Simon looked into his drink. “Disappeared?”
“Few days before she's ready to have the kid, she just left.”
“Did she go to hospital?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “although she did see a doctor. I don't know why. She was as healthy as a horse and twice as crazy.”
“Crazy?” Simon prompted.
“High strung, like one of them racing horses. She was never fit for harness.” The bitterness in her voice was clear, but she tried to shrug it off. “Next I hear, a few weeks later, she's had the kid and they're living in a little house up river. She was beautiful in her day. Maybe one of her regulars wanted to keep her to himself.”
“Any idea who that regular might have been? Did anyone stand out?”
She laughed. “Honey, you all stand out.”
Simon almost smiled. “I mean, there wasn't one man in particular who fancied her?”
She took another long swig of whisky and frowned in discomfort as it went down. “I don't think so,” she said. “You all love us just the same.”
~~~
Elizabeth had read the sampler on the wall five times. Home is where the heart is. What she wouldn't give for a crinkly old issue of People Magazine or better yet, GQ. Was there an 1852 equivalent? Southern Gentlemen's Quarterly? If there were it should be required for any doctor's office waiting room.
She'd sat at the hotel while Simon went off to the brothel. He'd been right, darn him, that it was better that she didn't go, but that didn't mean she had to sit on her duff either.
Simon's version of the doctor and the one she'd seen at dinner didn't quite jibe. While he hadn't exactly been Mister Charm, he wasn't as recalcitrant and flinty-eyed as Simon had painted him. Maybe he just didn't take to Simon, or perhaps he needed a woman's touch to relax him into spilling a little more information. Either way, in the ten minutes she'd sat in their hotel room after Simon had left, she'd hatched her own plan. Visit the doctor and see what she could pry out of him.
So, here she sat, in Dr. Walker's waiting room in his home office. The house was attractive and well-kept, but a far cry from the fancy, schmancy mansion Catherine and the Colonel lived in. As she looked around the room more carefully, she could see that it could use a little sprucing up. All of the furnishings were expensive, but a little beyond their prime. Even the nurse who sat behind a large desk busily going over paperwork had seen better days. Maybe the doctor's practice was on the wane?
“Thank you,” a slightly overweight middle-aged woman said as the door to the office opened. She fluttered about in the doorway for a moment, waving her handkerchief anxiously and dabbing at her throat. “Are you sure this will help?”
Dr. Walker appeared and gestured toward the waiting room. “I'm sure.” He turned to the nurse. “Would you make sure Mrs. Turnbull has a follow-up appointment for two weeks from today?”
Mrs. Turnbull fluttered again. “You'll be quite well by then, I assure you.” He pointed to a small bottle she clutched in her hand. “Two drops before every meal.”
“Will that be enough?” Mrs. Turnbull asked with a sigh that threatened to blossom into a swoon.
“Yes,” the doctor said, irritation tinting his voice. “Quite.”
With that he shuffled Mrs. Turnbull off to the nurse. Elizabeth could see him reign in his frustration as he turned back toward his office and heard Mrs. Turnbull argue with the nurse about her “continuing and unrelenting suffering.”
Elizabeth rose from her chair. “Doctor Walker?”
“Mrs. Cross?” he asked as he checked his pocket watch. “Did we have an appointment?”
“No, I'm sorry. I was hoping you could spare a few minutes?”
Dr. Walker glanced at the nurse who nodded and returned to soothing Mrs. Turnbull.
The doctor held out his hand to usher Elizabeth into his office, leaving the trilling complaints of Mrs. Turnbull behind. Once inside, he gestured toward a chair by the desk.
Elizabeth took her seat. “Is she all right?”
“Mrs. Turnbull?” The doctor arched an eyebrow and took his chair behind the desk. “Like so many of my female patients, the only diseased part of her body is her mind.” She could see him consider the wisdom of saying more. “Hysteria. A plague upon the rich and indolent.”
His gaze fell on Elizabeth's expensive dress and from his expression he felt she fit the bill on both counts.
“Common sense and hard work can bring one money,” she said, “but it is seldom the other way around.”
The doctor smiled appreciatively. “Indeed.”
“I may be guilty on one count, my husband is wealthy, although I hope you'll forgive me the transgression of marrying well,” Elizabeth said as she pulled off her gloves. “I am however, like you, I think, in the other respect.”
“Are you?”
“We share a common interest. You give of your time to the Institute, the orphanage and others. I'm assuming that's how you came upon that girl Mary Stewart. Her mother was somewhat of an unfortunate. One of your charitable pursuits?”
The doctor leaned back in his chair and a smile creased his eyes enjoying the challenge. “Yes. She actually came to me when she was first with child. Asking for…help,” he said delicately. “I assured her that I could do no such thing. Sadly, just as wealth does not a clever man make, having a child does not always create a mother.”
He leaned forward and pushed some papers into a tidy stack on his desk. “I did what I could for the child, but she was always sickly and uncared for. Perhaps it's a blessing that she has to suffer no more.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, wishing that were the case.
“But,” the doctor said, reaching for a notebook. “You surely didn't come here to talk about my other patients, hmm? Are you feeling unwell?”
“I'm not sure.”
“What are you symptoms?”
“Just a little tired really. A few headaches. I'm sure it's nothing.”
The doctor hummed and made a few notes. “Is your husband here with you?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “I didn't want to worry him over nothing.”
The doctor nodded. “He's quite emotional for an Englishman. No offense intended.”
“He is passionate.”
The doctor jotted another note down. “Cambridge man, isn't it?”
“Oxford,” Elizabeth said, getting the distinct feeling this was some sort of test.
“Yes, that's right.” The doctor came around his desk. “Stand up, please?”
Elizabeth did and he gently probed her neck and examined her head for bumps as he spoke. “I knew a man who went to Oxford, about your husband's age. Always complaining about a Professor there. Haverford, I think.”
Elizabeth smiled innocently. “I'm afraid you'll have to ask Simon about that.”
“Of course,” the doctor said. “Turn your head. Any feelings of nausea or other discomfort?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not really.”
The doctor turned her head to look her in the eye. “Now, Mrs. Cross you must be honest with me if I'm to help you.”
“A little cramping,” she said feigning embarrassment and touching her stomach. She'd planned her symptoms well.
“Sit,” he said as he took her wrist and took out his watch. He took her pulse. “A bit fast.”
She wasn't surprised, what with all the dissembling and deceiving she was doing. Not to mention that he seemed to be examining not just her, but her story as well.
He circled back around his desk and sat down again. “You needn't be embarrassed, Mrs. Cross. I am well acquainted with issues common to the female. Including pregnancy.”
Elizabeth's eyes went wide with shock. “Pregnant?” She'd been hoping to give the impression of general malaise, take two aspirin and call me in the morning vagueness, not pregnancy.
“Possibly.”
“No,” Elizabeth said with a small forced laugh. She was definitely not pregnant. “I'm not.�
�
“It could be something else, a tumor perhaps. A full examination should tell us more.”
Elizabeth shifted in her seat. “It's nothing. I'm sure. I'm sorry I wasted your time.” She started to stand, but the doctor held up a hand and waved her back into her chair.
“Hardly time wasted, my dear.” He walked over to the door, pulled it open and called to his nurse. “Would you help Mrs. Cross undress?”
~~~
“Cross!”
Just as he was about to climb into his buggy, Simon turned to find James and Elijah Harper pulling up in their barouche.
“What are you doing here?” James said amiably.
“Business, I was just returning.”
Eli arched an eyebrow, but kept silent.
“Fortune is on my side today. I was just thinking of you,” James said. “We're going down to the landing to supervise the arrival of some new equipment. I was hoping to show you our warehouse facilities. Since you expressed an interest the other day,” he added hastily.
Simon could see the hopeful gleam in his eye and was happy to oblige. He joined them in their carriage, ignored Eli's smirks and made small talk as they neared the end of Water Street and the road down to the landing.
“Elizabeth has found her current trousseau inadequate,” Simon said. “Is there someone in town who can help rectify the situation or do we need to wait until New Orleans?”
“I'm afraid, I stay out of such matters,” James said. “But I'm sure Rose can help your wife.”
“Thank—”
A loud boom interrupted and Simon barely suppressed a flinch. He and Elizabeth had heard that sound a few times since they'd arrived, but it had never been quite so loud. “What the bloody…”
“Our cannon,” James said, gesturing up river. “It announces every steamboat's arrival. For some, it's still something of a novelty.”
Right on cue, a dozen or so boys ran toward the bluff, dashing across busy streets and hopping fences. They clustered at the top of the hill to get a good view of the ship as it came up river to the landing. It was a majestic sight.
Two tall twin stacks with crowns on their tops belching out black smoke while two smaller stacks billowed steam from the engines. The great paddlewheel at the back churned the water and people gathered on the decks to watch the landing.
“For me,” James said looking out at the river. “It's prosperity coming up river. Money flows faster than water on the Mississippi.”
Simon had to agree. The volume of commerce in the harbor was astonishing, goods and people in constant motion. “Impressive.”
James puffed up a bit and took them down the landing to one of the large warehouses. He gave Simon a tour of their contents and his plans for expansion. James did everything he could to prime the pump and present Simon with a sizable investment opportunity.
James excused himself and went over a shipment manifest with the warehouse manager, leaving Eli and Simon alone together. During the tour Eli had seemed impatient and sullen. Perhaps this was yet another area the brothers didn't agree upon.
“So, Mr. Cross,” Eli said. “How are you enjoying Natchez?”
“Very much.”
Eli pushed back the brim of his hat and eyed Simon. “Your business this morning was satisfactory?”
There was definitely more than a hint of accusation in his tone. Did Eli know where he'd actually been?
“Quite,” Simon said curtly, hoping to stop the conversation there.
“I'm sure it was.”
Simon clenched his jaw and turned his attention back to James. A large, heavy-set man with a large flowing mustache had interrupted his conversation with the warehouse manager. It was clear from James' body language that he was not happy to see this man. After a tense moment, James pulled the larger man aside and cast a nervous glance around. He saw Simon and Eli watching him and offered them a rictus smile.
James and the heavy-set man's conversation was brief, but tense. James pulled out an envelope from his inner jacket sleeve and gave it to the other man. The big man tipped his hat and left. James tugged on his waistcoat in annoyance and tamped down his anger as he rejoined Simon and Eli.
“Trouble, brother?” Eli asked, almost hopeful.
James answered with a glare and turned his charm back on for Simon. He smiled broadly and gestured for them to leave the warehouse. “We have a manufacturing facility just outside of town. Twenty spindles working now, but we have room to expand.”
Simon managed to escape the textile tour and assured them he would see them at the races tomorrow near River Run for the start of their weekend celebration.
He didn't like leaving Elizabeth alone for too long. When he returned to an empty hotel room, he realized he'd been right to worry. Not finding her there meant an immediate surge of adrenaline. He felt the sharp prickle of it as it shot out through his veins. It was reflexive. It always would be where Elizabeth was concerned. She was a veritable magnet for trouble, but he reminded himself, there was no reason to assume anything untoward had happened. Perhaps she just went for a walk. He pushed out a cleansing breath, and looked for a note.
He found it resting on one of the end tables and sighed in relief. It was short-lived, however. The note read simply: Gone to see the doctor. Love, E
Simon read the note again. Had she taken ill while he was gone? It wasn't as if she could call him and let him know. If she had, why didn't she say more in the note?
He stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket and strode for the door. Perhaps the desk clerk knew where she'd gone.
Simon gripped the door handle and yanked open the door only to find Elizabeth attached to the other side. She stumbled into the room and he caught her as she fell against his chest.
“Criminy, where's the fire?” Elizabeth said as she disentangled from him.
Simon clutched her arms and held her away from him, searching for signs of injury. “Are you all right?”
She took off her now-lopsided hat and her eyes flashed with exasperation. “I'm fine, but you look a little crazy around the edges.”
“Elizabeth,” Simon said, trying to shift from worry to wonder. “Why did you go to the doctor? Are you ill?”
She tossed her hat onto a table and waved him off. “Don’t be silly.”
“Of course not.” Simon closed the door to their room.
“You'll be happy to know I am quite salubrious.”
He shook his head. This woman was maddening. He dug into his pocket and produced the note. “Why did you go to the doctor?”
“To do some investigating,” she said as though it should have been obvious.
A retort stood at attention on his tongue, but he swallowed it. “It would have been helpful if you'd mentioned that.”
“Oh!” The light finally blinked on for her. “You thought…” She came to him and patted his chest. “I'm sorry.”
Simon crammed the note back into his pocket and nodded.
She pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“I'm glad to hear at least,” he said, “you're in good health.”
“And, I have superlative birthing hips.”
Simon frowned and shook his head. “Perhaps you should start from the beginning?”
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth looked around the fairgrounds and decided she definitely needed more clothes. She was already repeating and, judging from the sea of frills and lace surrounding her, that simply wouldn't do.
She and Simon nodded and smiled as they passed through the crowd looking for the Harpers. They'd been invited to be guests at the Jockey Club's private pavilion at the racetrack. The track was a far cry from the shabby ones she used to tag along to with her father in Texas. The atmosphere was more, definitely more, Ascot than Amarillo. A cluster of food stalls at the entrance gave way to the enormous field that held both the tented pavilions and the half-mile track.
The stables and paddock area were a hub of activity as horses were warmed u
p and prepared for races. Adjacent to that were corrals for horse trading. From plow horses to young thoroughbred colts, there was something to entice every level of society.
The whole thing felt more like a county fair celebrating Spring and the end of planting season than a regular old horse track. There were food stalls and jugglers and musicians, and even a few buckboards with people drinking and eating in the back. A sort of 19th century tailgate.
She and Simon were nearing the large white tents of the Jockey Club when Elizabeth saw Catherine and the Colonel. Catherine waved happily toward them and the Colonel remained as stone-faced as ever.
Just as they were crossing a path to join them, two tenant farmers and their mules came between them. The men bellowed at the two teams of mules as they tried to convince the animals to head to the paddock area. They yelled and begged, whipped the reins down on their backs and slapped their flanks with their straw hats, and argued with each other until the mules heehawed and went on their way.
The Colonel might have actually harrumphed as he glowered after them. “Commoners and Negroes racing,” he said. “Mules for God's sake. It's desecrated the club.” Almost as an afterthought, he bowed his head and greeted them. “Cross.”
“Colonel. Miss Catherine,” Simon said.
Catherine rolled her eyes at her father and then smiled at Elizabeth. “So good to see you. Are you feeling…well?” she asked with a slight wiggle of her eyebrows.
How could she possibly know that she'd seen the doctor yesterday?
As if reading her mind Catherine added, “Since her husband's death Mrs. Turnbull has little more to do with herself these days than gossip.”
The Colonel grunted in displeasure. “And what's your excuse, Cat?”
“Touché, father.” Catherine looked as though she were going to follow up with a volley of her own, but resisted the temptation. Barely.
“I'm fine, thank you. No news to report,” Elizabeth said, hoping to stop any Stanton family war before it started.
That won another grunt from the Colonel. Maybe there were nuances to his grunts like lowland gorillas.
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