Private Demon

Page 24

"Two meals." She turned her head and winced as he injected her. "I can never manage three."
"Two, and a large snack." He pressed a cotton ball to tiny wound the needle had left in her skin and bent her arm up to hold it. "Jem, I know this is hard on you, and your mother doesn't make things easier, but I can't wave a magic wand here. If you don't eat, you run the risk of going into insulin shock."
Insulin shock had put her into a coma once for a week, an experience Jema would rather not repeat.
"Two meals and a huge snack." When he would have risen from the bed, she touched his arm. "Dr. Bradford, can I ask you a really personal question?"
"With as many as I've asked you all these years?" He chuckled. "Fire away."
"Why did you come here to live with us?"
He looked puzzled. "Because Meryl hired me to; you know that."
"No, that's not what I mean." She wasn't sure what she meant. "Didn't you ever want to set up your own practice, or get married, or not be around my mother for a few decades?"
"Ah, I see." He took her hand in his. "I'll tell you a secret about me, honey. I had all those things once upon a time. Good practice in the city, great wife, and I only saw your mother in the newspaper. She's much nicer in print, by the way." His smile drooped a little. "I don't know how to put this any other way but the truth. I made a mistake with a patient, Jem. As a result, the patient died, and I got sued. My second mistake was that I tried to cover it up. They let me keep my license, but they took my house and my practice, and what was left my wife took in the divorce."
He had never spoken of any of this to her. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Bradford. I shouldn't have asked you—"
"This was long before you were born, Jem. You weren't even a twinkle in your parents' eyes. I got work as a doctor for a private home health care service. A few years later your father hired me to examine your mother when she was flown back to the States. It was a couple of weeks before his accident in Greece."
"I think I was only a month old," Jema said. "Why did he leave us like that?"
"There was nothing James could do, and he felt he had to go back to Greece and close off the dig." His gaze grew distant. "Meryl was just beginning to improve when she received the telegram from Athens saying that your father had been killed. She was so distraught after that, I thought I might lose her. Then there were all the problems you were having; by then I knew you were diabetic. You both needed full-time care."
"So you took on the Shaws," Jema guessed.
"Actually, I refused the job twice. I was afraid I might make a mistake again and hurt one of you." He smiled at her. "You were the one who changed my mind. Your mother couldn't take proper care of you, naturally, and with your condition a nanny wasn't enough. You were such a pretty baby, and so good." He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. "Even when you were deathly sick, you hardly ever cried. I wish James could have had more time with you."
Jema had always considered Daniel Bradford rather like a kind if somewhat distant uncle. Seeing the affection in his eyes brought home how much she and her mother meant to him. "I know my father would be grateful for everything you've done for me and Mother."
"Thank you." He looked oddly ashamed. "I hope he would feel that way. I could never fill James's shoes, Jem, but sometimes I fool myself into thinking I'm sort of the man of the house here." He bent over and kissed her forehead. "Now, get some rest and let that shot do its magic. I'll see you at breakfast. Bring some appetite." He rumpled her hair exactly as he had when she was a girl, picked up his case, and left.
Another reason for Jema's bad mood was the hair sample taken from the young Asian murder victim. Detective Newberry had obtained approval to send it to her colleague, Dr. Sophie Tucker. Sophie had called her when she had finished testing the specimen, but she couldn't identify the source.
"I've ruled out every breed of dog, cat, and domesticated mammal in North America," Sophie told her over the phone. "I'm sending samples out to faunal experts I know in Europe, South America, and Asia, but it's going to be a week, two weeks maybe, Jema."
Detective Newberry hadn't been very receptive to the news either, and when Jema called him he told her that he was sending a sample to the FBI. "I don't have time to sit on my hands while these experts scratch their heads, Miss Shaw. You understand."
Jema rolled over and scrunched her pillow up under her head so she could read for a few minutes before turning out the light.
Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her.
Poor Daniel, she thought as her thoughts wandered from the page. To have lost so much and ended up with her and Meryl. She'd have to make an effort to gain back some weight. She really didn't want to end up in a coma again, and anything that improved her health made Daniel Bradford very happy.
Someone in this house should be.
She never grew tired of reading the adventures of the intrepid Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters, but as the description of the ball at Netherfield went on, the words began to run together and blur. Jema felt hot for some reason, too, and pushed back her quilt as she set the book aside and reached to turn out the light.
"Sweet dreams," she murmured as she closed her eyes.
The darkness was only a corridor, and Jema crossed it easily. She entered the drawing room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Valentin Jaus among the cluster of blue coats assembled there. That he would not be present had never occurred to her; they had a date. The certainty of meeting him was absolute; he wouldn't show up now with one of his tall, beautiful blondes.
Is there something wrong with my gown? She had dressed with more than usual care, disdaining the drabness of her wardrobe for a high-waisted gown the color of blood. All the other women were in white, ivory, and soft gold, so Jema stood out like a stop sign, but she remained in the highest of spirits. Mr. Jaus said he didn't have a date for the ball, and this way he can see me in the crowd.
"Good evening, Miss Shaw." A pleasant-looking young man with wavy brown hair sketched a short bow before her. There was an orange rabbit with purple eyes peering out of his jacket pocket at her. It nodded and disappeared.
"Good evening, Mr… Denny." Jema didn't know his last name. "The ball appears to be a great success."
Denny viewed the room with approval. "That it does. My rabbit is quite overcome. I daresay it will be the talk of his hutch for hours and hours." His happiness ebbed abruptly into formality. "I am sent to convey the regrets of my friend, Mr. Valentin Jaus, as he has been obliged to go to town on the bus, and has not yet returned." He offered her a significant smile and added, "I do not imagine his bus would have whisked him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here." He lifted a carnival glass to his eye and peered through its rainbow flutes across the room.
Jema followed his gaze. A tall, handsome man dressed in snow white and midnight black stood on the opposite side of the room watching them. "Darcy."
Darcy waited until Denny had taken his leave before weaving through the assembly toward her. He moved with great care but insufferable surety, and her acquaintances dear and casual parted to form a path for him as if he were royalty.
He was altogether too tall, too broad, and too dark for such an assembly as this. That bronze skin, those dark eyes, the gleaming hair—someone had polished it with a silk cloth—all completely unacceptable.
Jema engaged her friend, Miss Lucas, to give her an excuse to turn a shoulder against the odious man. Any attempt on her part to give attendance, show forbearance, or have patience with Darcy was injury to Jaus. She wanted to kick the man in the shins, but she simply resolved not to engage in any sort of conversation with him. That would save her slippers and her toes, and prevent Mr. Bingley's lovely parquet floor from being scuffed.
"Miss Lucas, Miss Bennet." Darcy bowed in an odd fashion, bringing his head close to hers. "You are not formed for ill humor, Jema," he murmured.
How dare he. All of her prospects for the evening had been destroyed, thanks to him, and now he used her Christian name without her leave? "Mr. Darcy."
"May I have the honor of the next dance, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.
She had vowed never to dance with him. On the other hand, her cousin Mr. Collins was hovering nearby, a fat spider prepared to snatch her from the floor and spin her stumbling over his misplaced feet and wrong-way turns. The first two dances her cousin had commanded of her had brought her nothing but mortification, and had terrified the rabbits. The moment of her release from Mr. Collins had, in fact, been ecstasy.
As dancing with Darcy will be.
He smiled a little, as if he could pluck her thoughts from her head. "It is only a dance."
Without quite knowing why, Jema accepted. He walked to the other side of the room at once, leaving her to fret over her temporary insanity. "I hate that man. Hate him. More than oatmeal. More than B-12 shots. More than puce-colored rabbits. Rather more than Mr. Collins."
Miss Lucas offered some consolation. "I daresay you will find him very agreeable, Jema. He pays you a great compliment by singling you out, and he carries no rabbits on his person."
"I should hope not." She hoped he danced quickly, too. Mr. Jaus might yet return from town to make an appearance. Buses ran from downtown all hours of the night.
"You're being a simpleton," Miss Lucas whispered as the present set ended and Darcy walked to the dance floor. "Don't let this supposed date with Valentin make you unpleasant toward a man ten times his size."
"He isn't that tall," Jema snapped as she walked over to take her place in the set. She would be dignified and ignore all the astonished looks from her neighbors, who doubtless had heard of her vow never to dance with Darcy.