by Lynda Hurst
Unsuspecting, Doctor Cardinal had produced his glass jar of leeches when Mary had knocked them out of his hand, the jar and its contents came crashing onto the bedchamber floor. Jumping back, Lady Diana let out a horrified shriek at the little creatures now wriggling loose on the rug at her feet, while Jackson and Margaret stood stock-still, still unsure of Mary’s unusual outburst. A bewildered Doctor Cardinal could only stare at Mary, his eyes bugging out at her while obviously still trying to comprehend what had just happened.
In a raised voice atypical of her usual, even-tempered self, Mary cried, “Get out of here, this instant! You have bled him dry to what purpose? He grows weaker each time you try and neither time sees him any better. Begone with you!” By this time, Mary had scooped up his open case with its instruments in danger of spilling out of it and none too gently deposited it into his chest, forcing him to catch it all to prevent everything from falling to the floor.
By this time, Jackson recovered from his initial shock and rounded the bed to stand next to his sister, who now resembled an angry cat with its back up and with its fur bristling. One glance at his twin told him she would brook no nonsense with the poor doctor and that she would readily defend her stance to not allow the doctor to continue. In support of his sister, he calmly said, “Doctor Cardinal, I believe we no longer require your services, but are grateful for your help thus far. Our butler, Chaucer, will see you to the door.”
If Mary hadn’t been so angry, she would have been amused at the seemingly impossible width the doctor’s eyes had grown at being summarily dismissed. But Jackson’s tone and expression were both severe in their intensity, spurring the doctor to clumsily make his way out of the bedchamber. As the doctor stomped down the stairs, everyone in Lord Anthony’s bedchamber could catch the overly loud mutterings spouted by the doctor. His favorite phrase interspersed between inaudible bits of speech was clearly heard by Mary: “that damned female interloper”, and everyone there knew that he was referring to her.
Once they heard the front door shut behind the doctor, Lady Diana whirled on her daughter, and demanded, “What would you have us do now? That doctor was one of London’s best and had overseen everything to do with your father’s health. How are we to care for him without his advice?”
With a boldness she had never shown her mother before, Mary straightened to her full height of five feet and six inches, and said in a strong, clear voice, “I will take care of Father, and see to his treatments. Doctor Cardinal had diagnosed Father with consumption, and I have learned as much as I could about it.”
Jackson remained silent while their mother could barely refrain from shouting, “Then you had best be demonstrating that knowledge now. Your father’s excitement over your brother’s wedding has clearly taxed him, and if it isn’t bloodletting that he needs, then what is to be done in its stead?” Lady Diana was not so much angry at her daughter as she was afraid of her beloved husband’s fate at the hands of an amateur. Being close as twins could be, Jackson had known of Mary’s healing skills and willingly kept her secret from their parents for years to prevent just such a reaction from their mother.
With her usual persona of dutiful daughter set aside for the moment, Mary said soothingly, “I must first run to the kitchen and gather up my supplies. Give me a moment to prepare everything, and I will be back shortly. Jackson, would you open the windows to let in some air for Father? I believe the fresh air will do Father some good. Mother, would you open the bed curtains further? And Margaret, would you please bank the fire in the grate? It isn’t necessary for so much heat in here when we want Father to be comfortable and not suffocating.”
As Mary left the room, Lady Diana could only look at her retreating back, agog with shock. Her biddable daughter had suddenly become a confident leader, ordering others about comfortably as though she was born to bark orders that made others sit up and listen. Jackson had caught his mother’s look of surprise frozen on her face, and assured her, “Mother, we can trust Mary to do what’s right for Father’s health. You would be amazed at her resourcefulness once you can see what she is capable of.”
“Capable? Why, she practically ordered the three of us about with not so much as a blink. And to think I had thought I knew my daughter well,” she murmured.
Jackson lifted the corners of his mouth in a wry smile. “Yes, well, like I said, you will be pleasantly surprised at just how well Mary can handle Father’s care.”
Leaving her mother to muse over her behavior, Mary cast all thought of her mother’s protests aside and set to preparing a mental list of what needed to be done. Making her way through the servant’s entrance into the kitchens of Ellesmere Park, Mary found her satchel by the pantry door. Rummaging through it, she procured a sealed, wide-mouthed jar containing several pieces of white willow bark and set it upon the work table of the still-room.
Nan, otherwise known as Cook to both Mary and Jackson since their younger years, had watched Mary’s entrance into her domain and awaited Mary’s cue to be of assistance while tending to her kettle. Because of her association with Kit, Nan knew of Mary’s clandestine lessons and had kept quiet about them for the girl’s own protection. While Mary bustled about, searching for various items with no notice for anyone around her, Nan decided to offer her help. “Milady, may I help you find what you need?”
Looking up and suddenly noticing Nan, Mary’s face softened and replied, “Nan, how many times have I asked you not to call me that? You’ve known me since I was in nappies, and there really is no need for formality between just the two of us. Now, I need a knife, hot water for tea, warm water, mustard seed, and flour. Oh, and can you ring for a maid to bring strips of clean cloth to my father’s room please?”
Hearing Mary’s list of items made Nan crinkle her brows in confusion. “What will you do with all of that together?” she asked.
Chuckling, Mary said, “I’m preparing two separate things for Father. Willow bark tea from white willow I had collected yesterday, and a mustard plaster. Oh, and will you show me where you keep your mortar and pestle?”
Without answering, Nan quickly found the requested items, realizing Mary’s secret was about to be demonstrated to the earl and countess. Mary set to work grinding the mustard seed to a rough powder, and once done, she added a portion of the flour to the ground seeds, while mixing in the warm water to form a paste. Setting that aside, Mary then picked up her jar of willow bark to pull out a piece, and with a knife, shredded bits of the bark into small slivers. Nan secured a plain teapot from the shelf and set it next to Mary for her to deposit the bits of bark into. Moving towards the stove where water had been heated, Nan carefully brought the kettle of hot water over to pour into the teapot.
Watching Mary work efficiently and silently made Nan marvel at the ease with which the younger woman prepared her remedies as the willow bark tea sat, steeping. To Nan, an air of wisdom and ancient knowledge seemed to wrap around Mary, lending an aura of maturity and womanly confidence as she worked. As a longtime friend of Kit, Nan knew that an herbalist’s craft stemmed from a deep-seated knowledge of nature and its gifts to humankind, but she also knew it can often be misunderstood by the ignorant and unschooled as witchcraft. And as a result, Nan gladly kept Mary’s secret, not wanting village mentality amongst the parishioners to endanger the girl with good intentions.
Nan was abruptly brought back to the present from her deep musings when Mary asked, “May I have a tray to carry all of this upstairs please?”
Taking in everything Mary had organized to bring upstairs, Nan insisted, “Allow me to help you bring all of this up. With two people, we can easily manage everything here without you having to make more than one trip up and down those stairs.”
Grateful for the helping hand, Mary smiled at Nan, and said, if a bit sadly, “Thank you, Nan. Not just for this, but for everything.” Nan didn’t need to hear an explanation; she knew that Mary meant the part she herself played in Mary’s secret skill. Especially now that the master of
Ellesmere Park lay deathly ill upstairs in his bedchamber. Mary’s skill will finally be revealed for her own family to discover, and in Nan’s opinion, it was about time for them to realize Mary’s true talent.
While Mary carried up the various supplies along with the mustard concoction wrapped in layers of kitchen cloth on one tray, Nan had taken the other tray laden with the teapot of willow bark tea, complete with a single teacup and saucer. A maid awaited them outside Lord Anthony’s bedchamber with the requested cloth strips, which Mary received with a smile of thanks.
Both Mary’s and Nan’s arrival into the bedchamber had both Margaret and Lady Diana rushing forward, anxious to help in some way when they saw everything they had brought with them. A soft breeze from the open window assured Mary that her instructions were followed when she left the room. One glance at the open grate at the fireplace showed Mary that Margaret had banked the fire there. Then, Mary offered her tray to Lady Diana who set it on the nightstand next to Lord Anthony’s bed. Turning to Nan behind her, she asked, “Would you please pour a cup for Father, Nan?”
Nodding assent, Nan set her tray down on a nearby side table, where she proceeded to do what she was asked. Mary placed a few of the cloth strips atop the still-warm fireplace grate, then accepted the cup of willow bark tea from Nan. Carefully, Mary presented the cup to her father, who was now watching her quietly with curious eyes.
“Drink this, Father,” Mary commanded gently. “It will ease not just the pain in your chest but overall as well.” Mary held the proferred cup to his lips, and he gingerly sipped at the tea. Mary waited until the contents of the cup were ingested before taking the cup and saucer away.
Lady Diana asked for the earl, “What is in the tea?”
“It’s willow bark tea, Mother. It has been known to reduce fever and pain,” Mary replied, not looking at her mother, but watching her father instead. There in his eyes, Mary found admiration and pride meant for her, and her heart lifted from the trepidation it had been only recently weighted down with. Looking to Jackson, she found his look of full support and encouragement and felt bolstered in her decision to reveal her secret in such a manner.
Lady Diana moved to stand next to her daughter, looked her full in the eye, and said, “Tell me what I can do to help.” Knowing how helpless her mother must have felt since Lord Anthony had fallen ill, Mary instructed, “You can help me prepare Father for the poultice I have made. Can you unlace his nightshirt, please? When that’s done, we have to apply this mustard mixture to one half of the strip of cloth and apply it directly to Father’s chest.”
Grateful for something to do other than watch her husband suffer, Lady Diana took up the chore gladly. As she unthreaded the laces of his nightshirt, Lord Anthony laid a hand gently upon one of his wife’s. Looking up at him questioningly, Lord Anthony used his gaze to direct hers across the room. Together, they watched as their only daughter busily worked to spread the mustard concoction onto the cloth using a wooden spoon. Bringing her gaze back to her husband’s, she noted the pride shining there and answered his look with a smile. “Yes, I know we had plans for her,” Lord Anthony whispered. “But this is so much better than I hoped for. She has come into her own on her own strength, independent of our meddling.”
“I know, my love,” Lady Diana sighed. “But it’s too late. The Comte will have received our letter by now, and who is to say that they won’t…”
Mary’s presence stopped Lady Diana’s next set of words, and there was no more said as Mary carefully applied the poultice to Lord Anthony’s exposed skin. Checking the clock on her father’s night table, she made note of the time, then turned to Jackson and Margaret. “Thank you both for indulging me with my demands earlier. It will be some time while I tend to Father, so if you two would like to retire, I wouldn’t object. Not to mention that the two of you are newly married and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have your first day as a married couple be remembered as being spent in a sickroom.”
Recalling their happiness from earlier, Mary envied them their ability to escape their worries about Father even if for a little while. Their wedding trip was postponed indefinitely in deference to Lord Anthony’s illness, despite his protests that they enjoy themselves and each other without worry. There was to be a wedding luncheon planned in the formal dining room where Margaret’s brother, the Duke of Prestonridge and his duchess were to join them in celebration. Even the Duchess’ roguish brother, the Earl of Revelstoke had confirmed his presence for the luncheon, and Mary had been looking forward to everyone gathering in one place for the special occasion.
But the mustard plaster was to be removed in thirty minutes, at which time she hoped her father would have a few hours of sleep uninterrupted by coughing. Then she would reapply a fresh poultice and repeat the procedure for two more rounds. Peeking underneath the poultice, she checked for any adverse reactions to the poultice itself, and was satisfied that the skin was only pinkened, and not made raw.
As Jackson and Margaret made their excuses, Mary and Lady Diana settled themselves to keep watch over Lord Anthony. United as one in the fight for Lord Anthony’s health, both women shared a small smile before Lady Diana made her way to sit at her husband’s side as he lay quietly. Mary took a seat at the wing-backed chair by the fireplace where she could wait until it was time to remove the poultice. Nan had left the room to fetch more cloths and fresh water at Mary’s request.
It would be some time before either Mary or Lady Diana would get some measure of peace, but it would be worth the lack of uninterrupted sleep to have Lord Anthony experience at least one comfortable night without the wracking coughs that have been plaguing him. With the room silent except for the slightly raspy breaths Lord Anthony was emitting, Mary had only her thoughts to occupy her. As Mary sat there reflecting over her parents’ mysterious words from earlier, she asked herself, What Comte? What did they write to this Comte about?
She supposed she could wait until her father was feeling better before she could ask what they were whispering about. It wasn’t hard for her to deduce that they were referring to her, but she had to wonder at their cryptic words and at their mention of something being too late. What was too late? And what were their plans for me exactly? With these thoughts and questions running amok in her own head, Mary was at least glad that they would keep her busy until next she had to tend to her father.
3
Two Weeks Later
Lord Anthony was made as comfortable as far as Mary’s skills would allow, until his passing only four days ago. If it weren’t for the treatments that were passed down to her by Kit, her father would not have had the peaceful days leading up to his gentle passing. Administering willow bark tea on the days he was doing well and resorting to laudanum on the days he wasn’t, Mary was able to give both her parents some peace of mind when it came to Lord Anthony’s care. When Lord Anthony was awake, both Jackson and Mary spent as much time as they could at his side.
Mary had known that her efforts would not stave off the inevitable, but it was her hope that her father would know she was doing everything in her power to see him calm and relaxed. Lord Anthony’s last days were filled with the company of his family at his side, ensuring he had at least some mental respite from the pain. Thanks to Mary’s remedies, Lord Anthony had been able to properly say his goodbyes to those he loved while lucid and aware.
He had gone in the night, slipping quietly away, and Mary could not have wished a better death for her father than the one he was dealt. Consumption, a typically violent and deadly disease, did not have as strong a hold on her father when measured against her vigilant care, and through her careful techniques, she was also able to lessen the chances of the rest of her family from contracting the disease.
Lord Anthony was buried the day before, making Jackson the newly minted Earl of Ellesmere and Margaret his countess. Lord Anthony’s solicitor, Mr. Bellamy, was to make an official visit that day for the reading of his will, and all immediate family members were to
be present. Fresh from the loss of their beloved patriarch and grieving still, Lady Diana, Jackson, and Mary sat patiently in the earl’s study for Mr. Bellamy’s arrival.
It wasn’t long before Chaucer ushered the older, rotund man in and showed him to a seat facing the little family assembly. With kind but sorrowful eyes, Mr. Bellamy looked upon everyone, and began, “I am deeply sorry for your loss, my lord and ladies. Lord Anthony was more than a client; he was a respected friend. And if I keenly feel his loss, I can only imagine how his loss must affect you all.”
Jackson nodded his acknowledgment at his sincere words, and said, “Thank you. If you would, we would like to hear what our father has to say to us through his will.” Mary knew her twin preferred to get this done as quickly as possible, and she had to admit that she felt the same.
“Of course,” Mr. Bellamy said, understanding full well that there was no need for any banalities in deference to the sensitivity of their recent loss.
Having grown closer to her father during his final days, Mary’s pain was still acute enough that she couldn’t concentrate on Mr. Bellamy’s words. Her mind meandered to how she had worked hard to give her father the palliative care he deserved, especially since his once strong body was one that used to swing her high onto his shoulders when she was young. Caring for him was her way of repayment for all of the times he had taken good care of her, her brother, and her mother through the years. He was a good man who was taken from her too soon: he would never be able to see her marry if she so chose or hold her children. To hearten her dampened spirits, she clung to the belief that her efforts allowed her father to die with his dignity intact, with no need for the invasive techniques that modern medicine seemed to favor.