by Regina Scott
“It sounds as if you like those days best,” she said.
They started up past the shops. The barber came out, razor in hand, and waved it at Lark. Lark rubbed his chin with one hand but felt nothing catch against his glove. As they passed the baker’s, something hit his top hat, knocking it partway off his head.
Jess stopped and glanced around. “What was that?”
Lark righted his hat, then bent to pick up a roll from the ground. It was clearly old—grey speckled one side, and it was hard as a rock. He glanced back in time to see someone duck into the doorway of the bakery.
“I think Mr. Ellison lobbed this at me.”
She looked to the roll in his hand. “Don’t be silly. Someone must have dropped that there on their way home with a dozen.” She started forward.
He was surprised how much he didn’t want the animosity starting up again, not here at Grace-by-the-Sea. But then, no one but Jess and the magistrate knew his true profession. Lark sent the bakery a frown and caught up with her. But as they passed Mr. Carroll’s Curiosities, the dapper shopkeeper came out onto his stoop and crossed his arms over his chest, gaze on Lark.
Miss Archer went so far as to hurry out to intercept them. “Jess! My dear! Do we have you to thank, Mr. Denby, for prying her out of the spa again?”
“Mr. Denby and I are helping Magistrate Howland,” Jess said before he could answer. “He must confirm the returns before sending them to the lord-lieutenant.”
Miss Archer’s green gaze was bright, but something simmered behind it. “Interesting. Is that why you tarried so long on the Downs on Saturday? I would suspect you were counting sheep, but there were none where we travelled. If Mr. Denby is only interested in confirming the returns, he must wish to speak to every shopkeeper and farmer in the area. Perhaps we should hold a meeting in the assembly rooms so you can ask us all at once. That way, Mr. Denby has no more need to monopolize your time.”
A sensible suggestion, if confirming the returns was truly their aim. “Once again, you are too kind, Miss Archer,” he said.
Jess merely smiled. “There is no need, Abigail. I enjoy spending time with Lark. And we are almost finished, in any event.”
Miss Archer blinked, glancing between the two of them. As if she saw something, her smile widened. “Oh, well, then. Carry on. I wish you two only the best.” Humming to herself, she trotted back toward her shop.
Lark watched her a moment. It seemed his profession remained a mystery after all. Howland was right. They were all concerned about how he was treating Jess. And her use of his first name had told her friend they were indeed courting. He ought to correct the impression, but he didn’t. Some part of him insisted on entertaining the notion.
Jess started forward as if nothing had happened. Indeed, if her topic of conversation was any indication, she was attempting to pretend they were two friends on a promenade through the village. “I hope I have a chance to renew my acquaintance with your mother and sisters while you’re here. I always enjoyed talking with your family, Hester especially.”
His oldest sister was a couple years older than Jess, but her life had been considerably harder, having married young and lost her husband at sea four years ago. Now she was raising her daughter alone.
“I’ll mention that to her when I see her,” he said.
They had reached the door of the spa. He held open the door for her, escorted her inside. She smiled at him. But as her gaze went to the Grand Pump Room, she froze and turned white.
He had no idea what had discomposed her, but he knew something was wrong.
~~~
Jess stared at the Grand Pump Room, stomach plummeting like a rock thrown from the headland. This was not her spa. Gone were the sparkling glasses by the fountain, waiting to dispense the shimmering brew. Gone was the chess set, the table looking oddly bereft. Gone were most of her guests, including Miss Barlow. Only the Admiral remained, huddled in one of the chairs overlooking the cove, countenance bleak. And the pamphlets! Not a one in sight. Well, she could not entirely regret the loss of those.
A woman in black bombazine trotted up to her, round face wreathed in smiles, grey curls half hidden by a huge white hat adorned with ostrich plumes that had been dyed a jaunty blue, and it was a moment before she realized she was looking at her aunt.
“We made a few changes,” Maudie announced, as if she had noticed the dismay on Jess’s face.
“So I see,” Jess said. “Where did you get that hat?”
“Miss Barlow said I needed to look cheerier. Can you imagine? She found this on special at Beautiful Bonnets.”
Mrs. Rinehart had probably been glad to be rid of it. “Where is the Welcome Book?” Jess asked, gaze scanning the room.
“Miss Barlow thought we should put it away,” Maudie explained. “Strangers might use it to determine which of us to prey on.”
And who had put that thought in the woman’s head?
Lark lay a hand on her arm. “I’m sure it will only take a moment to put right.”
She wasn’t nearly so sure. Jess looked to her aunt. “And what have you done with Lord Featherstone’s chess set?”
Maudie sniffed, chin coming up and setting her ostrich plumes to swaying. “Miss Barlow said it made the gentlemen disinclined to interact with the ladies.”
She thought Lark swallowed a chuckle.
“Miss Barlow has some strong opinions,” Jess said.
“Isn’t it a blessing?” Maudie agreed.
Jess turned to Lark, her hands going to untie the strings of her bonnet. “Go leave your card for Captain St. Claire. I’ll settle things here.”
He hesitated. “Are you certain?”
She nodded, but her steps were already taking her to the welcome desk.
She found the Welcome Book underneath. Several of the pages had been rumpled, but she smoothed them out and set the book back in its place. There was no sign of Mrs. Greer’s precious pamphlets.
She went to the Admiral next. He surged up from his chair at the sight of her, and she almost expected him to envelope her in a hug, so eager was his countenance.
As if he realized his emotions were showing as well, he effected a sterner look.
“See here, Miss Chance,” he blustered. “What is the meaning of all these changes? I’ll have you know I’ve spent many a happy hour over that chessboard.”
“As have Lord Featherstone and Mr. Crabapple,” she assured him. “Never fear, Admiral Walsey. I will return the board and pieces to their rightful place soon.”
“Yes, well.” He humphed and tugged down on his waistcoat. “It’s good to have you back. Carry on.”
Jess moved around the room again, mentally cataloging the remaining tasks to set the spa to rights. She discovered the glasses from the previous day piled in her father’s examining room at the back of the spa. A shame she couldn’t tell which had been used.
“I must wash them all,” Jess told Maudie, who had followed her.
“Miss Barlow says gentlewomen do not wash,” Maudie informed her with a sniff.
“Gentlewomen who wish to remain employed do,” Jess replied. Glancing around, she found that the Admiral had left them as well. At least that meant it was safe to be out of sight of the Grand Pump Room. “Why don’t you go play something to cheer us?”
As her aunt hurried for the harpsichord, Jess returned to her father’s examining room. Hot mineral water could be pumped there as well. The sound of a sonata drifted through the door as she drew some water into the examining room sink and rolled up her sleeves. Lark returned just as she immersed her hands in the water. He took one look at her and began to shuck off his coat.
Jess caught a glass before it slipped from her grip. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing to help,” he said, rolling up one sleeve to reveal a firm arm. “You wash, I’ll dry.”
Jess stared at him. “You’re really going to dry glasses?”
He frowned. “Of course. Didn’t I just say as much?”
She laughed. “You did indeed. The towel is over there.”
Again, he surprised her. Her father had been focused on his patients. He’d never pitched in on the day-to-day operation of the spa. Her mother had served as hostess until her passing. Her father had worked with Maudie until Jess was old enough to assist him. And Alex had long ago disdained the minutia of the spa. Lark dove in as if it was nothing.
And she couldn’t remember when work had been so pleasant. He told her stories of odd items he’d discovered during his duties, from a model of the Sphinx made of spun sugar to an eight-foot Burmese python. She shared about some of her more colorful guests, such as the lady equestrian from Astley’s Amphitheatre and the American heiress whose funds came from oysters.
“And here I thought the spa was so ordinary,” he said, toweling off the last glass.
“It is now,” Jess said, wiping her hands on another towel. “We had far more guests when my father was alive. The Spa Corporation is right that a physician is needed, but I don’t relish handing over the reins to someone else.”
“A Newcomer,” he said. “That’s what you call people who come here temporarily.”
“He’ll only be a Newcomer for a short time,” she allowed. “Like you. I have hopes you will earn the rank of Regular.”
He wiggled his brows. “Because I know how to ingratiate myself with the right people.”
She chuckled. “You have never ingratiated yourself in your life. Put on your coat. I’ll wheel these out by the fountain.”
Once through the door, she found most of her guests had returned. Perhaps the Admiral had told them that it was safe. Mrs. Harding was consoling Mr. Crabapple over the loss of the chess set. Lord Featherstone was attempting to elicit a smile from Miss Cole, while her mother watched as if suspecting him of nefarious purposes. And Miss Barlow stood across the Welcome Book from Maudie, noses nearly touching and hands braced on the wood.
Lark joined her before she could intercede and nodded toward the door. “If you take on Miss Barlow, I can deal with her. I could practice my ingratiating manner.”
She followed his gaze to find that Mrs. Greer had entered the spa as well. Frown evident, the lady glanced around the room before focusing on Jess and raising her chin.
“No,” Jess said. “I’ll deal with her. Just see if you can find the chess set.” She hurried for the door.
“You have been absent,” Mrs. Greer complained, long nose pointing at Jess as she came up to the lady.
“I believe Mr. Howland explained the reason to your husband,” Jess reminded her.
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “He did. But why must it be you? Surely there are others better equipped to confirm the returns.”
“Regardless,” Jess said, “we have only one more person to interview. I should be back at my position tomorrow afternoon.”
Mrs. Greer clucked her tongue. “Totally inadequate. The woman acting in your stead was far more accommodating.”
Very likely. Miss Barlow was hurrying up to them now. “Artemis! How lovely to see you.” She offered Mrs. Greer her outstretched hands. “And Miss Chance as well. How might I be of assistance?”
She made it sound as if Jess were the guest and a Newcomer at that!
“Susan, dear,” Mrs. Greer greeted her. “You have been a breath of fresh air. I do hope you’ve considered my suggestion that you extend your stay in our fair town.”
She released Mrs. Greer’s hands and dropped her gaze. “You are too kind, but I fear the cost of room and board will require my mother and me to leave shortly.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Greet insisted. “Why, I’m certain Miss Chance and Mrs. Tully could make room for you. The Spa Corporation owns their cottage, after all.”
Jess gritted her teeth. “Alas, we have but one bed.” Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Ike Bascom slip through the door and dart to Maudie at the Welcome Book. Whatever he said made her aunt clutch her chest and rush toward them, hat slipping back on her head to hang from its ribbons behind her.
“And I believe you have a pallet in the loft,” Mrs. Greer reminded her. “You and your aunt can sleep there.”
“No, we can’t,” Maudie said, puffing up to them. “We’ll be far too busy tending to Alex.”
Jess frowned at her, but Mrs. Greer drew herself up.
“Your nephew is a perfectly healthy young man who should have long since found gainful employment. The Corporation cannot be expected to foot the bill for his living.”
Anger shot through Jess, pushing the words from her mouth. “How I choose to spend my salary is none of the Corporation’s business.”
Mrs. Greer blinked. “It most certainly is. As the hostess, you are the face of the Spa. Your reputation must be spotless, your habits wholesome, and your finances frugal.”
“Oh, the frugal part is easy,” Jess said. “Your miserly salary sees to that.”
“That’s planted her a facer,” Maudie cheered as Mrs. Greer sputtered. “A shame we must go, but Alex needs us. Terrible doings at the cove.”
“What are you going on about now?” Mrs. Greer demanded. “Fairies? Mermaids? Spies?”
“My nephew,” Maudie shouted, as if she thought the lady was hard of hearing. “Young Mr. Bascom just brought word. Alex has been beaten and left on our doorstep. So, I do think we will be too busy to continue arguing with you, alas.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lark had located the chessboard behind the fountain and was setting it in its rightful place when he glanced up to see Jess sway on her feet. He was at her side in a moment.
“What’s happened?” he asked, hand on her elbow to steady her.
Her eyes were wide and deep. “Alex,” she said. “He’s been hurt. I must go.”
“Oh, really,” Mrs. Greer said, “how can you believe a word your aunt says? She’s spouted nothing but dribble for years.”
“Takes one to know one,” Mrs. Tully retorted.
Lark put his other hand on Mrs. Tully’s back. “It’s a matter easily sorted. Excuse us.” He ushered her and Jess to the door, ignoring Mrs. Greer’s imperious frown.
“What could have happened?” Jess worried as they headed down the hill for the cove. “Did he fall off the headland in the dark?”
“Came across a gathering of trolls?” her aunt suggested. “They tend to congregate near the castle this time of year.”
Lark had other ideas but stating them in the face of Jess’s concerns would have been cruel indeed, so he kept quiet.
Jess’s brother lay curled up in front of the cottage’s hearth, as if seeking the warmth of the banked fire. She went down in a pool of blue cambric beside him.
“Alex? Can you hear me?” She reached out a hand, then drew back as if afraid to touch him.
A groan fluttered up, weak and pained. “Thin’ I bro’ a rib,” he slurred.
Lark crouched beside her. “Give me the direction of the physician, Jess, and I’ll fetch him.”
“There isn’t one.” For the first time, her calm, soothing voice caught. “We haven’t been able to attract another since Father died.”
“There’s that fellow in Upper Grace,” Mrs. Tully put in, a dark shadow behind them. “More of a sawbones than a physician, and you likely won’t get him to come down the hill, not for our family. He’ll want gold, and plenty of it.”
Jess reached out a hand again, more surely this time. “We’ll have to treat Alex ourselves. Aunt, get the blanket from the bed. We’ll roll him onto it and use it to lift him.”
Mrs. Tully hurried to comply.
He only wanted to hold Jess, give her whatever strength she needed. “I’ve never done more than bandage a skinned knee,” he admitted. “But tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
She nodded.
Mrs. Tully returned with the blanket, and Jess spread it on the floor next to her brother. Lark took Alex’s shoulders, Jess the hips, and they gently turned him. She gasped as his face came into view. His right eye was swelli
ng and purple, his lips split. Blood trickled out of his mouth.
“Someone didn’t want him to talk,” her aunt said.
Lark could not contest her story this time.
They managed to transfer Alex to the bed, where Jess set about opening his waistcoat and pulling up his shirt. Lark was no expert, but even he could see that one side of the youth’s ribs was thicker than the other, swelling and red.
“How do we know if a rib is broken?” he asked.
Jess seemed to have gathered her usual composure. “Broken or bruised, Father would have prescribed the same cure. His head and shoulders should be elevated. That will help keep his lungs clear. Maudie, get more pillows.”
Her aunt bustled out of the room. Something thunked as she started up the ladder for the loft.
Jess stepped back from the bed, drawing in a deep breath. “He’s blessed to be alive.”
“I don’t think whoever did this wanted him dead,” Lark said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your aunt was right. This was a warning.”
She shot him a look. “You think smugglers did this.”
Lark shrugged. “I doubt there’d be many other reasons.”
Mrs. Tully hurried back in, arms piled high with pillows. One tumbled out as if trying to flee. She dumped the remaining ones on the bed. “I can ask about more in the village, if you like.”
“This should be sufficient,” Jess promised her, moving to tuck one under her brother’s head.
Mrs. Tully’s eyes glittered. “Perhaps we should bandage him, like an Egyptian mummy. I’ve always wanted to unwrap one of those.”
“Warm water and a washcloth would be more helpful,” Jess suggested.
With a sigh, her aunt left again.
Lark helped Jess pile pillows under the youth’s head and shoulders, until Alex was reclining on the bed. His eyes were as open as he could make them with the bruising, but he uttered no more than a grunt as they settled him into place. Still, he watched them with his good eye as they finished and his aunt returned with a wash basin, cloth, and towel.
Lark bent closer before Jess could start on her brother’s face. “Who did this to you?”