Chapter Twenty-Six

The rest of the day brought with it further light rain and an unwelcome visit from Mrs. Daniell and Thea, which kept Flora confined to the house.

Purgatory with Polite Conversation.

She was desperate to see Lawrence, to question him about what had happened between them. But all thoughts of mutual attraction were put to flight when Mrs. Daniell announced, “Have you heard about the dreadful shipwreck?”

“Why, yes. But I don’t know any of the details. Wasn’t the military involved in some kind of ambush?”

Mrs. Daniell brought a delicate lawn handkerchief to her eye and dabbed at it. “Poor Reverend Daniell,” she said, ignoring Flora’s question. “It’s up to him to bury those poor sailors, you know, and the parish will have to pay. To think there are such awful people living among us!” She broke off to sniff and dab her eyes again.

“Awful people?” Flora asked. “You mean the sailors?”

The only response was a wave of her handkerchief as Mrs. Daniell was overcome with emotion.

Thea leaned forward, her eyes bright with delicious horror. “No, the wreckers! Not the kind who just collect what floats to shore, or claim salvage rights, but those who put out false lights, and lure ships onto rocks.”

An uncomfortable feeling seeped through Flora’s stomach, and she reached quickly for a glass of water. “Good heavens. Men were drowned? I didn’t know that.”

“Not just drowned,” Thea said, lowering her voice. “Some were murdered on the beach.”

Mrs. Daniell rocked back and forth in her chair. “I can’t believe the depths of depravity exhibited by some people,” she said with a moan. “Even knowing that such greed, such lack of moral fiber, will be punished at the End of Days.”

“Maybe the sailors were past saving,” Flora said, shivering. Had Lawrence told her the truth about what happened last night? “There were soldiers involved, were there not?”

Recovering a little, the reverend’s wife replied, “Indeed. They did their best, brave fellows. But it was dark, and there were ruffians everywhere, I’m told. On the heath, on the roads, in the village, as well as down by the sea, of course. But once the authorities have the resources, they’ll be searching peoples’ houses, mark my words. And if they find anything there that’s been illegally purloined from that ship, the occupants will be up in front of the magistrates at the next assizes.”

Goose pimples invaded Flora’s skin. Lawrence couldn’t have anything in his wagon from that wreck. Could he? He’d have had difficulty bringing anything up from the shore with an injured arm. She’d arrived unannounced and had seen nothing incriminating.

Was there any way to ascertain his involvement without offending him deeply?

She waited in an agony of imaginings and made such cursory conversation even Mrs. Daniell took the hint and led her daughter away in search of someone else with whom to lament the terrible news.

As soon as the rain dried up that afternoon, Flora shot out of the door, telling the servants she had a stomach ache and was going in search of a powder for it. That way, if any of the gossipmongers saw her in the vicinity of Lawrence’s wagon, she’d have a viable excuse.

The relief that washed over her to discover his brightly painted vehicle still in the yard of the Admiral Duncan was enormous. But when she scratched at the flap and received no reply, relief gave way to a chill fear.

Surely, Lawrence was too injured to go out?

What if he’d got an infection in the wound? What if he’d developed gangrene, or fallen unconscious from the pain? She’d read enough in the draft of Dr. L. E. Campaign’s Treatise on Domestic and Emergency Medicine to know the terrible things that could happen if a wound wasn’t properly treated.

Good lord, he might even lose his arm!

Glancing around, she could see no interested observers, so she unlaced the flap and crept into the dark interior of the wagon.

The first thing she did was trip over a pile of books. Then she caught her foot on a wooden chest and stumbled off balance across the floor, collapsing onto his bed in a hectic muddle.

Fortunately, he wasn’t in it.

The wagon was decidedly devoid of an itinerant doctor, and as she sat on the bed and pulled her frantic thoughts together, she realized Charley hadn’t greeted her arrival by padding up to her to have his ears tickled, as he usually did.

As her eyes grew used to the gloom, she could see the wagon’s interior was in no worse disarray than usual. Feeling under the cushions of the bench, she found the pistol back in its usual place. She could also see his sword was still by the entrance.

So, he hadn’t gone off to do anything dangerous. Maybe he’d just taken Charley for a walk or was out collecting herbs.

Bother. She and her agonizing uncertainty would have to keep each other company a while longer.

Recalling that she’d claimed to be going out for stomach remedies, she helped herself to a couple of pots and papers from Lawrence’s stock, placed them in her basket, and left.

Despite the heaviness of the skies, she refused to rush home. Her gaze darted everywhere in the hope of sighting him, but she saw no one of interest except Sally Matthews, who stared at her inimically, then turned her back.

Still jealous, Flora thought, not sure if she should preen or despair. She’d have to work really hard on Sally if the hat shop partnership was ever to go ahead. And Sally would need to get over her obsession with Lawrence. Damn that man, and damn her own wayward heart for jeopardizing her plans!

The pots in her basket clinked companionably as she reached the cottage and stepped in through the door, which Jenny held open for her. Willing herself not to look self-conscious, she headed straight for her room.

She knelt down to push the medicine pots under the bed and stared in dismay at the sheer number of remedies she’d accumulated. Most of them were cures for ailments from which she never suffered—she’d bought so many last year, purely as an excuse to visit their maker.

Ridiculous! How could she, a grown woman, have fallen under the spell of a man like Lawrence Campaign? She was no better than Sally, no better than any of the other female clients who she suspected welcomed his skill beneath the sheets as much as his nostrums.

Just because he’d given her a few weeks respite from her dreary existence didn’t mean he cared for her. Just because he’d kissed and fondled her and was aroused by her body didn’t mean she was any more special than his other conquests.

He was a rake, a charmer, a fly-by-night, and she might as well throw all the nostrums that were no good to her down the drain.

It was time for the foolishness to stop.

Biting her lip, she stared through the murky glass of her bedroom window and watched the purple clouds scudding up from the southwest. They were dark with a fresh squall of rain, and if Lawrence and Charley were out on the heath, they’d get soaked.

But why should she care?

She mustn’t care. She must stop caring. In a few days, man, animals, and wagon would move on, leaving her behind.

Just as Frank had left her behind, all those years ago. Left her nursing a pain and a fear she’d dared not share with anybody.

Confound it! She never wanted to go through that again.

Ever.

As soon as the servants were in bed, she’d pour out all the remedies, smash the bottles, and forget all about Lawrence.

She’d just started getting the bottles into order when there was a thunderous knocking on the front door. She was at the top of the stairs instantly, looking down at Jenny’s pale face.

“Shall I answer it, mistress?” the maid asked anxiously. “It’s not like decent folk to half pound a door down when they comes calling.”

What could be so urgent that required such a ruckus? Smoothing her cap over her hair, Flora said, “Find Adam and take him into the kitchen. Wait there with the door closed. I’ll call out if you’re needed.”

As soon as she opened the door, she was glad she’d made that decision.

Here, on her very threshold, was a bedraggled-looking Lawrence.

But he hadn’t come alone.