Alex struggled to form words, but the horrific shock of such allegations had sucked all the air from his lungs.
Reverend Smith continued on, “You are a doctor. You havepromisedto care for those in need. And yet, you stood by and allowed this poor woman to be cruelly abused. How can you live with yourself? How can you think to stand before God and defend—”
“Bloody hell, man!” Alex all but shouted, air whooshing back into him. “Miss Fyffe wasneverforced to use her body for men’s pleasure. She was a dear friend. I protected her—”
“That is not what I have heard.”
“Who told ye this?” Alex pounced. “Who has been filling your head with such lies?”
Veryfew people knew that Jamie Fyffe was actually Miss Eilidh Fyffe.
The reverend stared at Alex in frosty silence.
“Who told you?” Alex repeated. “Was it Captain Cuthie? Mr. Massey? Some other person who survived?” Alex snapped his fingers. “This man with memory loss. Was he aboardThe Minerva, too? Does this brain injury stem from when the ship sank? Doeshehave memories of Miss Fyffe? Memories that appear incomplete?”
The stagecoach horn blared, the sound jolting through the room.
“I best be off.” Reverend Smith stood, gathered his items, and lifted a hat to his head.
“Ye cannae leave! I have far too many questions!” Alex struggled to his feet, wincing as his leg throbbed, reaching for his crutches propped against the wall. “Miss Fyffe was a dear friend. I have mourned her death most keenly. Please! Stay! I would hear what you know. I will pay for your transportation back to Yorkshire.”
Thatgot Reverend Smith’s attention. His eyes glinted at the mention of money.
“What if I asked for a significant contribution to our trip to the South Pacific?” the man asked.
Alex paused. “Such an outlay would depend upon the information provided,” he hedged, mind scrambling. This man knew something. And as Massey and Cuthie had gone entirely to ground, the reverend might be their best source of information. “But anything that would help me understand what happened to my good friend, Miss Eilidh Fyffe, would have monetary worth. Stay. Let us discuss it. Perhaps you know something of these notices in the newspaper, as well.”
The reverend studied him, as if weighing the worth of the information he possessed.
Alex had to convince this man to spill what he knew. Not just for Jamie, but for Kieran, too. With the procurator fiscal making noise in Aberdeen, Kieran’s life could be in danger. The Brotherhood needed every last scrap of information.
“Stay,” Alex repeated. “Please. I would hear what you know of Mis Fyffe—”
The stagecoach blew a second warning.
The reverend shook his head.
“I must away.” He turned for the door.
“Wait—”
“You will hear from me, if and when I decide that you are worthy of the information I know,” the reverend said, one hand on the door knob. “Good day, Doctor.”
Alex struggled to move with his crutches in the small space. He couldn’t even round the table before Reverend Smith was out the door.
Alex truly had been taken for a fool.
Just not in the way he had thought.
Alex was stillstunned and fuming when he arrived back at Frome Abbey two hours later.
His leg throbbed, a pulsing arch of pain that had kept time with every jolt of the carriage.
He could scarcely force his exhausted body up the stairs to his bedchamber.
Reverend Smith was long gone, off to London and Yorkshire.
Had Alex been capable, he would have hired a horse on the spot from the inn’s stables and taken after the stagecoach, determined to demand the entire story from the man.
