The Pretender (14 page)

Until one looked into their eyes. Some kept their pain at bay with jokes and charm, some retreated into a silent world of their own, faces to the wall.

Yet in all their eyes she could see the horror of fire and death and suffering, like shadows that would live within them forever.

She carried the basin of steaming cloths from bed to bed. Farther down the ward, Clara Simpson, a young widow Agatha recalled as being a relative of Mrs. Trapp, was feeding a silent, motionless boy with a spoon, whispering encouragement even while tears fell down her cheeks.

Agatha looked away from Clara's naked emotion. All the women who worked in the hospital, volunteers and nurses alike, understood the pain of hopeless cases but never spoke of it to one another. It was as if by acknowledging death out loud, they would invite it in.

"Ah, the fairest ray of the sun has found me at last!" No gloom dimmed the vibrant masculine voice behind her.

Agatha's smile was real when she turned toward the speaker. Collis Tremayne was her favorite patient, and not only because of his well-spoken charm.

Collis had once dreamed of being a musician. That had been before he had donned a uniform and gone to war. Before the battle that had caused the shattering of one arm.

Rumor had it that he'd been destined to lose it entirely, but a sharp-eyed physician, sick of the piles of amputated limbs at his feet, had noticed that the young soldier's left hand was still warm with blood flow and still flinched when pricked.

"Let him keep it," the doctor had declared. "Likely it will be as useless as a log, but he'll still be whole." Then he'd sewn up the wounds and bound the arm tightly in a splint, matching the pieces of bone as well as he was able.

When Collis had woken from the shock of surgery and transport here in this ward, Agatha had seen the loss in his eyes at the realization that his left arm had been rendered little more than an ornament to balance the right.

He had lain in silence for a while, blinking rapidly, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, with a tiny smile quirking his lips, he had looked up at her and said, "That tears it. I'll have to learn the drum now."

And he had. When next she'd seen him, he'd been sitting up in bed with a new drum in his lap, the sort that marchers carried on parade.

To the encouragement—and sometimes complaints—from his ward mates, Collis had learned to play the drum one-handed, the nimble fingers of his right hand controlling both drumsticks with great precision.

Now, he tipped his twin drumsticks to her in a sort of salute. When he couldn't play, he spent every moment twirling the sticks between his fingers, ever compelled to gain more control.

"Good morning, Collis." Agatha couldn't resist teasing him. "You had best watch out, spinning those things in the air. Private Soames has sworn to burn them if you fly one into his nose again."

"Soames is a philistine. He has no appreciation of the fine art of percussion." Collis leaned toward her. "I've missed you, sweet angel." He looked about them, then whispered, "The cards, did you bring them?"

"Collis, I already own your house, your cattle, and your first-born child. Haven't you had enough?"

"I suppose." He dropped back onto the pillows in disappointment. "I likely wouldn't win today, either. But won't you just shuffle the deck for me? Watching you is like seeing an artist at work."

Agatha sat on the edge of his cot and balanced her basin on her knees. "Fine. I'll shuffle for you. Then you'll leave off? No begging for another chance?"

"Not a word."

She gave him a doubtful glance, but he only returned her an innocent smile. Agatha reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a small deck of cards.

Collis sat back with a smile, and a few of the surrounding patients craned their necks to get a good look.

What was the male fascination with cards? Jamie had always loved card tricks and had taught her a few when they were young. While she waited between his rare visits home, she had practiced them and learned more, until she had surpassed the teacher, much to his glee.

Next, she cut the cards into two decks, spread her hands wide, and sent them sailing toward one another to land in a tidy little pile on Collis's knees.

He shut his eyes in rapture. "What a woman. Say you'll marry me. I'm leaving today. This is your last chance to say yes, sweet angel."

Agatha cocked her head at him. "Will you never stop? I've told you, I'm quite married already." The lie was getting easier to tell all the time. Was it a matter of practice, or did her feelings for Simon have something to do with it?

"Run away with me, then. I'll take you to Polynesia, where he'll never find us. We'll live on sunlight and honey, and have ten children to raise as our own native tribe."

"Oh, dear. That sounds exhausting." She returned his saucy smile. "Where will you go, when you leave here?" He'd told her once before that he had no parents or siblings now.

"My Uncle Dalton is taking me in. Oddly enough, he didn't like the idea of my future career, playing with the orchestra at Drury Lane."

"Not a fan of the theatre, is he?"

Collis gave her a sideways look. "Not of that sort of theatre, I think."

Agatha had no idea what he meant but only nodded sagely. There was so much about life in London that escaped her, but she pretended experience rather than endure questions about where she was from.

"Collis, I'm surprised at you, mentioning such a tawdry subject before a lady," a new voice rumbled from behind her.

Agatha turned so quickly at the deep voice that the basin threatened to slide off her lap. She grabbed for it hastily.

Instead of grasping the cheap tin rim, her own fingers wrapped around several larger warm ones. Agatha's gaze flew up, but she saw little but the outline of the tall man bending over her against the light from the high arched windows.

Collis chuckled. "Uncle Dalton, I'd like to present Mrs. Applequist, who I'm sure would like to stand if you would kindly stop looming over her."

Casting her patient a quelling glare, Agatha pulled the basin from Uncle Dalton's grasp and shoved it at Collis.

"Here. Stay out of trouble," she muttered.

Then she rose as gracefully as she was able with the tall gentleman standing so close. Even at her full height, her eyes were only level with his cravat, which was practically all she could see.

"How lovely to meet you, Uncle Dalton's cravat," she said dryly.

Collis snorted at that, but Agatha didn't want to encourage him, so she merely waited politely until the great oaf got the message and stepped back.

"I apologize, Mrs. Applequist. How clumsy of me." The broad chest before her retreated, and Agatha could finally look into his face.

She blinked. Well, they certainly grew them handsome in London, didn't they? She was positive that most women would find the man before her absolutely devastating, although he seemed to lack the impact upon her senses that Simon had.

Still, there was no denying the appeal of a set of broad shoulders and a finely carved jaw. And those eyes, as silver as a wolf's. Really, quite a bundle of masculine appeal. Of course, handsome was as handsome did.

And this handsome was being a tiny bit rude.

She held out her hand. "Why, Uncle Dalton, we meet at last. Your cravat has told me so much about you!"

That finally broke the stern cast of his features, and a deep chuckle rose from his chest. He bowed over her hand, and when he came up, a half-smile had taken his mouth hostage.

"Great Scott, Mrs. Applequist! He smiled! Quickly, inform the press!"

"Thank you, Collis, I think we've had enough of that." Uncle Dalton's voice was mild, but Collis stopped just the same. Agatha was impressed.

In the meantime, how was she to remove her hand from Uncle Dalton's warm grasp? He didn't seem aware that he was still holding it while perusing her with his icy gaze.

"It is Montmorency, actually. Dalton Montmorency. As much as I'd love to welcome you to the family, Mrs. Applequist, I'm afraid that having a great lout like Collis call me Uncle is all that I can bear."

Ah, that's how he did it. It worked very well indeed. With one sentence, he had made her feel very gauche and foolish for teasing such an obviously powerful and impressive stranger. She pulled her hand away, no longer caring if it seemed rude.

"You have such a commanding manner, sir. I really must practice it." She had been in control of her own life for some time now and had found that she liked not answering to anyone. To be reprimanded like a child made her feel rather prickly.

"Now look what you've done, Uncle. She isn't smiling any longer." Collis fell back onto his pillows and raised his good arm over his eyes weakly. "I swan I feel faint. Perhaps I cannot come home after all," he said with the lisping accents of a fragile lady.

Agatha fought the smile, but she couldn't help it. "Oh, get up, you silly quiz."

"So you've become fond of my nephew, Mrs. Applequist. I see that you do not wear mourning." Dalton Montmorency's voice was silkily insinuating. "How long has it been since your husband passed?"

"Not long, surely, for he was just fine over breakfast," retorted Agatha as she took the basin back from Collis. "Oh!" She turned and put one fist on her hip, smiling widely at Mr. Montmorency. "You mistook me for a widow. Did you think I was gunning for Collis?"

By the surprise on his face, he most assuredly had thought so. Behind her, Collis was crowing in triumph.

"Uncle, I do believe you have finally met your match. Too bad she is married. If I cannot have her for my bride, she would have made a most entertaining auntie."

"Oh, shut it, Collis," said Agatha and Mr. Montmorency simultaneously. Then they caught each other's eyes and laughed.

Now that the issue of her marital status was out of the way, Mr. Montmorency seemed to unbend. As he spoke to Collis about the arrangements he had made, Agatha could see the genuine affection he had for his rapscallion nephew.

Montmorency was also much younger than first she'd thought. When the stern lines of his face relaxed, she realized that he was likely no older than Simon. Collis must be an older sister's child, to be within ten years or so of his uncle.

"I must get back to my duties, gentlemen. I'm glad you are going home, Collis, but I admit that I will miss you greatly." She bent to plant a kiss on his cheek.

He smiled up at her. "You must come to see us, sweet angel. Uncle and I will invite you and Mr. Applequist soon, won't we, Uncle?"

"Collis, I would enjoy nothing more, but I think Mr. Applequist might dislike you calling his wife by such pet names…"

Agatha left them arguing, this time wearing a genuine smile on her face for her next patient.

Simon strode quickly into the Liar's Club, sparing only a nod for Stubbs at the door. Passing through the main club room, he noted that his customers were none of them early risers, for the tables and chairs were entirely empty.

Thankful that he needn't assume Mortimer's personality as well as his wardrobe, Simon passed beyond the servants' door and through the kitchens, into the real Liar's Club.