With Every Breath (31 page)

“Thank heaven for small favors,” the elder McDonough said.

Trevor snapped. “There’s the door. I’m unable to attend your wedding, so please show yourself out.”

“No need to be hasty—”

“This clinic is full of working-class people who have dirt under their nails and who grew up in boardinghouses and tenements and crofters’ huts. We have no interest in high-society weddings or business propositions.”

Nurse Ackerman stopped her filing, and the patients gathered nearby set down their playing cards. Everyone held their breath while Mr. McDonough raised his chin, smiling faintly down at Trevor.

“On Saturday morning I’ll be marrying Miss Fannie Bates of Nutter Hollow, West Virginia. Her father was a hog farmer until he found a very clever means of making soap that softens the skin and smells like roses. Women all over the world are clamoring to get their hands on it. Virgil Bates is one of the finest men I’ve ever met. One of the cleverest too, if I take my son out of the equation, so I’m not quite the snob you assume I am. And, Trevor, you really
do
want to hear the business proposition I have on the table.”

Kate watched in fascination. The two men were so close in appearance they could be twins were it not for the silver strands in the older man’s hair. Their eyes were locked in a battle to see who would falter first.

Trevor did. A bit of the ice thawed, and he unclenched his fingers. “My office,” Trevor said bluntly and then stalked back to the room, his father trailing close behind.

The door slammed, and those there in the clinic stared at the closed door. Kate wanted to dash inside and fling herself in front of Trevor to protect him from a man who had no business polluting their clinic with whatever schemes he had up his sleeve. Instead, she whirled to the people who were staring at Trevor’s door.

“Go back to your card game,” she said nervously, then tiptoed toward Trevor’s office. Tick was at his post and looked at her with a quizzical expression, but she ignored him as she pressed her ear to the door. Trevor’s father was speaking.

“. . . a backwater compared to Edinburgh. You can be the director of the most prestigious medical center in all of Europe.
You’ll do far better than operating a clinic on the fifth floor of a city hospital.”

Kate froze. The medical centers in Edinburgh were so exalted, even she had heard of them, and Trevor did seem to put a lot of stock into such things. Would he leave? Never had she imagined he could be tempted away from his work here.

Trevor mumbled a reply she couldn’t hear, and then his father started in again.

“You could get away from all this nonsense in the press. I don’t know how you can live in a country where rabble-rousing journalists have access to barrels of ink. That sort of thing won’t happen in Scotland, no matter how unpopular your research.”

And then Trevor’s father moved in with the heavy guns.

“Fannie is a wonderful woman, but there’s no guarantee she will produce a male child. Until she does, I’m prepared to acknowledge you as my heir. I’ve always felt bad about the way things ended before, but the princess, God rest her soul, was old-fashioned about such things. Come back to Scotland, lad. I’m very impressed with your work, and any man would be proud to call you his son.”

Kate’s mouth went dry. There was a long silence, and she pressed her ear closer to the door. She heard Trevor asking after some of the people from back home. The butler. The housekeeper. Yes, they were both still there, and Trevor laughed when his father recounted how the butler persuaded him to buy a newfangled open-carriage motorcar from the Benz company and was learning to drive it around the estate.

Unbelievable! She couldn’t continue to listen to this. She straightened and looked over at Tick, who was pretending to stand at attention but was really watching every move she made. She hurried over to him.

“I can’t believe he’s listening to that snake,” she said in a harsh whisper.

Tick raised a brow. “Maybe his father came to offer an olive branch?”

“More like a poisoned apple.” As quietly as possible, she told him Mr. McDonough’s offer to make Trevor his heir.

Tick didn’t share her sense of outrage. “It doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

That was because Tick didn’t know what happened to Trevor when he was only thirteen and ill equipped to make life-altering decisions. Shaking her head, she took her statistics back to the table, stewing as the conversation behind Trevor’s door continued.

Almost an hour later, Trevor and his father emerged. Both men looked relaxed, and they shook hands before the older man left the clinic, smiling and nodding to the peasants as he strode out the door.

Trevor returned to his office, and she didn’t wait long to pounce.

“Well?” she said, leaning against the doorframe of their office. Trevor sat in his chair, staring out the window with his hands steepled before him.

“He had some interesting offers,” Trevor finally said.

“You’re not entertaining them, are you?”

“I’d have a lot more influence over there.” He swiveled in his chair to look at her. “And there’s nothing holding me in Washington, is there, Kate?”

She looked away, hating that there was a tiny bit of hope in Trevor’s eyes. Would he never give this up? He knew precisely what he needed to do if he wanted her to stay with him.

“I guess not,” she said quietly.

He spun around and returned to his work.

* * * *

Trevor’s trip to Baltimore was going to be difficult. Rose O’Grady was the only patient from the ill-fated mercury study whose family he had yet to interview. Rose’s death had been especially tragic, given the doomed love affair she had in her final months with his former assistant, Andrew Doyle. At the time, Andrew was supposed to leave for medical school at Harvard, but he refused to leave Rose’s bedside during those terrible last few weeks. After her death, Rose’s parents moved several times, which was why it took so long for his investigator to find them. The O’Gradys were kind, hardworking people, and it was difficult to envision them orchestrating this campaign, but he couldn’t afford to overlook them.

“My husband couldn’t take the noise at the cannery,” Mrs. O’Grady said as she filled Trevor’s teacup for a second time. The snug parlor overlooked the harbor, where gulls wheeled and swooped on chilly gusts blowing in from the east. “It wasn’t safe working there with his almost going deaf, so we moved to the other side of town. My father has a tobacco-rolling company here, and George went to work for him.”

George O’Grady sat stiffly in the upholstered armchair before the fireplace, holding a cup of tea but refusing to drink it. Maybe his hearing loss made him reluctant to talk, or perhaps there was a more sinister reason.

Trevor barely knew the O’Gradys, and this conversation was exquisitely awkward. How, precisely, did you ask a pair of strangers if they were trying to destroy your medical career? At least Mrs. O’Grady seemed welcoming enough, showing him a photograph of Rose on her sixteenth birthday. The fresh-faced girl was unrecognizable compared to the emaciated wraith admitted into Trevor’s study in a desperate effort to save her life.

He took another sip of tea. “You have been happy in your new home?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. O’Grady said. “As much as possible, I suppose. Our other daughter, Margaret, married last year and is already expecting our first grandchild. We’re all so happy about it.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Poor, dear Andrew Doyle came to the wedding, and we couldn’t help but wonder what he would have become if not for . . .” Her voice trembled, and she fumbled with her teacup. Setting the cup down, she added, “That boy was like a son to us. He would have made such a fine doctor. Such a shame . . .”

Trevor stiffened. “What do you mean? Has some sort of harm come to him?”

Mrs. O’Grady shifted in her seat. “Well,” she said uneasily, “it’s not as if there’s anything wrong with becoming an undertaker; it just seems a step down from being a doctor.”

“An
undertaker
?” It was inconceivable. He’d visited Andrew only two years ago at Harvard, where he was flying through his classes in medical school. Andrew Doyle working as an undertaker was a colossal waste of talent, like having Michelangelo paint houses.

Mrs. O’Grady nodded. “His poor mother was shattered by it. I spoke with her at the wedding, and she said he couldn’t bring himself to treat patients. Such a tragedy. He spent a fortune going to Harvard, and now he can’t even practice medicine. He had to move in with his mother, and they built the mortuary onto the back of her house. Poor woman. She had to go back to work just to keep their heads above water, although I gather Andrew’s business is doing quite well now.”

Trevor had stopped paying attention. Like Kate, Andrew was too tenderhearted. Of course, it was difficult to begin treating actual people, but that didn’t mean he should abandon medicine to become an undertaker. Trevor would find him and talk some sense into him.

“Where does the mother live?” Trevor asked abruptly.

“Somewhere in northern Virginia, right near the border,” she replied. “She works as a nurse somewhere. Do you remember where, George?”

Mr. O’Grady merely shrugged.

Hard-of-hearing people often responded that way. Trevor crossed the room and spoke in a loud, distinct voice. “Andrew Doyle,” he said. “Do you know where his mother lives?”

George O’Grady cupped his hand behind his ear but still gave a noncommittal shrug.

His wife stood and leaned over her husband. “Where does Andrew Doyle’s mother live?” she shouted. “Dr. Kendall wants to know.”

“She’s at a hospital in Washington,” he shouted back. “Ackerman, that’s her name.”

* * * *

A barrage of unholy thoughts tormented Trevor as he dashed to the train depot. How could he have been so blind to the parasite living in his midst? He never knew of Nurse Ackerman’s connection to Andrew Doyle, but she still wore the two gold wedding rings around her neck, so it made sense that they didn’t share a last name.

During the two-hour train ride back to Washington, Trevor sorted through with clinical precision all that he knew so far. It was Nurse Ackerman who’d spilled the mercury while he and Kate were on the roof. She would have known every scrap of gossip that happened at the clinic, most likely funneling that information to journalists and the hospital superintendent. When Nurse Ackerman suspected what Kate meant to him, she spread her venom further by tormenting Kate with mortuary photographs of his patients and planting evidence at her parents’
boardinghouse. Nurse Ackerman had been poisoning the well all along, and he had never once questioned her.

Was Nurse Ackerman acting alone, or was her son also involved in the scheme? It was hard for Trevor to believe that Andrew had played a part in this. Rose’s death was five years ago, and he and Andrew had met several times in the intervening years. Andrew seemed
fine
. Why would Andrew wait five years to take his revenge?

But Trevor could think of no other way for Nurse Ackerman to get the photographs of his former patients without Andrew’s cooperation. He scrambled, racking his brain for a scenario in which Andrew could be innocent.

It would take some time to determine if Andrew was indeed involved in his mother’s scheme, and that meant Trevor was going to have to walk into the clinic and act as if nothing had changed in his attitude toward Nurse Ackerman. Because the moment she sensed his suspicion, she would begin covering her tracks.

But now that Trevor knew the identity of the person he was battling, he’d have a web spun around Nurse Ackerman before she even knew what was happening.

22

K
ate was a little miffed when Trevor arrived home and abruptly kicked her out of their office. Quite frankly, he’d been acting odd ever since returning from his business yesterday. First, he had asked Dr. Schrader to perform his morning rounds, and now he was locked in a closed-door meeting with Tick in his office.

She had to use the staff table to interview their latest candidate, but thank heavens Mr. Philip Walsh appeared ideally suited to fill her position. With a mathematics degree from the University of Virginia and years of experience at the Naval Hospital, he was an outstanding candidate.

At long last, Trevor and Tick emerged from the office and headed toward the front of the clinic.

Kate stood. “Dr. Kendall, this is Philip Walsh, an applicant for the statistical analyst position. His credentials are excellent. Perhaps you would like to discuss the position with him?”

“That’s what I’m paying you for,” Trevor said. “Please don’t start shirking your responsibilities until you’re no longer employed here.”

So, the charm lessons at her mother’s dining table failed to take root in the frozen tundra surrounding Trevor’s heart. For
heaven’s sake, how was she to convince Mr. Walsh this was a fine opportunity if Trevor kept scowling at their best candidate?

She pasted on her friendliest smile and skirted around the reception counter to say in a fierce whisper, “Please stop barking at our best candidate. I’ve interviewed six men, and Mr. Walsh is the only one who passes all our criteria with flying colors. Try to pretend you can be trusted in polite company.”

Trevor only glared at her. She held her breath as he took a few steps toward the candidate. “Mr. Walsh, I apologize for Kate’s excitable nature. She sometimes forgets her responsibilities in the face of needless anxieties. Women, you know. I assure you, I would welcome a man of common sense who won’t be subject to the overly emotional whims that send some women fleeing for the hills at the first sign of difficulty.”

She stiffened but kept a serene look plastered on her face as she turned to Mr. Walsh, who looked like a rabbit frozen on the field of battle.

“Dr. Kendall could certainly use a man of your sound common sense,” she said calmly. “Sometimes he gets carried away and thinks he can single-handedly save the world. Men, you know.”

Trevor ignored her comment. Turning to Tick, he gestured to a spot at the front of the sitting area. “I think your line of sight from this position will be suitable, don’t you?”