Millie shook her head. “Two flights. It would never do at this stage. You must be patient.”
David sighed. Not for the first time, he wished she’d been able to secure rooms on the ground floor. “I suppose you’re right. Could you help me back into bed now? My leg is beginning to ache.”
“Of course.” Millie paused to look at his pocket watch, which had made its home on the bedside table since they moved in. “Look at that! It’s an hour past the time when you can have more laudanum. I do believe you’re getting better, sir, but I’ll fix you a dose after you’re in bed if you want it.”
“I think not. Is that a new book?”
She glanced at the volume she’d brought earlier. “Oh yes, it is. A Mrs. Fleming, in 201, had it. She finished it this morning, and she offered to lend it to me. She says it’s prodigious exciting. Alexandre Dumas.”
He smiled. “Would you—oh, I don’t suppose you have time.”
“To read to you?”
He ought to just read to himself. He was turning into rather a lazy fellow. But the truth was, he liked the way she read aloud. She brought the characters right into the room.
“I think I could stay half an hour,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said meekly.
Millie knocked on the door of David’s room. She’d left him twenty minutes ago, clean shaven, washed, and brushed. On her way out of the hotel, she’d sent the bellboy up to help him put on the trousers she’d modified by slitting one leg to allow the cast to go through. She hoped the venture had been successful.
“Come in,” came his voice, and she pushed open the door.
Her gaze flew to his armchair, positioned beside the window. David sat in it, fully clothed. The trouser leg was pinned together so that one hardly noticed the cast—well, not much. And he wore his exquisitely made shirt, tie, and jacket.
She smiled at him. “Mr. Stone. Glad to see you looking so well. I’ve brought the Reverend Mr. Harden.”
The pastor stepped past her and extended his hand to David. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Mutual,” David said, stretching to shake hands. The two were about the same age. Mr. Harden was several inches shorter than David, and his complexion and hair darker. David’s features relaxed as he looked him over. “Won’t you sit down, sir?”
Mr. Harden sat opposite him, and Millie was suddenly loath to quit the room. But she knew she ought to, so she cleared her throat and gave a little curtsey.
“I’ll leave you gentlemen alone. May I bring a tea tray up?”
“That would be nice,” David said. “Thank you.”
She bowed her head slightly. Why am I acting so servile with him? Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he has to treat everyone like servants.
If the truth were told, he had not treated her like a domestic. Instead, he’d been generous to her and grateful for her ministrations—as a friend would be, not a master. And he’d never asked her to scrape and curtsey.
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans,” Mr. Harden said.
Millie managed a little smile and swept out of the room. She closed the door behind her and stood for a moment in the hallway to catch her breath.
What would David say to him? Would he tell the minister how she’d tried to cheat him once and had nearly gotten him killed?
She bit her lip. Why should she fear that? David was a gentleman. Besides, she had already told Mr. and Mrs. Harden much of the tale herself. But how differently would the situation appear from David’s viewpoint? And had she colored her account to show herself in a more favorable light than she deserved?
There was no sense fretting over it. Today was washday at the hotel, and she’d be busy all afternoon.
Dear Lord, it’s up to You. If You want Mr. Stone to sully my reputation—well, I suppose I deserve it. Teach me not to be so proud. I’ve really no reason to think highly of myself. No reason at all.
Resolved to complete her day’s work well, she gathered her skirt and flew down the stairs.
CHAPTER 22
David spent the most enjoyable hour he’d had since he left Oregon. Millie brought a tea tray fifteen minutes after the minister’s arrival and retreated again with a cheerful wave, though she looked a bit tired. Now that he thought about it, Millie often had an air of fatigue. The innkeeper was probably demanding too much of her. He turned his attention back to his visitor, making a mental note to ask her about it later.
Joseph Harden was a most amiable man. He didn’t swing every topic round to theology, but once they got into it, he turned out to have a most practical view of Christianity. He also knew the minister who had held the pulpit at the church David had attended many years ago, when he lived in Independence, but informed him that a different man now preached in that church.
David liked Harden and soon found himself revealing his situation in a general way—no specifics.
“Of course I never expected to inherit from my brother Richard. I thought he’d have a dozen progeny, and if anything should happen to prevent that, why then, our brother John would step up.”
“So very tragic that you are the last brother,” Mr. Harden said.
“Yes. Of course, I would gladly have given Richard’s daughter a home, but an odd thing happened when she came to Oregon to find me.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“She fell in love with a plain but honest man.” David smiled, remembering how Anne would flush whenever Dan Adams came around. “He’s a capital fellow, and he’s making her a good husband.”
“At least that part of the tale ends happily.”
“Yes.” David frowned as he recalled other moments in Oregon. “What is your overall impression of Mrs. Evans?”
“Oh, she is most amiable, Mr. Stone, and she has a tender heart.”
David considered that.
“You seem troubled by this assessment, sir,” said Mr. Harden.
“Oh no, not at all,” David said. “This past month, I’ve found her to be as you say.” However, he kept thinking about the minister’s words.
“Come now,” Harden said. “You have known her longer than I have, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I first met her more than eighteen months ago, out in western Oregon. But she was…considerably different then.”
Mr. Harden’s features sobered. “Yes. She has told my wife and me some about her past. I must say, we admire her. With God’s help, she has made some commendable changes in her life, both inward and outward.”
David eyed him in surprise. “She is now penniless and dependent upon the kindness of a slight acquaintance. How is that a better outward situation than when I first met her? She was staying then in a hotel a bit better than this one and dining well each day. She owned a horse, at least, and seemed to have no shortage of money.”
“Ah, it is not up to me to divulge the things she told us, Mr. Stone. I assumed you knew her fairly well and what her life has been like since her husband died.”
“I know she was not completely honest, if that is what you mean.”
Mr. Harden smiled ruefully. “Shall we let it rest there, then? Let the cloak of charity cover her past transgressions. Millie Evans is now a sister in Christ. For all I can tell, she is sincere in her new faith, and she has given up her old habits. While she may not be affluent now, she has nothing to hide, and I assure you, your wallet is safe in her presence.”
David froze for a moment. It sounded as though Millie had confessed her sins rather particularly to the pastor. If she were still in the fraud business, would she have done that? Or was this all part of an even larger, more sweeping scheme? He’d begun to trust her, but was that wise? One thing was certain—until he was 100 percent confident of her honesty, Millie must not learn about Stoneford.
He’d been extremely careful since their unexpected reunion not to let a word of his expectations pass his lips—to Millie, or to anyone else he met on the journey. He believed she remained ignorant of the title and fortune awaiting him in E
ngland. He intended that it should stay that way. Therefore, he would not now discuss the matter further, not even with a man of the cloth. He’d told Joseph Harden he must settle his brother’s estate, but no more, and so it would remain.
“Mr. Harden, I do hope you won’t take me amiss when I ask you not to reveal anything I’ve told you about my purpose in returning to England.”
“Rest assured, it shall not leave my lips, sir. And how does the doctor say you are progressing?”
“Quite well, though from where I sit, it seems to be rather a slow process. He’s letting me put a little weight on my leg now. I hope within a couple more weeks to cast aside the crutches and resume my journey.”
“And Mrs. Evans will travel with you?”
David blinked at him. “We haven’t discussed it recently. I had told her before our accident that I would give her enough for her ticket to Philadelphia, where she has friends. Now that I’m getting about a little, perhaps I should ask if she’d like to go on now. She need not wait for me.”
“Indeed?”
“I’m sure I can tend my own needs now,” David said uncertainly, glancing about the room. At the moment it was clean, but only because Millie had kept it so. Without her, when would his bed be changed again, or his shirts washed, or the floor swept? He supposed there were other hotel employees who did such tasks for other guests, but thanks to Millie, he hadn’t had occasion to meet them.
When the minister took his leave, he smiled and extended his hand to David. “May I call upon you again, sir?”
“I should like that excessively. I’m afraid I suffer great boredom within these walls.”
“Then I promise to return before too long.”
“Thank you. I shall look forward to it.” David smiled until his visitor was out the door, and then let out a low moan. His leg ached horribly, and he wanted only to get back to bed. But who would help him?
He struggled to rise but fell back into the chair with a painful thud.
A moment later there was a tap on the door.
“Come in!”
Millie peeked round the edge of the door. “I saw Mr. Harden leaving. Would you like some assistance?”
David gritted his teeth. “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”
She hurried into the room, her lovely face lined with worry. “Are you all right, sir?” She stooped and let him drape an arm over her shoulders. “There now, one—two—three.”
David pushed himself upward. He couldn’t help but notice how gentle she was, and yet she had the strength of a woman who knew hard work. He realized he was looking at her lovely hair and thinking how soft it must be. He looked away.
“Steady now.” She stood still for a moment, letting him collect himself. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“It’s only three steps.”
He wanted to tell her he could make it just fine if she’d hand him the crutches, but the truth was he felt weak as a newborn colt. He let her support him as he hobbled the short distance. He tried not to lean too heavily on her, but he liked the way her shoulders were at just the right height for her to fit beneath his arm. They reached the bed, and he sat on the edge quite precipitously. She lifted his injured leg gently, swinging it onto the mattress.
“I should have laid back the covers,” she said.
“Leave it,” David gasped.
“Yes, I shall. Let me take off your shoe, and then I’ll get you a blanket and some laudanum. Next time, perhaps you shouldn’t sit up so long.”
“I’ll be fine.” He spoke rather crossly, though he didn’t intend to. It was her femininity that flummoxed him, he thought, and the fact that he liked her more and more without wanting to.
Millie only smiled. “Of course you will.”
Peregrin lingered in New York three more days after he received his sister’s letter. He hated to leave his nest at the Metropolitan, but on Friday night it became clear that he must waste no more time. That was the night Nigel Wallace’s friend, Lionel Baxter, took him for every cent he had on him and a thousand dollars more in IOUs.
Appalled at his losses, as each hand played out, Peregrin insisted on going one more. Finally Nigel would hear no more and insisted it was time they cleared out. Peregrin was nine-tenths drunk, and Nigel dropped him off at the hotel and bribed the doorman to see him safely up to his room. It was a good thing Nigel was feeling generous, or Peregrin might have spent the night huddled on the sidewalk.
He awoke Saturday morning with a splitting headache. He put on his dressing gown and rang for breakfast. When the bellboy delivered it, Peregrin remembered he had no more cash. He would have to get to the bank Monday morning. He told the bellboy he’d tip him double when he got the ready, but the young man was not pleased.
He would surely spend a dull weekend, since he was short of funds. Why had he put so much in the bank, anyway? That was a mistake. He swallowed down the herb tea that was brewed to help dispel hangovers.
When his headache receded, Peregrin admitted to himself that he’d banked the larger part of his funds—two thousand dollars—as a safeguard against the very thing he’d done last night. And now he owed half of that to Lionel Baxter. He’d better pay Lionel off and hop a train to Independence. If he put off Merrileigh’s business much longer, he might end up flat broke and unable to carry it out.
On the other hand, if he stayed in New York, Merry might send him some money.
He decided against asking, as it would probably take close to a month to receive her reply. She’d said nothing about sending more money in her letter, and he’d better not count on it. He’d left London with enough to keep any man in good shape for a year—he’d have been the first to say so. He’d gone through two-thirds of it in a couple of months. It was up to him to use the rest wisely.
He frowned at himself in the large, gilt-framed mirror. How could he have lost so much in one game? If he went back to Baxter’s tonight…
No, that would never do. Baxter had said he wouldn’t play with him again unless he put the money on the table. No more IOUs.
Wearily, Peregrin began to lather his shaving soap. He sorely missed his houseman, even though he’d had to share Hogg with his housemates in London.
Somewhere between the first nick on his chin and knocking the water pitcher over as he grabbed for a towel, it occurred to Peregrin that he could get his money from the bank on Monday and leave for Independence without paying a visit to Lionel Baxter. The fellows would have no idea where he’d gone to. He hadn’t told even Nigel Wallace that he planned to go there, for fear of exposing his scheme with Merrileigh.
He liked the idea. He could disappear. With his two thousand dollars intact. He doubted Baxter would pursue him all the way across the Mississippi, even if he did get wind of his flight. Would he? A man might chase him across England for less, but England was such a small country, compared to this one.
Peregrin was just unbuttoning his shirt—he’d done it up wrong and came out with a button too many—when someone knocked on his door.
He stepped closer. “Who is it?”
“A friend of Lionel Baxter’s.”
Cautiously, Peregrin unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
A man the size of a plow horse shoved it open, throwing Peregrin back. The giant entered, with a companion close behind.
“I say,” Peregrin stammered.
The giant tapped his palm with a stick about a foot and a half long. “Mr. Baxter says good morning. And don’t forget to visit the bank first thing on Monday.”
“Er…right.” Peregrin looked from the man to his smaller but more sinister chum. The second man had a jagged scar running from one cheekbone to his chin. He stared ominously at Peregrin.
“Give him my best, won’t you?” Peregrin tried to affect a carefree smile.
It slipped a little when the big man said, “Don’t fail him, or you’ll wish you’d never set foot in New York.”
CHAPTER 23
When Dr. Lee pai
d his next call on David, Millie waited in the lobby until he came down the stairs, and then she followed him outside.
“How is Mr. Stone doing?” she asked.
“Ah, Mrs. Evans. I hoped I would see you. The patient was in a restless mood today. Apparently he overdid a bit yesterday.”
“I’m afraid so. I shouldn’t have let him sit up so long with his visitor. I didn’t realize he was in pain the entire time.”
The doctor nodded. “Give him the regular doses of laudanum today. Tomorrow he might slack off again, if he feels better. Now, you mustn’t let him do too much too soon. And whatever he tells you, I think it would be unwise for him to travel for several more weeks.”
Millie swallowed hard. “That long?”
“Yes. Perhaps another month. He’s not healing as fast as a child would. But he is healing. That itching he complains of is part of it. But I won’t remove the plaster for at least two weeks more. And even then, it will take him a little while to regain strength in those muscles.”
“I see.”
Dr. Lee nodded and untied his horse from the hitching rail. “Mr. Stone seemed to think you might be traveling on soon without him.”
“I have no such intentions,” Millie said.
“Good. I fear he’d injure himself again if you—or someone else capable—were not here to keep him from doing so.”
“I shall stay as long as he’ll put up with me,” Millie said. “I hope that will be until he’s ready to travel again.”
“Excellent.” Dr. Lee laughed. “I take it you have some history with him. He told me today that every time he’s around you, he winds up injured.”
Millie stared at him. “I should hope he didn’t imply that I had anything to do with causing the stagecoach accident.”
“Oh no, he said it in jest. I saw the scar on his shoulder and asked him about it. He said he’d suffered a gunshot wound not long after he’d met you. He didn’t say the two events were connected—in fact, I got the feeling he made it sound that way just to get a laugh from me.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 82