Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘To heck with infection!’ she hissed. ‘Please don’t let him in! Don’t let him see me like this.’

‘Wot mm I saposssd to tll hm?’

‘Anything! Anything except the truth that I’m lying here, unable to control the need to—!’ She blushed like a virginal volcano before its very first explosion and cut off. ‘Just lie! Lie like the dickens! You’re good at that.’

My, my. It seemed my little sister was taking a walk on the wild side. And all while she was lying in bed unable to stand or control her digestive organs. Impressive.

Gently removing her hand from my mouth, I rose.

Another knock came from the door. ‘Miss Linton? Ella? May I enter?’

Ella sent me a last pleading look.

Rising to my feet, I strode to the door—then tore it open, slipped out and slammed it shut again before Edmund could get a peek inside. Dear me. I would never have thought that years of practise slamming doors in my suitors’ faces would come in this handy.

‘Miss Linton! Thank God!’

Poor Edmund was a sorry sight. To judge by the rings under his eyes, he hadn’t slept all night, but it was the look in his eyes that was most disturbing. There had always been an underlying certainty about Edmund from the moment he’d met my sister. He’d known who he was and where he was going. But now…?

That certainty was gone.

‘Please, Miss Linton, may I see her?’ he asked.

Damn! Damn you, Ella, for making me say no to that sad puppy-dog face!

I magicked a grin onto my face. ‘I’m afraid not right now. She’s, um….resting.’

‘Oh. Well, um…’ He shifted from one foot to another. ‘Then may I have a word with you? I heard the doctor was here, and…’

He didn’t have to say any more. The desperation in his eyes spoke volumes. Volumes of touching, if not particularly original, romantic poetry about red roses, blue violets and words starting with ‘L’.

‘I can’t tell you what they talked about.’ Gently taking him by the arm, I tried to lead him away—but he wouldn’t budge. ‘You know that such things are confidential. Just between a doctor and his patient.’

‘And you, apparently.’

Yes, but I’m a nosy busybody.

‘I’m her sister.’

‘And I’m the man who loves her more than life itself. Please, Miss Linton.’ Grabbing my hand, he moved forward. For a moment, I was puzzled as to what he was up to—then watched aghast, as he sank to his knees. ‘Please. I don’t need any details. I don’t care about confidentialities. I just want to know if she is going to be all right. Please.’

‘Get up!’ I hissed, self-consciously glancing down the corridor.

‘No. Not until you’ve answered.’

‘What if someone comes? It bloody looks as if you’re proposing to me!’

A weak smile tugged on one corner of his lips. ‘Sounds to me like a good motivation to answer.’

The devious little…! Maybe I had underestimated Ella’s prospective bridegroom. But the poor fool didn’t reckon with the lion lurking in the shadows. If Mr Ambrose somehow got wind of this little scene, which, with his army of spies, I wouldn’t put past him, Edmund Conway would be tied up and on a ship to Timbuktu before he could say, ‘Je ne parlais pas Francais.’

I had to do something. And quick!

‘Get up! Get up I said!’

He didn’t move.

‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with her, all right? Just get up off the floor!’