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“I’m eager for you to see the clinic,” John said. “Braden’s done a splendid job with it. He’s got a knack for winning the trust of the locals, and God knows we need more physicians of his caliberandcourage.”
“He sounds like an excellent physician and a kind man,” she cautiously replied.
“Which is exactly why we need him on the board of the Penwith Foundation.”
She sighed. “Very neat, John. I didn’t even see the blade until it slipped between my ribs.”
“It’s not a nefarious plot, Samantha. We clearly need someone who isn’t a spy for Lord Beath.”
“Right now at least half the board are his spies,” she admitted. “I understand better than anyone how much Beath hates the foundation and would do anything to shut it down—through his toadies on the board, if possible.”
“Braden is impervious to that sort of negative influence.”
So far, she’d been resisting the notion of Kendrick joining the board. The more time he spent in her presence, the greater the chance that he would recognize her as the woman who’d rescued him. Still, John was right—they desperately needed help.
“I really wish you would consider bringing Bathsheba on the board,” she said. “She’ll stand up to anyone.”
“We had enough trouble gettingyouon the board. Arthur Baines and I practically had to beat the other members into submission before they agreed to give you Roger’s seat.”
Arthur Baines was an influential barrister who had been a good friend of Samantha’s husband. He was one of their only other supporters on the board.
“I do remember. It was gruesome.”
“Besides, Bathsheba would probably murder half of them at her first meeting. It would be the equivalent of shooting off a cannon in a very small room.”
Samantha laughed. “It would almost be worth it for that alone.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to keep my wifeoutof trouble, not have her cause it.”
She sobered. “Sometimes it’s necessary to cause trouble.”
“Agreed. Braden will do that nicely, and without fireworks. He’s strong but very even-tempered.”
“You paint a fine portrait, but rumor has it that Kendrick does ruffle feathers at the medical college. He’s unconventional.”
From what she knew, that word fairly well described the entire Kendrick family.
John glanced down at her. “Braden only ruffles feathers when necessary, and they’re almost always the right feathers. I lose my temper with the board now and again, as you may have noticed, but Braden is unflappable.”
Rationally, there was no reason she should keep objecting to Kendrick, and John knew it. She could only hope and pray that the blasted man didn’t recognize her.
“Then if not Bathsheba, I suppose we must make do with Dr. Kendrick.”
John flashed a smile. “Truly, Samantha, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with him.”
She doubted it.
They turned into Old Peter’s Close, a narrow street gated at both ends and lined with high tenement buildings. Like many of the closes that threaded through Old Town like a maze, it seemed respectable enough during the daylight hours. Shops filled the lower floors, while apartments and flats on the higher floors provided homes for the people that owned or worked in those small businesses.
But at night, as she knew from experience, passages like Old Peter’s Close could turn deadly.
They stopped in front of a storefront that was better maintained than its neighbors. A physician’s sign hung over the black-trimmed green door, and crisp white curtains hung in the windows. The stoop was well swept. Compared to its surroundings, the establishment radiated an air of quiet order.
“Shall we?” John asked.
She braced herself. “Of course.”
He opened the door, and she stepped down into a good-sized room with a surprisingly high ceiling. A faint waft of pine oil mixed with lemon teased her nose. The knotted boards under her feet were worn but scrupulously clean. The walls were whitewashed and lined with waist-high cupboards stacked with towels, sheets, and medical supplies. Three wooden bedsteads, separated by blue curtains hung from the ceiling, were made up with military precision.
