Sharon Sobel (10 page)

“Lady Larkspur does not have a fever,” he pronounced, looking into her eyes. Lark would have turned away if his hold had not been so insistent. “But the sun may be too intense. In fact, I believe the lady may be spending too much of her time staring at the sea.”

Once again Lark silently cursed his intrusive perception, his spiteful ability to read her mind.

“If I do not entertain myself with watching the waves, I shall go mad,” Lark protested.

“What do you suggest, Mr. Queensman?” Mr. Siddons asked eagerly. “Some indoor amusement?”

“It is an excellent suggestion, sir. When first I met Lady Larkspur, she demonstrated an innate talent at indoor activities.”

“I know just the thing,” Mr. Siddons. “I have recently purchased several dissected maps from Mr. Wallis and his son, who are surprised at the success of their little games. They mount paper maps upon wood, and cut them all awry, so one must endeavor to restore them to order. I intended to bring the maps to my uncle, who is very keen on geography. But I shall reserve several for your pleasure, Lady Larkspur.”

“I fear I am not so keen on geography, sir,” Lark said meekly.

“Then it is just the thing,” Mr. Queensman quickly pronounced. “After
all, we do not wish for you to enjoy yourself too much while at Knighton’s, my lady, for then you would never wish to return to Raeborn. Mr. Wallis’ dissected maps might very well pain you into recovery.”

Lark neither answered nor looked at him in response. She only wondered how likely were the early-morning currents to drag someone out to sea.

Benedict Queensman dug his heels into the pebbly beach and glanced up at the windows of the sanatorium. The curtains almost certainly were drawn in each room and nothing stirred on the veranda but a few gulls enjoying the crumbs on the floor.

“Are you not coming, Ben?” Matthew Warren stretched his body and dropped the last of his garments onto the ground. Ben wondered what this otherwise modest young man would think if he knew his movements were observed by curious feminine eyes, eager for forbidden education. Unwilling to satisfy them, Ben stood in his tailed shirt, thinking he already revealed quite enough.

“I may go in as I am, Matthew. It is the way we are accustomed to swimming on my estate.”

Matthew Warren looked down at his own nakedness. “I do not doubt it, but were you not the very one to assure me a different sensibility prevailed at the beach? And who will bear us witness? The patients at Knighton’s could pose no difficulties. The men may envy us a bit, but I daresay the women have already seen anything we have to offer.”

“Perhaps not all,” Ben said carefully, but nevertheless he started to pull his shirt over his head. In a moment, he was a fitting companion for his new friend and felt the benevolence of the warm sun on his tanned flesh. He rubbed idle fingers over the hair on his chest.

Matthew looked thoughtful. “Are you speaking of your cousin’s fiancée? I daresay it might make for some awkwardness at family gatherings, but you did say you are not all that close. And as he is very elderly, surely the lady is of some experience.”

“She is not,” Ben said decisively and dropped his shirt onto his trousers. “She is younger than we are ourselves and grew up among five sisters. I am certain she is quite unfamiliar with what we have to offer.”

Matthew laughed and started towards the water.

“You never mentioned she was a shy, delicate thing.” Ben followed, but before diving into the waves, he said, “If I never said it, it is because she most definitely is not.”

“I think I desire a spyglass, Janet,” Lark sighed wistfully as she turned from the window. The early-morning light cast a rosy glow on her white nightgown and put brilliant highlights into her hair.

Janet looked up from the dressing table, where she was affixing a lace collar to her day dress.

“As you have never indicated any interest in sailing, I can only surmise you wish for one so you might gaze upon the men in the water. It is most indecent of you, and very rude to consider me your companion in it.”

“Oh, Janet, you need not be such a stick! However else might I prepare myself for marriage if I do not observe the peculiarities of the masculine form? Otherwise I should die of fright on my wedding night.”

Janet did not seem very impressed with the argument. “I thought you intended to die before your wedding night. Is it not for that very reason we are here?”

Lark waved her hand impatiently.

“Of course. But Mr. Queensman is trying so very hard to cure me, I fear he shall succeed. I wish he would just stay away and leave me to my misery.”

Janet smiled. “Or leave you to Gabriel Siddons? He is not so very handsome as Mr. Queensman, but he is quite agreeable.”

Lark closed the draperies, determined to resist all temptation. “He is. He almost makes me recall the happiness of a flirtation and the expectation of calling hours. He is considerate and amusing—everything Mr. Queensman is not. And he has promised to bring me a present.”

“Oh, dear. It cannot be proper,” Janet reminded her.

“I believe that in normal circumstances it would not be. But as I am quite confined here with little else but your good company to amuse me, Janet, I cannot bear to say no.”

“What does he promise? A pretty volume of verse, perhaps?”

Lark frowned. “Nothing of the kind. He will bring me a dissected map.”

“A map! And to someone who did not know the direction to Brighton from London? I could cry for the wonder of it!”

“You need not be so dramatic. I simply could not refuse his offer. And I shall rely on you to help me muddle through it.”

“I suppose I must, but I confess I will not find it much fun either.”

“Then what shall we do, Janet? We must look for amusement, for the life of an invalid stretches all tolerance.”

Janet stood up and straightened her bodice.

“Perhaps we might take an outing in one of Mr. Knighton’s carriages. I should so like to see the Royal Pavilion at close range,” she said thoughtfully. “And perhaps we might swim in the sea, as we have longed to do from the first. Miss Hathawae tells me the water is tolerable enough for bathing and she will guide us through our first experience with the machines. Mrs. Gunn, for all her reputation as a dipper, can be rather abrupt, I am told.”

“I wonder at what time of day we can expect to swim.”

Janet giggled. “Do you mean, at what time are we quite likely to meet the young gentlemen who swim without their clothes?”

“You know we will not!”

“Even so,” Janet mused, “would it not be a memorable experience?”

She walked past Lark to the closed window and pulled apart the draperies. The sun broke in on her, and she squinted as she looked at the brilliantly glowing sea.

“More so for us than for them, I expect. They may be altogether common rogues.” She stood for several moments, gazing upon the spectacle. “And yet I believe one of them looks vaguely familiar to me.”

T
hree days later, the badly battered body of a man washed ashore on Mr. Knighton’s fine beach.

Lark knew something was amiss even as she lay in her warm bed, just awakening to the morning, for she heard the anxious shouts of men outside her window and a good deal of scurrying about in the hall. Bored enough to imagine that whatever disturbed her sleep was likely to be the most interesting event during her indefinite stay at Knighton’s, she wished she dared throw on her bed jacket and simply dash out her door. Instead, she could only console herself by pulling on the bell and hoping someone—prepared to gossip—would come.

“Did you ring for me, my lady?” A young maid came so quickly that Lark knew she must have been just at the door.

“Indeed, Mary,” Lark said sweetly and pulled herself to a seated position. “I am feeling very anxious, for I hear strange voices and loud shouting. It is very bad for my nerves, you know. If you would but tell me the cause of it all, I can put myself at ease.”

The girl hesitated, and Lark guessed her inclination was at war with her orders.

“Do tell me, Mary, or else I believe I might faint with fear,” Lark urged, grateful that no one else could hear her blatant manipulation of the poor girl.

“Oh, please do not, my lady! Or else Mrs. Jones will blame me, and I do not know what I shall do!”

“Calm down, Mary,” Lark said, feeling guilty for tormenting her so. “No harm will come to me, or to you, if you confide the truth to me.”

“Mrs. Jones ordered us to keep everyone in their rooms and the draperies drawn, lest anyone be disturbed. For it is a most dreadful thing, my lady. A man is drowned and is on our beach. Peter, who gathers driftwood for our fire, says he is very badly beaten and dreadful to behold.”

Lark shivered, understanding why the information would be distressing for Mr. Knighton’s guests.

“How awful for Peter to find him, to come upon such a sight unsuspectingly.”

“But Peter did not find him. Two gentlemen were already there, examining the body. It is fortunate they are doctors and able to give their opinion on the matter.”

Lark raised her eyebrows in mock amazement. “Surely, as the poor creature was already dead, one does not have to be a doctor to offer a very precise diagnosis on the case. I could do it myself.”

“Oh, no, my lady! You must not look upon him!”

“I do not intend to,” Lark said grimly. “In any case, I suspect he is already removed from the premises.”

Mary put her hand to her brow and looked so ill, Lark wondered if Mr. Knighton had a vacant bed for her.

“He remains on the beach, along with others who are awaiting the magistrate. It seems the gentlemen found something on the man’s body of some importance. Peter does not know what it is.”

Lark’s interest renewed, and she practically leapt from the bed.

“Do they think him a smuggler … a villain … a spy?” she asked eagerly.

Mary looked surprised, as if such thoughts never occurred to her. Perhaps they did not.

“Oh, Mary! You must bring me out onto the veranda so I can see it all. or else I shall die of curiosity! If you do not, I shall manage it myself.”

As soon as Lark spoke, she realized her error. Anyone other than poor simple Mary would have been suspicious at once and wondered at so miraculous a cure. But Mary stood, dumbstruck, possibly more concerned with the consequences of doing as Lark demanded than with the enthusiasm of those demands. She looked away from the bed to the wheeled chair and then to the impossible narrowness of the door.

“You can do it, Mary,” Lark whispered. “I have seen it done so many times, I could direct you. And I am not at all heavy. Once we release the catch on the wheel, it moves along easily. Miss Tavish manages it quite well.”

“Could she not do it now, my lady?” Mary asked nervously.

“I will not wake her for such a reason, when you are perfectly capable of it! If you should help me now, I shall recommend you most favorably to Mrs. Jones,” Lark said, certain she would get her way. “Will you help me dress?”

She saw the surrender on the girl’s face and almost regretted her own willfulness. She would not allow Mary to be punished for disobeying orders, if she could help it, and would otherwise reward her handsomely. But as no one need know the part Mary played in Lark’s outing, no harm should come of it.

Thus Lark reasoned as she allowed Mary to wash her and struggle with her simple dress and pin up her hair. The maid’s inexpert hands fumbled with each task, but Lark could not imagine it to matter so very much, since she did not think anyone else would venture upon the veranda. The other guests, compliant, would remain in their rooms, and the staff would be concerned with more important things this morning. And she would dismiss Mary as soon as she was settled at the balustrade of the veranda.

Silently, Mary held up a mirror to Lark’s flushed face. Inspecting her image, she saw her eyes looked too bright and her cheeks too rosy. The pink dress gave her color where none was desired, and she looked altogether too healthy. She glanced up at her companion but saw only a person unhappy with her own part in the business. Mary, it appeared, did not reflect on the apparent fitness of a seriously infirm patient.

Their entrance into the hallway was conducted with the greatest care. They waited until all footsteps and voices died away, and then they proceeded very slowly out the room, past the great room and dining hall and to the wide doors leading out onto the veranda. When Mary drew back the draperies, Lark had her first glimpse of the scene and was rewarded with a carnival of activity near the water’s edge.

“The veranda is empty, my lady,” said Mary, clearly relieved.

“It is as we hoped. You need only bring me to the edge, near the beach, and hurry off as if you had no part in it. You have my word I will tell no one and will accept all the blame for disobeying Mrs. Jones. It will be our secret.”

Mary nodded and pushed open the door, shuddering when it squeaked. But elsewhere, all was silent. With a sudden burst of energy, she propelled the great awkward chair through the door and past the labyrinth of furnishings upon the wide wooden deck. Lark would have feared for her own safety, but for her confidence in the sturdiness of the balustrade. Within moments, the wheeled chair bumped up against it and, indeed, did not crash through onto the rocks below.

Lark caught her breath and sighed in relief.

“I dare no longer stay, my lady,” Mary said urgently and backed away even before Lark dismissed her.

“Thank you, Mary,” Lark said, straightening her bonnet. “I will not forget this kindness.”

Mary looked as if it were already best forgotten and made a dash to the door. It closed behind her, its draperies cutting off any view from within.

Cheered by the success of her exploit, Lark tucked her woolen blanket around her knees and defiantly faced the stiff, cool breeze coming off the sea. In his selection of Brighton as a setting for a sanatorium, Mr. Knighton was surely to be commended, for the fresh air did much to restore one’s spirit.

If, indeed, one’s spirit desired restoration.

For now, Lark desired only diversion, something to break the endless monotony of life as an invalid. Unfortunately, today it came at the very harsh expense of another.