She flipped open to a page and pointed. “Fowler’s Solution consists of arsenic oxide, potassium tartar, water, and lavender. It is recommended in paste for psoriasis.” She said this last with distaste and disbelief. “Physicians are treating malaria and consumption with a potion for a skin disease?”
“Disease is disease,” Dare said with a shrug, looking over her shoulder. “Maybe it’s your lavender water that’s poisoning me.”
She elbowed him, hard. He kissed her ear in retaliation. At least she wasn’t treating him like a crippled-up invalid. She’d just taken weeks off of his research by finding the formula, once he proved these were the actual ingredients in his bottles.
“What on earth is arsenic oxide?” she asked.
“Arsenic is a naturally occurring element in metals and minerals. Oxide means it’s been chemically processed to add oxygen to it, but this does not say what form of oxide. There are several.” Grudgingly, he added, “And they can be poisonous.”
“So either Fowler’s recipe has been poisoning patients for decades, or your apothecary used the wrong form of arsenic?” she asked.
“Or lavender water is deadly,” he couldn’t resist adding, circling her waist and pulling her back against him so he could plant kisses along her lovely throat and pretend he was healthy and not terrified of dying and leaving her alone. “Go play out in the garden where you belong. I’ll stink up this shed oxidizing medicine.”
“I’ve sent word to Bridey that I’ll be over today. We need to develop a plan on how to move forward with the school. I’ll check on the garden, then try out one of your new horses. Please don’t poison yourself while I am gone.” She kissed his cheek and wriggled out of his embrace.
Damn, but he enjoyed having her there to hug. “Take someone with you!” he demanded.
“I plan to.”
She said it so brightly that Dare knew she didn’t mean a coach driver or sturdy footman. He drove his hand through his hair as she departed, her nearly petticoat-less skirt swaying nicely over her well-rounded derriere. He wanted to lock her up where no one could ever hurt her, while knowing he needed to let her learn how to fly free.
He was under no illusion that stopping the Fowlers would cure his consumption. He’d simply lost one more hope of postponing death.
Emilia stopped at the kitchen garden to see how it fared. The weeds had been hoed. Obviously, the spring planting had not been done, but there were volunteers of potatoes and onions from years past. The oregano and thyme had been unburied and trimmed.
Dare had said he’d talked to Mr. Arthur, but she didn’t see the old man around. She vaguely remembered him as a friend of her grandfather’s. He’d been ancient back then. He must be a hundred years old by now. She’d have to learn where he lived. Perhaps he was down at the hot spring garden today. If she had more time, she’d love to go down and look.
But she was no longer a child with no other task than wandering the fields. She’d have to trust servants to do their work while she did hers.
She stopped in the kitchen to talk to Tess. Mrs. Peacock sniffed her disapproval for Emilia’s daring to venture below stairs, but Emilia wanted to be certain working conditions were satisfactory.
After verifying that Mrs. Peacock had made arrangements with farmers and the village market for the provisions she needed, Emilia pulled Tess aside. “I wish you to accompany me to the abbey. Can you be ready in half an hour? I’ll speak to Mrs. Peacock and Mrs. Wiggs for you.”
The girl could be no more than twenty. Emilia didn’t know enough about Tess’s delicate condition to guess how far along she was. The maid simply looked too thin and under-nourished.
Her features froze in fear, but she curtsied obediently.
“I’ve been told Tess writes a fair hand,” Emilia told the suspicious cook. “I’m taking her with me to copy some medicinal recipes from Lady Pascoe’s books. I may be gone until dinner. Please see that Lord Dare eats while I’m away. He’s likely to forget.”
Knowing better than to argue, Mrs. Peacock continued mixing her batter and merely nodded.
She was meddling, Emilia knew. But she was a Malcolm, and meddling was a family tradition. She hurried upstairs to decide whether she needed an extravagant calling gown, or if she might wear an old one and start right to work.
Deciding she only wore her fine gowns to force people to notice her, and she didn’t have that problem with Dare and Bridey, she chose a comfortable muslin with modest sleeves and smaller skirts.
While Dare had been buying horses, Robert had found a gig for sale in the village. By the time she was dressed, the groom had one of the new horses harnessed to the cart, ready and waiting, much to Emilia’s delight. Taking up the reins, she gave in to the thrill of independence. In London, she could go nowhere without an escort. Here, she could go anywhere, despite Dare’s dire predictions. She’d driven her grandfather’s gig all over when she’d stayed with him. She’d missed that freedom.
Tess climbed up beside her and folded her hands in her lap. She’d tucked her thin, blondish hair into a cap, revealing a fine complexion and clear blue eyes. She might almost be pretty if she didn’t always look so downcast.
“Mrs. Wiggs tells me you were an excellent student.” Although she lacked any skill at small talk, Emilia attempted to break through the maid’s silence as she drove down the lane.
“Yes, m’lady.”
Hiding her grimace, she tried again. “Could you tell me about your schooling? How many years? Who was your teacher? That sort of thing?”
That roused the girl to cast her an anxious look, but she answered in a low voice. “The vicar has a school. I learned everything he had to teach, then helped with the youngers. I sometimes helped him write out his sermons in a clear hand, and I wrote letters for those that can’t.”
The tiny village that had grown up near the walls of Alder Abbey had no noble house besides the baronet’s. Emilia was surprised to hear someone had provided a vicar’s living. “There wasn’t a vicar here when I was little. What’s his name?”
“Oh, I’m not from Alder. I’m from Harrogate. I only came here because Aunt Mary asked.”
Well, that prevented Emilia from learning more about the father of the infant she carried. Assuming Aunt Mary was Mrs. Wiggs, she thought she’d have to question that lady a little more. “It’s good to have family looking after you,” she said with what she hoped was reassurance. “I’m hoping you can help me and Lady Pascoe with our project. I’ll wait until we are there to discuss it.”
Emilia drew a little more out of the girl as she drove, but under the guidance of Dare’s fine steed, the distance to the abbey wasn’t great. He truly did have a knack for finding sturdy, if not flashy, horses.
Bridey greeted them with delight and led them straight back to the infirmary and school.
“I can hire workmen to fix roofs and partition schoolrooms and boarding rooms,” Bridey said as they traversed the cloistered walkway. “But what I need to do is develop a system for accepting students and patients. Tess, I’d like you to help me with that.”
Out of her element, the girl finally lifted her head. Emilia thought she saw a flash of the eager adolescent she must once have been, before humiliation and terror had beaten her down.
“How?” Tess asked timidly.
“I thought we should start with written applications. A good midwife should have the ability to write down her recipes and notes, and I want to start with the best students, so we need women who can read and write. Some will become teachers, so education is essential.”
Given her height, and strong character, Bridey could be intimidating, but Tess seemed more interested than frightened. That was what Emilia had been hoping for.
She really wanted to start work on her laboratory, but with workmen running in and out of all the cubicles, she would only be in the way. So she settled for helping with the school.
A few hours later, Bridey helped herself to some of the bread and cheese a maid had
delivered while she examined Tess’s handiwork. “I think the student application looks sound. Now, let’s start on the patient application.”
Tess obediently lifted her pen to a new sheet of paper. She did, indeed, have excellent penmanship, and her spelling was accurate. She would be wasted as the housekeeper Mrs. Wiggs had hoped to make of her.
“Name, village, et cetera, at the top, of course, the same as the other,” Bridey dictated. “Fill it in as if you were the patient, so we know how large the lines should be. Suggest anything you think should be there.”
“Do we need to ask permission of the patient’s parents, husband, or father of the infant?” Emilia asked, nibbling a bread crust.
“No,” Tess said decisively, speaking out for the first time on her own. “Ask for the names of who is responsible for the patient in case of emergency, but don’t force her to ask permission to be a patient.”
“What if the patient is a child?” Emilia asked, offering the plate of cheese to Bridey and Tess before finishing it off. “Bridey really shouldn’t take on that responsibility.”
“If she’s old enough to lie with a man, she’d old enough to take responsibility for herself and her child.” Tess looked determined, then realizing she was speaking out of place, she ducked her head and began writing.
“Possibly,” Bridey agreed. “Except I’ve seen twelve-year olds who have been raped. They have no idea of what’s happening to them. At the very least, I need to know they have parents or somewhere to go once the babe is delivered.”
Tess gasped, gulped, and reached for her water glass. “That’s awful,” she finally muttered. “You should have a line asking for the name of the father so you can cut off his cock.”
Emilia exploded in laughter and Bridey sputtered. Tess began to look a little more fierce.
By mid-afternoon, it had been decided that Tess should stay at the abbey as Bridey’s secretary, where she wouldn’t have to carry heavy pots or scrub floors. Studying Tess’s soft hands had convinced Emilia that the maid hadn’t been born to service, but she still hadn’t pried her background from her.
“I’d like to leave the original draft of my pharmacopeia here, if I may,” Emilia said, nodding toward the metal box she’d brought with her. “This isn’t all of it. Bessie still has more to copy, but the main part is done. Dare has reminded me that it isn’t safe to keep both copies in one place.”
Bridey took the box with delight. “There are stone cubbyholes here that are practically fireproof. We’ll keep it as safe as possible. May I look at it?”
“Of course, that’s the whole point! Having another expert look at it would be wonderful.”
Before Emilia could say more, a dog’s howl echoed off the stone cloister walls, startling all of them into glancing toward the doorway. Many of the older parts of the building had crumbled, so the central garden was no longer completely enclosed—which meant anyone could enter.
“That’s Will’s hound,” Bridey said, setting the box on a shelf beneath a worn limestone counter built into the old wall. “He’s been working with Pascoe’s son on animal training, but I thought he’d gone out for the day.”
“I’m assuming you mean Will is working with the boy, not the hound,” Emilia said in amusement, relaxing. Dare’s warnings were starting to work on her nerves.
“Well, actually, both. I’ll explain later.” Bridey stepped to the doorway, and in a few seconds, a huge deerhound raced up, tail wagging. She scratched behind the dog’s ears and frowned. “Will, what have you been doing? Come over here and let me look. Where is Edward?”
A moment later a giant of a man loomed in the doorway. Emilia recognized him as an Ives immediately. She supposed she’d seen him at one time or another, but she didn’t remember being introduced. One of Pascoe’s bastard nephews, Will wasn’t one of the city gentleman with whom she was more familiar. He was a dog trainer, if she remembered rightly, one who traveled about the country.
At the moment, he looked as if he’d been in a brawl. He nodded respectfully in her direction, then turned to Bridey, who was already clucking over a cut near his temple. “I brought Edward back earlier. I need to talk to Pascoe.”
“You need that cut cleaned,” Bridey retorted. “Sit down.” She pointed at the stool she’d been using.
He hesitated. “It’s probably too late now anyway.” Under Bridey’s glare, the big man sat as told.
“Tess, will you pull that bell rope over there?” Bridey indicated a long cord near the door. “Pascoe’s been working on the bell system. It’s far from perfect, but someone will come.”
Tess fetched water from the pump while Emilia mixed balsam with alcohol and Bridey cleaned the wound. Pascoe arrived just as they were applying a bandage.
“Back to the good old days of terrorizing the neighborhood?” the baronet asked genially, not looking particularly concerned.
“Surveyors in the wheat field,” Will said curtly. “Had a minor altercation. They’re gone now.”
“Surveyors?” Pascoe suddenly came alert. “From the railroad?”
Will nodded, then winced as Bridey cleaned his battered fingers with alcohol.
“Bl. . .” Pascoe caught himself and bowed to the ladies. “Forgive me, but I’m off to write Sommersville. The duke may know who is behind these trespassers. They do not have permission to lay their track through my tenant’s field!”
Emilia watched him go with a frown of worry etched on her brow. “One of my staff mentioned they thought the railroad was going through my cottage. They can’t do that, can they?”
Fingers taped, Will grunted and stood up. “These fellows thought they could.”
Alarmed, Emilia gathered up her pelisse and bonnet. “I must talk to Dare. Perhaps we should all go to see the duke. I’m not losing my home just as I finally gained it!”
Chapter 14
Dare ground his teeth as his stubborn wife drove into the stable yard—alone. He would admire the way Emilia handled the reins, except her bonnet had fallen down her back, and she looked disheveled and upset and was that blood on her sleeve? Frightened and furious, he crossed the stones and hauled her from the gig the instant the groom grabbed the horses.
“I told you not to go out alone!” He wanted to hold her close and ascertain she was all right, but he was unaccustomed to dealing with irrational panic roiling his innards. It was safer if he set her down.
“I didn’t go out alone. I had Tess with me. But I left her with Bridey.” She shook out her skirt as if he hadn’t just manhandled her. She stalked toward the house, apparently expecting him to follow since she kept talking. “We must go to see the duke of Sommersville. There are surveyors in the fields saying they’re laying a railroad track through the village!”
Frigging bloody damn hell. Had the investors believed he could twist arms so quickly? Time was of the essence in a matter like this. They may have assumed all was in order. Or else. . . His panic escalated.
A competitor was planning his own track.
Dare strode after his wife. “Fine. I’ll ride over and talk with Pascoe. We’ll make an appointment with the duke. One does not just ride up and say hello, how are you, to a duke! How do you know there are surveyors? Did you talk with them?”
“Mr. Ives-Madden did. He got into fisticuffs with them. That’s how audacious they are! What are we to do if the duke isn’t available?” She flung her bonnet and pelisse over a hook and looked at him with dismay.
“You have no reason to believe they will come through here. You’ve not seen any letters asking you to sell, have you?” Dare tried to think frantically if the consortium had sent any. Emilia’s land hadn’t been on the original path, so there was no reason to. But fisticuffs with surveyors didn’t sound right at all. He wasn’t in this to fight with landowners!
She halted at the bottom of the stairs, looking pale and frightened. “What if this Crenshaw person has done something despicable besides stealing money? Could the executors have sent him the letters to
sort out?”
“I would think they would have told me if there was any possibility an offer had been made on the property. I questioned them thoroughly. I’ll send a note to Pascoe,” he said to calm her down. “He’ll be able to reach the duke. Surveyors simply draw maps. They can’t lay tracks.”
She turned and flung her arms around him, resting her dark head against his shoulder. “Thank you. It would be awful to wait all these years to claim my home, only to lose it.”
Emilia had never voluntarily thrown herself into his arms. Despite his roiling panic, Dare felt like a twelve-foot god having his independent wife turn to him. Feeling good about himself didn’t happen much these days. He hugged her and rubbed her back. “They have to buy the land. They cannot simply steal it.”
He’d write the head of the consortium while he was writing Pascoe. The investors he worked with were all honorable gentlemen. They wouldn’t send ruffians to survey fields without permission.
He fought a cough and cursed. He needed this railroad done before he was too weak to gallop off to meetings. Without strong leadership, some of his investors might give up.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for panicking.” She kissed his cheek, wiped her eye, and straightened bravely. “I’ve spent my life with books, and fisticuffs are out of my element. Thank heavens you don’t indulge.”
Since he’d indulged in more than his fair share of brawls in his reckless youth, Dare didn’t have an answer for that. She only knew him as a weak invalid. Humiliating for him, to be sure, but reassuring for her, apparently.
“Let me know what Pascoe says. We really must hire a footman before Robert has to return to the marquess. We need someone to run messages to the abbey.” She bustled off, leaving Dare in a cloud of lavender and frustration.
It was a hell of a lot easier dealing with women who had no interest in his business. It was bad enough he had to share his workshop with his distracting wife. Now he had to keep her out of his investments or she’d be telling him where to lay tracks so they didn’t kill mice.
Chemistry of Magic Page 14