The Irish Healer (31 page)

Her mouth twitched with reproach she dare not voice. “Aye, sir.”

“Mrs. Blencowe is in a critical state, Mrs. Mainprice. I can’t leave her. You must understand.”

Her pitying gaze nearly undid him. “Aye, sir.”

Nodding, he spun on his heel and vaulted up the stairs. “Send for Dr. Castleton and Dr. Hathaway.” He called over his shoulder. “I will be home as soon as I’m able.”

After Dr. Edmunds had left for Lady Haverton’s, a few pence and some useful instructions from Joe enabled Rachel to take the omnibus to the lodging house to introduce herself to the landlady. The woman scowled and tutted during Rachel’s visit, her small dark eyes skittering over Rachel like a pair of frantic bugs—she only took ladies of “select character” and had to be most careful—but was happy enough to accept eleven shillings as advance payment on the first week’s rent. The rent of a tiny furnished bedchamber and miniscule sitting room with a smoky chimney-piece and cracked plaster walls that made Rachel glad she would not be living there in the winter months.

Rachel had then stopped to post a letter to Claire to inform her of the news concerning Mrs. Chapman and the school. Not that Claire could do much from Weymouth, but her cousin would want to know. While she’d been posting the note, Rachel recalled the name of another charity school Claire had mentioned in her letter. She would inquire there about a position later today, once she’d had a chance to collect her thoughts and have a bite to eat. Rachel was not in a rush to hurry back to Dr. Edmunds’s. Nothing remained for her to do at his house except chance coming face-to-face with him.

A small meat pie purchased, and the stretch of lawns and lime trees that marked Green Park beckoning, Rachel strolled to a secluded location. She dropped onto the grass, heedless of the damage she might do to her dress. Equally heedless of the well-dressed ladies strolling nearby that
sneered at her. Let them deride her poor clothing and common man’s meal; she was getting used to being judged and found wanting.

She finished her pie and discreetly wiped the crumbs from her fingers. The weather had continued fair since the funeral, and Rachel let the fading early evening sun dance on her cheeks, warm her face. If she closed her eyes and shut out the noise of the city that rumbled past on distant Piccadilly, she might pretend she was in Ireland, the ground cool beneath her, a bird trilling in a tree.

Folding her arms around her shins, Rachel rested her chin on her knees and stared at a tangle of children throwing a ball near a reservoir, the water of its fountain splashing brightly. So happy and carefree, like she had been when she was their age, seeing life through a sparkling prism. Before reality had dimmed the glass.

Rachel swiped a tear from her face. She would not cry. She would be strong, because she had to be strong. For Mother, for Nathaniel, for Sarah and Ruth. No matter how hard life continued to be, she must hold up her spine and work hard. For them.

“
You are strong, Miss Dunne. I envy you for it.”

If Dr. Edmunds only knew how fragile her strength really was, he would not have bothered to envy her at all.

“Cor, miss, ’ere you are!” Joe shouted across the lawn.

Rachel shielded her eyes with her hands. “Joe? Why are you here?”

“Been lookin’ everywhere.” He slid down from the doctor’s mare and started striding toward her, pulling the horse behind. “Went to the school, the lodgin’ ’ouse—what a queer hen ya got there, miss—yer cousin’s ’ouse, come back
down ’ere and, cor! ’ere you be. Mrs. M sent me to come fetch you back ’mediately.”

“Whatever for?” She jumped up, brushing grass from her skirt.

“Miss Amelia is sick. Poor lass ’as got the cholera. Mrs. Woodbridge ’as gone and fainted in her bedchamber, an’ it’s all Mrs. M can do to ’elp the child. She needs you bad and right now.”

“The cholera?” Rachel’s stomach danced like she had swallowed a flock of frantic moths. Would Dr. Edmunds stop believing in God if He took Amelia away? “I do not understand why Mrs. Mainprice has to tend Miss Amelia. Is not Dr. Edmunds caring for her?”

“Dr. E’s still at Lady H’s place, tendin’ the daughter. Had Mrs. M send for Dr. Castleton, but Dr. C is too sick with the cholera ’imself. Then, right afore I left the ’ouse, that rummy cove Dr. Calvert come on behalf o’ Dr. Castleton.” His thin lips pinched tight.

“No doubt he will tend to Amelia properly,” she answered, willing herself to believe what she said. “I do not know why you expect I could do better than Dr. Calvert.”

“Dr. Calvert’s told Mrs. M that ’e’s goin’ to purge the girl, get all the illness outta ’er, and I don’ think I’ve seen a little tyke look sicker than that lass.”

The moths in Rachel’s stomach transformed into geese flapping frantically. Purging was not what her mother would do at all, but Rachel knew too many doctors and surgeons thought it proper. Help the body rid itself of the poison, they reasoned, when all they were truly doing was draining away life. It might work for a normally healthy adult, but for a little child?

Rachel marched up to Joe. “He cannot purge her. You and Mrs. Mainprice must stop him.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, miss, but no. Dr. Calvert’s not goin’ to listen to me. You hafta come.”

“What makes you think he will listen to me?”

“For one, you talk prettier than either Mrs. M or me,” he pointed out. “An’ you look a whole lot prettier too. That bowl-o’-puddin’s a soft touch around women.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot help.” Rachel clutched her skirts to stop her hands from trembling. “Truly, Joe, I am sorry.”

“‘Sorry’?” Joe released a stream of curse words, the first time she had ever heard him utter anything stronger than ’cor.’ “’Scuse me, miss, but you can be bloody stubborn. You ’ave to come right now.”

“Have you forgotten what happened to Mr. Fenton-Smith? To Molly? I could not heal her. How could I help Amelia?” A child. A little child. She killed little children. Joe could just ask Mr. Ferguson.

“Forget Moll! What you done for ’er was care when she was beyond ’elpin. So no more feelin’ sorry for yerself, miss.” He jabbed a finger into her shoulder. “No more feelin’ sorry or tellin’ me ‘sorry.’ You ’ave to help Miss Amelia. Do it for me and Mrs. M. Do it for Dr. E, if nobody else. C’mon. C’mon, you silly . . . jes’ c’mon!”

He was breathing hard as he stared at her. Joe believed in her still. She would have to believe too.

Be strong
.

Rachel released her grip on her skirt. “All right. I will come.”

CHAPTER 27

Relief registered on Mrs. Mainprice’s face when she came down the stairs and saw Rachel standing just inside the front door, removing her bonnet. “Thank heavens Joe found you, miss.”

“Joe said you needed me,” Rachel said, her voice quivering less than she thought it might.

“The lass needs you, Miss Dunne.” Mrs. Mainprice gave a gentle smile. “Dr. Calvert has been purging the child, and he’s sent for a surgeon to bleed the lass. Poor wee thing.”

“We have to stop him.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been trying.”

A man, round and soft—rather like a mound of pudding, as Joe had said—appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Mrs. Mainprice, we need more blankets.” He peered at Rachel. “Better yet, send the servant girl there. I need you at the patient’s bedside.”

“My name is Rachel Dunne, Dr. Calvert. I am Dr. Edmunds’s assistant. I have come to nurse Miss Amelia. If
you require my aid,” she added with a humble smile, summoning all that charm Joe seemed to think she possessed. Hoping the expression masked her tremors.

Dr. Calvert looked down his considerable nose at her, his heavy sideburns bracketing the uncertain frown on his face. “You have some experience in these matters?”

“I have an extensive knowledge of herbal remedies and have been sitting at the bedsides of the ill since I was ten. I have nursed people through dropsy and typhus and croup.” With only one death—no, three—that haunted her.

His thick eyebrows rose in unison. “You sound most accomplished. Edmunds never told me he’d hired an attendant to replace Miss Guimond.”

“He was afraid someone might snatch Miss Dunne away if they found out, sir,” interjected Mrs. Mainprice. “You know how hard it is to find a good attendant, and Dr. Edmunds was a wee bit possessive of our Miss Dunne.”

“Was he now? Well then, in that case, I believe I can trust you with the care of our patient. I left a very important function at Lord Wellsley’s and must return immediately. My duties here are concluded for the moment, anyway. It is time for the surgeon to ply his trade.”

“You can trust me to follow whatever instructions you provide,” Rachel replied. “I shall attend to Amelia’s care until the surgeon arrives.”

“Mrs. Mainprice knows what needs be done. My directives must be followed to the letter. Am I understood? The child must not come to harm because of incompetence.”

“I understand completely, Dr. Calvert,” said Rachel stiffly, keenly aware that if he lost a patient, he would never suffer the accusations she had endured.

“I see I’ve made myself clear, then. Good evening, Miss Dunne. I shall return once my schedule permits.” He retrieved his medical bag and marched out of the house.

Rachel hurried up the stairs as soon as the door closed behind him, the housekeeper wheezing as she hastened into Amelia’s room with her. Mrs. Woodbridge was nowhere to be found.

Rachel stripped back the heavy blankets covering Amelia, beet-red from fever, pulled out the warmed brick at her feet. The child stirred and moaned. She didn’t open her eyes, though. She had obviously been dosed with laudanum.

“The doctor said sweating her was the proper thing to do,” Mrs. Mainprice explained.

“She is already burning up. She needs less heat on her body, not more.” Rachel dropped a nearby clean rag into the basin of water. “When was the last time you thought to cure a fever by laying heavy blankets and hot bricks all over a person?”

“Exactly never. Cordials, spirit of niter, and cool wet cloths usually work best. If anything does.” Her eyes softened, moistened with tears. “Poor lass.”

“We had best make some of my tonic.” Rachel wrung out the cloth, the excess water splashing into the basin. “We have to get some down Amelia as soon as we can rouse her from her sleep. Tonic and cordials and anything else you can think of.”

“I agree, Miss Dunne.” Mrs. Mainprice punctuated her assent with a crisp nod, her cap ribbons flapping.

“We should also tell Joe to prevent that surgeon from crossing the threshold of this house. Instruct him to tell the man anything, that we’ve had an outbreak of the plague if
necessary, but keep him away. And we should not let Mrs. Woodbridge in this room. She would not approve of my tending to Amelia.”

“Dr. Calvert dosed Mrs. Woodbridge with laudanum as well. She was rather hysterical when he arrived. I’ve a feeling she won’t be rising for many an hour.” A wry smile twisted the housekeeper’s mouth, and she hurried off to fetch the tonic.

Rachel turned back to Amelia, and her heart sank as fast as an anchor tossed over the side of a ship. The poor child was so very ill. She squirmed from the fever and the pain that gripped her. Damp cloth in hand, Rachel gently wiped it over Amelia’s limbs.

“Amelia, do try to wake up. Please. You need to take some medicine.”

Mrs. Mainprice returned, a steaming mug of tonic in her hands. She helped Rachel spoon a small amount past Amelia’s lips. The child spluttered, the liquid dribbling onto Rachel’s arms.

“Please drink some, sweeting,” Rachel cooed and clamped her fingers around the spoon to stop their trembling. Amelia’s eyes drifted in and out of focus, fighting against the effects of the laudanum. Rachel noticed anew that they were the most incredible blue, a rich color, like precious sapphires. Her heart swelled until she thought her chest would burst. “Yes, Amelia. Good girl. Concentrate on me and try to swallow some of this. It will make you feel better.”

“I can’t. I hurt.” Amelia moaned, a piteous sound that tore at Rachel’s heart. Mary Ferguson had moaned just the same that afternoon, in between wrenching coughs . . .

She spilled tonic onto the sheet, a circular stain of greenish liquid.

“Here, miss.” Mrs. Mainprice leaned across her, wiping at the spill with a clean cloth. “Let me get that.”

“I want Aunt Soph.” Amelia’s legs churned beneath the sheets, fighting off the pain consuming her, wasting her away. “I want Papa. Papa now!”

James, you need to come home. Your daughter is dying
.

“He will be here very soon, Amelia.” Rachel forced a smile, the tears swimming in her eyes to blur the child’s features. If she let them fall, they would drain away her last ounce of courage. “But until he gets here, I will take good care of you. I promise.”

Amelia sipped more, until the effort to drink exhausted her beyond where she could resist the laudanum. Rachel rested the child’s head, its mass of shiny curls, onto the pillow and let her sleep.

“Oh, miss.” Every wrinkle in the housekeeper’s face creased. “She looks so dreadful sick.”

“She
is
dreadful sick.”

Wearily, Rachel stood, her back stiff, and went to the room’s window It looked out over the garden, late afternoon shadows mantling the paths, the fountain, the pear tree in darkness. A face peeked through the stable window Joe. He would patiently wait to hear what happened with Amelia, no matter how late it grew or how bad the news.