She turned and strode down the hall. Behind her, she heard Dr. Ramsey mutter, “God help Ian Kinlock.” She didn’t dignify the comment by looking back.
Her mind was spinning as she walked to David’s room. Consulting a new surgeon was grasping at the thinnest of straws, but as long as there was any hope at all, it was worth trying. Besides, she liked the idea of spending Lady Jocelyn’s money in a way that might benefit David. St. Bartholomew’s Hospital was one of the oldest and busiest in London, and she recalled vaguely that it was a center for surgery. It was near St. Paul’s Cathedral, and she would need to hire a hackney coach. …
Distracted, she almost collided with a hefty young man in a powdered wig and blue livery outside David’s door. After a moment she recognized him as the footman who had been present at the mockery of a wedding the day before. Morgan, his name was.
“Come to see if your mistress’s husband is dead yet?” she asked caustically. She felt ashamed of herself when the young man flushed scarlet. He was too easy a target; it wasn’t fair to blame him for Lady Jocelyn’s want of conduct.
“I came to take my brother home, Miss Lancaster,” he said stiffly. “Lady Jocelyn asked me to inquire after Major Lancaster while I was here.”
“Your brother is also a patient?” Sally asked in a more conciliatory tone.
“He was a corporal in the light dragoons, miss. Lady Jocelyn has offered him a position in her household and the chance to convalesce in her home,” Morgan explained. “She sent her own carriage to make the trip as easy as possible.”
The footman’s words were intended to demonstrate his mistress’s kindness to a woman who clearly did not value her ladyship. Instead, they sowed the seeds of an idea that burst instantly into full, radiant flower. This ghastly hospital was enough to make a well person ill, and she would have removed David if possible. But she couldn’t take him to her employers or have afforded to hire lodgings and servants to care for him.
Now, however, an alternative had presented itself. Under English law, David owned the no-doubt luxurious house in Upper Brook Street that the Lady Jocelyn called home. The witch had no right to refuse him admittance. Sally would take her brother to Upper Brook Street, and if her unwanted sister-in-law objected, she’d bring the place down around her ladyship’s shell-pink ears.
“How convenient that you have brought a coach,” she purred. “We can use it to move Major Lancaster to Lady Jocelyn’s house.”
Morgan looked first startled, then alarmed. “I don’t know, miss. Her ladyship asked me to inquire after him, but she said nothing about bringing him home.”
Fixing the hapless footman with the quelling stare she used on her students, Sally said, “No doubt she was worried about moving him. However, I just spoke with my brother’s physician, and he agreed that there was nothing to lose by a change.” Which wasn’t exactly what Ramsey had said, but she’d sort that out later.
Since Morgan still looked unconvinced, Sally moved in with the killing stroke. “After all, they are married. What was hers is now his. Surely dear Lady Jocelyn cannot wish her husband to stay in this, this”—she gestured eloquently—“unwholesome place.”
“It’s true that her ladyship and the major seemed very fond,” Morgan said uncertainly. “And heaven knows my brother can’t wait to leave this hospital. You’re right, ’tis not a healthy place.” He furrowed his brows before giving a decisive nod. “I’ll move my brother to the carriage, then be back for Major Lancaster with a litter and someone to help me carry it. Will you pack his things, miss?”
“Of course.” As she watched him leave, Sally marveled at how easily he’d been convinced. She would have thought he’d be more wary of his spoiled mistress’s wrath.
She sought out Dr. Ramsey again. That gentleman agreed gloomily that if the trip from Belgium hadn’t killed the major, a journey across London probably wouldn’t, and if it did, that would just be hastening the inevitable.
Ignoring the doctor’s dire predictions, Sally returned to her brother’s room. “Good news, David. Lady Jocelyn’s carriage is here, and I have Dr. Ramsey’s permission to move you to her home. I’m sure that you’ll be more comfortable there than in the hospital.”
“She wants me to stay in her house?” he said with pleased surprise. “That was not part of our bargain. It’s most kind of her.”
The idea that his “wife” cared enough to send for him made David look so happy that Sally didn’t attempt to correct his misapprehension. Instead, she vowed that Lady Jocelyn would make him feel welcome if Sally had to hold a pistol to her head.
“I shan’t miss this place.” David’s tired gaze flickered over the drab walls. “Except for Richard.”
“He can visit you now that he’s getting around so well. I’m sure he’ll welcome an excuse to get out. I’ll give him your new direction before I leave.” She began packing her brother’s belongings into the box that had accompanied him from Belgium.
After finishing that, she lifted the bottle of laudanum. “Shall I give you a double dose? The trip is bound to be uncomfortable.”
“Too right. I think I’d prefer not to be aware of what is going on.” It was one of the few references he’d made to what Sally knew was constant pain. She uttered a fervent prayer that the carriage ride would not injure him further. If the strain severed his fragile hold on life, she would never forgive herself.
Hugh Morgan rode on the outside of the carriage, but the vehicle was still crowded with Sally, David, and the shy, crutch-wielding corporal jammed in together. Though Morgan had obtained planks and blankets and rigged a pallet across one side of the vehicle to hold the semiconscious major, Sally still winced as they jolted on every cobblestone between Belgravia and Mayfair.
When they reached Upper Brook Street, she said, “Please wait here until I’ve informed Lady Jocelyn that her husband has arrived.”
She marched up the marble steps and wielded the massive dolphin-shaped knocker. When a butler opened the door, she said, “I am Miss Lancaster, Lady Jocelyn’s sister-in-law. Please take me to her ladyship, so I can ask her where she wishes her husband to be carried.”
Husband? The butler’s eyes bulged; it was a tribute to Hugh Morgan’s discretion that none of the servants had heard of the marriage. Pulling himself together, he said, “I believe Lady Jocelyn is in the morning room. If you will follow me …”
The house was every bit as luxurious as Sally had expected, a perfect background for its flawless mistress. She glanced around, hoping to find evidence of vulgarity, but to her regret, the house was furnished with impeccable taste.
Refusing to be daunted by the towering, three-story high foyer, Sally set her jaw pugnaciously as the butler ushered her into the morning room. Lady Jocelyn sat at a writing table, her daffodil-colored gown a perfect complement to her warm chestnut coloring. Sitting on the desk was a vase of flowers and a tawny cat. It was no plump cozy tabby, but an elegant, thin-boned feline of obviously aristocratic origins. In Sally’s jaundiced view, the creature looked as expensive and unlovable as its mistress.
The butler said, “Lady Jocelyn, your ‘sister-in-law’ wishes to speak with you.” His inflection managed to imply simultaneously that Sally was an impostor, and that if she was indeed genuine, Lady Jocelyn owed her faithful retainer an explanation.
Jocelyn looked up with surprise. It was a rude shock to see an angry young woman intruding on her, a hostile reminder of yesterday’s unhappy events. “Thank you, Dudley. That will be all.”
Jocelyn’s tone produced instant obedience. The butler beat a hasty retreat.
“Miss Lancaster. What an unexpected pleasure,” she said coolly. With a sudden deep pang, she wondered if Sally had come to say that her brother had succumbed to his wounds. No, she