“No. Thank you.”
“I see.” She backed away, tugging off her gloves. “Unfortunately, I have some pressing business to attend to. I hope it will be convenient for Nurse Howard to continue to escort you?”
“Of course.”
“Do be sure to visit Miss Oliver sooner rather than later, Nurse Howard. She was right outside the door earlier, waiting on me. I was late to my appointment.”
“I will, Matron.”
As the matron shut herself into her office, Lord Turner asked, “Miss Oliver?”
“An elderly lady who is something of a worrier, always coming down with something or other.” Could two goals be accomplished at once? He couldn’t be pushed back to where he belonged, but perhaps a gentle nudge? “Actually, she rents a cottage from you, my lord. Would you have the time to come with me when I visit?”
His face took on a guarded expression. “Why?”
“She currently believes she is coming down with cholera.” She spread out her hands. “Which you must know is impossible with our fresh air and clean streets. But if she were to hear your opinion, not only as her landlord but as a doctor, she would certainly give up that notion.”
Lord Turner crossed his arms. Was he at least considering it? “Has Dr. Royston voiced his opinion to her?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Then I’m sure between the two of you that will be more than enough to make her see sense.” He strode ahead of her to the doors to the women’s ward.
“Lord Turner—”
Penelope gasped. Cold, dead eyes locked on to hers.
“Exactly, Miss Howard.” The edge to his voice was jagged. “I am Lord Turner. Not Woodley’s doctor.”
He didn’t seem angry as much as hollow. Empty of what mattered most to him. Like Thomas. How many times had she seen that same look in her brother’s eyes when a painting or sketch had not met its potential?
The hall clock chimed the hour. They both started, and Lord Turner cleared his throat. “I’m due to meet with a tradesman at the Hall. Please make my excuses to Dr. Royston.”
He darted around her and strode out the door.
As she drove home later that afternoon, his empty eyes refused to leave her alone. She shouldn’t have prodded him. But how could she have known it would injure him? She pressed her fingers to her eyes. If she kept on like this, it would end in a headache, and she would be no good to anyone. There was little she could or should do. It wasn’t her place to pry into his affairs, and he didn’t want her to anyway.
But there was no reason she shouldn’t pray for him. Lord, please bring peace to his soul.
As she passed through Woodley, she saw her brother standing outside The Baron’s Arms, the local public house. Who was that with him? He moved slightly. Mrs. Lynch? She urged Bessie a tad faster. Best to rescue him from her advances.
As she drew closer, she noticed she handed him a basket. Her mother’s basket. Well, that explained things. She must have been on her way to the cottage hospital and happened upon him. Thomas said something to her—the street noise was too loud to hear what—and she laughed. Curious. He didn’t seem as put out as usual. Mrs. Lynch caught sight of her, and her expression stiffened. She said something to Thomas and was gone by the time she reached him.
“Hello. I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said. His cheeks were a tad too pink. “I thought you were doing your weekly rounds.”
“I did that yesterday. Was that Mrs. Lynch I saw a moment ago?”
“Yes. She asked me to give this to you.” She reached for the basket, but he held it back. “It’s heavy. Apparently, it contains some tins of coffee for me.” He set it in the cart near her feet.
“Yes, she mentioned she was going to send it over.” She should ask him why he seemed so at ease. He was never so after his encounters with the Hall’s housekeeper. But courage failed her. “I’m headed back to Fairview. Would you like a ride?”
“No, I have something else that needs seeing to. But I will be home in time for dinner for a change.” He strode off.
She followed his progress for a moment or two, then directed her attention to the basket. Beneath the cloth lay the tins of coffee. An expensive brand. She should pay for at least a portion of it.
A small cloth pouch caught her eye. She opened it. Thomas’ tie pin, the one he lost near Highclere. What on earth was Mrs. Lynch doing with it? Her stomach pitched. No, please don’t let him be reviving his London habits here in Woodley. She set the basket down and snapped the reins. It couldn’t be. He’d been far too taken with Clara Bromley, and he barely touched a drop of what little spirits they kept at home. There must be a simple explanation to all of it. But his pink cheeks spoke of him imbibing too freely in the pub, and what of his easy manner with Harriet Lynch? And the tie pin—how could she ignore any of it?
CHAPTER 12
The visit to the cottage hospital had been a disaster.
His meeting with the tradesmen long over, John prowled the grounds. He never should have gone. So what if Dr. Royston’s words would have nagged him until he did? That would have been preferable than the nightmares he would undoubtedly encounter tonight. They had lessened since coming here. Even if the guilt hadn’t.
Pea gravel crunched beneath his feet, and he paused to stare at a clump of rose bushes. Perhaps he should visit the boy’s father. If he met with him, he might figure out a way to help them.
The word “help” instantly brought Miss Howard to mind. How could someone so gracious be so nosy, over-accommodating, and pig-headed? He recognized her request for his medical opinion for what it was, a nudge to dip his foot back into medical waters. What right did she have to prod him? Or deny her and her brother an evening of enjoyment? Because of some ridiculous notion that they were outside the correct “social sphere”?
Finally, a blemish on her flawless veneer. Or could all that be counted as one? She was only trying to do the right thing in both instances. The ball was one thing. They would go like it or not. But he couldn’t excuse his behavior today.
He hadn’t meant to be harsh. She couldn’t have known how much it pained him to walk the ward as a mere observer, as the patron and not the doctor. And yet something told him she did. Had she sensed it and imagined asking him to give a medical opinion would encourage him? The thought warmed him much more than it should.
He made his way back to the Hall. He should apologize. But seeing her would not be the best idea. The clock in the front hall told him she wouldn’t be home yet, not if she were as busy as Thomas led him to believe. A note would do. He would drop it off at Fairview and ask there where the Fletchers lived.
When he arrived at the farm, a stable boy greeted him and the door opened as he approached. How had they known he was coming? He hadn’t said where he was going when he left the Hall. A young maid stood just inside the door. She curtsied, took his coat and hat, and led him to the parlor.
“Lord Turner, miss.” The girl disappeared, leaving him with Miss Howard.
“Thank you, Fanny.” She rose from her seat. “Good day, Lord Turner. I hope you aren’t too surprised to be met at the door. I’m training our maid to be more vigilant about listening for visitors after our misunderstanding.”
“I see.”
“My brother is still out at the moment. Did you need to see him?”
“No, I came to see you.” Her mouth dropped open, and he rushed on, “I mean I didn’t think you would be home, and I wanted to leave you a note.” He studied the pattern of the carpet for a moment. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude.”
She let out a soft, musical chuckle. “Not at all, my lord. Won’t you sit down? Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you.” He sat opposite her in the same chair he’d used last time. She kept her hands clasped in her lap. The bandage was gone. He’d been too distracted at the hospital to notice before. “I take it your wrist has healed?”
She rubbed it. “Yes, it’s nearly good as new. It wasn�
��t as bad as it looked.”
“Good.” Silence gathered around them. It should have felt awkward, but for some reason, it was calm. Easy. Too easy. Time to make his apology, ask where the Fletchers lived, and leave. “I came to apologize for the way I acted earlier today. I’m sorry.”
“No, I am the one who should apologize, my lord. You gave me your answer, and I should have accepted it.”
“I still shouldn’t have behaved so badly.” He stood, and she followed suit. “I don’t mean to stay long. If you could tell me where the Fletchers live, I’ll be out of your way.”
“You mean to visit,” she intoned, her voice low and soft.
“I do. I want to meet with him myself and see what I can do.
Why?”
She didn’t answer immediately. “Dr. Royston sent Peter home after you left.” Another pause. “I could not help but notice the way you looked at him. Perhaps visiting would not be best if he brings back too many memories. Of the war.”
She knew. Yes, of course she knew. She could see right through him. No, that was foolish. The war ran in the papers over here. “I should go.”
“Why does the war stand between you and your calling?”
A dozen heartbeats passed. “So you’ve heard about the battles and the wounded.”
“Yes.”
“And you know about my role in it.”
“You were a field doctor, I think. You saved lives.”
“A field surgeon for the Union Army.” He released a mirthless chuckle. “Oh yes. I saved lives. I cut off limbs, Miss Howard. Hundreds. Some days it seemed like thousands. All to—as you say—save lives.”
“Then you did right. And I am sure many wives and families owe you a debt of thanks.”
“You would think that. And it’s generous of you.” He fought against his pounding heart. His next words would deaden her soft eyes. “But no. I may have saved lives, but in the end, when it came to my own leg, I chose the coward’s way out.”
“I do not believe you are a coward, my lord.” How were her eyes still gentle? Why did her voice have a tender quality?
“Do you know what a minié ball is?” She shook her head, and he continued with a grim explanation. “It’s a bullet. Do you know what happens when a man’s bone is hit by one? It shatters. And the only way to save the man’s life is to cut off his limb. And while I hacked away, I eased my conscience by telling myself that what I was doing was a good thing. I gained a reputation. They wanted to promote me, but I wouldn’t let them pull me from the men I was ‘saving.’ I even told myself if it were my arm or my leg, I would do the same thing. And then a stray bullet made it to my leg. And instead of letting them take it, I begged them to save it.”
“You were human.”
“I was a butcher.” He would cut through her compassion. “I discovered that’s what the men called me when I was sent to a hospital in Washington. I had chopped off the arm of the man in the bed next to me, and he didn’t hesitate to tell me.”
It was as if he had never spoken. Her gaze, her empathy never wavered. He saw in her exactly what he feared he would see. Forgiveness. And worse than that, a forgiveness that threatened to loosen his tongue further and tell her the rest in all its shame and horror. “No.”
“My lord?”
“No. I’ve already said too much.” He strode from the room and rode away from Fairview as quickly as Fortis would carry him.
CHAPTER 13
Mrs. Reynolds’ new baby arrived early, and Penelope felt obliged to visit despite the fact it was not her day to make calls. And despite the fact they’d welcomed a little girl into their family. She hadn’t held a baby girl—or any babe—for five years. How was that? Had all the mothers in and around Woodley ceased to have children in that length of time? No, she had been able to contrive excuses before. She had no way of inventing one now. Especially with the Reynoldses being such near neighbors.
When the woman greeted her at the door looking like Death itself with a wailing newborn in the crook of her arm, Penelope wasted no time in setting things to rights. She promptly helped her climb into her bed to rest with her child and set about tidying the little cottage. Molly Reynolds had no business being up so soon. Her labor had come early and lasted far longer than the midwife liked.
“I feel like the queen herself, so I do, Miss Howard,” Mrs. Reynolds declared.
“It is well deserved, I assure you,” she called from the little kitchen. “I only wish I’d had the sense to come sooner.” Which was true. Misgivings or no, the woman had needed help, what with her husband out working their small farm and their only other daughter, Sally, off at the girls’ school. She stepped to the doorway of her room. “What else can I do?”
“Nothin’ for the moment ’cept keep me company. Though I wish you’d speak to Fred. He’s that hard-headed about Sally goin’ to that school.” Mrs. Reynolds adjusted her nursing daughter. “Said he was comin’ in to help, but we haven’ seen him yet, have we?”
“I’m sure he just may have gotten caught up with something,” Penelope soothed. “And it’s good for Sally to attend and learn all she can, surely.”
“Suppose.” Mrs. Reynolds sounded less than convinced. “Wish I had her here with me, though. You can’t be comin’ and goin’ here every day. Here now, Miss Howard, she’s done and sleepin’. Would you mind?”
Penelope’s arms were stiff as she reached for the baby, and she worried she would drop the tiny thing. But the instant her hands touched the soft folds of the blanket, they remembered how to cradle a tiny life. How was that? Her arms hadn’t ever cradled a tiny life. Only a cold shell.
“We’re to name her Rose.” The mother beamed at the child. “After Fred’s mother.”
The chair she sat in was a godsend. Rose. That was to have been her angel’s name. It was the only name she’d picked, somehow knowing it was going to be a girl. “What a lovely name.”
Mrs. Reynolds leaned back into her pillows. “You’re a natural, Miss Howard. Many are glad you’re goin’ to that fancy ball. Past time for you to find a good man and settle. Have a few of your own.”
Why did Lord Turner, of all people, suddenly come to mind? “We’ll have to see, but it’s kind of you to think so.” She had no business contemplating anything of the sort. So he was clever with a few kind words. Handsome faces seldom are.
But the guilt he felt over his actions in the war, though misplaced, revealed him to be a man of honorable character. No wonder he behaved as he did. He felt he didn’t have a right to medicine, all because he acted as anyone would in what must have been a moment of fear. Now she understood the emptiness and the tension. It was a mantle of shame he forced himself to wear. That was a cloak she understood. She had shed hers long ago. Was it possible she could help free him from his own?
But had she truly abandoned hers? Did she trail it along behind her?
No. That wasn’t the same. That was reality. The consequences of her actions were a fact of life now. The child stirred in her sleep, and she rocked it gently. It was simple. She would never hold a child of her own.
It didn’t take long for the mother to slip into a deep sleep. Penelope laid Rose in the cradle beside the bed and returned to the small kitchen. She had just settled to help Mrs. Reynolds along with her mending when the door to the cottage opened, and Sally walked in.
“Oh! Hullo, Miss Howard.”
Penelope put her finger to her lips and showed the little girl her sleeping mother and sister. “They’ve just settled down,” she whispered. Wait. The girls’ school did not let out so early. “You shouldn’t be here quite yet, should you?”
Sally climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Miss Bromley is sick. She sent us all home. We’re not to come back ‘til Monday.”
“Miss Bromley is ill? Is it very bad?” She’d just had dinner with them last night and seemed fine.
“She had to excuse herself two times.”
Worry haloed Sally’s eyes, so Penelope patted her
cheek. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll check in on her and make sure she’s all right. Are you hungry?”
She fixed the child something to eat and gave her a quiet occupation until her mother awoke. The woman assured her now that Sally was there she would be fine for the time being.
What illness could Miss Bromley have caught so quickly? It couldn’t have been from their dinner. She and Thomas were fine. But as she pulled up in front of the little cottage, she heard the unmistakable sound coming from the open window of someone being ill. She let herself in through the schoolroom, which had been added to the cottage.
“Miss Bromley?”
A sob was the only reply, and she soon discovered her lying on her side in her bed. Her back was to her. Her shoulders shook, and Penelope rushed over. She laid a hand on her back. “Miss Bromley? Clara?” Clara moaned and curled up, inching farther away from her. Penelope wet a towel at the washbasin. She sat on the edge of the bed Clara was facing and tried to dab her forehead. The girl pushed her hand away with a grimace and rolled over. More sobs shook her body. Penelope laid the towel aside and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. Clara tried to pull away, but she refused to loosen her hold.
“Clara, what is it?” Her question evoked more sobs. While she waited, she rubbed Clara’s back.
Clara finally rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “If I tell you, you’ll hate me.”
Penelope went cold. She was familiar with those words. She had used them herself, years ago. “I could never hate you or anyone.”
She took a ragged breath and then another. “I told you I’m here because I must earn money for my family. The truth is my father sent me here to punish me and to get me away from Bristol.” She spat out the last words. “My family is well off. Papa is in trade, and we hold a high position in Bristol society. I’ve been closeted and sheltered for as long as I can remember. I didn’t go anywhere without Mama or a proper chaperone. Just before I was due to come out, I decided to slip away all by myself. To see what things were really like.” Her voice turned wistful. “I met someone.”
A Perfect Weakness Page 9