What did Professor Markham want so badly he’d agree to see me?
And where was I going to find it?
“He isn’t waking up as quickly as we hoped.” Dr. Chaudhry’s white lab coat dazzled in the sunlight streaming through the window. “Not necessarily anything to worry about. People respond differently to sedation.”
Ivor moved restlessly in the bed. He’d been moved to one of the wards.
“How long of a recovery do you expect?” I asked.
“Impossible to say. We’ll know more when he wakes up, but you must expect him to be a bit muddled in the beginning. His concussion was significant. He’ll need rest and calm.”
I’d originally planned to fly home mid-June. With Ivor’s setback, I would almost certainly be needed longer. Normally, with my mother’s health and my antiques business to run, I’d worry about being gone so long, but my shop was in the capable hands of my best friend, Charlotte. From the frequent texts she sent, business was positively booming. And my mother wasn’t as frail or as lonely as I’d imagined. Besides, she had her own personal physician in the dashing Dr. James Lund.
Ivor made a sound, something between a sigh and a cough. I looked at Dr. Chaudhry. “Is there anything I can do to help him wake up?”
“He may be aware of your presence. My advice is to talk to him. The familiar sound of your voice will give him something to focus on.”
Later, after one of the nurses had plumped Ivor’s pillows and checked his IV drip, I sat beside his bed. “Well, Ivor, it seems you’ve dodged a bullet—do you use that expression in the UK? Anyway, all you need to do is wake up and get back to The Willows. I’m sure Jay’den is missing you.”
Was the slight movement of his eyes beneath his lids a sign that he’d heard me? I took his hand. “I need you to wake up as soon as you can. A lot has happened since your fall.”
I told him again about the White Lotus Society and Lucy showing up at Rose Cottage, adding new information about the Australian nephew, the missing Colin Wardle and his mother, the odd goings-on at Hapthorn Lodge, and what I’d come to think of as the two turning points in Evelyn Villiers’s life. “The police are following a number of leads,” I told him, “but I’m pretty sure everything connects back to the death of her husband and something that occurred just before she brought in the húnpíng jar. Eighteen years ago, she turned her back on her old life—all her memories, all her contacts. The only thing she didn’t do was move out of Hapthorn Lodge, and that may have been due to her agoraphobia. Irrational fears are often triggered by trauma. Two weeks ago today she implied she was ready to sell her husband’s entire art collection. Actually, from the state of Hapthorn Lodge, it looks like she’d already taken steps to—”
Had I imagined the slight pressure from Ivor’s hand?
“Take your time, Ivor,” I whispered. “No hurry. When you’re ready, just open your eyes.”
A nursing sister bustled in the room. “You’ll have to leave for a short while, dear. Time for a little maintenance. Come back in forty minutes or so.”
“I think he might be trying to wake up.”
“Very possibly.” She smiled. “A good sign.”
I gathered my belongings and headed for the visitors’ waiting room. Most of the seats were already taken, so I stood, leaning against the wall.
Lucy Villiers would be sitting down with her solicitor right now. After living paycheck to paycheck for years, how was she reacting to her new role as heir to the Villiers’ fortune? I hoped Simon Crewe would warn her about those who might try to take advantage.
I’d just found a place to sit, when my cell phone rang.
“Hello, darling.” My mother’s voice was a balm to my soul. “I’ve been expecting you to call me. Is everything all right?”
“I didn’t want to bother you at the lake. Having fun?”
“Oh yes. We’ve been fishing, walking in the woods. James has developed an interest in personal watercraft. Little boats you ride on—Sea-Doos, I think they’re called. His son-in-law owns two. You wear something called a wet suit. James is trying to talk me into going out with him.”
I refrained from mentioning she was in her seventies. If she’d forgotten, who was I to remind her?
She went on. “We’re having so much fun that James and I have decided to stay until Wednesday or Thursday. That’s one of the nicer parts of being retired—the ability to change your plans at a moment’s notice.” She sounded so lighthearted. So young.
“I may have to change my plans as well.” I told her about Ivor’s fall. “We won’t know for sure until he wakes up, but his recovery will be delayed.”
“Do you need me at the shop?”
“Not this time. Charlotte is having the time of her life. As much as she’s loved staying home with her boys, I think she’s missed having a business to run. She’s picking things up faster than I’d expected.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then my mother said, “You don’t need to worry about me, you know. The doctors say I’ve fully recovered.”
“I know, Mom, and I’m very grateful.” As usual, she’d read between the lines. The last time my mother had driven down from Wisconsin to run my antiques shop she’d had a TIA, a mini-stroke. Now she was on a blood thinner, but we both knew her chances of having another episode had increased.
“Tell me how things are going with the investigation,” she said.
I smiled at her ability to accept things at face value and move on. “At the moment, I’m trying to figure out how to entice a curmudgeonly history professor to talk to me about the green maiden legend.” I told her about delivering the Little Domesday book translation. “He’s already slammed the door in my face and hung up on
