Deadlier Than the Pen Part 19

Ben stared at Annie, then caught sight of Diana hovering in the doorway. "Clear everyone out, Jenny," he ordered in a chilling voice. "Everyone."

"Excitement's over," said the woman who'd admitted them. Her voice was pleasant but firm, and for such a dainty, diminutive person she had an air of command nearly as forceful as Ben's.

Diana took a closer look at her. Jenny was older than she'd first appeared, nearly Maggie's age. In a matter of minutes, she'd herded everyone but Ben and Aaron downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Coffee, Clarissa," Jenny said to the stout woman already there. Then the madam was gone again, taking the sobbing, half-dressed girl with her.

Diana accepted a cup of the hot, strong brew and studied Clarissa over its rim while Annie took Joseph off to the washroom in the adjoining ell to tend to his minor cuts and sc.r.a.pes. The cook? Another prost.i.tute? Both? "Does Dr. Northcote come here often?" she asked.

Clarissa's amused smile did not rea.s.sure Diana in the least. "Seen a lot of him over the years."

Trying not to stare, Diana studied the woman's profile. She had the oddest feeling that she'd met Clarissa before. Now past her prime, Clarissa must once have had a buxom sort of beauty. Suddenly Diana's impression of familiarity jelled. She had seen that face before, or rather a younger version of it. Clarissa had posed for one of Aaron Northcote's paintings.

"You know Aaron, too," she said as Jenny returned to the kitchen. "Will you tell me -- "

Jenny cut her off in mid-question. "We don't discuss our gentlemen callers here. Not ever."

Annie reappeared, with Joseph behind her, just in time to hear this exchange. Indignant, she marched right up to the madam and stared her down. "That gentleman caller is mad as a March hare and ought to be locked up before he kills somebody."

"What are you talking about, Annie?" Diana demanded.

"Mr. Aaron's a madman. Everyone knows it."

"Sometimes he hears voices that ain't there," Clarissa said matter-of-factly. "They tell him to do things."

"Lord help us!" Annie gave a squeal. "He's possessed!"

"He's sick." As Diana stressed the word, she felt her stomach clench. She'd seen for herself that Aaron not only heard voices but answered them.

What Ben had told her in New York came back to her with haunting poignancy. Those who heard voices, he'd said, were locked up, kept away from all contact with sanity. That, he'd claimed, was the real path to madness, and he'd argued that physicians must search for a better solution, even for those individuals too deranged to be let loose on an unsuspecting community.

"He's dangerous," Annie insisted. "Why else would Dr. Northcote have Joseph watching him?"

"Is that your job, Joseph?" Diana asked the young man. He was a tall, lean, well-muscled fellow with a shock of yellow hair.

"Mostly, mum. At least since Mr. Aaron came back from Philadelphia."

"Don't you mean New York?"

"No, mum. That was later. It was last fall that Mr. Aaron followed his brother to Philadelphia. He got away from me twice after that, too, while Dr. Northcote was away. Gives his old mother fits, he does, him always flitting off somewhere on his own. But it wasn't till he jumped me and tied me up so he could go meet you at the Bangor House that Dr. Northcote insisted on keeping the gate locked."

Diana's heart sank. Something else Ben had kept from her. Aaron had not only been in New York, but Philadelphia, too. Where else? "Was he missing in January?"

"Yes, mum. Don't know where he got to that time. Dr. Northcote never saw him."

"He was in San Francisco," Diana said.

"He never was!" Everyone turned to look at Clarissa.

"How can you be so sure of that?" Diana asked.

Looking as if she regretted the outburst, Clarissa refused to meet Diana's eyes. "Don't like to say how I know, but you take my word for it -- Aaron Northcote weren't nowhere near San Francisco anytime in January."

A confused and uneasy silence settled over them all. Before it could be broken, they were joined by the girl from the upstairs room, her tears dried and her lush curves hidden by a loose pink wrapper. "I was wanting a cup of tea," she said in a shy whisper.

"Dr. Northcote needs your help, Joseph." Jenny announced as she followed the young woman into the kitchen. "He's sedated Mr. Aaron and is ready to load him into the wagon." She gave Diana a pointed look. "You'll want to be leaving too, ma'am, if you value your reputation."

Diana and Annie were back in the buggy in time to watch Ben settle his brother in the back of the buckboard, then return to the front door where Jenny stood waiting and pa.s.s over a handful of bills. As nonchalantly as if she were in her own bedroom, the madam pulled up her skirt and added the money to the sizeable roll already tucked into her garter.

"Take us home, Ernest," Diana ordered.

Once there, she built up the fire in the front parlor and settled in to wait. It was nearly dawn before she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. With equal parts reluctance and impatience, Diana waylaid Ben at the foot of the stairs. "How is Aaron?"

"I don't know." The agonized expression in his eyes and the defeated slump to his broad shoulders told their own story.

Diana's heart went out to him. "Please, Ben. Talk to me. I want to understand."

"So you can write about it?"

"That was uncalled for. Besides, there was a time when you wanted the plight of the insane publicized."

He stared at her long and hard before he spoke. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's not you I'm angry with but all the so-called experts." He sagged against the carved newel post. "Not one of them understands exactly what it is that causes a person to hear voices, or prevents him from knowing right from wrong. Most doctors simply lock troubled patients away and abandon all hope of a cure."

Diana moved closer in the dimly-lit hallway. They were not quite touching, but their images shared the frame in the mirror that hung at the foot of the staircase. "Most doctors, but not you."

"I don't know what to do for him either. Nothing I've tried yet has helped." His fists clenched at his sides. "But I wouldn't commit an animal to any insane hospital, let alone my own brother. The one here in Maine has 578 patients. There are three physicians to care for them. They desperately need a fourth, and a new building to ease overcrowding, but above all they need to do more than confine victims. You've seen Aaron's paintings, Diana. No matter what anyone thinks of the subject matter, he's a talented artist. Can you imagine what being locked up in an inst.i.tution would do to him?"

"So you try to keep him a prisoner in his own home."

Watching his face as intently as she was, Diana saw Ben's torment clearly. "It isn't always necessary. There are long periods when he's as normal as anyone ... any creative artist, anyway." He managed a faint smile. "And even when he's been listening to those d.a.m.ned voices, he's rarely out of control. If he hadn't gotten drunk and decided he had to explain to his last model what her shortcomings were, there'd have been no trouble." He dragged his hands over a face pale with worry. "I shouldn't have brought you here, Diana."

She thought of the crying girl. "You think he's a threat to me?"

"No. He's not a danger to anyone. Not really."

But she could see he was no longer certain of it. "You've wondered if he was the one who attacked me in New York."

"I ... I've wondered, yes. It doesn't seem likely, and yet...."

She waited, hoping he'd confide in her. She couldn't help him if he didn't trust her with his fears.

"There is a chance my brother was the man in the alley. He might still have been in New York Sat.u.r.day night, even though I put him on a train north on Friday afternoon."

"Have you asked him if he left New York?"

"He says he can't remember. Then he babbles about his voices and says he just does as they command." Ben hesitated, then added, "He was in Philadelphia when that woman was murdered."

She heard the torment in his voice, but she knew something he did not. "Aaron wasn't in San Francisco when the other woman died."

"How can you possibly know that?"

She told him what Clarissa had said.

"The word of a wh.o.r.e?"

"She had no reason to lie. I don't believe Aaron is a murderer, Ben, or that he's any threat to me." She managed a crooked smile. "Not even you can think of a way he could have been stranded on the train with us and contrived to push me off."

"I should not have brought you here," he said again.

She glared at him, wondering why he had, especially since he'd avoided her once she'd moved into his house. After all, she was not some simpering virgin whose virtue had to be guarded. She was a widow. She'd expected him to visit her bedroom, at least to talk. She'd not have been averse to more. She opened her mouth to demand answers, then closed it again. Ben was swaying with exhaustion. This was not the time to take him to task for behaving like a gentleman towards a guest in his home.

"You need sleep."

He blinked and managed to focus on her face. "So do you."

He'd handled things badly, Ben thought for the hundredth time as he sat by the window in his bedroom and watched dawn break. He hadn't slept.

What if it turned out that Aaron had killed those women? What if he'd killed others? What if he tried again? What if he tried to kill Diana?

Ben had been the one who'd prevented the authorities from locking his brother away. He'd been certain he knew the worst that Aaron was capable of when he was not in his right mind. But what if he was wrong?

Too restless to stay still, he began to pace. He needed sleep, but there was no sense in lying down. His racing mind would keep him awake.

When Diana had believed he had a darker side to his personality, a side which wrote horror stories, she'd s.h.i.+ed away from him. Ben found it far too easy to imagine her disgust if she learned the terrible secret he was still keeping from her.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, despair adding to his burdens. The truth haunted him every time he looked into his brother's eyes, but he could not share it with anyone, not even Diana. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And if it turned out that Aaron was a murderer, he could not expect her to forgive him.

It was late morning before Diana woke. No one was in the breakfast room. She a.s.sumed Maggie was writing and Ben had gone to his office. With a sigh, she picked up the newspaper.

She'd just turned to the ads, noting that oranges all the way from Florida were available at Thompson and Kellogg's in West Market Square, when Ben appeared in the doorway. From his haggard look, he'd slept as badly as she had. Or perhaps he had not slept at all.

"Do you still want to go into town?"

She forced a smile. "I'd like to send a wire to Horatio Foxe before he decides I've been kidnapped."

As he served himself ham from the sideboard, she could not help noticing that he seemed bigger. Bulkier. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"I have a pair of chamois skin drawers under my trousers for extra protection from the cold. When I got up, I planned to walk to my office. I keep a sleigh in town. That will leave the buggy for you. To take you to a hotel. Or to the train station." He kept his back to her. "I don't want you to go, but -- "

"I'm not going anywhere. Not yet." Bad as the night had been, this was a new day. With the sunrise, Diana's natural optimism had returned. She'd fallen in love with this man and she believed he loved her in return. There had to be a way to find happiness together.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. He brought his plate to the table and began to eat. She sipped her coffee and thought about a dozen things at once. No topic seemed safe to broach.

"How is Aaron this morning?"

"Chipper." Ben's clipped reply discouraged discussion but Diana persisted.

"Back to himself, you mean?"

"Whatever that is, yes."

"Well enough for you to leave his side, obviously." There was a hint of asperity in her tone, too.

"I do have other patients. A good many of them seem to have put off seeing a doctor until I returned from my travels."

"I've noticed how busy you've been."

He paused in the act of slicing ham to give her a sharp look. "Did you think I was avoiding you?"

"The idea occurred to me, but I dismissed it. Right now I suspect you're baiting me, hoping I'll give up and go away. I don't intend to. Not until I can send my piece on Damon Bathory to Horatio Foxe."

She knew at once that had been the wrong thing to say. Ben's face closed up, s.h.i.+elding his thoughts. He put down his coffee cup with a thump and stood.

"I need to get to the office."

"I'll go with you. Who knows? Perhaps I can be of some help to you."

His laugh was deliberately rude. "I doubt you're cut out to be a nurse, Diana. Medicine is not a pretty profession, and when I have to go out to see patients, it's no pleasant sleigh ride."

"I'll have you know that one of my distant ancestors, back in England in the 16th century, was a healer as well as a famous herbalist. She wrote a book to warn housewives which plants could be poisonous if eaten."

"Herbalist? Or witch?" The sardonic tone was back, the one she'd heard him use in New York. "Perhaps she knew the Blood Countess," he added. "Elizabeth Bathory lived in the 16th century, too."

"Not unless your famous ancestor visited England. And the proper term for an herbalist who also heals is cunning woman."

"Ah. Well, you are that, Diana."

Apparently resigned to her company, Ben waited while Diana got her coat, then escorted her to what he called "the doctor's wagon," a four-wheeled buggy painted black with green trim and silver markings. It had a folding top that offered some small protection from the biting cold. In the back a special compartment held medical supplies, with room for Ben's brown leather satchel.

"You carry that doctor's bag everywhere," Diana remarked. "What's inside?"

"Splints and forceps, rolls of homemade bandages, a large piece of rubber sheeting, and a pair of white muslin obstetrical pants to use during deliveries, among other things."

"Who wears the pants," she asked, "the doctor or the patient?"

He laughed, as she'd hoped he would, and relaxed a little. "The mother-to-be."

"And what's in this box?" She indicated a black case in the back.

"See for yourself." He flipped it open, revealing rows of small, corked bottles, all carefully labeled. They contained medications as diverse as quinine and ipecac, digitalis and spirits of ammonia, ground cannabis sativa and calomel.

Diana picked one at random. "What is betony used for?"

"It is a popular cure-all." He clucked to the horse. "It's even said to cure insanity if boiled in a quart of strong ale and drunk."

His words came out as huge white puffs, quick-frozen in the frigid air. Diana s.h.i.+vered and tugged the fur collar of her coat up to s.h.i.+eld her cold cheeks. For once even Ben wore a hat -- a fur cap with earflaps -- together with a heavy wolfskin coat and fleece-lined gloves.