The Irish Healer (30 page)

The minister was delivering the final prayer: “O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered, accept our prayers on behalf of the soul of thy servant departed, and grant her an entrance into the land of light and joy, in the fellowship of thy saints; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen
.”

“Amen,” Rachel murmured along with everyone. She hoped God would show more mercy toward Molly in death than He had in life.

The sexton and his boy moved forward while Rachel and the rest of the staff filed out of the yard, onto the street. Dr.
Edmunds surged ahead and they were left to follow in his wake, like a line of dark-clothed ducklings. Molly’s friend disappeared into the usual crowd filling the street like any other day in London. In Carlow, everyone would know of a town member’s death, even someone as ordinary as Molly. They would share in the mourning. But here, life would proceed with the clamor of ants rebuilding a destroyed mound, oblivious to the chaos in others’ hearts.

“Now that was the saddest thing I do believe I’ve ever been a part of,” said Mrs. Mainprice at Rachel’s side. “Not even Molly’s . . . her beau come to see her off. Though I gather he’s left London. How I would’ve liked to give him a piece of my mind.”

“That would not have done Molly any good, Mrs. Mainprice.”

“’Tis true, but it would’ve done
me
good.” Mrs. Mainprice blew her nose with force and tucked away her handkerchief. “Such a wretched past few days.”

Rachel stared straight ahead. Beyond Joe’s head, the crown of Dr. Edmunds’s top hat bobbed as he led them all back to the house.

Mrs. Mainprice took note of Rachel’s attention. “A very difficult few days for the master, Miss Dunne.”

Rachel’s fingers tensed around the handkerchief. “If his daughter had been living with him all along, her sudden arrival would not have added to his difficulties.”

“
Och
, well now, miss. Can’t say I’m surprised you’ve finally found out.” Mrs. Mainprice sighed. “Likely a shock to you as well, I’d guess. I would’ve told you, Miss Dunne, but I promised him I would never tell a soul unless he wanted me to.”

“It seems a pointless promise when he is going to live with Amelia in Finchingfield and everyone will know then.”

“But not before, which is what he wanted.” Mrs. Mainprice’s gaze was direct and resolute. He had won her loyalty. “Don’t think it’s been easy for the master, miss. After the missus passed on, Dr. Edmunds was very distressed. His father blamed him for her death, you see. They had a horrible row. The words exchanged . . .” The housekeeper tutted as they hurried across the street, dodging carts and horses. “Chased our old parlor-maid, Hannah, right out of the house. Said she wouldn’t put up with such ungodly cursing and she quit.”

“His father blamed him for Mrs. Edmunds’s death?”
Falsely accused . . . “So it is, your lordship, gentlemen of the jury, that the unfortunate prisoner at the bar, Rachel Dunne, stands charged upon the coroner’s inquisition with the willful murder of Mary Ferguson.”
Rachel’s pulse thrummed. “He was not responsible, of course. His father was just upset.”

“More than upset, miss! After their argument, Dr. Edmunds was so distraught he couldn’t bear to see the little miss, and so he let Mrs. Woodbridge raise her. He made clear the girl wasn’t to be spoken of again.” The soft folds of the housekeeper’s face tucked in on themselves as she frowned. “’Twas easy for the others to follow his orders. Molly, Peg, and Joe were hired after the mistress passed away and didn’t ever see the girl, would never even think of her. But it was a burden for me, Miss Dunne. I had to respect Dr. Edmunds’s wishes, however, honor his desire for privacy. I prayed he would tell you. ’Twasn’t my place to reveal his secrets, though. No more than you wanted yours told, or Molly wanted hers revealed. Though I fear
we’ve all paid the price for our silence, may the good Lord forgive us.”

“I merely wish I had not been forced to discover the truth about Dr. Edmunds’s daughter on my own.”

Mrs. Mainprice gently squeezed Rachel’s arm. “One day, lass, I hope you’ll think better of the master. He’s drunk deep of the cup of bitterness and is still searching for a cure.”

The house loomed, halting their conversation. Dr. Edmunds permitted the servants to enter through the front door.

“Mrs. Mainprice, see that everyone is served lemonade and cakes in the drawing room,” he instructed. His gaze turned to Rachel. “I would like to speak with you, if I may.”

“I’ll just be getting that lemonade, sir,” said Mrs. Mainprice, scuttling past, pushing Joe ahead of her and into the house, leaving Rachel and Dr. Edmunds on the street.

Rachel waited while his gaze swept over her face before settling on her eyes. “Miss Dunne, this is good-bye. I have been called away to attend Lady Haverton’s daughter, a most important patient, during the delivery of her child—the first grandchild for the Havertons—and I might not return before you depart tomorrow. I have left your fee in your bedchamber.”

Good-bye, and the last time they would see each other. It was wrong to be parting on sour terms, but there was no helping that.

“You would leave Amelia right now?” she asked, selfishly satisfied to see him flinch.

“Sophia is with Amelia, and she was sleeping well before the funeral. Her fever is abating. So it is safe for me to go. Besides, Lady Haverton will have no one else in attendance
besides me. Her daughter is frail and will need the best of help.”

“Lady Haverton will miss you, then, when you are gone to Finchingfield and no longer doctoring.”

“Someone shall miss me, at least.”

Was that comment meant for her?

Rachel held out her hand to shake his. “Good-bye, Dr. Edmunds.”

He raised her fingers to his lips, his mouth warm upon her bare skin. She flushed to her toes.

“Good-bye, Miss Dunne,” he murmured and then he was gone.

CHAPTER 26

The only words that came to James’s brain were curses, and he released one softly before the door opened to his knock. He presented his gloves and hat to Lady Haverton’s utterly proper footman and followed the man up to the bedchamber.
I might never see Rachel again. Never. Never
.

As had always been planned. But still . . .

“There you are, Dr. Edmunds.” Lady Haverton’s booming voice echoed down the staircase. “Come at once, sir. My daughter is in much pain and she needs your assistance.”

The urgency in her voice focused his attention. He grabbed the walnut staircase railing and propelled himself up the thickly carpeted stairs. This would be his final case and he had to do the best he could for Lady Haverton’s daughter.

Lady Haverton waited impatiently outside a door open at the end of the hallway. She led him inside. The room was stuffy, windows shuttered against the outside air, and smelled of sweat. The odor mingled sickeningly with the scent of
fading roses, a bouquet of which had been left to perish on the mahogany dressing table. A monthly nurse was stacking towels alongside a basin atop the washstand, while another servant hurried past James with a pile of stained sheets. Lady Haverton’s daughter, wan and frail, was nearly lost among the snowy-white pillows and thick mattress of her curtained bed. Her face shone with perspiration, and two eyes the blue of Delft china blinked fearfully.

“Oh, Doctor. Thank the good Lord you’ve come,” she said weakly, her hand reaching for his. It was clammy to the touch.

James set down his medical bag and pulled up a chair. Dorothea Haverton Blencowe had always been a frail woman, even before she’d married. Carrying a baby had sapped whatever vitality she once had. “Mrs. Blencowe, how are you feeling?”

“Tired. Very tired. I do wish my dear husband could be at my side, but . . . but I know that’s not proper. He is in the library with Father. Maybe drinking port. He’s so afraid.” A contraction overtook her, and she gulped down a cry until it passed. “I told him to pray. For me. Rather than drink. Though . . . though it’s the wages of Eve’s sin that we suffer so.”

Lady Haverton leaned around James and gently patted her daughter’s hand. “Do not fret, my dear, and do not try to talk. The doctor does not need conversation, and you will only make matters worse for you and the baby.”

“Now, Mrs. Blencowe, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I need to examine you a little to see how the baby is progressing. I shall feel your belly and listen with my stethoscope.”

She nodded and he pulled the stethoscope case from his
bag. The sight of it recalled the day he had proudly shown the stethoscope to Rachel and she’d nearly fainted.
Will everything I do from now on remind me of her?
Even in Finchingfield, he wouldn’t be able to escape the memories. He would see her in the meadow, the kitchen, the library. Forever, he would remember.

Mrs. Blencowe primly turned her head aside as James lifted her chemise and rested the stethoscope on the swell of her abdomen. He found the baby’s heartbeat. It weakened, dipped too low as a contraction tightened her muscles. The fetus was in distress, and unless it was born soon, might not survive.

James ran his hands over her abdomen, the skin as hard and tight as the surface of a drum. The contractions were coming but not fast enough. The delivery might last too long. He’d attended other women like her, fragile as young birds, used to soft living and insufficient exercise. The challenge of childbirth was too difficult. As it had proven to be for Mariah.

His focus blurred and suddenly the woman lying there was Mariah, sweating with the strain of delivering Amelia. He had rushed from morning rounds at the hospital to find his father pacing the length of the Blue Room and old Hannah bathing Mariah’s forehead. She had been strong enough to deliver the child. Just not strong enough to survive the subsequent childbed fever and his ineffectual attempts to eradicate it. Had he let her die? Had he cared so little that he hadn’t thrown his whole heart into healing her?

“
Do you love me, James?”

“
You are a failure, James. My son, a failure.”

He wasn’t concentrating on Dorothea Blencowe. He was
letting his memories clog his brain like refuse damming a sewer, and he had to stop.

Lowering Mrs. Blecowe’s chemise, he drew up the sheets and returned his stethoscope to its case.

“Well? How is the baby, doctor?” asked Lady Haverton.

“The placement of the baby is good, so that helps. You’ve not given your daughter anything except weak tea or broth, I hope? No cordials for the pain.” Cordials or any such liquors would slow the contractions. The last thing Dorothea Blencowe and her baby needed now.

“No, most certainly not!” huffed her ladyship.

“Good. I would recommend that a supply of warm, damp cloths be applied to her belly. They might help hasten the process. I’ve also found, if you have the strength, Mrs. Blencowe, that if you get up and try to walk around a little, it speeds matters.”

“Walk around?” asked Lady Haverton. “Dorothea hasn’t the strength to lift her head.”

“Mama, I shall try. If the doctor thinks I must.” Impatience showed in her eyes. That she had the strength to argue with her mother was a good sign. At least, James hoped it was.

“I shall observe for a while and then we’ll see,” he said. “Thank you for being courageous.”

James smiled reassuringly at Mrs. Blencowe, who attempted to return the expression. She had to hold on and work hard. If she didn’t, he would have to send for a surgeon to save the baby. Mrs. Blencowe, however, probably wouldn’t survive the cesarean.

Warm cloths arrived and were placed on her belly. Feeble contractions came and went. Time ticked by, the
mantel clock chiming musically, regularly. The baby made no progress.

Sweating from the heat of the room and his own nerves, James stripped down to his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, rolling them up out of the way. “It’s time to walk, Mrs. Blencowe.”

Taking hold of her shoulder, James assisted her to sit up. Her breath came in labored gasps, sweat beading on her forehead.
She can’t do it. I’ll have to send for the surgeon and I’ll lose her
 . . .

“If you feel faint, Mrs. Blencowe, you must tell me immediately.” He hoisted her onto her feet. She groaned in response. “Most importantly, you have to concentrate on bringing that baby into the world.”

“Doctor, really,” Lady Haverton protested. “She is too weak for this.”

“She must walk, m’lady.”

A maid rushed into Mrs. Blencowe’s bedchamber. “Dr. Edmunds, sir, there’s someone at the door to see you. Says it’s most urgent.”

“I can’t leave Mrs. Blencowe at the moment.”

“Most urgent, sir,” the maid repeated.

“Make her walk, Lady Haverton,” he said, letting her take control of her daughter.

Mrs. Blencowe sagged against her mother’s supporting arm. “Please hurry back, Dr. Edmunds.” Air wheezed between her clenched teeth. “I . . . I . . . will keep trying to concentrate.”

“I’ll be only a minute. Please excuse me.”

He bolted down the stairs and found an agitated Mrs. Mainprice waiting. James’s steps slowed as he crossed the hallway to where she stood by the front door.

“Dr. Edmunds!” she cried. “You must come. It’s Miss Amelia, sir. She’s sick again. Worse this time. Much worse.” She glanced over his shoulder and whispered to prevent the footman from hearing, “Oh, sir, I do think it’s the cholera for certain.”

The brick wall James had feared now reared up to slam him in the face. “But she was better this morning.” Had he misread Amelia’s symptoms intentionally? Blindly?

“She isn’t any longer, sir.”

“I can’t leave Lady Haverton’s daughter right now There are serious complications.” Sweat slipped along his collar, suddenly tight enough to choke him. “She might perish.”

Mrs. Mainprice’s eyes widened with disbelief. “So you won’t come now, sir?”

“Send for Dr. Castleton, Mrs. Mainprice. He’s seen far more cases of the disease than I have and he’s often tended Amelia in the past. Besides, she will be more comfortable with him than with me.”
Heavenly Father, let Thaddeus be able to heal Amelia, because I don’t know that I could. I might only fail her
 . . . “And send Joe to bring Dr. Hathaway here immediately. He can tend to Mrs. Blencowe. I will return to the house as soon as he arrives.”