To The Rescue. Jean Barrett
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her think that the electricity must be limited to essential uses. But even with the menacing shadows in the corners, Jennifer was glad to be out of the storm, which had worsened since her arrival. She could hear the snow being driven against the window by a raging wind that battered the ancient walls.
Looking up from the fire, she cast a nervous glance in the direction of the closed door that connected her room with the one that adjoined it. Jennifer wondered what was happening behind it.
“We’ll let you know as soon as Brother Timothy has examined him,” she had been assured.
The monks assumed she was concerned about her unconscious passenger who had been installed in that other room. Although it was true that his condition mattered to her, they didn’t know that she was equally worried about his identity.
She had sacrificed an opportunity at the scene of the accident to search him, suppressing her longing to know who he was. Since he could be in a critical state, it had been far more important to get help for him without wasting a moment of time.
Jennifer regretted that lost opportunity now because she still knew nothing. She was certain of only one thing, that the man she had rescued was no one she had ever met before.
But whoever was with him now might be learning not just his identity but why he’d been pursuing her. And if he was carrying anything on him that implicated her in Guy’s murder, then—
Jennifer started at the sound of a knock on the hall door. Leaving the stool, she crossed the room to answer it. When she opened the door, a tall, almost gaunt figure stood there in the dimness of the passage. The habit he wore of coarse, undyed sheep’s wool identified him as one of the brothers. He bore a tray with covered dishes on it.
“I’ve brought you some supper,” he said. “If I might come in…”
“Please.”
She stood aside in the doorway. He glided on sandaled feet into the room where he paused to look around.
“In front of the hearth, I think. If you’ll just hold the tray for me, I’ll drag the table there into place.”
She took the tray from him, watching him as he drew a small table over to the fireplace. When he’d placed a chair at the side of the table, he recovered the tray from her and carried it to the table. Satisfied with the arrangement, he turned to her.
“I hope you don’t mind eating in your room. We do have a dining parlor for our guests, and tomorrow you’ll be able to have your meals there. But what with the weather and all, we’re in rather a muddle tonight. This seemed to be the most expedient way of seeing to it that you didn’t go hungry.”
“I don’t mind in the least. I’m just grateful to be here at all.”
“Yes, I understand you had rather a bad time of it out on the road. It’s Miss Rowan, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, Jennifer Rowan.”
“I’m Father Stephen, the abbot of Warley Monastery.”
Jennifer was surprised by his identity. She wouldn’t have expected the abbot himself to serve her like this. Nor was there anything about his robe, except perhaps for the heavy cross that dangled from the cord around his waist, to distinguish him from the other monks.
He must have sensed her confusion. “This was an opportunity for me to meet and welcome you to Warley,” he explained. “I’m sorry I was unable to come to you sooner, but there were other matters that needed my attention. Have they made you comfortable?”
“They have,” she assured him, though he needn’t have concerned himself.
The brother who had answered the bell in the courtyard and the monk he’d summoned to help him, had been efficient from the moment of her arrival. Taking charge, they had managed between them to move both her and her unconscious passenger into the area of the castle reserved for guests, delivered their luggage to the connecting rooms and even saw to it afterwards that her car was garaged in one of the old stables.
“In that case I’ll leave you to your supper.”
He started to move toward the hall door, but Jennifer stopped him.
“Father, before you go…”
“You have questions. Yes, that’s understandable.” He hesitated. “We’ll visit then for a few minutes.”
He waited until she was seated at the table before he placed himself on the stool across from her.
“You’d better eat your supper before it gets cold.”
Whatever his garb, she should have known he was a figure of authority. It was evident in his voice and manner. He had that kind of face, too, beneath his tonsure. It was narrow with deep grooves from his hawklike nose to his thin mouth. It would have been austere if it hadn’t been softened by a pair of cheerful blue eyes.
Jennifer uncovered the dishes on the tray, exposing a simple fare of thick vegetable soup, bread, slices of cheese, and a small bowl of stewed apricots. The soup was steaming and smelled delicious. Tasted delicious, too, when she began to spoon it into her mouth.
“Now for those questions,” he said.
She reached for a slice of bread, her gaze slewing in the direction of the connecting door that remained closed. He understood.
“You’re wondering about the condition of our patient.”
“Is he awake, Father?”
The abbot shook his head. “Not yet, no. But I had an encouraging report from Brother Timothy who saw him earlier. Brother Timothy doesn’t think his injuries are serious.”
“And Brother Timothy is…”
“Our healer in charge of both the infirmary and the dispensary. He’s quite knowledgeable.”
“Does that mean he was in medicine before he joined the order?”
Father Stephen chuckled. “Brother Timothy was a prize fighter before he came to us. By his own admission, not a very good one. But he claims that all the punishment he suffered in the ring has turned out to be quite beneficial. There aren’t many injuries he didn’t learn how to treat, the external ones in particular.”
The abbot paused, glancing down at her hand. Only then did Jennifer realize she’d been unconsciously crumbling the bread into bits. It was a result of her tension over the man in the next room. She’d have to be more careful. She didn’t want Father Stephen to suspect that she was worried about more than the health of Brother Timothy’s patient.
She took a fresh slice of bread and went on with her soup.
“Of course,” the abbot continued, “capable though our Brother Timothy is, whenever there is any question about an injury or an illness, we don’t hesitate to consult with a doctor in Heathside. Unfortunately, that won’t be possible in this case.”
“Oh?”
“Both the phone and power lines are down. It happens more often than we’d like with our situation as exposed as it is, which is why we have a generator. It’s enough to operate our water pump, as well as permit us a reduced number of electric lamps.”
That explained the poor lighting in the castle. The generator was obviously unable to provide anything but essential power during any outage.
“Will the lines be restored tomorrow, Father?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful with this storm. By morning the road will be blocked with heavy snow. I’ve seen it happen before. And the forecast promises more of the same for the next few days.”
“So we’re cut off until the weather clears.”
“It’s the price we pay for the seclusion we prize.”
Jennifer knew about that seclusion. She thought again of the story Guy had told her that explained the