Demon of Mine (6 page)

“
And what else?” her
companion demanded. “French lady’s maids are all the rage nowadays.
Everyone knows that. That girl’s every bit as English as you and
me.”

“
Oh, I don’t know. But who
cares about that when there’s the scandal with Master
Damon?”

The way the maids spoke seemed to
indicate they’d already discussed the matter thoroughly, probably
several times, but Elsie listened raptly anyway. “Do you think he
did it?” One asked the other.

“
Who’s to say? He
is
always out late at
night. He could be getting up to anything.”

Did
what
? Elsie almost feigned waking up
to ask. Remembering the maids’ recent remarks stopped her. It was
clear she was an outsider, even if she slept just a few feet away
from the others. They’d probably clam up until she fell asleep if
she interrupted. She’d just have to wait it out and hope they’d
rehash the matter thoroughly.

She wasn’t disappointed in the least.
“Murder, though? And a lord, at that? Do you really think he
would?”

Elsie’s heart seized and
sped.
Murder
?

“
I was in the foyer when he
came home one night, and he had such a look in his eyes as I’ll
never forget. I almost could have thought him the demon they say he
is. I was so frightened I hid in an alcove and watched him pass
from there.”

The other maid gave an appreciative
gasp.

“
And that’s not all. What
really sent my poor heart racing was the blood on his
collar.”

“
Blood
?”

“
A single red drop. I’ll
never forget the sight of it.”

Elsie’s arm had fallen asleep beneath
her, but she didn’t dare move. She recalled all too clearly the
state of Damon’s clothes when he’d returned home the night before.
A single drop was nothing compared to what had stained his shirt
then, let alone his face. For once, she was able to think past her
sensual memories of that night. Her recollections of the scarlet
stains on Damon’s shirt and skin were too clear for comfort. A
chill ran down her spine. If he really had killed someone, and he’d
caught her watching him in his bloody clothes… Perhaps what she’d
seen him do after he’d shed them would have been the least of his
concerns.

“
I expect I shall hardly be
able to sleep tonight.”

Elsie resisted the urge to snort. If
the maid really stayed awake, it would be from excitement, not
terror.

“
Speak for yourself,” her
companion said. “I could sleep through next week if I was
allowed.”

A titter sounded from the sleepless
maid’s bed. “Not all of us can be so lucky.”

Elsie frowned into her pillow. She
didn’t have to open her eyes to know they were looking at her. But
did their petty commentary really matter in light of what they’d
said about Damon? If they’d just go back to their
gossiping…

“
Well, I shall sleep more
soundly when he’s gone to London. If he’d murder a lord, who knows
what he’d do to a maid?”

“
The trial is in just three
days. Perhaps we can bully news out of the footman when they
return.”

“
I dare say we shan’t have
too much trouble. He never was one to resist much at
all.”

Elsie tuned out the ensuing bout of
giggles and comments on the footman’s well-turned calves and
handsome eyes. Even after the gossiping maids fell asleep and the
girl from the scullery eventually retired, Elsie lay awake. Could
Damon really be a murderer? The question cut into her like a cold
knife. For the first time, her sensual memories from his bedroom
seemed forbidden, like the taboo she should have considered them in
the first place. Perhaps she’d been a bigger fool than she’d
realized.

Chapter 3

Elsie woke at dawn, as usual. She
pretended to still be oblivious, as if years of habit didn’t make
it virtually impossible for her to sleep past sunrise. Even if it
hadn’t been for the noise of the other maids rising and dressing,
she would have been awake. The urge to rise, slip into her clothing
and don her apron gnawed at the back of her mind. She’d been in bed
far too long. The only thing worse than continuing to lie uselessly
beneath her blankets would be to abandon them and slip from the
room with the other maids. Mrs. Hughes would send her straight back
to bed, surely with a tongue-lashing. The last thing she needed was
to be humiliated in front of the other servants – as if being
forced to stay in bed weren’t humiliation enough. When she was
finally alone in the room, she opened her eyes.

Early sunlight made the
panes of the high, rectangular windows glow. Bars of faint light
and the shadowed areas between them striped the room. Elsie’s bed
lay in shadow, but as the sun climbed higher in the sky, its light
drove out the dimness and filled the room. It was almost peaceful –
would have been, had it not been for the persistent desire
to
do
something
that was causing her limbs to tingle unpleasantly. Would the
physician never arrive? Maintaining her sanity seemed possible only
when she imagined the man trotting up to the estate’s gates,
turning his horse over to a groom and striding briskly toward the
front door, where he’d enter and make his way straight to the
maids’ quarters…

The door swung open. Elsie nearly
jumped as her heart leapt, buoyed by anxious hope. Surely her
bed-rest sentence would be over within the hour. She’d even
tolerate being prodded and bled if it meant freedom.

“
Breakfast.” A maid bumped
the door out of her way with a hip, carefully balancing a covered
tray. Her eyes narrowed as she eyed Elsie appraisingly. She was the
first to see Elsie awake – in the maids’ quarters, anyway. Elsie
refused to drop her gaze as the woman – a girl, really, perhaps
barely her own age, if not younger – lowered the tray onto her lap.
If only she could will the heat out of her cheeks. Mrs. Hughes
could have at least let her venture to the kitchen to fetch her own
breakfast. She didn’t even want to imagine what the other maids
were saying about having to serve her breakfast in bed.

“
Thank you.” Elsie gripped
the sides of the tray, steadying it on her lap. She would
not
spill it and force
the girl to mop up after her.

The maid didn’t reply, only slipped
out of the room after one last, long glance over her
shoulder.

Elsie suppressed a sigh and pulled the
cover off the tray, revealing a bowl of broth and a plate of thinly
sliced bread, without butter – apparently the makings of an
invalid’s breakfast at Hertfordshire. A cup of herb-spangled tea
was clearly the same sort of brew Mrs. Hughes had given her the day
before. She lifted it to her lips and drank. It was something to
do.

The door swung open again just as
Elsie wiped her bowl dry with the last slice of bread. She steeled
herself for disappointment this time, expecting a maid who’d come
to fetch her tray. The sight of a portly man toting a leather bag
was a welcome surprise. Mrs. Hughes followed closely on his heels,
fixing Elsie with a business-like gaze. “There she is.”

As if anyone else would have been
lying in bed at such an hour. Elsie smiled politely at the short,
greying man as he fixed her with an appraising gaze – she’d
certainly had her fair share of those lately. She faced it with a
fixed smile. Let him do his worst. She’d endure his scalpels and
bleeding cups. Anything to escape this confinement. “Good morning,
doctor.”

He nodded curtly as he lowered his bag
to the floorboards and wasted no time in unlatching it, moving with
an air of experience that was faintly comforting. Mrs. Hughes
provided him with a stool and he perched on the edge as he rifled
through his supplies with practiced precision. Despite her
determination to endure whatever treatment he deemed appropriate,
Elsie couldn’t help but feel relieved when he pulled out a long
metal tube. She recognized the instrument – it was used to listen
to a patient’s heartbeat. Cold, but painless.

The physician proceeded with his
examination, checking everything from Elsie’s heartbeat to her eyes
and the back of her tongue. It was perfectly unexciting, and the
man’s methodical manner infused Elsie with a spark of fresh hope.
If he wasn’t upset over her health, Mrs. Hughes would have no
reason to be.

She recited her symptoms and their
history when the physician asked, relating her spells of bodily
weakness and fainting. The only detail she omitted was, of course,
the fact that she’d fainted in Damon’s bedroom instead of the
library. By the time she finished speaking, the faintest of frowns
was creasing the doctor’s face. Or was she just imagining it? She
willed her heart to slow and her palms to stop sweating. Why should
she feel so nervous waiting for this man’s diagnosis when she’d
privately scorned the London physician’s advice?

‘
A doctor of some
renown…’
Damon’s words echoed through her
mind. She couldn’t quite bring herself to spurn anyone he
recommended. But perhaps her faith in Damon would prove foolish, if
he was indeed proven guilty of murder…

The physician gave her a peculiar
look, perhaps noticing the sudden paleness Elsie could feel cooling
her face. She shoved thoughts of murder from her mind and quickly
conjured her secret memories of Damon instead – those were
guaranteed to put some color in her cheeks.

The doctor seemed satisfied, though
the ghost of a frown still lingered on his face. Tucking the metal
tube back into his bag and straightening on his stool, he fixed
Elsie with a grave expression. “I am a great believer in the value
of honesty,” he said, “though I never relish delivering a grim
prognosis.”

Elsie gripped the blankets in her lap
automatically, a sudden flare of fear setting fire to her
consciousness. A grim prognosis? This man, with his professional
mannerisms and quiet demeanor, didn’t strike her as someone prone
to melodramatics. Perhaps she was in a worse state than she’d
realized. Now that the thought had taken root, each passing second
seemed to deepen the possibility.

“
I cannot identify your
condition with absolute certainty,” he continued, “but I have
endeavored to educate myself on every known malady, and I had a
patient once whose symptoms mirrored yours.”

Had
. Elsie gripped the blankets a little tighter, balling the
sweat-dampened cloth in her fists.

“
She was a woman, scarcely
three-and-twenty when I was summoned to treat her. She had spells
of fainting and weakness just like yours, and her episodes worsened
until finally she was completely bedridden, and she died soon
after.”

Elsie’s mouth went dry. How did one
reply to such a blunt comparison? “Is there nothing that can be
done to stop it?” What else was there to ask?

The doctor’s mouth thinned to a flat
line, barely visible beneath his steel-grey mustache. “I cannot
promise a cure. I am sure, though, that you must rest. Overexertion
must be avoided.” He held her gaze. His grey eyes matched his hair
perfectly. Funny that she should consider that particular detail to
be of any interest when she’d just been more or less damned to a
bed for the rest of her life. “Rest?” Why couldn’t he have
prescribed exercise?

“
Yes, rest.” He looked as
if he intended to say more, but Mrs. Hughes interrupted.

Laying an authoritative hand on
Elsie’s elbow, she spoke to the doctor. “Fear not. I shall see that
she rests, as prescribed.” Her touch turned to a grip, just barely
firm.

The physician actually looked relieved
to hear it. A conscientious professional, even when his patient was
a lowly housemaid. It was a pity he’d had to deliver such dour
news. Elsie probably would have found herself rather fond of him
under different circumstances.

“
What of the country air?”
Mrs. Hughes asked. “Her mistress thought it might do her some good.
In fact, she’s only recently been delivered here from London for
that purpose.”

The physician nodded. “I have no doubt
her health will not suffer for it, and may even be improved.” He
frowned in earnest now, and the lines on his face deepened, making
him look an old grandfather. “The city air is foul, and a detriment
to the health of all who breathe it.”

The remembered smells of London teased
Elsie’s nostrils. The Remingtons’ city home was spacious, clean and
situated comfortably far from the manufactories and poor districts.
The air at the estate was as good as it got in the city. In her
pre-Remington life, however… She vividly recalled the hot, musty
atmosphere of the factory she’d toiled in. Even the stinking,
refuse-ridden streets had seemed fresh compared to that hell.
Still, her heart was pricked by a sudden bout of homesickness. It
was much easier to endure poor air than the scorn of her fellow
servants.

“
Do you have any
instructions for treatment, doctor?” Mrs. Hughes’ voice called
Elsie back to her present, pleasantly-scented reality.

“
A healthy diet is an
absolute necessity. See that she eats – though she will be resting,
her body needs the nourishment. Besides that, I can only at present
implore you to keep a close eye on her, and to keep a careful
record of her symptoms and episodes. I will return in one week’s
time to evaluate her health again. Until then…” He rummaged in his
bag and pulled out two very familiar instruments. “I will of course
bleed her before I leave.”