Jasper’s lips quirked and Lucas couldn’t help but feel a third nail for the coffin being readied beneath the hammer.
“Where, and I’m not saying I will go…where is it, exactly?”
“Cheshire, near Knutsford. Up your way. Can’t be too far from your new pile?”
“It’s nowhere near! My estate is in Northamptonshire.”
“Well, it’s all up north, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Lucas said, huffing into his tankard. “You still haven’t told me why you can’t do it.”
His friend looked up with a slushy expression on his face. “My Lucy is with child.”
The final nail hammered itself resolutely into the coffin, his fate sealed.
“You know I’ll do it, damn you. In fact, you knew I’d do it as soon as you told me that two women had been murdered.”
“Yes, I did. I know you, Lucas. You have an innate need to protect. It’s why you did well in the army and now at doctoring. Two opposing professions, you would think, and yet both suit you. And, of course, the fact that you still can’t be inactive for a moment. Your leg is bouncing even as we speak.”
He stilled his leg. “Have you reports from the magistrate? A map? And where will I stay?”
“You can stay at the earl’s estate. The Earl of Stonebridge. It was in his woods that the murdered girls were found, and he’s there for the winter. Got a stud farm, surly bugger, but he does breed the finest of thoroughbreds and I rather like him. Not much of a talker, so you should suit. I’ll have the details sent over and inform the earl of your imminent arrival. You might also want to get your hair cut before you go.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed but he gave a nonchalant shrug. “You’re paying for the ale…and whatever pie that was. Don’t pay for mutton or rabbit though.”
“Damn it. Please tell me it wasn’t dog?”
“It wasn’t dog.”
“Thank–”
“It was rat. I recognise the flavour.”
Lucas unfurled himself from the chair and grabbed his hat, pulled his overly long hair out of his collar, and savoured the look on his friend’s face as he bade him farewell.
From whichever angle you viewed it, the painting was awful. It looked like the artist had daubed the canvas with something from the Thames. Sweeping strokes of brown, red and mustard-yellow caused Lucas to feel rather off colour.
Smiling, he poured himself another whisky and savoured, if that was the right word, the artist’s work. A patient had gifted it to him – not a great accomplishment, one might say, except Lady Clara Rookdean had been born right-handed and, after an accident, was now learning to use her left. He’d been touched when she had presented it as a thank you, during the ill-fated house party, and although he wasn’t sure what it depicted, the picture now hung proudly in his study.
He tugged off his boots, settled back in the leather armchair and lifted his stockinged feet to the desk. It was a comfortable position from which to mull over his lunch with Jasper. He’d never ventured as far north as Cheshire. The journey might be arduous but he could break it at his own estate of Helmdon Court and spend time with his mother.
Hopefully a surprise visit would prevent any more awkward introductions. The last time, his mother had paraded a long line of trembling debutantes in stark white frocks. He liked to smile at them and see if he could make their faces match the colour of their gowns.
Loneliness engulfed him. He usually recognised its onset and tried to banish it, but this time it hung around him like an oversized coat, smothering and heavy: he saw the happiness in Jasper’s eyes as he’d talked of his wife being with child, and the horror on Miss Trewent’s face just before she fainted at the sight of him.
A chill breeze blew in from the window, but he couldn’t be bothered to close it. In fact, he still savoured the coolness on his face, even after all this time. His burns itched and pulled tight, and at times like this, he could hear the faint call of laudanum in his ear: oblivion, forgetfulness…nothingness.
Laudanum had been the doctor’s way of treating him for the terrible pain. He couldn’t blame the man – it was quick, direct and worked. His need for the stuff, however, had been almost as bad as the burns.
Hallucinations, sweating, shaking and finally…anger, hatred, greed and a ghastly compulsion to continually seek the stupor that only it could provide.
He closed his eyes tight and focused on the image that he’d trained himself to search for when darkness approached and opium’s insidious advantages crept into his mind.
Billy. A child. Lying on the floor. A hand held to his face. Cringing in front of him – Lucas Mainwaring.
Shame and remorse flooded his veins. The black evil tendrils of opium retreated back from whence they came, the darkness lightened, and he opened his eyes to Lady Rookdean’s painting.
This was his life now, and he was content. While recovering and battling the laudanum, he’d studied all the medical books he could and even apprenticed with a sawbones. Today, he was a competent surgeon, a fortunate if slightly reluctant earl and, he thought wryly, easily persuadable.
Jasper’s guess had been right. Lucas had carried out assignments as an intelligence officer on the Continent and had thoroughly enjoyed it: the chase, the sifting through of documents and dispatches, discarding the chaff, and retaining the seeds of information.
The thought of some madman hunting young women made his stomach turn, and Lucas was damned if he’d sit here in this study when he might be able to prevent more needless death. He’d seen enough of that to last a lifetime.
Tomorrow, he would begin to pack up his belongings and organise the referral of his patients. With luck, he should be able to leave soon enough and be in Cheshire before the start of November.
