handed it to Skye.
"What about you?" she asked. The cotton nightshirt wasn't proof against the cold. "You need something."
Walker gave her an odd look, then pressed the jacket into her hands. "Put this on," he said again.
"I know," she said, sighing. "Not an invitation. A command." As soon as she was in the jacket, she felt his hands at the small of her back pushing her out the door. She stumbled on the last step. "You should have brought the lamp."
"That's what got you into trouble in the first place."
Skye glanced over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"This way." Walker pointed to his left. When Skye didn't move quickly enough to suit him, he said, "Give me your hand."
She hesitated a moment, then held it out.
Walker took it, enfolding it in his own. "Are you all right?" He felt the tremor that had gone through her and knew it had nothing to do with the cold. "If you're nodding, I can't see it very well."
"I'm fine," she said. It surprised her that she meant it. The hand covering hers was comforting. Skye didn't understand how that was possible.
"Good. Let's go." Walker pulled Skye along the perimeter of the house until they came to the cellar doors. He dropped her hand. "Notice anything?" he asked her.