This Gun for Hire (31 page)

They returned to the study with the makeshift litter in under ten minutes. Quill rolled Ramsey onto it. Dr. Pitman insisted on keeping Ramsey on his side, so they placed pillows at his back to use as a stopper. Quill took one end and Beatrice and Calico each held a slat at the other.

Once they put Ramsey in bed, the women stepped outside the room while Quill and Dr. Pitman stripped him out of his clothes and into a nightshirt. When they were permitted to return, Ann and Beatrice rearranged the blankets, tucking and smoothing and fussing unnecessarily because they needed something to do.

“Miss Nash, will you fetch a basin for me?”

“Certainly.” Calico disappeared into the bathing room to get one.

Dr. Pitman pushed his spectacles over his sloped nose. “I was able to force a mild purgative down his throat. If it
works, his stomach will involuntarily spasm and he will purge the toxins. It is the only thing I can think to try. If it is his ulcer, there will be blood.” He took the basin from Calico’s hands and placed it on the bed close to Ramsey’s turned head. “He must not be left alone. He will need help with the purge. Under no circumstances can he be allowed to breathe in what his stomach is trying to reject.”

He took a moment to look at each member of his audience in turn. “Do you understand?” When there were nods all around, he continued. “I propose taking the first shift as it will likely happen soon. I don’t suppose that any of you will sleep well for what remains of the night, but I would gladly take a cup of coffee if it were offered.”

“Of course,” said Beatrice. “Yes, of course. I should have already made the offer. I will bring it directly. Anyone else? No? Very well.” With a last look at Ramsey, she left.

“What sort of toxins?” asked Ann. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, it could be anything. Let’s begin with Ramsey’s last meal, which I assume was dinner.”

Quill said, “I did not see anything to suggest he ate something later.”

“Well, then, let us go forward with dinner. What did he eat?”

Ann put her hands together in the same way her aunt so often did. “What we all ate. Potato soup. Baked fish with hollandaise sauce. Cole slaw.” Her delicate features started to crumple. “This is ridiculous. None of us is ill. What is happening to him?”

Calico moved to stand beside Ann. She gently laid a hand on the girl’s back at the shoulder and addressed the doctor. “I do not think that Mr. Stonechurch has done justice to a meal in quite some time. Ann is correct that we all eat the same things, but he eats less these days. Remember, Ann? You even remarked on it at dinner the other evening. You asked him if he was feeling well.”

Dr. Pitman patted his own well-rounded belly. “Perhaps he is looking out for this. I have advised that he do so.”

“Perhaps,” Calico said, unconvinced.

“Well?” He directed his question at everyone. “Has he complained? He certainly did not seek me out.”

Quill said, “I spend the most time with him. He’s made no more than his usual number of comments about his . . .” He paused, searching for a word that would not offend Ann’s sensibilities. “His rumblings.”

“He might have said more to my aunt,” said Ann.

“That is certainly possible. Likely, in fact. Mrs. Stonechurch has more remedies for dyspepsia than the apothecary. I will ask her when she returns.” Dr. Pitman’s spectacles had slipped again. This time he regarded the others over the rims. “Go. Rest as best you can. Ann, that is especially necessary for you. Ask your aunt to make you some chamomile.”

She nodded slowly, the hint of a rueful smile shaping her lips. “I was on my way to the kitchen to make that for myself,” she said to no one in particular. “I was restless, couldn’t sleep. That’s why I was downstairs and why I noticed the lamp burning in my father’s study. I went in to extinguish it and found him lying on the floor.” She turned sharply in the doctor’s direction. “Will he recover? If this is because of something he ate tonight, will he recover?”

Pitman’s shoulders rose and fell. “I will do my best by your father,” he said. “And the rest will be in God’s hands.”

Ann nodded sharply and fled the room, blinking back tears.

Calico and Quill exchanged glances. Without a word passing between them, they were comfortable believing they had reached agreement. It was Quill who addressed Pitman. “Do you believe his condition can be attributed to something he ingested at a single meal?”

The doctor gave Quill a considering look and then darted a glance at Calico. “Miss Nash. Perhaps if you would go to Miss Stonechurch, you could be a comfort to her.”

Quill said, “You will not get rid of her that easily. She stays and hears whatever you have to say. I can assure you, it is what Mr. Stonechurch would want.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. What I require is that you trust me and, by extension, that you trust her. Your patient does. He hired us to protect him and his family, and you can see that we are failing. Now, before Beatrice returns, tell me what you are really thinking.”

Abraham Pitman did not surrender his skepticism easily. “Trust you? Trust you over Beatrice Stonechurch? Over Ann? Why would I do that on your say-so?”

Calico took a step forward, loosened the belt of her robe, and tugged on the right sleeve to reveal the long scar across her upper arm. “This was not the result of Ramsey Stonechurch misfiring his weapon, Dr. Pitman, and I believe that there has always been some part of you that suspected as much.” Calico had no idea if that was true or not, but she erred on the side of the man having a measure of common sense. “I was shot because I was with Mr. Stonechurch. The bullet I took was meant for him. Ann and Beatrice do not know that because Mr. Stonechurch kept it from them.” She yanked up the sleeve of her robe. “Now, tell Mr. McKenna what he wants to know before I strangle you with your stethoscope.”

Appalled more than alarmed, Pitman’s eyes widened over the top of his spectacles.

Quill said, “Usually Calico threatens to shoot someone, so I would say this is progress.”

Pitman’s mouth snapped shut and then slowly parted. “Calico? Miss Nash is Calico Nash?” His mistake was in putting the question to Quill. He had to take a step back as Calico took a menacing step forward. He put out his hands defensively. “I apologize,” he said, although he had no clear idea what he was apologizing for. “I just thought you would be—”

“Taller?”

“No. Not that. I thought you would be mud fence ugly.”

Calico threw up her hands as she walked away. “Talk to him, Quill. I will look out for Beatrice.” She went as far as the doorway and stood there, acting as sentinel for Beatrice’s approach.

Dr. Pitman gave Quill his attention, though from time to time he cast a wary eye in Calico’s direction.

Quill said, “You understand you do not repeat what you’ve just learned.”

The doctor’s head bobbed several times and very quickly. “Who are you?”

“Still Quill McKenna. Nobody special.” Behind him, he heard Calico snort. It warmed him some. “Now that we are done with the unpleasantness of threats, I need to know what you do.”

“It’s not food poisoning,” he said. “Not the way we tend to think of it. But do I believe he’s been poisoned? Yes. Small quantities over time would be my guess. He did not eat a poisonous mushroom, for instance. That would have killed him quickly. It’s possible he ingested more tonight and that is what caused his coma. But what led up to it? That took time. Patience.”

“Specific knowledge?”

“I would say so, yes.” It was when Quill raised an eyebrow that the doctor seemed to hear what he had just said. He shook his head and even lifted a hand as though he could push the words out of the way. “I am making no accusation. Absolutely none.”

“But she could do it.”

“No. She could not, and you will not get me to say so.” He pointed to Calico’s back and whispered, “Even under threat of violence.”

“All right,” Quill said agreeably. “What kind of poison? I caught a scent that I could not identify.”

From the doorway, Calico said, “Ask him why Ramsey’s cheeks are cherry red.”

Quill did not repeat the question. He simply gave the doctor another inquiring look.

“Drink, most likely. Too much of it. He likes his whiskey.”

Calico slapped the doorjamb hard with the flat of her hand. She turned then because she knew she could expect that she had the attention of both men. “It is
not
from drink.
I’ve seen this before, or something very like it. He’s had trouble breathing. He’s still having trouble.”

“I examined his lungs.”

“I know you did. I saw you. I can see his chest moving. He’s breathing, but not breathing.” Frustrated because she did not have the knowledge to explain any better, she turned her back on the doctor again.

Pitman stepped closer to his patient and set his stethoscope against Ramsey’s heart and then moved it to his back to listen to his lungs again. His proximity made him the first to be aware that the purgative was about to work. He pushed the basin close to Ramsey’s mouth and held the man’s head. His patient’s body began to spasm. Ramsey’s legs jerked and bent at the knees. They were drawn involuntarily toward his chest. His arms flailed, contracted, and he would have dislodged the basin if Quill had not stepped in to help restrain him.

The retching was difficult to listen to. Sounds that did not seem at all human came from deep inside him. He soiled himself, and he continued to heave after it was clear he had emptied the contents of his stomach.

Calico crossed the threshold into the hallway and closed the door behind her as the men went about the business of cleaning Ramsey and changing the sheets. Quill came to get her when he and the doctor finished. He carried the soiled linens in his arms.

“Beatrice?” he asked.

Calico shook her head. “Give me those. I’ll take them to the laundry tub and see what’s keeping her.”

Quill did not argue. He quickly made a bundle of the linens and passed it to Calico. “I think the purge helped,” he said.

“Good.”

Her terse reply caused him to give her a second look. “Calico? What is it?”

“It could be an accident, you know. Not intentional. She might have—”

Quill put a hand on her shoulder. “You heard Dr. Pitman.
Ramsey was poisoned over time. I am not sure how that indicates an accident.”

“I don’t want it to be true.”

“I know. I like her, too.”

Calico did not comment. She hefted the bundle. “I better go. I suppose it will be a test of Dr. Pitman’s confidence if he drinks the coffee she’s preparing.”

Quill watched her go. She took the back stairs to the kitchen. He waited until he was certain Beatrice was not coming up by the main staircase before he returned to the room. He trusted that Calico would find Lucrezia Borgia still in the kitchen fussing over Dr. Pitman’s coffee while she calculated her next move.

“Any change?” asked Quill, approaching the bed.

The doctor did not answer the question directly. “I believe there is reason to hope.” Now that Ramsey’s stomach had been purged, he could lie on his back. Pitman changed the warm compress he had placed across his patient’s forehead. He also wiped Ramsey’s face and wet his lips.

“I told Calico that the purge seemed to help. Was I lying?”

“No. But then I am also questioning myself. It can be hard to gauge improvement against hopefulness.”

“I understand.”

Pitman laid the used compress on the lip of a basin of fresh water. He closed his medical bag. “So you are not Mr. Stonechurch’s attorney.”

“No, but not for lack of an offer on his part.”

The doctor turned and faced Quill. “And Mr. Stonechurch really hired you to . . . what? Keep him safe?”

Quill glanced at Ramsey. Failure weighed heavily. “All evidence to the contrary, yes.”

“You have been living here for quite a while. What happened that prompted Mr. Stonechurch to seek you out?”

“Anonymous threats, but you’re mistaken about him seeking me out. I found him.”

Pitman frowned. “How does that happen?”

“He told someone about the threats, someone who took
them more seriously than he did. That person came to me and I went to Mr. Stonechurch.”

“Then you’ve done this before.”

“I have.”

“Calico Nash?”

“To look after Ann. You know there were . . . let’s call them mishaps.”

The doctor nodded as he sank slowly into the armchair. He absently rubbed his left knee. “I had no idea she was in real danger.”

“No one does. That was the way Mr. Stonechurch wanted it.”

“I wondered about you living here at the house, but then I know how Ramsey Stonechurch works. I decided that he wanted you at his beck and call at all hours.”

“You were not wrong. As it happens, I am a lawyer.”

“Oh. And Calico Nash is a teacher?”

“No. She’s a bounty hunter.”

Pitman removed his spectacles and cleaned them on the sleeve of his jacket. “It is a little overwhelming.”

“I can see that.”

He nodded slowly and returned his spectacles to his face. “Elderberry,” he said quietly.

“How is that again?”

“Elderberry. The leaves, stems, roots are all poisonous. The boiled berries are harmless, but the other parts of the plant must be removed. Anyone who makes jams, pies, and wine with elderberries knows that. I recommend and use an elderberry tonic for rheumatism. The apothecary keeps a supply.”

“You think that’s what Ramsey ate?”

“I cannot be certain, but the symptoms fit. Miss Nash mentioned loss of appetite, which he would naturally experience because of mild nausea and other unpleasant symptoms. He would be uncomfortable, but he would not be alarmed.”

“Dyspepsia,” said Quill.

“Yes, that would be the logical conclusion. If he had come
to me, it would have been mine. I had already diagnosed an ulcer.”

“I do not mean this as an insult, but in this house, you would be the second opinion. He would have gone to his sister-in-law first.”

“Without a doubt. Beatrice Stonechurch has educated herself on the healing herbs. She knows tonics and tinctures and teas. I would trust her to nurse me if I were unwell. You know she cared for her husband from the moment he was carried out of the mine until his death. I never said as much—I would not have dared—but I did not believe Leo would live a full week. She had almost twelve months with him, and had it not been for his lungs, she could have had longer. She made remarkable strides with improving his leg strength—”