“There are indications of beatings, with various old bruises and scars. Someone held a lit cigar to his back, making a circle. The scars have healed, for the most part. But the most grievous is the indication of recent…violation. You know of what I speak?”
Garrett’s stomach turned as his blood ran cold. He had no words, and merely nodded in response.
“The injuries are inconclusive; there is no way to know if Aidan was a willing participant or not. Again, he will heal, and we can only hope that your nephew has no memory of the incident.” Dr. Bevan paused and clasped his hands on his desk. “I have seen this in others. The further one sinks into opiate-fueled oblivion, the more they no longer care about anyone or anything. Or what is done to them. Only procuring the drug matters, and the elation it brings.”
“Does…does he show signs of any pox or syphilis?” Garrett whispered.
“Not that I’ve observed. There are no open sores as such. But most symptoms occur two to twelve weeks after infection. Rest assured we will monitor the situation. Aidan is sick, running a fever, and has rat and flea bites on his hands and torso. Then there is the withdrawal. It will be extremely rough going.”
“I will stay here with him,” Garrett stated firmly.
Dr. Bevan shook his head. “There’s no need,” he said in a gentle tone. “He won’t recognize you, especially during the next two weeks as he goes through the worst of it. After that? Once he becomes lucid again, the guilt and shame will overtake him. I have found having family members around only exacerbates the feeling of low self-esteem in the patient. My advice is to leave tomorrow with Edwin. I will send detailed updates.”
Garrett didn’t like the sound of this. Leave Aidan here with strangers? What if Edwin was wrong about this man? Yes, he and Edwin were friends. The man upheld the law, first as a Bow Street Runner and now as an investigator. Hell, he did trust him. If Edwin said this Dr. Bevan could be trusted, what choice did he have but to believe it? Aidan needed help most desperately. “You may send the reports in the care of Garrett Black, postal office in Sevenoaks, Kent. And what of the payment?”
“Ah. My fee is a monthly charge, regardless if the patient stays the entire thirty days. Shall we say two hundred pounds a month to start? The fee may seem excessive to most, but it funds this sanatorium and allows me to take on patients who could not otherwise afford to stay here.”
Well, he had to admire the doctor’s honesty. Edwin said it would be expensive. “My family is progressive, Doctor. We have our causes. It seems that I have just found mine. I can think of no better cause than assisting those suffering from addiction, especially those who cannot afford it. Money is no object. I wish to make a donation above and beyond the monthly fees. Shall three thousand pounds be sufficient?”
Bevan’s eyes widened in surprise. “More than sufficient, Mr. Black, and most welcome. Be assured Aidan will receive the best of care. We will bring him out of this dark abyss, never fear.”
Garrett reached in his coat pocket, pulled out a roll of pound notes, and placed them on the desk. “There is five hundred pounds, enough to pay for a couple of months of Aidan’s stay. You have a solicitor?” The doctor nodded. “Excellent. Give me his name before I depart tomorrow and we will set up a payment schedule for the fees and the donation. I will warn you, Doctor, once our family takes on a worthy cause, we are all in.”
“If I may ask in what way, Mr. Black?”
“We like to be involved in all aspects, such as planning for the future. Perhaps I can fund a scheme for expansion. More doctors, new clinics. I will contact you when I have it worked out. Now, I wish to see Aidan. I understand that he won’t recognize me, but I must see him, for I have to report all this to the family. To his father.”
Dr. Bevan clasped the roll of notes and placed them in his coat pocket. “Then come with me, sir.”
He followed the doctor to a room farther down the hall. Dr. Bevan opened it and bade Garrett to step in first. Aidan lay in what looked to be a comfortable bed, the blankets pulled up to his mid-chest. The doctor’s daughter stood by, wiping Aidan’s brow with a cloth.
She gave Garrett a slight smile. “He is sleeping, though fitfully. Mr. Black has been bathed and put in a clean gown. The garments that he wore when he arrived have been burned. I will try and coax him to take a little broth later.”
A lump formed in Garrett’s throat as he gazed at the napping Aidan. There was no denying he was deathly ill. “I will send along some of his clothes and personal articles as soon as possible.” He clasped his nephew’s thin hand. It was cold and clammy to the touch. Leaning down, he kissed him on the forehead. “Get well. I love you.”
Never did Garrett feel so utterly helpless.
Chapter 3
Abbie had spent the rest of the afternoon penning a lengthy and honest letter to Alberta. It had helped to calm her turbulent mind. She revealed her shock over Garrett’s appearance, and the complicated and powerful emotions that had reignited at the mere sight of him. Since Abbie had a standing invitation, she informed Alberta that she would visit as soon as she could arrange it. At four pages, the newsy letter was thick when folded and would require extra postage.
When Mrs. Jones arrived to do the housekeeping, Abbie slipped a shilling in her hand and sent her along to the post, then to Gethin’s to relay that she was unwell and would not be able to attend to her volunteer duties today. Once the woman departed, Abbie took to her room and curled up on her bed, burrowing under her quilt. Confronting Garrett today was not feasible, not while she remained in this current mood of uncertainty and turmoil. Abbie had to be in complete control when she faced him. Also, she needed to decide whether to mention Megan or not.
One glance at the fourteen-year-old girl, with her tall, slender form, reddish-blond hair, and profusion of freckles, made it clear Garrett was the father. When Megan was first born, she and Elwyn had decided they would tell her about her real father when she turned sixteen, an age when she would be mature enough to absorb the news. Does she tell Megan now, or wait as she and Elwyn had originally planned? For Megan believed Elwyn her father. To tell her otherwise would be upsetting indeed. For more years than Abbie cared to count, she’d been hurt and angry over Garrett. When at last it had dissipated enough for her to think rationally, she had struggled with the decision of letting him know that he had a daughter. But she had respected her husband too much to bring the whirlwind that was Garrett into their lives.
For her own self-preservation and fearing her response, Abbie had not wanted to face him. If today was any indication, she had been wise to avoid Garrett in the past, because—damn it all!—she still desired him, and she would have never allowed Elwyn to see it, for it would have hurt him.
Besides, Elwyn had been Megan’s father in every way that counted. He brought her up, loved her unconditionally. The years flew by, and Garrett had slowly disappeared into the haze of memories. Why upend their quiet, content lives?
And what would be the impact on Megan? She was at an emotionally tender age; how would she take the news? Not well. Abbie had gone back and forth the past two years arguing with herself over what to do and how to proceed. Now, with Garrett’s appearance, the decision had been made on its own accord.
After a fitful sleep, Abbie rose the next morning determined to see Garrett and at least renew their acquaintance. She could not put it off any longer, regardless of her trepidations. Perhaps he wouldn’t care to see her again one way or the other. No doubt he’d moved beyond their brief, intense encounter; he could even be married. Though Alberta had mentioned in one of her recent letters that Garrett’s nephew, Riordan, had taken a bride, the rest of the occupants of Wollstonecraft Hall remained unattached. It was best to meet with him before bringing Megan into the picture.
Once she managed to eat a late breakfast, Abbie donned her heavy wool cloak and her hat and gloves and made her way toward the village. Steeling her spine, she entered the sanatorium. The carriage was nowhere in sight, but the driver could be