Doing No Harm (28 page)

“You remember that pretty manor house near Walton,” she said.

“I do. Name of Telford. I remember the street with that same name.”

“We even paid the Telfords for the name, and they disappeared from the district,” she declared. “They had fallen on hard times and were only too happy to take our money.”

Douglas sat back in the sofa, knowing precisely where this tale of sudden riches and greed was heading. He had known some titled men in frigates and men-o’-war —most of them good enough at their duties, some even exceptional, but through their veins ran, in addition to blood the same color as everyone else’s, a vast superiority that had no equal in the Royal Navy. They took his skills when they needed them, and otherwise ignored men like himself.

Lady Telford was silent now, vulnerable. Douglas began to pity her, an ignorant woman shrewd and unprincipled enough to know how to make shady money, but unable to command anyone’s respect with a mere purchased title. She and coarse Dudley no longer belonged among their own kind in decidedly unfashionable Norfolk and certainly not among the titled people they so wanted to impress.

The only sounds in the room were a clock ticking and Lady Telford’s labored breathing, which smacked of congestive heart failure and not in the distant future. He considered all the angles before he spoke because he did pity her. Thank the Almighty that his own ambitions ran to becoming a surgeon second to none and not a toady of the titled. He knew his merits and his limits.

“You tried to enter their society and they laughed,” he said, keeping his voice low.

She nodded, her eyes glistening again. “Right to our faces, drat their hides,” she said, with considerable venom. Her head came up and he saw her pride. “So we moved here and bought this mansion. Dudley bought up property, and no one is the wiser about our beginnings. They believe we are Quality.”

So you think
, Douglas told himself. “Do you … do you mingle at all with the people of Edgar?” he asked.

“Mercy no,” she scoffed. “After all, I am Lady Telford.”

“I don’t think you are happy,” he said, after more consideration. “Everyone needs friends. There are some fine people in Edgar.”

It struck Douglas that he had found friends aplenty in Edgar, friends he would miss, when he left.

She had no answer for him, no retort. She was too proud to admit that he was right and she needed friends. Everyone did.

“Lady Telford, would you be interested in leaving a wonderful legacy right here in Edgar?” he asked. “The kind of a legacy where word would get out to other towns and shires until no one in places like Edinburgh or London would ever laugh again?”

She gave him a suspicious stare and her hand hovered over the bell, perhaps to summon Maidie and have him shown out.

“Of course, I can understand if you have someone to leave your fortune to, or another way to be remembered with real affection, long after you are gone,” he added, sitting back.

She put her hand back in her lap and raised her head enough to look down her nose at him. He smiled inside because he no longer felt like Dougie Bowden, sent to the butcher and clutching a small coin, ready to palm his dignity for some below-standard meat. He was Douglas Bowden, surgeon, Royal Navy retired, and it suddenly felt so good.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked.

“Your unused shipyard, Lady Telford. I have some money, courtesy of Napoleon, I suppose. Every man aboard a Royal Navy ship is entitled to shares in the purchase of captured vessels and cargo. As a surgeon, I have one-eighth of a share for each such transaction. This added up to a more-than-comfortable sum.”

He glanced at Lady Telford, pleased to see he had her attention. Dudley certainly had not been the brains of their marital partnership. As repugnant as Douglas found her willingness to make money on African slaves, he had to admire her ability.

“My money resides with Carter and Brustein in Plymouth, making me more money.” He took a deep breath. “I propose that you and I form a corporation and call it the Telford Boat Works. We will build yachts and fishing vessels and employ the less fortunate folk of Edgar. This would include the Highlanders dumped here and left to rot by those titled gentry and nobility who laughed at you and Dudley Glump.”

She sat back, her mouth open. He saw the shrewd gleam in her eyes, one of which had a cataract. He knew he had her when she asked, “Why not the Telford-Bowden Boat Works?”

“I have no plans to remain in Edgar, beyond tending to some patients of mine, and seeing that an enormous wrong is righted, at least here,” he said. “All I want is a peaceful country practice in a charming village somewhere.”

She smiled then, and he was struck by how such a simple shift of muscles shed the years from her puffy face. She even leaned toward him like a conspirator, which he found a wonderful omen. “We will agree that Edgar is not charming.”

They laughed together.

Her shrewd look skewered him. “Dougie, I know that everyone wants a reward. I applaud your desire to help these people. What is it you want?”

“Am I that transparent?” he asked, deciding that he had underestimated Lady Telford.

“Perhaps,” she hedged. “I have had some experience in making money, which sometimes involves looking deep. What else do you want?”

“I intend to find other investors in the Telford Boat Works,” he said, “but I want a guarantee that Miss Grant’s Tearoom will be funded so she can feed the workers and their families, without having to dip into her inheritance, which I fear is slight.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

It was a woman’s question. He could be honest. “I do. She is charming and kind and heading to the poorhouse herself by feeding people.”

“That is all?”

“For now.” He could be cagey too. He had started this trip north to find a place to settle, not anticipating so many complications to a simple quest. He felt the warmth begin somewhere around his pectoral muscles and spread north to his forehead. He saw the growing amusement on Lady Telford’s broad and plain face, and he felt like Dougie again.

But that was silly; this was a business proposal and nothing more. He smiled at her, thinking he would do almost anything to convince Lady Telford that his scheme was a good one, for whatever reason. No, for the reason that Flora MacLeod’s kind lady deserved someone to watch over her.

He looked at Lady Telford; she stared back at him, the warmth in her eyes touching his heart. “It’s a legacy worthy of the wife of a baronet,” he told her. “This corporation will change lives for the better. What say you, Lady Telford?”

She did not hesitate. She put out her hand and he shook it.

His hand still in hers, he said, “You are certainly capable of drawing up terms. Do that. In a day or two I will go back to Plymouth and find us a shipwright. When I return, we will sit down with your solicitor and go over this contract between you and me.”

The pressure on his hand was firm. “Will you find such a man?”

“I will. This I do not doubt.” He looked at his timepiece. “I leave you to think about the matter. I have a patient who needs my attention.”

She showed him out herself, her hand on his shoulder, which he found oddly comforting, even if she was an old rip who had frightened him as a child. He was no child now.

Chapter 26

M
rs. Aintree’s hand showed no
signs of infection, to Douglas’s relief. Mrs. Tavish’s solicitous care of the lady impressed him. Tommy’s sutures came out easily. Mrs. Aintree had insisted that Douglas perform that bit of business right there in her room so she could watch, which told him worlds about the widow’s growing interest in the Tavishes.

Tommy was stoic and steadfast as Douglas cut and tugged, probably because his mother and Mrs. Aintree watched him so anxiously. Douglas gave him a wink the women couldn’t see and told the boy to keep breathing, which made him laugh.

“That is it,” he said as he applied another bandage, encasing Tommy’s leg from knee to ankle as before, and attaching the splints again. “You will continue to exercise some caution,” he admonished, knowing full well that Tommy had no such plans.

“Aye, sir,” the rascal said.

It was time to lower the boom, probably past time, but Tommy Tavish was an engaging rascal, and Douglas admitted to other distractions. He stood up, giving himself at least the advantage of height. He had no trouble remembering his Royal Navy days, because it hadn’t been that long ago. He tapped the boy’s chest to gain his full attention, looked down his nose, and frowned.

“Listen, Thomas. If, in my professional opinion, I see you disregarding all caution, I will reapply that splint that ran from your ankle to your armpit. Don’t even try me.”

Tommy gasped. “You wou …” He stopped and saw no sympathy in anyone’s eyes. “You probably would,” he admitted.

“I can guarantee it. Do we understand each other?”

“Aye, sir,” Tommy said most reluctantly. He sighed, very much a small boy again, and left the room with considerable dignity, muttering to himself.

Douglas turned his attention to the women in Tommy’s life. “Ladies, if you see any infractions, just let me know. I will do as I promised.”

He sat down again and turned Mrs. Aintree’s hand over gently, pleased with what he saw. He tried a different tactic with the widow and kissed her cheek, which made her blush like a maiden.

“And you, dear lady, stay in bed another day. Tomorrow is soon enough to try out the sling and move about.” He smiled. “I trust you considerably more than I trust Tommy.”

Mrs. Tavish walked him down the stairs. He spent a quiet moment with her in the kitchen, inquiring after Joe Tavish.

He watched her eyes for wariness or disgust and saw none. “Thank you for tidying up that man of yours, Rhona,” he said, unsure how to proceed because he had never been married, and certainly never gone through anything resembling the Tavishes’ experience. “I prefer that he remain in the shed, but if you have other ideas …”

“Not at the moment, although he is my husband and I care a great deal for the man, as difficult as he may be,” she said honestly. “I’ll see that he has food from Miss Grant’s Tearoom, unless Mrs. Aintree feels charitable enough to include him in her kind stewardship.”

He gave her a bow, grateful for the ladies. He doubted that he would have been so forgiving.

Flora MacLeod grabbed him in a monstrous hug as he entered Miss Grant’s Tearoom. She held out a little drawstring bag that she said Brighid Dougall had presented to her. Flora made him heft it, delighting him that his first modest enterprise in Edgar was bearing good fruit, if the weight of the pouch was any indication.

“Mrs. Dougall put up a bigger sign in her window too,” Flora said. “Both MacGregor sisters are helping me now.”

He handed back the pouch. “Keep it safe, Flora. Maybe give it to Miss Grant. No, give it to Mrs. Dougall for safekeeping.”

Flora nodded. “I think she likes me.”

“Flora, who wouldn’t?” he asked and felt his heart grow larger—a medical impossibility.

Happy with that homely victory, he went into the kitchen. Her face flushed, her hair curling everywhere because of the steam, Olive stood over that evening’s stew. She looked at him, and he was struck with the kindness in her eyes. He liked to think it was for him, but he knew she was kind to everyone.

On wild impulse—Maeve was watching, after all—he took Olive’s hand and pulled her out the back door and into the yard. When she was down the stairs, he put his hands on her shoulders and told her everything he had done at Lady Telford’s. Her hand went to her mouth and tears came to her eyes.

“Your tearoom will become the corporation’s dining room,” he concluded. “You will have an ample allowance for food and more staff.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “I have been praying about this. Doug, I am nearly without funds.”

“I feared that,” he said, flattered to his heart’s core at his nickname.

He looked into her honest, true, multicolored eyes and knew he needed to lighten the load a bit. He was getting almost sentimental. “Olive, I find myself looking more into the brown one than the blue one. Odd, that.”

She laughed and slapped his head, which made him grab her and kiss her, not on the forehead this time. Her arms went around him as though they did this every day, and they stood together in a tight embrace.