Page 12 of Romancing the Scot
“What about her? Has she died?”
“No, she’s still alive, though she continues to float in and out of consciousness. Dr. Namby was here at noon. He still says there is little hope of her surviving. He’s also worried about contagion because she was subjected for so long to the noxious vapors of the ship’s hold.”
“Is this what has you worried?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been with her since we brought her to the house. Anna’s been the only servant helping me. We’ve seen to her care, and we’re both doing fine after three days of it.”
Knowing his sister wouldn’t stop pacing until she said what was on her mind, Hugh sat on a sofa.
“Were you able to find anything about her while you were in Edinburgh?”
“I went down to the shipping office at Leith and asked a few discreet questions about the handling of the crate,” he told her. “No one had an inkling there was any problem at all. So I sent my clerk, Aston MacKay, to Antwerp to find out what he can about any missing American woman. We should hear back from him within a fortnight. Until then, I’m still hopeful our guest will awaken and tell us herself how she ended up in that crate. In the meantime, I wish to bring no extra attention to her while she is recovering.”
As a judge familiar with the darker sides of human nature, Hugh was well aware of the ugly exaggerations and falsehoods that could spread if her situation were made public. She was ill and had no way of protecting herself.
“Did you ask Dr. Namby to keep her situation private?”
“I did. And he agrees. She should be spared unnecessary excitement.” Jo resumed her pacing. “She’s been talking in her sleep.”
Hugh smiled to himself at her poetic recital and her insistence that he understood it was a ballad. “Has she divulged anything useful?”
“Her manner of speech is quite refined. And I’ve heard her murmur or call out not just in English, but in German and Spanish and French. It appears she’s proficient in those languages. And she likes to recite poetry.”
He himself was a constant reader, not so much poems and novels, but the law journals and anything pertaining to history and science. He respected women who read, and it appeared this one did.
“So she’s well-educated,” Hugh commented.
“And wellborn, I think. The quality of her traveling dress says much about her station.” Jo faced him again. “But that isn’t all I’ve learned.”
The servant bringing in tea interrupted their conversation. After dismissing her, Jo poured a cup for Hugh and sat next to him.
“What else?” he asked.
She placed a velvet pouch between them on the sofa.
“What is this?”
“It might be the reason why someone was cross with her.”
“If someone nailed her into that crate, they were more than cross. They were trying to kill her. What’s in there and where did you find it?”
“The pouch was sewn into the padded waistline of her dress. We found it when Mrs. Henson took the garment down to be laundered.”
Jo shook a large opaque stone into her palm.
A diamond. Uncut. The largest he’d ever seen. Who carries something this valuable? Hugh thought.
He put the tea cup down. “Let me see.”
“Have you ever seen a gem this size?”
“Heavy,” he commented.
He stood and moved to the window, holding it up to the afternoon light.
“Do you think it’s a diamond?” she asked.
Hugh placed the stone against the window and scratched a small ‘X’ on the glass. The condition they found her in had to be directly tied to this. He’d ruled on crimes committed over minuscule amounts of wealth.
