It Happened in the Highlands(12)

At dinner, she sat between Dr. McKendry and the vicar of the village kirk, the younger brother of the Squire.

The two men and the Squire engaged in witty banter all through the meal,  ridiculing each other's ability to hit a golf ball or deliver a sermon  or fix a hangnail. Even as she listened to the men and to Mrs.  McKendry's efforts to shush them, Jo often felt the weight of Captain  Melfort's gaze upon her. At the far end of the table, he was speaking  with Mr. Cameron, the Abbey's bookkeeper. Wynne's son, Cuffe, was not  present at dinner, but from the snatches of conversation that she could  hear, much of the talk between the two men pertained to the boy.

"You came back early," Anna remarked. "No social doings after dinner?"

"Mrs. McKendry and I were the only females present. As soon as we left  the dining room, I made my excuses and retired," Jo explained. "We had a  long day on the road, and I'd like to be up early tomorrow. The doctor  told me Mr. Barton is generally at his most alert and active first thing  in the morning."

She'd spent more than two hours this afternoon in the ward at the older  man's bedside. She'd spoken to him. Held his hand. But there was no  other communication with the exception of an occasional glance in her  direction. It was as if he knew she was there and was comforted by it,  but couldn't sort out whatever it was in his muddled mind.

The mystery of their connection perplexed her. Now that she'd met him  and seen his initial reaction to her, she had no doubt the answers to  her mother's past would be found here with this man and his family.                       
       
           



       

She intended to accept the McKendrys' hospitality for only one night,  but she already knew it would be terribly difficult for her to walk away  now. Even before going down to dinner, she'd been considering the  possibility of taking a room at the village inn for a few more nights.  She could easily come up to the Abbey each day and visit with the  patient. She'd simply send a letter off to Gregory and Freya, explaining  that she'd be delayed in arriving. With her family knowing her  whereabouts and that she was safe, she could stay the extra time.

Wynne edged into her thoughts. Sailing men were supposed to grow  wrinkled and old from the ocean's winds and the sun, but not him. His  face was etched with the lines of responsibility, but his eyes were  still bright and alert. Though he didn't smile easily, when he did, the  room brightened. Dressed for dinner in his navy-blue coat and  cream-colored silk waistcoat, he appeared taller, broader across the  shoulders than she remembered. And he had a manner of holding himself, a  confidence in the way he spoke, that reflected years of command.

She pushed his image from her mind, focusing instead on the sounds of  birds drifting in from the darkness outside her open window. Two sedge  warblers were calling and answering, but grew suddenly silent at the  hoot of a distant owl.

Jo wasn't about to tell her maid, but Wynne was another reason she  needed to escape after dinner. To sit around the same table was one  thing, but to socialize in a drawing room and carry on casual  conversation was quite another. And she never imagined her reaction to  him would be so strong. Staying at the Abbey, even for one night, was  difficult enough. The apartment where Jo was situated was on the floor  above the patients' ward and adjacent to the rooms Wynne and his son  occupied. He was too close.

Jo's brother Hugh assumed she was ignorant of what the family had been  doing for years, but she was well aware that he and the rest of them had  cast a protective circle around her. All Melforts were kept out,  excluded from interaction with the Penningtons, even when Wynne's older  brother and his wife acquired an estate near Baronsford.

Her gaze lingered on the bedroom wall separating her apartment from his.  A soft breeze wafted in, carrying with it the scent of cigar smoke and  gorse and pine. The warblers started up again, and a nightingale joined  them. She would make no mention of Captain Melfort in any letters to her  family.

"I'll say this for them. They have a household staff here that is nearly  that of Baronsford's," Anna continued on. "Though not the tradition of  family we have, of course. I'd wager there's not a second generation of  servant folk here. And don't you know that many of the menfolk are  sailors, m'lady?"

"I didn't know that," Jo replied.

"They're always looking for more help too, I'm told. I'll need to make  mention of it to my Aberdeen cousins the next time I wri-"

A sharp crash and a furious roar from the ward below silenced the maid.

The two of them sat frozen, listening to more shouts and cries for help.  Jo's head turned to the window as she heard footsteps running toward  the house. The second crash of a heavy object brought Jo to her feet and  scrambling to pull on and belt her robe. She rushed toward the door.

"You can't go out there, m'lady."

"Stay here in the room, Anna. I'll be right back."

"But this is an asylum!" the servant cried out. "There could be madmen or killers on the loose!"

"Stay here," Jo repeated, going into the hall and closing the door firmly behind her.

The hallway was dark. A door slammed. The shouting was now accompanied  by wails. More shouts from a distant part of the house, and running  footsteps. Quickly, she made her way to the stairwell and started down.

Responding to the occasional crisis was a necessity at the Tower House.  Jo wasn't reckless. She knew whatever was happening in the ward wasn't  her concern. Still, having met Charles Barton, she couldn't remain in  her room and not worry.

When she reached a landing at a turn of the stairs, she startled a  small, thin figure hiding by the railing and listening to the confusion  below. With a cry, the boy stepped back and Jo reached out, catching his  arm before he went backwards down the steps.                       
       
           



       

"I didn't mean to!" he burst out in panic. "I . . . I didn't know he would hurt him."

Jo recognized Wynne's son. He'd shed the russet-hued jacket he'd been  wearing earlier. He was shaking, and his head turned at the sound of the  continuing commotion downstairs.

"What happened, Cuffe?" she asked quietly, releasing him. "Has someone been hurt?"

The boy spun away and rushed past her up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness above.

He'd done something wrong, something that brought on this chaos. And he  was sorry for his part in it. She kept to the wall and slowly descended.

Three men were standing by the door into the ward. One was carrying a  candle. Even with his back to her, Jo could see it was Wynne. Loud  shouts and sounds of objects being thrown about could be heard coming  through the thick door.

"Stevenson was secured for the night, Captain, sure as I'm standing  here," one of the men hurriedly explained. "I watched the lads fasten  the straps myself, same as always. We all know how difficult that one  can be."

Jo went down another step.

"Aye, Captain," the other man said. "Two years we've had him here, and everyone knows he's the one needs watching most."

"I came out here after checking on everyone," the first man continued,  raking a hand through his hair. "That was not an hour ago. They was all  sleeping. I sat at my post here like I always do, night after night.  Maybe I shut my eye a wink, but I was right here."

"And Stevenson's tam," the other jumped in. "What do ye make of that?  How do ye think the other one got it? He never stirs once he's abed, and  we all know to leave it be."

Wynne was asking no questions as the men went back and forth in their  explanations. Jo looked again to the door. The noises coming from the  ward were subsiding.

"I'm thinking this was no accident, Captain. Someone was causing mischief in there."

"Maybe the rogue slipped past me. Or more likely came in through a window."

"I'm thinking they wanted Stevenson to go after Barton."

Jo didn't think she made a noise, but she must have. Wynne's head snapped around and he peered in her direction.

"Who's there?" he demanded, holding the candle up and coming toward the stairs.

Knowing it would be foolish to run away, she stayed where she was. She  clutched the front of the robe, closing it tightly against her pounding  chest.

Please, she prayed silently. Don't let Mr. Barton be hurt.

Wynne's face softened with recognition. "You shouldn't be down here."

"Is he hurt? Mr. Barton?" she asked, unable to keep the trembling edge out of her tone. She had to know.

"He'll have some bruises, I expect. The doctor is seeing to his arm  right now to make sure he hasn't broken a bone. But considering  everything, he's doing well."