Enlightened (7 page)

Murdo was silent for a moment; then he said, “It’s not just that, though, is it?” He stepped closer and laid his hand on David’s shoulder, and the comfort of that touch was both reassuring and unbearable, promising far too much, making David want things he couldn’t have.

“No,” David admitted, staring out at the darkening sky. “It isn’t just that. It’s leaving Laverock House— I’ve been so happy there, and now it’s coming to an end, and—”

“David—”

“—and as much as I wish I didn’t have to go back to my old life, I
do
have to.”

Silence.

Finally, David turned round again, and he saw that Murdo’s eyes held sadness. They glimmered, ink black in the candlelight, till he veiled the emotion in them with a down sweep of his thick lashes.

“It needn’t be over,” Murdo murmured. “
I
don’t want it to be—you must know how much I care for you…” His lashes lifted, and David met that dark—now beloved—gaze again.
Did
he know how much Murdo cared for him?

This thing between them was more than friendship, more than desire too. More than he could bring himself to speak aloud. Speaking it would give it a name, and once it had a name, he was lost. The black descent was going to be bad enough without that.

David closed his eyes against the burning emotion in Murdo’s gaze. When he opened them again, he had himself a little more under control.

“I’m going out,” he said. “I want to find out from Donald how things stand before I go up to see Chalmers.”

Murdo searched his face for a moment. “All right,” he sighed. “Go and do what you need to. We’ll talk about this later.”

Donald and Catherine Ferguson didn’t live too far from Murdo’s house, but while he had a whole townhouse to himself, they occupied only the upper half of a similarly sized, if slightly less grand property. When David called on them at half past six, they were just about to sit down to dinner, and Donald insisted he join them.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way upstairs. “There’s plenty of mutton to go round, and Catherine will be pleased to see you.”

“There’s no need to feed me,” David protested, even as he followed Donald upstairs.

“Don’t be silly,” Donald said good-naturedly. “As though we’d think of eating while you watch.”

Their home was cosy and comfortable looking, David thought as he followed Donald through the hallway and into the dining room. With its hotchpotch of rugs and framed needlepoint pictures—Catherine’s, David presumed—on the walls, it was far less elegant than Murdo’s house, but far less intimidating too.

Catherine rose from the table when they entered the small dining room. She smiled at David, but it was a wan smile and there were lines of strain about her eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Mr. Lauriston,” she said as he bowed over her hand. “Father so particularly wants to see you. He’s mentioned it to me the last several times I’ve visited him.”

Chalmers was still hanging on, then. Thank God for that.

“I’m equally anxious to see him.”

“Let’s have something to eat while we talk,” she suggested.

As they settled themselves at the table, David took in the changes that the last few months had wrought on his friends. Catherine—until now, a round and vivacious girl—was noticeably thinner, her manner much more subdued than the girl he remembered. She served only a very small portion of food onto her own plate and pushed what was there around for the most part, eating little. Was she too anxious about her father to eat, David wondered?

Donald was changed too. Always the most jolly of men, he looked suddenly careworn, his forehead etched with deep furrows from frowning.

“Forgive my bluntness,” David said when the inevitable small talk had been disposed of, “but—how is your father?”

Catherine and Donald exchanged a look, then Donald said, “He does not have long left, David. It will be a matter of days.”

Catherine flinched at that, though she didn’t disagree.

David paused. “Then I should like to see him as soon as I can. Would this evening be possible?”

Catherine pressed her lips together unhappily. “I’m afraid Mama won’t have visitors in the evening. She says Father’s too tired.”

“Surely, given the circumstances—” David began carefully.

Donald interrupted, his tone flat. “Your best bet is tomorrow morning. She won’t refuse you then, not when he’s specifically asked for you. Otherwise, I suspect she’d take great delight in sending you away— She never liked you, you know.”

“Donald—” Catherine protested weakly.

“Well, it’s true!” he retorted. He turned to David again. “She was convinced you had designs on Elizabeth, even though it was plain as day that you weren’t the least bit interested. And, of course, she blames you for Elizabeth running away.”

Catherine sighed. “I know it’s not satisfactory, Mr. Lauriston. But you’re probably better visiting in the morning anyway. Father takes a sleeping draught every evening, and once he’s had it, he becomes a little disorientated.”

That was all very well, David thought, provided Chalmers was still around tomorrow morning. But he nodded his agreement and allowed Catherine to change the subject.

As soon as the meal was over, Catherine excused herself, pleading tiredness.

“Is Catherine all right?” David asked Donald once she had left the room. Donald was busy getting some whisky out of the sideboard, but at David’s question, he paused, staring down at the decanter in his hands.

“Not really,” he said simply. “She suffered a miscarriage a few weeks ago. On top of everything else, it was pretty unbearable for her.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Donald looked up and gave a sad half smile. “The doctor sees no reason to worry she won’t conceive again. It’s just—she’s still very dejected about it. She tries to hide it when people are around, but when we’re alone, she’s inconsolable. And it’s not just the baby. She was frantic about Lizzie when she ran off, and now there’s her father, dying. Catherine adores him. All the girls do.” He sighed and set the whisky down on the table, fetching two glasses before he settled back in his chair and poured them both a large measure.

“She hasn’t been herself for weeks,” he continued gruffly. “I’ve been working here as much as I can, so I can keep an eye on her. I don’t like her being too much alone. It makes her melancholy.”

“I’m so sorry,” David said again. “Catherine’s always been such a merry girl.”

Donald sighed again, a heavy, careworn sound. “And I’ve been so preoccupied with work.”

David felt an immediate stab of guilt. Donald had taken a raft of cases off David’s hands when David had gone to Perthshire with Murdo to recuperate from his accident. Donald had dealt too with all the trustees’ duties for the trust Chalmers had put in place to provide for Elizabeth, even though, as his cotrustee, David should have borne an equal share of the responsibility.

“I’m sorry, Donald,” he said now. “I’ve taken you for granted. You’ll have to let me know what I can do to rectify matters.”

“Don’t be silly.” Donald pasted on a ramshackle smile. “It’s not as though I didn’t get paid for dealing with your cases. I’m not that much of a martyr!”

“Even so. You’re overworked and worried about Catherine. We’ll work something out. I need to start thinking about my own future in any event.” He paused, then added, “And what about Elizabeth?”

Donald shrugged. “It’s still too risky for her to return to Scotland—we’re sure Kinnell’s had Chalmers’s house watched. Ours too, probably.” He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. “The fact is, she’ll never see her father again, and that’s difficult for everyone. Catherine’s been especially upset by it, particularly when her mother uses it as an excuse to malign Lizzie.”

David could just imagine. Elizabeth’s mother would have detested the scandal Elizabeth had caused.

After a pause, David asked, “Do you know why Chalmers wants to see me?”

“Well, Lord knows he’s fond of you—boasts about your achievements like you’re his own flesh and blood.” Donald paused. “It’s possible he wishes only to say good-bye, but I can’t help thinking there’s more to it. I know he’s worried about Elizabeth too. I’ve tried to get him to talk to me, but…” He trailed away helplessly.

“I’ll go to him first thing tomorrow.”

Donald lifted his glass and said, “Let’s pray he lasts another night.”

Chapter Six

David was just about to leave the townhouse the next morning when Murdo entered the hallway behind him.

“You forgot something.”

David turned his head to be confronted by the ebony-and-silver cane and an expression on Murdo’s face that dared David to defy him.

“Chalmers’s house is less than ten minutes away,” David protested, but Murdo just kept holding out the cane.

“You should take it with you whenever you go out.” His expression softened at whatever look he saw on David’s face, and he added more gently, “For now.”

David sighed, but he took the cane, though somewhat ungraciously.

“Fine,” he huffed and turned to the door again.

“Make sure you’re back for dinner,” Murdo said in an imperious tone he sometimes used that got on David’s nerves.

David turned back to look at him, irritated. “Must you order me around like that?” he demanded. “I’m not one of your footmen, and anyway, dinner’s eight hours away.”

Murdo’s jaw was set and belligerent. “I’m not ordering you around, merely asking you to ensure you are back sooner rather than later. After all, I’m setting off for London first thing tomorrow morning.”

And in that moment, David saw what this was really about.

“I promise I’ll be back,” he said. “We’ll have tonight, Murdo.”

Murdo’s gaze slid away, his cheeks pinkening slightly as he turned aside. “All right, I’ll see you later then.”

David was still half smiling over their exchange as he left the townhouse, despite the fact that he hated the cane and that he was dreading what he would find when he reached Chalmers’s house.

He wasn’t long out the door, though, before he wished he’d argued his point about the cane a bit harder. He preferred not to use it when he didn’t need to, and for such a short walk it seemed ridiculous. He hated the tapping noise the silver tip made when it struck the cobbles under his feet, a constant reminder of his disability, as if the ache in his hip and knee wasn’t enough.

When he arrived at Chalmers’s house, though, all thoughts of his own troubles and petty concerns fled. It hadn’t occurred to him that there would be any outward sign of the man who lay dying inside, but of course there was. The pavement and road in front of his friend’s house was strewn with a thick layer of straw to muffle the sounds of passing carriages and horses and the footsteps of pedestrians. It was an outward sign of terrible sickness. Of imminent death. And for the first time, David felt the truth of it—Chalmers really was dying.

He approached the front door slowly, staring at its glossy exterior for a moment before raising his hand to knock. The maidservant who answered was quiet and subdued, keeping her gaze downcast as she stood aside to let David pass.

Inside, the house was as silent as the muffled cobbles outside. David was shown into the drawing room, where he took a seat on a stiff horsehair sofa, balancing his cane beside him. While he waited, he became fascinated by the out-of-time ticking of the two clocks in the room, the deep-toned longcase in the corner and the chirpy ormolu on the mantel. The smaller one ticked an instant after the larger one so that it seemed they kept two times, two sets of twenty-four hours, one running a fraction of a second ahead of the other.

After a while, the door opened and a woman entered. David’s first thought was how relieved he was it wasn’t Mrs. Chalmers, with whom he’d dreaded making stilted conversation. The woman who came in was younger than Mrs. Chalmers, and she was dressed in a sober grey gown, with a white apron and a white lace cap that covered her hair so thoroughly David couldn’t have said what colour it was.

“Mr. Lauriston,” she said, approaching him. Her voice was low and pleasant.

He stood up quickly, making the cane clatter to the floor. The woman had reached him now, and she bent to pick it up at the same moment David did, causing them to bump heads.

“Oh, that was clumsy of me. I do beg your pardon,” David said.

“Not at all.” She laughed, handing the cane over. “My fault entirely. It’s second nature to me to pick things up after people, I’m afraid. I’m Mrs. Jessop, Mr. Chalmers’s nurse.”

David bowed. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

“Mr. Chalmers will be pleased to see you, sir. He’s been asking after you for the last few days. Since Mr. Ferguson said he’d written to ask you to come.”

“How is he?”

Mrs. Jessop’s expression remained serene, but her pale gaze softened with sad sympathy. “Not well, sir. I’m afraid it will not be long now.”

“How long do you think?”

She shook her head. “Impossible to say for certain, but no more than a few days, I would think. Every morning he wakes is a blessing now.”

The solid lump of grief in David’s throat felt like it was choking him. Mrs. Jessop spared his pride by turning away.