The Dark Between Part 2

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Boston." He stepped past her and gestured to the porter, who now stood just inside the gate. "I'm here to see Mr. Thompson as well. My name is Asher Beale. I'm the son of Mr. Thompson's colleague, Professor Harold Beale." He held out his hand.

The porter ignored the proffered hand, but respect softened his tone. "You can call me Jones, sir. As I was just telling the child"-he scowled at Kate-"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson are not in college at the moment. Best leave your card and call again tomorrow."

Kate drew nearer to the young man, taking cover in his shadow. "I can't leave and come back tomorrow. I've no place else to go, and I'm not spending another night sleeping on a cold floor with a pack of smelly boys." She swallowed hard against the panic bubbling in her throat. "It's Thompson's fault, and he's the one who should remedy this state of affairs."

The porter mouthed the word remedy in apparent wonderment-clearly he hadn't expected a rough girl to speak so well. Kate glanced at Asher Beale, noting that he also considered her with more interest.

"I'm happy to leave my card, Jones," he said. "But I do hope you would be so kind as to find someone to attend to Miss, er ..." He looked to Kate for help.

"Poole," she offered gratefully. "Miss Kate Poole."

"Thank you." He turned back to the porter. "Miss Poole clearly is not a vagrant and seems to be in some distress. It would be very gentlemanly of you to find someone who could speak with her."

Jones scratched his head. "This ain't exactly regular." He looked behind him and seemed to relent. "Young Miss Atherton-that's Mr. Thompson's niece-was wandering about the garden a short while ago." He stepped toward the green lawn beyond the archway. "I do believe I still see her," he said over his shoulder. "If you don't mind waiting a moment, I'll fetch her, though I can't say she'll have anything to do with either of you."

"Thank you, Jones." Once the man was out of hearing, Asher Beale turned to Kate. "Well, that's taken care of-it just took a gentleman to help him see sense."

She bristled at this boast. "I hope you're not expecting any favors in return."

"What do you mean?"

She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

The young man's cheeks flamed. "I was only trying to help."

"Believe me, I had matters in hand," she said, pleased by his discomfort. "So don't expect me to swoon at your gentlemanly interventions."

Chapter 3.

Asher stared at the girl. This was his reward for arriving at Summerfield as directed? To be insulted by a waif in pigtails and a crooked hat? Her dress looked as though she'd outgrown it more than a year ago, but he'd politely overlooked that. In fact, he'd been downright chivalrous, and she'd repaid his kindness by accusing him of improper expectations.

"As I see it, you did not have matters in hand," he told her. "And I have better things to do than stand here and endure your insults." He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for his card case. "If you'll just pa.s.s my card along to Jones, I'll be on my way."

She stared at the card without taking it. Of course, she'd probably never seen a gentleman's calling card in her life. Her nose wrinkled. Then she looked beyond him, through the gate.

"No need," she said. "The porter's coming, and he's got the girl with him."

Asher turned back to the archway. A young lady in a blue silk dress walked toward them, golden hair loose and falling down her back. It took some effort not to gape. She was a stunner, to be sure, but with a solemnity that brought to mind paintings of martyred saints and Madonnas. In her hands she held a curious brown box. A cross or crown he could imagine, but a camera? Too modern and peculiar for such a girl.

She smiled warmly, her eyes brightening at the sight of them. "I am Elsie Atherton. Jones said you were both very keen to see my uncle. He should be returning soon. In the meantime, would you join me in the garden?" She gestured toward the green s.p.a.ce on the other side of the tunnel. "It would be my pleasure to show you the college."

The girl's voice was as lovely as her face. Soft and mellow, unlike that of the young harpy who walked next to him. Asher followed her away from the porter and into the college garden, where she paused by a tree to wave her hand at their surroundings. "Lovely, isn't it? Everything so new and the paint still fresh. Not at all the prison I feared." Her chin lowered. "The men's colleges are like mausoleums by comparison. Why, Summerfield Hall-the oldest building in the college-has stood here little more than twenty years. And the one we just came through? Built only eight years ago and recently fitted for electricity."

"It's very grand," Asher said, craning his neck to study the tower.

"Have you lived here long?" Kate asked.

"Oh no, I arrived only yesterday," Miss Atherton continued. "This is my first opportunity to explore the grounds. I meant to photograph the architecture, but ..." She paused as a slow smile spread over her face. "Now I can practice my portrait work, if you don't object." Without waiting for a reply, she pointed away from the buildings. "Let's go this way."

Asher dragged his eyes away from Miss Atherton to survey the college garden, a meadow of tall gra.s.s dotted with trees and crisscrossed by dirt paths. Miss Atherton led them through an orchard of young fruit trees, plucking at the branches in a leisurely fas.h.i.+on. She stopped short when they encountered a structure at the end of the path-one designed in the same style and with the same brick as the other college buildings, but much smaller.

"A baby sister to the others," she breathed. "I wonder how it's used? I simply must take a photograph here." She gestured to him. "Mr. Beale, isn't it? Jones tells me you've come from America. Would you set your bag down and stand by the door, please? And you, Miss Poole-you must stand next to him."

Kate's face broke into a wide grin, and Asher felt his own mouth curving in response to her obvious delight. He doubted she'd ever had her photograph taken before. His heart softened toward her ... just a bit.

Miss Atherton proceeded to open her portable camera and pull it wider, elongating it like a bellows and snapping it into place. She then held the camera at her waist, pointing the lens at them.

"Hold still," she said, her chin down as she looked through a square hole at the top of the camera. "Look straight ahead. And do try to smile. I can't abide a photograph full of grim faces."

Despite Miss Atherton's suggestion, Kate stood rigid next to him, nerves turning her smile to a grimace. Asher faced the camera, trying to smile more casually, but before he'd arranged his features the shutter clicked. With a sigh of satisfaction, Miss Atherton folded the lens back into the box once more.

"Now let's take a peek inside the building." She rattled the doork.n.o.b for a moment before turning away with a pout. "It's locked. I wonder what they keep in there-all the treasures of the college?"

"Probably just a storage shed," Asher said. "Maybe they've locked the tools away lest the young ladies stumble upon them and hurt themselves."

Kate glared. "You must think young ladies have mashed peas for brains."

He opened his mouth, but a cutting retort would not come. The girl wouldn't have acknowledged it anyway, for she had s.h.i.+fted her gaze and was staring intently at Miss Atherton.

Asher turned to find the young lady in distress, her eyes closing tightly as she leaned against the door to steady herself. The camera tumbled from her hand and landed in the gra.s.s.

"No," Miss Atherton moaned. "Not now, not now!"

Kate clutched at the girl's hand. "Are you ill, miss?"

"I need my medicine," Miss Atherton said. "I've been a fool and left it behind."

"Where is your medicine?" Asher stepped forward and took her other hand. "We'll get it at once."

Her eyes widened. "Don't leave me!"

He took her by the shoulders, pulling her hand from Kate's grasp. "I won't leave you. Where is your medicine?"

Miss Atherton pressed fingers to her temple. "It's in my quilted bag," she gasped. "Jones will show you my room."

Asher turned to Kate. "Did you hear that? Go back to the porter and find her bag."

Kate stared at him, eyes wide with alarm.

"Miss Poole," he said more gently. "Please be as quick as you can."

The girl broke into a run toward the building just as Miss Atherton collapsed in his arms.

Asher had little regard for young ladies, having yet to encounter one who wasn't a hardened schemer, but a curious feeling of tenderness settled over him as he carried Elsie Atherton toward the college buildings. With her head resting against his chest, all that mattered was to have her peaceful and smiling again.

He set her down in the shade of an oak tree and sat next to her, cradling her head in his lap. His hands trembled as he smoothed the hair out of her eyes.

Soon enough Kate came barreling through the arch, her face sharp with anxiety, followed by a much slower Jones. Bag in hand, she threw herself to the ground next to Asher and rifled through Miss Atherton's possessions. She pulled out a bottle of brown gla.s.s and peered at the crisp white label. "Good G.o.d. It's Chlorodyne."

Asher did not recognize the name, but the girl's frown gave him pause. "Is it the only medicine in the bag?"

She poked through again. "Yes."

"Then open it and pour some in her mouth. I'll hold her."

Cradling Miss Atherton's head with one hand, he gently grasped her jaw with the other and pulled her mouth open. Kate leaned in and poured a thin stream of the liquid down her throat. Miss Atherton swallowed and coughed.

Asher turned to Kate. "Is that enough?"

Her face was solemn. "I know this medicine. You don't want to give her too much. Wait a minute and see how she does."

"Is everything all right?" Jones stood behind Kate, hunched over and wringing his hands.

Asher considered Miss Atherton. She no longer trembled, and her clenched jaw had softened. As her body relaxed, her breathing deepened into a steady rhythm.

"I think she's falling asleep," he whispered.

Kate sat back on the gra.s.s and sighed. Then she pushed the stopper into the medicine bottle and returned it to Miss Atherton's bag.

Asher nodded toward the bag. "What do you know about Chlorodyne?"

"My own mum used to take it. So much that she couldn't live without it."

"Did it help her?"

She frowned. "She's been dead for two years."

He hardly knew what to say. The girl was such an odd little creature-angry one moment and cringing like a wounded puppy the next. She unsettled him. It would be a relief to see the back of her.

"Oh dear," murmured Jones. "Here comes Mrs. Thompson."

Asher looked up to see a tall, thin woman in black gliding toward them. Her narrow face was grim as she knelt next to him.

"Did she have an attack?"

"She clutched her head as though it pained her, and then she began to shake," Asher said. "But she calmed down once she'd swallowed her medicine. She seems quite peaceful now."

Mrs. Thompson let her fingers rest on the girl's neck, feeling the pulse. Then she stroked the pale cheek before turning to him. "Whom do I thank for attending to her?"

"I am Asher Beale, ma'am. My father is Harold Beale."

Her stricken face broke into a smile. "Harold's son! How wonderful to meet you, even under such circ.u.mstances. Look, here's Oliver-he'll be so pleased."

A grey-haired man, stooped and frail, shuffled toward them with the aid of a cane. He did not kneel. "What's happened, my dear? Is she breathing?" His own breath came in gasps, and to Asher it seemed that even his long beard quivered.

Mrs. Thompson rose to her feet. "She had an attack, but her medicine brought it to a halt. She's resting now." She met Asher's gaze. "It's something akin to epilepsy, as far as we can tell. We must make her more comfortable. Would it be too much to ask you to carry her?"

"Of course not," Asher said, s.h.i.+fting to his knees so he could gather her up. Miss Atherton slumped against his chest, breathing softly through her open mouth.

"I must speak to Mr. Thompson, please."

Asher turned to Kate, having forgotten for the moment that she was there. The girl's voice was a little too loud and had a nervous edge to it-clearly she was peeved at being overlooked.

Mrs. Thompson's expression hardened. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Kate Poole." The girl lifted her chin. "I've come to speak with Mr. Thompson about my lost situation."

Mr. Thompson's mouth opened, but he did not speak. He looked to his wife instead.

"And what would your lost situation have to do with my husband?"

"He's the cause of it, ma'am."

Asher expected Mr. Thompson to order the girl off the premises, for she was making a spectacle of impertinence in this moment of crisis. Instead the man merely stared at her.

"What can you mean?" Mr. Thompson finally asked, a catch to his voice.

"If you're a true gentleman, you'll hear what I have to say." The girl took a breath and stood a little straighter. "Especially since it pertains to your friend Frederic Stanton."

The man's jaw dropped, but he said nothing.

"Oliver?" His wife laid her hand on his arm.

"Well ... I ..."

Asher s.h.i.+fted uneasily, his shoulders aching. Mr. Thompson couldn't seem to start a proper sentence, let alone finish it, and Kate merely stared back at him. If they didn't move soon, the girl might slide through his arms.

He cleared his throat. "Shall I carry your niece inside, sir?"

Mr. Thompson turned to him and seemed to collect himself. "If you would be so kind, yes. I would be more than happy to speak to Miss Poole in my study ... once we get Elsie settled. Helena, will you lead the way?"

Relieved, Asher held Miss Atherton's body close as Mrs. Thompson guided them all toward the grand arch of the tower.

Chapter 4.