The Irish Healer (6 page)

“So that’s how it is, eh?” Peg asked, overbold.

“That’s precisely how it is if that’s what Miss Dunne says,
Peg,” scolded Mrs. Mainprice. “Now finish your dinner. We’ve work yet to do and precious little time for impolite chitchat.”

The talking ended, and the dinner ground to an eventual halt with all the grace of a costermonger’s wagon bogging down in deep mud. Dishes were hastily cleared and Mrs. Mainprice turned to the task of finishing the preparation of Dr. Edmunds’s meal.

“Might I help?” Rachel asked. Peg and Molly’s eyebrows lifted in unison, and they set to whispering.

“There’s no need, Miss Dunne,” said Mrs. Mainprice. “You’re not to do servant’s work.”

“But I wish to help.”

“This is not right, Miss Dunne.”

Rachel saw she was making the housekeeper fidget with agitation, but she wanted to prove herself willing and able. “I insist.”

Mrs. Mainprice nodded. “Peg, Molly, what are you two doing? Get to your chores.”

As instructed by the older woman, Rachel brought out from the pantry the serving ware made of fine china decorated with maroon roses. Her fingers traced the intertwining stems and flowers. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

What a world she’d found herself in, as though she had become a thistle among heather. Although she wouldn’t have been comfortable in this house before life had tossed her from her secure place. In Carlow, she had once known where she belonged, what was expected of her, what her future held. Now . . . her finger curled over the smooth edge of the platter. Now she was adrift and scrambling for a toehold.

Rachel felt Peg’s gaze on her. Was the girl wondering if
Rachel was planning on pinching a saucer or teacup to sell on a street corner somewhere?

“Peg, if you don’t mind the gravy, it’ll boil and curdle quick as you can say ‘Jack Robinson,’” Mrs. Mainprice reprimanded. “Back at it now.”

Onto the good china went the food—a duckling, stewed cucumbers in the gravy Peg had prepared, asparagus soup, currant pudding. It was enough food to serve several people, certainly enough to feed Rachel’s family back at home, used to so much less and so much simpler, some fish or stew being their usual fare. Nathaniel would laugh at the cucumbers, limp green discs floating in a sea of caramel-brown. Right before her brother gobbled them down.

Molly balanced the tray and headed for the staircase. “Hey, watch it now, Joe,” she called out as the lad bounded into the kitchen.

“Sorry there, Moll. Miss Dunne, the master’s asked to see ya.”

Peg shot Rachel a quick, knowing look.

After the confusion at the dock and the questions about her age, had Dr. Edmunds already decided to dismiss her? “Where is he?” Rachel asked Joe.

“In the dinin’ room. Where else would ’e be at this hour?”

Rachel followed Joe out of the kitchen. “What sort of mood is Dr. Edmunds in?”

Eyes brown like burnt toast turned to stare at her. “’is typical mood.”

Whatever mood that was, though it didn’t sound promising. Rachel chewed her lip and searched for conversation. “What do you do for the doctor, Joe?”

“I’m the boy.”

“What does ‘the boy’ do?”

Joe looked at her as if she were teasing. A few seconds passed as they ascended the stairs before he appeared to realize her question was genuine. “I do all the stuff the maids don’t like to do, like fill the coal scuttles. Take care o’ the doctor’s ’orse and gig. Sometimes I take ’is physics to ’is patients. Stuff like that.”

“What do you think of your master? Do you like him?”

They turned the corner of the ground-floor landing. “Dr. Edmunds? ’e’s an all right bloke. A bit ’ard sometimes because of losin’ his wife an’ all. That were three years ago, I’ve done been told.”

“But he is a fair man.”

“D’pends on what yer plannin’ on doin’.” Joe eyed her. “Though if yer worried about ’im likin’ you, you should claim you know everythin’ to be known about tendin’patients and whatnot. ’e’d like to hear that, ’e would.”

“I know nothing about tending patients.” Did she shout that?

“Didn’ think ya did. Jus’ sayin’ it might come in ’andy an’ all to pretend you did. Door at the far end,” Joe said when they reached their destination, then scampered off.

Rachel entered the dining room. It shimmered golden in the candlelight. The walls were covered in sumptuous yellow silk, coordinating saffron draperies hung at the windows looking out at the street, and the marble fireplace gleamed creamy white. Crystal pendants suspended from the candelabra refracted rainbow light. A corner cabinet displayed chinaware even more delicately lovely than what she had seen in the kitchen.

Molly was laying out the last of the dishes, and at the head of the polished table sat Dr. Edmunds, alone yet dressed for company in evening kit—indigo coat, gray waistcoat, white neckerchief. The master of an empty dining room.

It was utterly, indescribably sad.

He looked over as Rachel approached the table. His expression was impossible to read.

“There you are, Miss Dunne,” he said, “Molly, there’s no need for you to stay. You may go. I wish a word with Miss Dunne in private.”

Molly hustled out of the dining room, a tiny smile on her lips, and shut the door behind her.

“You wished to see me, Dr. Edmunds?” Rachel asked.

“I do, and you’re welcome to sit, Miss Dunne.” He waited until she pulled out a chair, heavy and beautifully carved. The cushion was thick and extraordinarily comfortable. Or would have been comfortable, if she could relax.

“I trust I did not disturb your dinner,” he said.

“I have already taken my meal in the kitchen.”

“You’re not a servant, Miss Dunne, and don’t need to eat in the kitchen. In future, you can ask to have a tray sent up to your room. Or use the Blue Room on the second floor, if you would like.”

‘In future’ meant she had one. “So you’ve not changed your mind about keeping me on here after the mishap at the dock, the misunderstanding about my age?”

His eyes searched her face. “You assured me there was no intentional deception. That is still the case, correct?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then the fault must be mine. Your cousin told me you were highly experienced, and I must have equated that with age.”

“I apologize again,” she said, relief rushing her words, “for that and for causing you to come down to the docks to search for me. I do not mean to be difficult.”

“Good, because I don’t have time for difficulties.” He steepled his fingers and watched her over their tips. “I called you up here for another reason. I have a proposition for you that I’m hoping you’ll accept.”

There was no “hoping” in the firm tone of his voice. Dr. Edmunds expected her to accept, and based on what Joe had said, she feared she already knew what he was about to ask. “Yes?”

“My medical attendant, Miss Guimond, was recently forced to return to her home country of France. Some of the tasks she used to perform for me still need to be done until my practice is completely closed. I know you’ve come to England looking for a better situation . . .” His gaze sharpened, making her skin prickle from its intensity. “But as you’re already here in my employ, I thought you could take over her tasks in addition to the other work you’ll be doing for me.”

“I am afraid, Dr. Edmunds, I would not make a good attendant,” Rachel replied, cold dancing down her spine. God let innocents die under her care. “I know nothing of use about medicine. In fact, I’ve had a very bad experience.”

“Did it involve a man who cut his foot on a piece of pavement?” A smile flitted across his lips. Fleeting as it was, the smile transformed him like the wink of candlelight on a gloomy night.

“Pardon me?” she asked, confused. Both by the question and her reaction to his smile.

“Just something Joe said.” He shook his head as if apologizing for the question. Or the smile. “Of course, I’m not asking you to diagnose ills or treat any cases. I need someone to wait with patients when they come into the office during my open hours, gather information from them, and comfort them while they wait, if needed. The skills you would acquire would be impressive to any future employer.”

“I intend on teaching children, Dr. Edmunds, and such work will not require me to serve as their nurse.”

“One never knows about that.” He lifted his brows to emphasize his belief. “I’m sure after a good night’s sleep, you’ll see the sense in my request and realize the benefits behind the opportunity I’m presenting you.”

If you knew I was accused of murder, you would retract the offer in a heartbeat
. But Rachel could not tell him about the accusation and destroy her prospects. She could only bow her head and agree. “Yes, Dr. Edmunds.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Seven sharp,” he said, indicating she could leave.

Rachel rose and bade him good night.

Seven sharp.

It sounded like an appointment with the executioner.

CHAPTER 6

Mary. Mary. Wake up.

She’s so cold, so cold. And blue . . . Mary!

“Miss Dunne, what’s wrong with her? What’s happened?”

She is gone. I gave her the decoction of hawkweed with honey, but it did not save her. God, what did I do wrong?

Mary! Wake up. Just wake up . . . Wake up!

“Miss Dunne. Are you all right?” Mrs. Mainprice’s voice was insistent, loud enough to penetrate the wood of the chamber door.

Rachel bolted upright in bed, her skin clammy, heart hammering. She’d had another of her nightmares. Why could they not leave her alone, stay in Ireland where they belonged?

“Miss Dunne!”

“Yes, Mrs. Mainprice. I am coming.” Jumping up, Rachel threw on her thin robe and pulled open the door.

“Are you all right, child? I heard you calling out.” Worry creased the older woman’s face.

“I . . . talk to myself in my sleep. What time is it?”

“Near seven, miss.”

“I am going to be late!” Rachel grabbed her brush and began dragging it through the stubborn tendrils of her hair.

“I brought you breakfast.” Mrs. Mainprice held out her tray—toast, an egg, and coffee on its lacquered surface. “But you might not have time. Master’s in the library already. Waiting.”

Not good. “I shall not be late again. I promise.”

“No need to promise me, miss,” she answered, leaving the tray teetering on the bedside chair.

The clock rang seven as Rachel turned the corner of the first-floor landing. Dr. Edmunds was outside the library, waiting for her as advertised.

“Ah, Miss Dunne, there you are,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “Did you sleep well?”

A strand of his dark hair had fallen down over his brow, curled boyishly, so incongruous on that serious face. She noticed anew how handsome he was, possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen, especially when he wasn’t frowning at her. Which he wasn’t.

Thank heavens.

“I did sleep well, Dr. Edmunds. Apparently too well. I am sorry if I am late. That is not my habit.”

“Don’t worry. You’re just on time. Come along.” He shoved the errant strand of hair off his forehead and entered the library, moving across the carpet in long strides. She hurried to keep up. “I’ve a large collection of books, some of which I inherited from my father, many of which are duplicates of what I previously owned. I need them all logged so I can decide which I should keep and which I should give away.”

Large
barely described the endless rows upon rows of books, shelves not sufficient to contain them all. Some rested atop a corner table; others were stacked in a neat pile. Could he or his father possibly have read every one? Or did he own them simply because he could, a rich man’s habit?

“There are . . . so many” She felt inadequate in the midst of such an obvious show of wealth.

“Do you find the quantity daunting to catalog, Miss Dunne?”

Rachel confidently squared her shoulders; she could ill afford him to think her incompetent. “There are simply more books than I have ever seen, is all. I am up to the task.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Let me show you the system I’ve devised.”

Her responsibility was straightforward: classify the books by topic and log them accordingly. Organizing his collection would be tedious but simple, bookkeeping of a sort she understood. She nodded as he spoke. Yes, she could separate the books of poetry from the works of botany and track them separately. Yes, she understood that he wanted common topics merged—all books on travel in England maintained apart from those discussing Europe.

“Not difficult at all, Dr. Edmunds.”

His eyes seemed to brighten, as though a smile was captured within them but was unable to escape. She could stand there for some time, looking at those eyes, so harsh and beautiful and captivating at the same time, like the heart of a storm cloud.

“You will also need to assist in packing some of the household things, in addition to the contents of my medical
office,” he said. “My plan is to close down my practice in a month and leave for Finchingfield, where I’ve inherited my family’s small estate. As a result of the short time remaining and the sudden absence of my attendant, the staff needs your assistance. Which is why I took you on.”

“None of the work should be difficult, Dr. Edmunds.”

“Excellent.” He offered a brisk smile, and Rachel soaked up his approval like a bone-dry cloth soaking up water.
I should like to see him smile more often, and more fully. He would look less stern and forbidding if he did
.

He turned on his heel. “Now for the office. There is a great deal to be done in there.”

Swallowing down a burst of nerves, Rachel followed him out of the library. “You need me to pack all of the contents?”

“Yes, but not for me to take along when I move. I’m retiring from the practice of medicine and becoming a gentleman farmer.”

Rachel knew surprise had to show on her face. He was too young to retire. “You are no longer going to be a physician in Finchingfield?”

“No, I’m not. A friend of mine who attended medical college with me, Dr. Thaddeus Castleton, is taking over my practice, along with most of the contents of my office. I’ve already transferred many of my patients to him.”