Simon grunted. “I'm not sure I'll have any appetite.”
“I will.”
Simon smiled and took her hand. “You were magnificent. But how did you escape? I didn't see.”
Elizabeth let out a breath and shook her head. She didn't have the energy to tell him all the dirty details just now. Besides, it would just upset him and he needed rest more than anything else right now. “I'll tell you later.”
Simon nodded and closed his eyes.
“Why don't you try to get some rest?”
He opened his eyes and nodded again. She started to stand, but he tugged her hand. “Stay with me.”
She nodded and moved some of the pillows so he could slide down the bed and lie down fully. Once he was settled, she lay down next to him. His uninjured arm curled around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.
He turned his head and kissed her temple. “Your hair smells like fish,” he said drowsily.
Elizabeth laughed tiredly, and then rested her head on his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest. “Later,” she said.
It was only minutes before his breathing slowed and sleep took him. Elizabeth was not far behind.
A few hours later, Simon groaned. Elizabeth awoke instantly and sat up.
Simon's eyes opened and he blinked against the light. He saw the concern in her eyes. “I'm fine,” he said. “Just bumped my arm.”
He held it out for her to see. The bandage was still clean, no blood. He flexed his fingers. “It's all right, just sore.”
Elizabeth let out a breath. “Good.”
She noticed that a tray of food had been left on the table by the door. “Are you hungry? Do you think you can eat something?”
“A little.”
Elizabeth rearranged the pillows. Simon sat up and then leaned back against the headboard. The tray had bread and cheese and some cold meat. A small tureen of soup had gone cold, but it was better than nothing. She ladled a cup of soup and handed it to him.
Simon took a sip and then another. His color was good. In some places, bilious even.
“You're going to have a heck of a bruise there,” she said touching his jaw.
“All things considered…” he said, as he put down his cup of soup.
“Ain't that the truth,” Elizabeth said.
Simon shifted his position and groaned. “I think that fight filled my quota for this trip.” He settled back down and narrowed his eyes at her. “You're not hurt, are you? Being brave and pretending you aren't for my sake?”
Elizabeth laughed. “No. Really.” She held out her arms to show him. “See?”
Simon appeared appeased and took a bite of cheese. He chewed slowly, his jaw clearly already sore. “There's something I'm not clear about. How did you get the gun?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “The man holding me became…distracted, and I just used it to my advantage.” It wasn't an outright lie and she hoped he was too tired to delve too deeply into the details.
Simon frowned; obviously not ready to let her off the hook so easily. “Distracted?”
She knew he would wind himself up over it if she told him the whole truth of it. “I'm fine. No scars, emotional or otherwise. Heck, I'd do a lot worse to save our bacon if I had to.”
Simon tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. She probably shouldn't have said that.
She took his hand. “I'm fine; you're mostly fine. I'd say, Simon and Elizabeth for the win!”
Simon hmm'd and she knew that was the best she was going to get under the circumstances. She let go of his hand and he picked up his cup again.
“At least we won't have to worry about those two anymore. I've had enough of fish face for a lifetime.” Simon looked at her questioningly. “He was the man at the racetrack who sent the first warning.”
Simon put down his cup and closed his eyes as the pieces seemed to fall into place. “Of course! I knew I'd seen his face before.”
“You saw him there?”
“Talking with Dr. Walker.”
“That's something I don't quite get,” Elizabeth said. “Walker seems to be involved, but why?”
Simon sighed thoughtfully. “Blackmail?” he suggested. “Perhaps he knew about James or Eli's affair and child, and has been covering it up for a price?”
Elizabeth nodded and remembered what the Colonel had said about the doctor's penchant for losing high stakes wagers. “Pay off his gambling debts. That makes sense, but I feel like there's something else.”
Simon had stopped picking at the tray of food. “Finished?”
He nodded and she put the tray back on the side table and began to undress. “There was something I was thinking about at the party,” she said, “before we were kicked out.”
Simon snorted.
Elizabeth stepped out of her dress and unhooked her corset. “Eight years ago, there were two children born on the same day. Or close to it at least. One to a rich family, and the other to a poor one.”
“Very Prince and the Pauper.”
Elizabeth took off her petticoats and then climbed back onto the bed. She sat Indian-style facing Simon.
“Exactly. But they're not twins. No one would confuse one for the other.”
Simon frowned. “No.”
“What if,” Elizabeth said, leaning forward. Something was starting to gel. “Rose said that everyone feared Louisa would be born too sickly to live, but by some miracle she was healthy. Perfect.”
“But Mary was sickly, wasn't she?” Simon said.
“Yes. What if it wasn't a miracle at all? What if someone switched them? Biologically, we think Mary's a Harper, and that Louisa isn't.”
Simon shook his head. “Why? Why would someone send their own child away and take in another?”
Elizabeth frowned. There was something floating in her mind just beyond her reach. “I don't know, but the doctor was there for both births, and I wouldn't put anything past him.”
Simon agreed and rested his head back against the pillows. Clearly, he was exhausted, too exhausted for this.
“Let's talk more about it tomorrow,” she said. “We could both use a good night's sleep.”
“Agreed.”
Elizabeth got off the bed and walked over to the nightstand with a fresh basin of water.
“Are you going to sleep over there?” he asked, straining his neck to watch her.
She picked up a washcloth. “Just going to clean up a bit first. I smell like fish.” Simon's eyebrows drew together in genuine confusion and concern. “I could give you a sponge bath,” she added.
He smiled, but just barely. “Tomorrow. I'd like to have enough energy to enjoy it properly.”
Elizabeth laughed and helped him settle into bed. By the time she'd finished cleaning up he was fast asleep. She watched him for a few minutes before rolling onto her back and staring up into the night. Somewhere in it, there was an answer. If only she could see in the dark.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The last thing on earth Simon wanted to do was attend the Veterans' Spring Gala, and yet, here he was, forcing a smile to his face and making small talk with Mrs. Goode and Mrs. Cobb. His head hurt, his jaw ached and his arm throbbed. But he had little choice. This might well be their last chance to talk to the Harpers, if they even decided to arrive. He and Elizabeth had to convince them to do the right thing. He would not fail Mary.
“It's a wonderful cause,” Elizabeth said, pulling Simon back to the present. “Isn't it, Simon?”
“Yes,” he said, unsure of just what she was talking about.
Mrs. Goode stared at him expectantly. He looked back confused until he noticed the ream of raffle tickets in her hands.
Simon reached for his wallet, but winced.
Elizabeth laughed and patted his chest. “Ah!” She reached inside his jacket and took out his wallet.
Mrs. Goode's eyebrows arched in surprise and with no small measure of pleasure at the size of the bills Elizabeth pulled out.
“One
of a wife's many pleasures,” Elizabeth said as she put his wallet back. “Spending her husband's money.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Goode said. “Here you are.” She held out a fan of raffle tickets.
Elizabeth took them and carelessly stuffed them into her small purse.
Mrs. Goode smiled and then stepped forward conspiratorially. “I heard what happened yesterday. Attacked by Indians!”
“I'm sorry?” Elizabeth said.
“What have you to be sorry for,” the woman said and she shuddered. “Good heavens, I can't imagine. I would have fainted dead away.”
“I heard they were Sioux,” Mrs. Cobb added.
“Six of them!” Mrs. Goode said.
“Six Sioux?” Elizabeth said, barely fighting her smile.
“And a herd of buffalo,” Catherine said, appearing at their side and winking at Elizabeth. “I think my father was looking for the two of you,” she added with a rather wide-eyed and obvious get out of here while you can look.
“Of course. You'll excuse us,” Elizabeth said, and without waiting for an answer, looped her arm through Simon's left arm and started around the perimeter of the room.
The large town hall had been turned into a ballroom for the gala. Small tables and chairs lined the walls leaving the center free for dancing. A small orchestra filled the stage and played painfully jaunty quadrilles and more elegant waltzes.
All of Natchez's elite were in attendance to benefit the city's war veterans. Everyone from old men who'd fought in the War of 1812 to young ones yet to see battle mixed and mingled and filled up ladies' dance cards. Not surprisingly, Elizabeth was a rather hot commodity.
Men, young and old, lingered by the Colonel hoping for an introduction. Married or not, it didn't seem to matter. Any beautiful woman, and especially one new in town, was a much sought-after prize. Elizabeth's dance card had filled within ten minutes of their arrival. Simon had been lucky to get two spots for himself. Although, his damn arm was throbbing badly in time with the beat of the music, dancing was the last thing on his mind.
They reached the far side of the room, safe from Mrs. Goode's incessant gossip. Elizabeth gestured to the refreshment table where a crystal bowl held some undefined punch.
“Would you like some?” Simon asked, indicating the drinks.
Elizabeth nodded and held out one of the cups so he didn't have to use his right arm. He ladled some into her cup.
She took a sip and they both turned back to look through the crowd.
“They'll come,” Elizabeth said, sounding much more sure than she was.
Another half-hour passed without a sign of the Harpers and Simon grew worried, and impatient. He'd already had to explain twice that they were not attacked by Sioux nor set upon by river pirates. The truth, or at least the version they were willing to share, wasn't apparently as exciting as the fictions that spread around the ballroom like wildfire. He was just about to lose his already shortened temper with a man who insisted he'd “seen the whole thing” when he saw the Harpers enter the room.
Simon took Elizabeth's arm. “You'll pardon us,” he said and led Elizabeth a few paces away from the group.
Across the room, Eli grinned like an idiot at Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Goode while James appeared more taciturn than usual, his scowl bending only slightly when Rose touched his arm. After having dutifully bought their share of raffle tickets, they started across the ballroom.
Elizabeth's smile brightened when she saw them. “Hello!”
Rose began to smile in greeting, but James took her elbow and angled her away. He gave Elizabeth a curt nod and glared at Simon as he led his wife in another direction. Rose looked over her shoulder briefly before turning back and disappearing into the crowd with her husband.
“Hello,” Eli said to Elizabeth. He glanced at Simon mistrustfully, but nodded, before following his brother.
Simon sighed. “That does not bode well.”
Elizabeth put her hand on Simon's good arm. “Let me see if I can find a moment alone with Rose. If I can get her without James, I think she wants to talk about what happened.”
It was a sensible approach. Perhaps that's what they should have done in the first place. Nothing to be done for it now. “Good.”
A tall, young man in a smart West Point dress uniform appeared in front of them. “Sir,” he said with a bow before turning to Elizabeth and holding out his hand. “I believe this is my dance, Mrs. Cross.”
“Mister Pierce isn't it?” she said.
His grin broadened with delight. “Yes!”
Elizabeth handed Simon her empty cup and took Mr. Pierce's hand and let him lead her out onto the floor. Under different circumstances, Simon might have been slightly annoyed by it all. Men had hovered around her all night, like bees to a flower, grinning like fools. But, as Elizabeth had reminded him, in ten years time, their smart, clean uniforms and dreams of heroic deeds in battle would be met with the harsh reality of the Civil War. At least one in four would die. For those that lived, their homes and their very way of life would never be the same again. It was a sobering thought. As he looked around the room, he saw men, really boys barely out of short pants, playing soldier and not knowing what was to come.
There was nothing he or Elizabeth could do to change that. They could, however, change one small thing here, and give a child peace.
Just the thought of it made his chest tighten and he instinctively sought out Elizabeth on the dance floor. In her exquisite, yellow silk evening gown, she was not hard to find. She laughed and smiled. Even though it was meant for another man, he felt renewed again.
“Lovely.”
Simon's jaw clenched. He knew the voice before he turned. “Walker.”
Dr. Walker admired Elizabeth for too long a moment before turning and facing Simon. “Beautiful and a good shot. A rare combination.”
Simon glared down at him, but held his tongue.
The doctor arched his eyebrows and smiled before glancing to the dance floor. “I wouldn't worry. I doubt there will be any charges filed.”
“Charges?” Simon said.
Dr. Walker shrugged. “A man did die.”
“Die? What are you talking about?”
The doctor smiled and then forced a false sincerity to it. “The man your wife shot succumbed to his wounds in the night.”
Simon knew that was impossible. He'd seen the man's arm for himself. It wasn't pretty, but it was not a mortal wound. Even if it had become infected, it was highly improbable that the infection could have caused his death so quickly.
“Perhaps I'm losing my touch,” the doctor said with a sigh. “The police usually bring in Dr. Parish for such things, but he was…” the doctor continued with a glance toward Simon's injured arm, “otherwise occupied and so they requested my humble services.”
“And a man in your care died from a flesh wound to the arm,” Simon said, not bothering to hide his disbelief and disgust.
“Pyemia,” the doctor said. “Blood poisoning. I've never seen such a virulent case before.”
Simon knew exactly what had happened. His blood might have been poisoned, but it had nothing to do with his wound. The man was a loose end, one that could have implicated Walker. A loose end that needed to be cut and the doctor had found an opportunity to do just that.
“Went straight to his heart. But then,” Dr. Walker said with another glance to Elizabeth, “that is where a man is most vulnerable, is it not?”
Simon clenched his jaw and his hands tightened into fists at his side. He could feel the muscles in his forearm pull the skin taut straining his stitches. The pain was strangely welcome. It kept him grounded. It kept him from tearing Walker's head off.
“Dr. Walker!” a portly man said as he appeared at their side. “Pardon me,” he added nervously seeing Simon's eyes flash with anger. He quickly added a bow. “My wife has been having some discomfort…”
“Of course,” Dr. Walker said with a smug grin Simon dreamt of wiping off his face. “You'll e
xcuse me, Mr. Cross.” The doctor bowed once more before following the portly man off into the crowd.
Simon looked after them both and then, sour taste in his mouth, turned to find Elizabeth. With any luck she'd managed to duck out on a few of her dances and convince Rose to speak with her.
~~~
Elizabeth needed to catch her breath. The dance lessons Simon had given her before they'd traveled here had paid off. However, dancing in the comfort of their living room and dancing here in a hot, crowded ballroom with a corset squeezing the life out of her, was a different matter. She headed back for the punchbowl, hoping someone had finally spiked it, when she saw Rose talking with several other women. James was nowhere to be seen.
Elizabeth walked up to them and fanned herself with her dance card. “Quite an evening,” she said.
The other women greeted her politely. Rose, however, shot a nervous glance over her shoulder before forcing a small smile.
“I do hope it's nothing serious,” Mrs. Pitchford said to Rose continuing whatever conversation Elizabeth had interrupted.
“No, she's fine,” Rose said.
“Her Louisa's not feeling well,” Mrs. Turnbull added for Elizabeth's benefit.
“She just overdid it a bit at the party yesterday, is all,” Rose said, showing no sign of downplaying her daughter's state. “The doctor is coming by tomorrow to check on her, but I'm sure she's fine really.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Elizabeth said.
Rose looked over her shoulder again. Clearly, she'd been instructed not to talk to Elizabeth but was too polite to ignore her completely.
Mrs. Pitchford started a story about her son's recurring bilious fever and Elizabeth stepped closer to Rose and whispered, “I'd like to speak with you, if I could. About yesterday.”
Rose shook her head and turned to walk away.
Elizabeth reached out and touched her arm. “Please?”
Rose shot another look toward the corner of the room where Elizabeth could now see James. He had his back to them and, after a moment's hesitation, Rose nodded to Elizabeth and then toward a side door.
They escaped the heat of the ballroom only to find the evening air thick and cloying. It was a clear night, but the air was still and humid. They walked out into the side garden. Rose looked back anxiously at the door. The muffled sound of music coming from inside the building could just be heard in the distance.
Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) Page 21