Free The Ghost of Christmas Past by Sally Quilford Page B

trip to see
the sisters. She was just about to turn into their gate when Liam Doubleday
stepped out of Doctor Wheston's front door.
    “Miss
Dearheart,” he called. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
    “Of
course.” Elizabeth stopped and waited for him to cross the road.
    “I
owe you, and your father, an apology for my behaviour earlier. It is not for me
to judge your conduct, and I am sure that you would have had your brother's
interests at heart at all times.”
    “There
is nothing to apologise for,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Hardacre took me by
surprise. I mean, I was not expecting him to become so ardent.”
    “He
has asked for your hand in marriage?”
    “Yes.”
    “And
will you accept?”
    “No.
I do not love him.” Why it was important that Liam know that, Elizabeth did not
quite understand.
    Liam's
face visibly altered to become more relaxed, breaking into that wonderful smile.
“You're not in love with him.”
    “No,
I am not. He is a good...” Elizabeth almost said decent, but something stopped
her, “man, but I realised today that I do not return his feelings. I hope I
have not caused him too much pain.”
    “He'll
get over it, I'm sure,” said Liam. There was something brittle about his voice.
    “Are
men's feelings always so fickle, Doctor Doubleday?”
    “No
more than women's.” Again that bitterness. She wished she could understand what
made him feel that way. “You are going to see the sisters?” Elizabeth nodded.
    “I
wish to ask them something.”
    “Are
you still investigating Mr. Sanderson's murder?”
    “Not
investigating. Just trying to make sense of what happened.” Without realising
why, Elizabeth found herself telling Liam about what she had read in the paper,
and the link – the bloodied fabric – with Albert Sanderson's missing wife. “I
have heard it elsewhere recently,” she said.
    “The
Demon Doctor of Delhi,” said Liam.
    “What?”
    “His
wife also went missing, after he was accused of murdering a patient after a
similar embezzlement.”
    “Of
course! Yes, that was where I had read it. How strange that these things should
happen in such far flung places. England, France, India. It makes me wonder...
but it happened with a man too. That was the one in France. So it could not be
connected, could it?”
    “People
travel, Miss Dearheart.”
    “Yes,
I suppose they do. Well thank you, you have saved me a trip to see the
sisters.”
    “I am
sure they would be most disappointed if you did not call. Let me come with you.
I have failed to pay them my proper respects since I arrived.”
    Elizabeth
smiled. “I cannot imagine that Mrs. Chatterbucks and Miss Graves are of any
great interest to a man like yourself.”
    “Then
you do me a disservice, Miss Dearheart. They are characters, and if there is
one thing I enjoy in life, it is the company of a character. Where else can I
hear stories of amputated legs and dog-eaten fingers?”
    “As a
doctor I would have thought everywhere you went.” Elizabeth could not help
smiling. The earlier tension between them had gone, and they spoke as friends
again.
    “Ah,
but not told with such naivety and a total lack of understanding of the
humorous aspects.”
    “You
must not make fun of them,” said Elizabeth, sternly, smiling despite herself.
“It is not kind.”
    “No,
it is not. And I would not dream of it.” His eyes twinkled.
    “Miss
Dearheart!” Miss Graves was calling from the sisters' front door. For a moment
Elizabeth felt sad that the spell between her and Liam had been broken. “We
have been awaiting your visit. Isn't it wonderful?”
    “Isn't
what wonderful?” Miss Graves' words hardly seemed appropriate with two children
having been harmed.
    “Why
your aunt's invitation to her Christmas ball.”
    “I
have heard of no such occasion,” said Elizabeth.
    “I
daresay her footman called at your house whilst you were on your way here,”
said Mrs. Chatterbucks, pushing past her sister. “It is on Christmas