Downstairs the parlor was draped in quiet though Thomas and Eliza had returned several minutes past. Nathaniel dumped a log on the embers in the kitchen fire and watched the starving flames lick at the wood. He stirred the pot of broth that hovered over the heat and tried to shake off the fresh anxieties. Who had done this to her? Nathaniel’s fingers twitched as the heat from the growing flames intensified, matching the rising frenzy in his heart. He relived Kitty’s cries and tears until he could stand it no longer.
He slammed the side of his fist against the wall and released the pressure in his chest with an audible growl. The stomp of Thomas’s footfall entered the room, but Nathaniel couldn’t look up.
“How is she?” Thomas came beside him.
Nathaniel spoke to the ground. “I knew it.”
“Has she worsened?”
Peering at his friend, Nathaniel spoke through teeth so clamped his head throbbed. “I knew all this time!”
Thomas’s brow shot skyward then folded together. “What are you speaking of? Is she improved or nay?”
“She is not improved, but she is not worse. Yet that is not what distresses me.” Nathaniel wagged his head, forcing the clouds from his mind. He peered at his friend and kept his tone low. “Someone has threatened her, just as I feared at the beginning.”
Thomas dropped his hands and took a step back. His features turned hard as the impact of Nathaniel’s words rested upon him. “How do you know this?”
Nathaniel pressed his palms into his throbbing eyes and gripped his scalp. “Her fever is causing her to hallucinate.” He turned to the fire and rested an arm across the mantel. “She thought I was someone else. She was deathly afraid of me, or whoever she thought I was, and spoke to me as if I would hurt her family if she didn’t comply with my orders.” The fresh memories drained Nathaniel’s strength and he shuffled to the nearest kitchen chair. “She said, ‘I’ll do whatever you ask.’ ”
Thomas glanced toward the door, then quieted his tone as if he feared Eliza might overhear. “Do what?”
“I don’t know.” Nathaniel pushed off the chair with a heaving breath and marched to the table, pouring himself a glass of cider.
Thomas came to Nathaniel’s side, his face contorted. “Are you sure what she’s saying is true? If she was hallucinating then she could be imagining half a dozen horrifying things that have no base in reality at all.”
Nathaniel tipped his head back and drained the full glass. The liquid coated his dry throat but failed to flush away his anxiety. “Nay. ‘Twas real.” Kitty’s red-rimmed eyes and quivering chin, the way she struggled to move away from him, all testified the truth of her fears. He poured more cider into his glass and took another drink. “’Twas enough to make a man run mad.”
Thomas leaned against the table and crossed his arms, his face still coiled in question. “I cannot believe a person would do such a thing to a woman.”
Nathaniel slammed the cup on the table. “Can you not? You of all people should know that there are monsters in this world, eager to do whatever is necessary to accomplish their will.”
Face ashen, Thomas’s mouth tightened. The blackmail he’d suffered at the hands of Captain Samuel Martin burned bright in both their memories. Thomas stayed silent a moment then nodded. “How can we help her?”
“I wish I knew.” Nathaniel picked up the glass and turned it in his fingers, staring into the amber liquid. “The first step would be getting the full truth from her, since as of now, we have only pieces.”
“We agreed that she must not be forced to speak—”
“I’m no longer sure that’s the best course of action.”
Thomas stood straight, his voice sharp. “If you compel her, she may pull back and you will be no closer to your goal. If what you claim is true, then I know well the weight she carries and forcing her will only make it worse.” Thomas sighed as if the thought of her enduring what he had endured pained him almost more than it did Nathaniel. “I pray ‘tis only her feverish mind. I have heard of such things happening. Come now, you are a physician, you have witnessed such episodes before have you not?”
“I do hope you are right Thomas, but I refuse to ignore the warning within me. If I am wrong, then so be it.”
Thomas l
eaned back against the table. “What would you have me do?”
The vexing conversation Nathaniel had endured with Cyprian clobbered his memory. He jerked up. “I didn’t tell you—I spoke with Cyprian.”
“Aye? When?”
“Sunday.” Nathaniel stared at the floor, remembering Cyprian’s black eyes and the venom that seeped through his smile.
“What happened?”
“I asked what he knew of the missing powder. He denied any knowledge, as expected. Though he made a point to mention my attack and appeared almost pleased at the sight of my wounds. That was a might more than expected.” He growled. “But ‘twas when he spoke of Kitty that I lost hold of my senses.”
Eyes round, Thomas’s face reddened. “He spoke of her? Why?”