the frozen mask of her face. Something even the skilled fingers of the mortician couldn’t eliminate. Something dark and terrifying that I wanted no part of.
“Please,” I whispered to the woman on my arm. “Let me by.” She stared blankly. “I’m not feeling well.” By now, I was desperate. “I need air.” Had Ellen’s eyes flickered or was it a trick of the candles? The room swayed. There was a whisper of cloth sliding against polished wood. A hand gripped my shoulder. Then the floor rushed up to meet my head, and everything went black.
***
Cool sheets, smooth from wear and washing, soothed the back of my neck. Strands of hair released from the French twist I had worn to the funeral lay splayed across the pillow under my cheek. Quiet, careful voices whispered just out of hearing. I felt weak. My eyelids were heavy, too heavy to lift.
“Are there any medical problems that you know of?” A stranger’s voice asked the question as firm, competent hands checked my pulse.
“None that Lady Maxwell ever mentioned.” I’d heard that voice somewhere before. “I’ll check the file.” The door opened and closed.
“What about you?” the first voice asked someone else. “Have you any information that might help me?”
“For Christ’s sake, John,” an exasperated voice answered. “I’m not involved in this. Why would I have any knowledge of Christina Murray’s medical history? She fainted in church. That’s all there is to it. Maybe she forgot to eat breakfast. Or maybe she doesn’t like looking at dead people.”
I couldn’t help smiling. There was no doubt as to whom that voice belonged to.
“Take it easy, Ian. I’m only an overworked physician trying to get some answers. If you don’t know the woman, that’s all you need to say. I believe I know what her problem is anyway.”
“I didn’t mean that I don’t know her,” a more subdued Ian corrected him. “We just never got around to discussing whether or not she had a medical condition.”
“I can imagine.” The doctor chuckled.
I decided that this man was worth seeing. With enormous effort I opened my eyes and focused on the scene at the foot of my bed.
“What do you mean by that?” Ian demanded. He was leaning against the mantel, his arms folded forbiddingly against his chest.
A slender man with prematurely gray hair pulled something out of his bag. It was a syringe. “Come now, Ian,” he said. “A woman who looks like that, the right age, with the right background. If it weren’t for the conference in Edinburgh, I would have met her plane myself.”
Ian braced himself on the desktop. “I hadn’t realized you were taking notes, John. Just exactly what is it about her background that appeals to you?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been listening to Ellen for all these years?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” Ian replied. “Other than the fact that Christina is from Boston, university educated, and stands to inherit Traquair, I know next to nothing about her.” He eyed the needle suspiciously. “What is that you’re giving her?”
“Insulin. She’s very pale, and her skin is cold and clammy. The blue around her lips indicates diabetes.”
Thank God he had figured it out, and I didn’t have to say anything. I doubted that I could have anyway. Seconds later I felt the reassuring sting of the needle in my left thigh. Almost immediately I felt my body normalize. When I spoke, my voice was surprisingly strong. “Thank you, Doctor. Your diagnosis was correct. I’m a diabetic.”
Showing remarkable calm at my unexpectedly conscious condition, he asked, “Do you have medication with you, Miss Murray?”
“Yes, it’s in the closet, inside a cooler.”
“You gave us quite a scare, young lady. I presume you have a good explanation for not having anything with you that identifies your condition?”
I rearranged the pillows behind my head and sat up. “I had an insulin injection before breakfast. Something else must have triggered my reaction.” I smiled at him, and the worried look around his eyes eased. He was a good-looking man, about Ian’s age, with spaniel-like brown eyes and a friendly face. I decided to ask the question that had been hovering on my lips ever since I’d regained consciousness. “You never answered Ian’s question, Doctor. What exactly do you know about my background?”
I had no mercy despite the red tide sweeping across his face.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Murray.” The man was truly beside himself. “It was unpardonable of me to exchange idle gossip over a patient this way.”