Free The Loner: Trail Of Blood by J.A. Johnstone

building, awoman in a starched white dress and light blue apron and cap was waiting for them. “Mr. Browning?” she asked as Conrad climbed down from the carriage. “I’m Lois Fielding, one of the nurses here. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to Dr. Futrelle’s office.” She glanced at Clancy. “Your driver will have to wait here.”
    “That’s fine. Don’t wander off, Clancy.”
    “Oh, no, sir. I’ll be right here.”
    Having spent so much time in the more egalitarian West the past few years, Conrad found the nurse’s condescending tone when she spoke about Clancy bothersome. He didn’t show his annoyance. As a rich Bostonian, he was supposed to feel the same way.
    Conrad noted the heavy locks on the front door and the bars on the windows as he went inside the sanitarium with the nurse. She led him through a small reception area and down a corridor to a set of double doors. He had a feeling it was all offices on the ground floor, with the patients being housed on the upper floors. The iron bars on the windows ought to keep them in, but the height served as an extra deterrent to escape. Somebody who really wanted a drink might go to almost any lengths to get one.
    Nurse Fielding knocked on one of the double doors. A man’s voice called from the other side. “Come in.”
    The nurse opened the door and said, “Mr. Browning, Doctor.” She stepped back.
    Conrad entered and found himself in a large, book-lined room that obviously served as bothoffice and library for Dr. Vernon Futrelle. The window behind the desk looked out over the grounds and relieved some of the grim atmosphere engendered by the rank upon rank of thick volumes mostly bound in black or dark brown leather.
    The man who came out from behind the desk and walked toward Conrad with his hand extended was familiar. He realized he had seen the doctor at various social functions in the past. Futrelle was short and thick-bodied, with a prominent paunch over which a gold watch chain draped. He had a bulldog face, spectacles, and a brush of graying red hair that stuck up straight from his head. His grip was strong as he shook hands with Conrad.
    “Mr. Browning,” he said. “I believe we’ve met before. I knew your mother and your father, certainly.”
    The way he phrased it made it sound as though he wasn’t aware that Frank Morgan was really Conrad’s father, which was certainly possible. Vivian Browning had never done anything to publicize that fact, and neither had Conrad while he lived in Boston.
    “It’s good to see you again, Doctor.”
    Futrelle waved him into a comfortable leather armchair in front of the desk. “Sit down, my boy. What can I do for you? You’re not having medical problems, are you? I must say, you look as healthy as a horse! Healthier than some horses I’ve seen, in fact.”
    “No, I’m fine,” Conrad said as he sat down andcrossed his legs. He rested his hat on his knee. “I’m here about someone else. A … friend of mine.”
    Futrelle settled back in his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. “Not one of those hypothetical friends that are really you, I hope.”
    Conrad laughed and shook his head. “No chance of that. This lady had a condition that’s quite impossible for me to attain.”
    Futrelle raised his eyebrows. “A lady, eh? Are we speaking of a … delicate condition?”
    “Precisely,” Conrad said.
    “Well, that’s troubling,” Futrelle said. “I suppose that discretion is an absolute necessity, eh?”
    “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
    Futrelle nodded slowly, wisely. Conrad knew exactly what he was thinking. The doctor believed Conrad had gotten some girl pregnant, probably a servant, and wanted the situation dealt with as efficiently as possible, with no fuss. In cases such as that, the gentleman involved would pay for the girl to stay at the sanitarium until the baby was born, and then a discreet adoption would be arranged. The whole process was expensive, but well worth it for a