Beware the Wolfman by Pascal Francine

Author:Pascal, Francine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-25T16:00:00+00:00

At enormous, sprawling London Hospital, Jessica learned from the receptionist that Lord Pembroke had been moved from intensive care to a private room on the third floor of Wing C.

"You're not from one of the newspapers, are you?" the receptionist asked suspiciously. "We'll have no reporters up there. A security guard just hauled off that sneaky young man from the London Daily Post."

"Oh, no, I'm just a friend of the family," said Jessica.

She had to give the nurse on duty the same assurances. "All right," the nurse agreed, after eyeing Jessica up and down. "You can go in. But his wife is with him at the moment."

"I'll wait, then," Jessica murmured. "I don't want to disturb them."

A few minutes later, from her seat in the corner of the visitors' lounge, Jessica saw Lady Pembroke emerge from Room 21. The older woman was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief; her thin face, always perfectly made-up, looked crumpled and careworn. Jessica had gotten the impression that the Pembroke marriage was mostly one of appearances at this point, but there must have been a trace of love left somewhere. Lady Pembroke was so distracted and upset, she didn't even notice Jessica as she walked past the lounge on her way to the nurses' station.

Rising, Jessica slipped unobtrusively into Room 21. Curtains darkened the windows; except for the sound of labored breathing, the room was silent.

At the sight of Lord Pembroke, tears of pity sprang into Jessica's eyes. A thick bandage muffled his throat; there was a tube in his nose to help him breathe and an IV hooked into his arm. The once hearty, vigorous man looked pale, diminished, and old, his body thin and frail under the sheet.

Lord Pembroke's eyes were closed. Is he asleep? Jessica wondered. Unconscious? She pulled a chair close to the bedside. "Lord Pembroke," she said softly. "It's Jessica Wakefield. How are you feeling?"

Lord Pembroke's eyelids fluttered, then opened. He gazed up at Jessica, but he didn't seem to really see her. "I wanted to catch a werewolf," he muttered.

He wanted to catch a werewolf? He must be hallucinating. "What do you mean?"

She had to lean close to hear his disjointed words. "My hobby . . . our hobby. I stalled the police investigation, thinking I might—but when the evidence started to point to my boy . . . Too many hurt, too many dead . . ."

Jessica patted his arm. "Ssh," she murmured. "Don't strain yourself."

Lord Pembroke made a visible effort to focus on her. A faint smile touched his haggard face. "My son loves you," he whispered.

Jessica took the thin hand that lay on top of the covers and squeezed it gently, her eyes brimming.

"He was a troublemaker as a boy, but he could never hurt anyone," Lord Pembroke continued. "Especially not his beloved nanny, or his own father . . ."

"I know," Jessica said. "I know."

Lord Pembroke continued to look up at her, his gaze fond but foggy. Then suddenly, the expression in his eyes sharpened—they flashed with fire and he sat up in bed, fully awake.

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