No Cure for Love

by Jean Fullerton

  Caroline put her elbow on the table and rested her cheek in her cupped hand. Mrs Munroe’s eyes fixed on her sharply. Caroline resumed her upright position and placed her hands on her lap.

  ‘Robert will be here any moment now,’ Mrs Munroe told her.

  ‘Doctor Munroe should really live close to town,’ Caroline sighed.

  Mrs Munroe’s expression changed into the exasperated one she had worn almost every time Caroline ventured an opinion. ‘As I have explained to you on more than one occasion, my son is a hospital physician, and hospital physicians live near to their work.’

  ‘Well, why can’t he work in a hospital in a more fashionable part of London?’ she asked. ‘If he worked in Mayfair or Piccadilly, for instance, then I—’ she cast a swift glance at the woman beside her. ‘Then if Doctor Munroe took a wife she could call on other respectable hostesses in their neighbourhood while he was at the hospital. She might even be invited to tea with an earl’s wife or even a duchess. If Doctor Munroe treated someone in the government she might get presented at court.’

  Mrs Munroe’s gaze was steely as it rested on her. ‘Might she?’

  ‘Indeed. Although it is a pity that we have King William now, because it would have been such fun to meet the dashing Prince of Wales.’

  Mrs Munroe’s eyes rested on her for a long second, then she turned back to the clock. ‘I hope he caught a hackney carriage from the hospital and didn’t walk to the city. I understand that Whitechapel is a rough area full of beggars and pickpockets.’

  A picture of Robert as she had seen him the week before came into Caroline’s mind.

  ‘I think Doctor Munroe’s stature would make even the most desperate vagrant think twice about attacking him,’ she said, thinking how Robert was at least a hand taller than Captain Miller and broader in the shoulders.

  The tight-mouth expression left Mrs Munroe’s face. ‘My son has an athletic build and boxed at Stirling. He favours my dead brother.’ Inwardly Caroline groaned. ‘I had hoped that Robert, like his namesake, would choose a career in the Army. Have I told you about my brother’s part in Wellington’s victory?’

  Caroline fixed the polite expression that her mother taught her on her face. ‘You have. And please do not distress yourself by reliving again your brother’s tragic death,’ she said, hoping to avoid the twenty-minute monologue about how Captain Robert held the flank of the field against Napoleon’s attack and died just as the Russians were sighted over the crest.

  A quiver passed over Mrs Munroe’s downy cheek. ‘On the morning of the eighteenth, dear Rob was entrusted by Wellington to—’

  There was a sharp rap on the door and the butler sprang to life. Robert entered and handed his coat and hat to the man. He had obviously been hurrying as his hair was windswept and his eyes bright. He was dressed formally in a charcoal grey frock coat with lighter grey trousers. He crossed the distance to the table in three strides.

  ‘Mama, I am so sorry for my lateness,’ he said kissing her briefly on the cheek. He turned to Caroline and inclined his head in her direction. ‘Miss Sinclair.’

  Caroline widened her smile. With the turned-out wings of his shirt collar and his cravat framing his square jawline, she remembered why she had been so eager to suffer his mother’s company for the long ride to London. Tucking her chin and tilting her head slightly to one side, better to catch the light from the lamp to her right, she lowered her eyelashes slowly so he could appreciate their fullness and then raised them, only to find he was no longer looking at her.

  ‘You look as if you’ve been running,’ Mrs Munroe said, the worried lines from her forehead smooth now.

  ‘I only just got away from the hospital on time. I was tending a woman in labour. The child, a large one, was attempting to enter the world feet first and it took me two hours to turn him.’

  Caroline gave a shudder and straightened one of the bows on her dress that had twisted.

  ‘Well, you’re here now,’ Mrs Munroe said, and indicated that he should take the empty chair.

  Robert arranged his coat and sat down, whereupon two tall servants, immaculately dressed in the hotel livery, appeared with the dinner trolleys.

  ‘Have you been shopping again, Miss Sinclair?’ Robert asked, smiling at her.

  ‘Well, I so liked the pale cream day dress I procured from Bond Street the other day that I thought it just had to have a new hat to show it off to best advantage. I’d seen an absolutely ravishing one in the window of Magasin des Modes, with Belgian lace and a great number of ostrich feathers curling around its crown, so I just had to go back and buy it.’

  ‘How nice,’ Robert said. He glanced over to the dinner and rubbed his hands together. ‘I am ravenously hungry. Are you all ready for your trip to Tunbridge?’

  Caroline’s nostrils flared. He was supposed tell her how well he thought she would look in her new outfit, not say how hungry he was.

  Elspeth Munroe signalled and the two servants came forward with the soup tureen.

  ‘We are. My sister is expecting us on the Saturday coach and she is sending her steward to meet us. We are to spend a month with her and Mr Turner.’

  ‘Give Aunt Turner my love,’ Robert said, beaming good-naturedly at his mother. Caroline coughed lightly and his eyes flickered on her for a second.

  ‘Naturally.’ Mrs Munroe leant towards her son. ‘We are then going on to the sea, are we not, Caroline?’

  Robert’s eyes rested on her with mild interest.

  ‘Indeed, we are - to Weymouth,’ Caroline told him with a little throaty giggle. ‘Which I hear is quite as jolly as Brighton.’

  Robert smiled. ‘So I am led to believe.’

  Mrs Munroe’s face formed itself into what Caroline called her Doing-God’s-Will face. ‘I told you that Mr Palfrey was called to glory in February.’ Robert nodded. His mother shook her head dolefully and the lace of her cap flapped against her temples. ‘Well, he was eighty-three, but I have extended our visit to Mrs Palfrey for a full six weeks to offer what comfort I can.’

  Caroline’s heart sank. When Mrs Munroe had told her their itinerary included six weeks in Weymouth, she hadn’t envisaged it being to comfort an elderly widow.

  ‘Then we are to York for three weeks and from there back to Edinburgh. I expect to be home by September.’ Mrs Munroe opened her napkin, tucking it under her chin and into the neck of her black dress. ‘I have ordered only a simple dinner: soup, one course each of fish and fowl, followed by a cutlet of lamb and then fruit.’

  ‘It sounds delicious,’ Robert said, smiling broadly at his mother and not even glancing at Caroline. She drew her fair eyebrows together.

  Picking up her spoon, Mrs Munroe gave her son a reproving look. ‘You wouldn’t have had to wait so long if you had come as we originally arranged, on Tuesday.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had given my word to dine with Mr Chafford on Tuesday.’

  Caroline glanced down at the thin soup in her bowl. It had small circles of fat floating on the surface and the odd pea bobbing underneath.

  ‘Where was that?’ she asked, rustling her skirt and playing with the lace cuffs of her new ivory dress. He had been there a full half-hour and not yet remarked on how well it suited her.

  ‘At the Angel and Crown, a supper room near to the hospital. We often dine there on a Tuesday. There is entertainment most nights at the Angel,’ he told them, concentrating on scooping up the last of his soup.

  ‘Entertainment!’ Mrs Munroe asked pursing her lips together tight. ‘What sort of entertainment?’

  ‘Nothing scandalous, Mama. Music mostly, but on Tuesdays there is a particularly fine singer.’ He reached across and placed his hand over his mother’s. ‘As you know, I have always had an ear for music.’ Mrs Munroe laughed and Robert joined in. ‘And of course both Chafford and I have to stay within the sound of the hospital bell,’ he explained, smiling at his mother. Caroline rustled her skirts again.

  Robert glanced at her. ‘That’s a pretty gown.�
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  Caroline smiled and arched her neck. ‘It’s from Madame Grandemille. She dresses Lady Houghton and the Marchioness of Stretford.’

  ‘It’s charming,’ he told her. ‘I am sure it will be the talk of Edinburgh when you return.’

  ‘As you like it so much, I will wear it when you return to Edinburgh, Doctor Munroe,’ Caroline said, sending him what some would call a scandalously seductive look.

  He smiled politely and the servants brought the fish course. Robert asked his mother how his sisters were and conversation moved on to family matters. Caroline tried to join in, telling Robert that she had bought his sister Hermione a new muff and Margot some ribbon for her bonnet, but he responded only with a brief smile.

  From under her lashes, Caroline studied him as they consumed the red mullet with Cardinal sauce. She tried to catch his eye, to send him an invitation to admire her, to flirt with her. He was supposed to. That’s what men did. That’s what Captain Miller did, and he tried to kiss her, which of course she hadn’t allowed, but at least he tried. But what did Robert do when they were alone? She gripped the knife and fork tightly and glared at Robert’s averted face. Instead of telling her of his undying affection and begging her to marry him, all he could do was talk about his work. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him her displeased look, which he failed to see because he was staring at the window. The empty plates of the fish course were removed and the warm tableware for the following course was being set before them.

  ‘Did the mother you were attending earlier survive?’ Mrs Munroe asked, as the waiter withdrew having set the poultry before them.

  Robert’s face cracked into a broad smile and Caroline forgave him his earlier lack of attention. ‘She did, and when I left both mother and child were doing well.’

  Caroline stared at his hands holding the knife and fork.

  ‘You actually delivered this child yourself?’ Caroline asked, picturing the same hand thrust in between some woman’s thighs to deliver the infant.

  The untidy wedge of hair on his forehead settled across his brow. Robert moved it aside but it returned instantly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘But couldn’t you have left one of your under-doctors to do the actual delivery? After all, as your mother keeps reminding me, you are one of the chief physicians.’ Caroline felt rather than saw Mrs Munroe’s sharp look, but she had Robert’s attention now. ‘Couldn’t you just tell them what to do and let them get on with it?’

  A patient, almost weary expression settled on Robert’s face.

  ‘I could have, but then the mother and, most likely the child too, would have died,’ he told her. ‘My apprentices are very clever men, all of them, and had the delivery been straightforward I would have left without a second thought, but it wasn’t.’ Robert put down his cutlery and cupped his hands in front of him. ‘Being a doctor is more than just knowing how a body works, it is a skill perfected over long years.’ He splayed his hands and flexed his fingers as he talked. ‘Knowing how a child should sit in the womb is not the same as feeling its angle and nudging it into the right path. Do you understand what I am saying, Miss Sinclair?’

  He was looking at her now and talking with passion about his wretched work again, about these poor people who seemed to be more important to him than she was. It was all wrong. Did he want to marry her or not? Did he think that she hadn’t had other men, officers no less, asking to call on her? And how could she face Ruth Dalrymple if she returned to Edinburgh without becoming engaged?

  She would have to do something. They were leaving in two days, and who knew how long it would be before Robert returned to Scotland? She put on her sweetest smile, the one that caused the dimple to appear at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Captain Miller,’ she ran her eyes slowly over Robert’s face, ‘the officer I wrote to you about who shared our family box at the opera and who danced with me at the Castle ball, is in charge of a whole company.’ Beside her she could feel the tension shoot though Mrs Munroe. She slowly smoothed the ivory silk of her skirt and smiled across the table at Robert. ‘He is one of the most accomplished officers in the regiment and knows all about soldiering, but he doesn’t set up the tents or groom the horses, he orders the lower ranks to do the actual work.’ She hooked a tendril of hair from her shoulder and twirled it around her finger.

  Robert picked up his knife and fork. ‘You seem very fond of this Captain Miller, Miss Sinclair.’

  A satisfied glow spread through Caroline. She set her head on one side and raised an eyebrow, as if considering her words. ‘He was introduced to us when his regiment took up residence in the garrison in November. He is a very fine officer and a most personable gentlemen. He can converse in any company and has an appreciation of the arts, which is why Papa invited him to join us at the opera. His father owns land in Essex and has interests in the Indies. He was educated at Charterhouse before entering the army.’ She lowered her eyelashes and let a shy smile cross her lips. ‘And many predict that he will rise through the ranks with speed.’ She glanced back up to find Robert staring at her. She was now the centre of his attention, as she should have been from the moment he walked in.

  Robert’s brows drew together and his face grew sombre. ‘You seem to know a great deal about Captain Miller after such a short acquaintance.’

  Caroline lowered her eyes and extended her shy smile. ‘Captain Miller has a commanding presence and an easy way about him.’ She raised her eyes and looked fully at Robert. ‘He has been most attentive,’ she told him firmly.

  There was a long silence and then Robert smiled across at her warmly, more warmly than he had all evening.

  ‘Captain Miller sounds a fine young man. I am sure he will be pleased to renew his acquaintance with you when you return home in September.’

  He turned to his mother. ‘What time does your coach leave for Tunbridge on Saturday?’

  Thirteen

  Robert sat with his feet up on the fender. It had been a long hard day, like many others recently. He had spent all morning supervising the staff at the Vinegar Lane hospital.

  He sighed and loosened his cravat, raking his fingers wearily through his hair. William had called by earlier to invite him to supper, but he had declined. Bulmer had already fetched him a supper while he worked and, besides, it was Thursday and Ellen didn’t sing at the Angel that day.

  Robert looked up as St Mary’s church clock struck eleven o’clock. Goodness, had he really been scribbling for three hours? He pulled out his gold watch and checked. As he slipped it back there was a light rap on the door and Bulmer’s cheery face appeared.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Doctor Munroe,’ he said respectfully, ‘but there is a young lady to see you.’

  ‘A young lady?’

  ‘A very young lady,’ Bulmer confirmed. ‘I told her that you had retired for the night but she was most insistent. She said her name was Miss Josephine O’Casey.’

  Panic swept over Robert. Ellen! Was she ill?

  ‘Show her in, Bulmer, and fetch her a cup of tea, if you please,’ Robert said.

  Josie burst into the room. She had obviously been crying. She was shrouded in a large coat, which Robert suspected was Ellen’s, and was wearing a dark bonnet which she ripped off her head as she entered the study. Seeing Robert standing at the end of the room she dashed over to him and grabbed his hands with a remarkably strong grip.

  ‘It’s Gran,’ Josie said between sobs. Robert led her over to the large winged chair and sat her down. Bulmer brought the tea and Robert indicated that he should stay.

  ‘Calm down, Josie. Now tell me what is wrong with Mrs Shannahan.’

  ‘After Ma went out, Gran said she had a headache and was going to bed early,’ Josie said. ‘I didn’t think anything of it. Gran’s very tired most nights and can only manage an hour or two sewing before her eyes start to drop.’ Josie drew in a breath and fixed her gaze on Robert. ‘She had not been up there an hour when I heard her retching like into the night bucket. I dashed up
the stairs to find her covered in sweat and being sick. She asked for some tea which I got her and she threw that up too. Then the gripes started.’

  Robert had heard enough. What Josie was describing were the classic symptoms of cholera. If caught at this stage, there was a good chance that the victim would recover. But if Mrs Shannahan did have cholera, it would not be that straightforward.

  ‘You finish your tea while I get my coat and bag. Where is Ell—your mother?’

  ‘She is singing at Paddy’s Goose tonight.’ Josie hugged the teacup with both hands and slurped another mouthful.

  My God!

  Feeling the sweat on the nape of his neck, Robert pictured Ellen in the White Swan, commonly referred to as Paddy’s Goose. The White Swan was, in truth, little more than a brothel. Sailors stumbling off their ships would make it their first destination once their feet hit dry land. A vision of Ellen being mistaken by some drunken Scandinavian or German sailor for one of the girls who plied their trade there sprang into Robert’s mind.

  He snatched up his stethoscope and shoved it in his leather case. Why on earth would she put herself in such danger for a few pennies? As he reached for his patella hammer he paused. You arrogant fool, he said to himself, a few pennies to you is staying out of the workhouse for Ellen. He turned back to find that Josie had already put on her outer coat and bonnet.

  ‘Bulmer, go to the hospital and tell Mr Pierce to bring the litter around to number two, Anthony Street immediately.’

  Minutes later Robert, Josie and Bulmer stepped out into the chilly night air. All three walked swiftly to Commercial Road. Leaving Bulmer at Cannon Street Road, Robert and Josie struck east towards Josie’s home.

  Pushing open the front door Robert smelt the sickness. He had smelt it too often in the last three months ever to forget it. He didn’t have to see Bridget upstairs to know that cholera was in the house.