Another Country (26 page)

“Aye, it’s a comfortable house.” Harriet nodded
again. Betty watched her speculatively, her hands busy with a piece
of needlework.

She took a breath. “But we’ve two homes now, haven’t
we, and we’ve only need of one.” She leaned forward to gaze
earnestly at her mother-in-law. “You know your place will always be
with us, Mother, and we’re glad to have you.”

Betty nodded, a strange smile on her face. “I’ve
been grateful for a daughter such as you.”

“Thank you.” Harriet bit her lip, and Allan
chuckled.

“Out with it, lass. You’ve a bee in your bonnet for
sure, now what is it?”

Surely he knows, Harriet thought. Allan always
seemed to know what she was thinking. What her dreams were. “I want
to go back to our farm,” she said quietly, her eyes on the dancing
flames of the fire. “We’ve room enough for Mother, and it’s home
there.” She turned quickly, apprehensively, to Betty. “Not that
this isn’t comfortable, and bigger than our place to be sure! But
it’s...”

“Not home. I know.” Betty sat back, her smile
gentle. “I remember how it was. When we arrived on that ship all
those years ago--nearly thirteen now--I was dreadfully homesick. I
wanted nothing more than to return to the old country, the old
ways. Even draughty Mingarry Castle, and goodness knows that wasn’t
comfortable!

“I hated the trees here, the darkness of the
forests. The roughness of it all.” Betty looked up, her eyes
bright. “And yet, with time, this became home to me, perhaps more
than ever before, because Sandy and I built it together, with our
own hands. And our sons’.” She paused, her expression distant. “It
will be hard to leave it.”

Harriet felt a fluttering of hope in her breast,
even though she ached for Betty’s loss and sadness. “Then
you’ll...?”

“I’ll go,” Betty agreed, her voice firm with purpose
now. “In the spring, after the bairn is born. You need to be in
your own house, on your own land. Goodness knows it was important
to Sandy all those years ago, and to Allan. Everyone needs to find
their own place.”

“We’ll always be glad to have you with us,” Allan
said gently. “Your home is with us now.”

“So it could be,” Betty agreed, “but I won’t be
coming with you. Not this time.”

“What do you mean? You won’t stay here on your
own?”

“No, I think not.” Betty paused, carefully drawing
her needle through the cloth. “I have two other children still
living, and I would like to see them before I’m laid to rest.”

Harriet dropped her mending in shock, the pile
sliding from her nerveless fingers. “You can’t mean...?”

“Yes.” Betty looked up and smiled. “Come spring, I’m
going to go to Boston.”

Eleanor gazed bleakly out the drawing room window.
Gray sky met gray buildings, the black branches of leafless trees
pointing defiantly towards an unforgiving sky.

The whole world seemed to have turned gray, caught
in the death throes of autumn. Eleanor felt as if she were gray, as
well. Lifeless and yet churning with fear since she’d discovered
Rupert was missing.

She turned away from the window, fingers plucking
restlessly at her dress. Henry had hired a private investigator to
look into the matter, and the man was due to arrive any moment with
a report on his initial findings... if there were any.

Where was Rupert? The question tormented Eleanor
with the unanswerable possibilities. Henry had told her the bare
outline of Rupert’s mission; the very idea of him tangling with
criminal counterfeiters was enough to make Eleanor feel ill.

She forced her mind away from dire imaginings of
Rupert attacked, helpless and hurt... or worse, dead.

“Please God,” Eleanor whispered, “keep him safe.” It
had taken this threat of danger to make her realize how much she
truly loved Rupert. Now she would do anything--go anywhere--to find
him and keep him from harm.

If only it were not too late.

“Eleanor.” Henry came in the room, followed by a
balding, pink-cheeked man who wouldn’t have looked tough enough to
do what he was alleged to do, if not for his rather grim smile, and
two missing teeth.

Eleanor nodded her greeting, her insides twisting as
if filled with live snakes. “Have you heard anything?” she burst
out, and the man shook his head regretfully.

“There’s no sign of him, and no one’s talking.” The
man glanced at Henry. “I visited the merchant you thought he’d gone
to see, and the man insisted MacDougall left his offices as safe as
could be, but the trail goes dead after that, so...” He spread his
hands.

“The merchant must be lying,” Eleanor couldn’t help
but say. “Have you questioned him further?”

“As much as I’m allowed,” the man replied dryly. “If
there were more evidence...”

“What about investigating this merchant?” Henry
asked. “His background? Any record or sign of criminal
involvement?”

“Plenty,” the man assured him, “although I couldn’t
prove it. He’s been associated with counterfeiting, but not enough
to pin it on him. If he’s involved, he’s on the bottom of the pile
and there’s someone he’s terrified of. That much is clear.”

“So what can you do?”

The man shrugged. “Frankly, nothing. It’s more than
my job is worth to nose into a counterfeiting ring. The small men,
like this weasel I can deal. But if the higher-ups receive word
that I’m getting curious...”

“You’ll end up the same as Rupert?” Eleanor finished
sharply. “I wouldn’t pay this man a penny, Henry. The limits to his
job are the same as ours!”

“Eleanor, you are overwrought.”

“Of course I am! What would you expect? But I
could’ve questioned a merchant the same as he did...”

“And discovered his links to the criminal world?”
Henry looked at her sternly, although it was softened by a flicker
of compassion.

“Very well.” Eleanor drew herself up. “I shall go to
the hospitals and charity houses, see if someone has found him. If
he’s been attacked--hurt--”

“I wish you well, madam,” the investigator told her
stiffly. “Although I fear that to be a thankless errand.”

“If I find Rupert, that is all the thanks I
need!”

“I meant,” the man said quietly, “that the criminals
Mr. MacDougall was involving himself with would hardly escort him
to a hospital, or even leave him on the street.”

“That is quite enough.” Henry looked sharply at the
man, shaking his head. “I will not have any ladies in my house
distressed by information they could hardly need or want to know.
We’ll talk elsewhere.”

The investigator sketched a small bow, and Henry
escorted him from the room, silencing Eleanor with one sharp
look.

Eleanor sank onto a chair, exhausted and, as Henry
had said, overwrought. What point was there in flying at the
private investigator? No, her energies were better employed
elsewhere.

Looking for Rupert. Finding him.

She thought of the detective’s words, the kind of
men Rupert had tangled with. He was more likely to be in a back
alley of the Murder District, or at the bottom of Boston Bay, than
in the hospital.

She closed her eyes. The torment of the last day,
realizing Rupert was in danger or worse, lay heavily upon her. She
wanted Ian, to have his comforting presence, his advice.
Unfortunately, he was at the hospital, and had been since she’d
discovered Rupert was missing.

Yet the hospital was the most sensible place for her
to go.

Her hands clenched into fists, she rose from the
chair and hurried to fetch her bonnet and shawl.

“Miss, where are you going?” One of the parlor
maids, her face anxious and pinched, looked at Eleanor
curiously.

“Out. Tell Mr. Moore that I’ll be back for
supper.”

“By yourself, Miss? I don’t think--”

“I shall have my brother,” Eleanor snapped, and with
that she hurried into the oncoming darkness.

It was a short walk to the Massachusetts General
Hospital, although Eleanor was conscious of the curious and often
disapproving stares of people unused to seeing a well dressed young
woman out alone.

She hurried through the commons, keeping her head
down. Although the public gardens were frequented mostly by
gentlefolk, there could be unsavory characters lurking in the
shadows, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting pedestrian.

I don’t care if my reputation is
in shreds by the evening
, she thought
recklessly,
all that matters is
Rupert
.

If only she’d had the chance to tell him!

You did have the
chance
, Eleanor reminded herself
mercilessly.
You just were too frightened
to take it
.

She closed her eyes briefly, pictured his face, the
usually harsh lines softened by affections... tenderness. Why
hadn’t she spoken, admitted her feelings? She’d barely been able to
admit them to herself, and now...

“It’s not too late,” she whispered aloud. “It can’t
be.”

If she found him now, she promised herself, she
would tell him she cared and more besides. She would confess all
that was in her heart.

She found the hospital, the impressive Bulfinch
Building pointing its domed roof to a now darkened sky, the first
stars flickering like needlepoints in black cloth.

“Miss? Are you in need of help?” A gentlemen in a
frock coat, a pile of fusty books under one arm, looked at her in
concern.

Eleanor glanced at him, and decided
she could trust him. “I’m looking for a doctor, Ian
Campbell.”

“Ian! I know him well. I believe he’s just finishing
his round of patients. May I take him to you? Although...” the man
hesitated, fidgeting with his neck cloth uncertainly. “A hospital
is no place for a lady.”

“He’s my brother, and it’s quite urgent,” Eleanor
said firmly. “Take me to him.”

Nodding, the man took her arm and led her into the
hospital. Her heart thudding, Eleanor was barely aware of her
surroundings, fatigue and anxiety once more threatening to
overwhelm her.

She stopped suddenly when Ian’s face swam in front
of her, and he grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

“Eleanor! Why are you here? What’s happened?”

Eleanor blinked back sudden tears, forcing herself
to be calm. “It’s Rupert, Ian. I’m looking for him. I have to find
him.”

“Find him? Where has he gone?”

She bit her lip. “Henry hired him to investigate
counterfeits--he’s been missing a week, and we’ve only just
realized!” Tears spilled as fatigue and anxiety overcame her. “I
thought he was staying away for my sake, to give me time... I’d
hoped... but he’s in danger, Ian! Or dead. The detective thinks
it’s a lost cause.”

Ian’s expression sharpened. “Henry has hired a
detective?”

“Yes--he fears the worst as well!
He’s so consumed with Margaret, he won’t
do
anything and...” Eleanor gulped
back a sob, “I can’t sit back and wait! I won’t!”

Ian put his arm around her shoulders. “Then we shall
do something. Do you think he might be hurt? At the hospital?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Eleanor scrubbed her eyes
with her fists like a child.

“Unlikely,” Ian replied soberly, “but we can try. I
can look through the wards.”

“I want to come with you.”

“A hospital is no place for lady,” Ian began, and
Eleanor let out a sharp laugh.

“That’s what he said.” She jerked an arm towards the
retreating back of the man who had led her to Ian. “Ian, do you
really believe, with all your modern innovations, that I shouldn’t
be here? What of the women patients on the wards? Besides, I’ve
been in a sick room for the last fortnight. I think I can walk
through a hospital ward.”

“A ward is very different from a sick room,” Ian
told her quietly. “I think you’ll find Margaret’s surroundings were
a good deal more comfortable than the poor unfortunates who reside
here.”

“I’ve no doubt of it, and all the more reason to
find Rupert... if he’s here.”

“So be it.” Ian turned on his heel, then seeing
Eleanor’s pallor, took her arm. “Take care,” he whispered softly.
“We can’t have you ill, as well.”

“I’m fine.” Eleanor tried to shake off his arm,
though she realized she was secretly glad for its comforting
weight. Since Rupert’s disappearance, she’d felt so alone. So
afraid.

Despite Ian’s warning, Eleanor was not prepared for
the stench of illness and unwashed bodies that assailed her when
she entered the first ward. She knew hospitals were widely regarded
as places to die rather than to be made well. People with any money
at all hired doctors in their home, as Henry had done for
Margaret.

Hospitals were for the poor, the desperate, the near
dead. And now Eleanor saw it with her own eyes.

She scanned the faces in the beds with a desperate
hope, trying not to flinch at the naked suffering, the open sores
and moans of pain or pleading. There was nothing she could do.

“I told you, Eleanor,” Ian said in a low voice as a
woman reached sightlessly for Eleanor’s hand, moaning for someone
to help her. “Have you had quite enough?”

“If Rupert is here, I will find him.” Eleanor moved
along the rows, wishing she could take pity on the unfortunates
before her, yet knowing there was little she could do, even if she
had the time or resources. It was hard enough to resist the urge to
press her handkerchief to her nose.

“Why are the hospitals like this?”
she whispered. “You’re a doctor, Ian. You’re meant to make
people
well
!”

“I know it,” Ian replied tersely. “And I am working
towards that end. But there is much even the wisest doctor does not
yet know, and we fight superstition and fear. Besides...” he
shrugged helplessly. “There are so many ill, and only a fraction of
them make their way here. I fear your task is hopeless, Eleanor. If
Rupert was hurt, the best we can hope for is that he was brought to
someone’s house. We could do a search...”