A Jane Austen Encounter Read Online Free PDF Page B

her visitors.
    “Don’t stay long. She’s still weak.” The nurse gave clipped orders and departed.
    Claire turned her blue eyes on Richard. “I understand I owe you my life.”
    “Nothing so dramatic, I’m sure.” He almost blushed. “You certainly needed medical attention, but I don’t think you were in danger of bleeding to death.”
    “Do you have any idea who hit you?” Muriel could have been an investigating police officer.
    “No idea. Arthur came back to help me sort some of the papers in that box— just to get them organized for your work.” She looked at Richard, then turned back to Dr. Greystone. “Arthur left when he got your text on his mobile, and I stayed to finish up.”
    Muriel snorted. “Nonsense. I didn’t send any text. Do I look like someone who would indulge in anything so odious as texting?”
    Elizabeth struggled to hide her smile. Certainly not—far too impersonal. If Dr. Muriel Greystone required someone’s presence, she would command them with a telephone call at the very least.
    “But I don’t understand. He said . . .” Claire halted in confusion when Arthur entered the room bearing a handful of long-stemmed pink roses wrapped in cellophane.
    “Claire, I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth had the impression he could barely restrain himself from rushing to the bed and kissing her. “This is all my fault. If only I hadn’t left you there alone. What was I thinking?” Claire started to reassure him, but he continued, “How are you? How is your head?” His hand hovered above the white bandage. “Oh, this is terrible. Do you have a dreadful headache?”
    When she could get a word in edgewise, Claire assured him that she would probably be dismissed tomorrow, that she had no headache, but that the pain medication did make her rather woozy. “The flowers are lovely, Arthur. Thank you. Would you please ask one of the sisters if they can find a vase?”
    Arthur dashed out to do her bidding.
    Elizabeth tried to sort through Claire’s words to get a picture of what had happened just before she and Richard arrived on the scene the evening before. Claire and Arthur had been working in her office. Arthur received a text from someone purporting to be Dr. Greystone. Arthur had left in a hurry. Elizabeth had seen Arthur, if it had been him, in the street only minutes before they discovered Claire. How many minutes?
    In her mind, she walked back through the Bath streets, up Milsom, past perhaps fifteen or twenty shops, to George, maybe the length of two or three American blocks, then down Gay— perhaps the length of another American block. They weren’t walking fast, but still, it couldn’t have taken much more than five minutes, and certainly not more than ten.
    So in that very brief span, someone had seen Arthur leave, picked the lock to the outside door of the Centre—unless Arthur had failed to lock it—had hit Claire over the head, perhaps stolen something, and then disappeared before Elizabeth and Richard arrived. Was that possible? Maybe. Just. If they were waiting very near.
    “You didn’t hear anything at all?” Elizabeth asked. Approaching stealthily would require slower movements.
    Claire shook her head.
    “Not even the breaking glass?” Elizabeth pressed.
    “I don’t think so. I was moving around the office, concentrating on my work . . .”
    “What about the wooden door? How hard would it have been to pick that lock?”
    “It wasn’t locked. It can only be done with a key. I told Arthur just to be sure the inside glass door was latched.”
    Elizabeth had an unpleasant thought. Arthur seemed so genuine, still . . . “Did you hear Arthur leave?”
    “I told you, I didn’t hear anything. I was concentrating on my work.”
    Then a new thought struck Elizabeth. “The box of papers—you said it was a donation. Who gave it to you?”
    Claire furrowed her brow, what was visible of it below her bandage. “I haven’t any idea.” She paused. “That’s strange, really.