The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,71

you are not one,” Howland said, “I suggest you compose yourself. I would not wish to blacken the reputation of a good Englishman.”

Owens glanced around. So did Linus. A few curious gazes were aimed their way. Lord Featherstone was frowning.

“I see your point,” Owens allowed, tugging at his cravat. “But I promise you, I am no Frenchie.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “However, I believe I may have crossed paths with one in the melee yesterday. He was watching the evacuation from the shadow of the church tower before I caught up with Doctor Bennett here. I, of course, encouraged him to escape with the rest of us. He refused to address me. At the time, his manners appalled me. Now I wonder—would his accent have given him away?”

“Possibly,” Linus allowed. “The men who abducted me refused to speak as well.” He looked to the magistrate.

Howland was watching Owens, as if he could see guilt or innocence emblazoned on his face. “Do you know where this man went?”

Owens nodded. “He walked up the hill and disappeared beyond the spa.”

“The same direction I was carried,” Linus noted.

Owens cleared his throat. “If I may, I was told by another traveler of a public house in that direction, between here and Upper Grace. The fellow seemed to think I might enjoy the less savory company there, though I have no idea why.” He shuddered.

“The Grey Wolf,” Howland put in. “I’ve had more than one complaint about the place.”

“If I were seeking your Frenchmen,” Owens said, “I’d try there. And soon. They must know you’re searching for them. They may already have been rescued by the ship we saw. But if you go, watch how you dress. You will easily mark yourself as a gentleman, and they will be alerted.”

Howland inclined his head. “Thank you for the information, Doctor. We will take it under advisement. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“No harm done,” Owens assured him. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for my native land.”

Howland’s smile was brief and tart. “Doctor Bennett, a word?”

With a nod to Owens, Linus followed him toward the door. “You believe him then,” he said as soon as a potted palm hid them from Owens’s view.

“Not necessarily,” the magistrate said. “But he certainly wants us to visit the Wolf, and I’m inclined to oblige him.”

Linus frowned. “If he is aligned with the French, wouldn’t he be sending you into a trap?”

“Very likely,” he said. “That’s why I’m taking you and Denby with me.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Linus walked slowly home from the spa that evening. Owens had gone out of his way to assure him he was no traitor, alternating between entreaty and righteous indignation. It was very much how another physician might react to such an implication. Yet Linus still had doubts.

And even more doubts about what to tell Abigail.

She would demand to come, and he could not allow it. Even if they discovered nothing nefarious, the very location endangered her reputation. The situation could well endanger her life. And he could not see French spies unburdening themselves to three men and a lady. He’d tried to dissuade Howland from including him.

“If these are the men who abducted me, they’ll know me on sight,” he’d protested as he’d walked the magistrate clear of the spa.

“And if one of them is the man you treated, only you can identify him,” Howland countered.

“Then perhaps we should bring the militia,” Linus reasoned.

Howland had regarded him. “You’ve seen my troop in action. They are improving and acquitted themselves better than I might have expected during the evacuation, but would you trust them on a mission of this delicacy?”

He would not. But he had to trust Abigail or what chance did they have in their marriage?

Her mother met him at the door. “Linus.” Her face puckered. “I may use your given name, may I not? You are going to be my son-in-law.”

“Of course,” Linus told her. “Would it please you to have me call you Mother Archer?”

The pink of her cheeks attested as much. “That would please me very much indeed. And Ethan can call me Nana.”

Some of the weight on his shoulders lifted. He followed her to where his son was packing up his things.

“Another book, I see,” Linus mused with a smile.

“From the vicar. Tales of chivalry.” Ethan glanced up. “That means gentlemen who brave great things.”

“Often in the name of love,” Abigail agreed, coming down the corridor. “Like your father.”

Ethan leaned back. “What did you brave, Father?”

“Nothing as impressive as