by Sally Orr
“Will you treat him tomorrow?”
He sighed and looked skyward. “Lady Helen’s surgeon is expected any day. I will attend him until her London man can take over.” He stepped across his threshold and held the door half-open so she could not enter.
She pushed her palm on the door to keep it from closing. “But no more lettings, lest he die from loss of blood? That is possible, correct? My medical books—”
“Of course.” He forced the door shut.
She returned home, her mind fixed on the fact that Ross had been bled again. She knew bleeding was important to relieve bad humors, but surely there was a limit?
The following day began with her desire to pray for Ross’s recovery, so she and Berdy headed into town. Once they reached the village’s high street, they saw the farmhouse-like church set some distance back from the street. Today the sun glinted off the long windows, sending shafts of light across the small burial ground close to the road. William had been reverend of this beautiful Unitarian church, and now he rested peacefully within its iron gates.
While Berdy set out to call upon the current reverend, she headed inside to visit her husband’s monument. The normal cacophony of birds, horses, and rustling trees ended upon entering the chapel and closing the giant oak doors. Silence and heavy cold air surrounded her. As she walked down the aisle toward William’s monument, her footsteps tapped loud enough to be discourteous.
Halfway to the altar, she stopped and faced north. Set into the wall was a marble bas-relief of William’s side view with his name, date of birth, date of death, occupation, and “beloved husband” carved below. She reached out to touch his likeness. The white marble felt cool under her fingers, and for the first time she noticed a slight darkening from the oil on her hands where they had repeatedly touched the elevated parts of his profile. She stroked the top of his head and then let a finger linger on his jawline. His high-collared coat, which was no longer fashionable, she remembered with a smile as one of his favorites.
She rested all of her fingers on the engraved W, stared at his profile, and spoke to the man she would love forever. “William, I love again. His name is Ross, and you would like him. Since we were so in tune, that had our roles been reversed—you survived while I had not—I would be pleased if you had found a second love. I realize you would wish the same and that you are happy for me. I understand that now. William, I need your strength today. Ross may die, and I cannot bear the loss of two—”
She heard a commotion from the direction of the front door and turned to see a group of young girls entering the chapel with their matronly teacher. Many of the girls had been favorites of Elinor’s when she helped teach at the parish school. Seeing them again filled her with an aching wish to return to the old days.
“Girls, girls, quiet, please,” the teacher said, corralling one young lady who had already started to march down the center aisle. The teacher clapped her hands several times, and the gaggle of girls moved into a tight herd around her skirt. “Now, girls, Henrietta, pleeeease, thank you. Now, girls, remember, show your respect by being perfectly silent. Susan, did you hear me? Right then, follow me.” The teacher turned to the far aisle from Elinor and headed toward the altar. The shuffle of footsteps mingled with giggles and whispers of almost-obedient young ladies.
Halfway down the chapel, the children caught sight of her. One of them shouted, “Look, it’s Mrs. Colton.”
A young girl clutching a bouquet of roses smiled at Elinor, and she returned the smile. The girl started to walk in her direction, but a steady hand from her teacher momentarily stopped her. The small child twisted out of her teacher’s grasp and attempted to run toward Elinor, but the teacher got a better grip and stopped the girl from advancing. The child twisted and squirmed again with more effort, determined to reach her. Then taking advantage of the teacher’s momentary distraction, she slipped from under her arm and ran to Elinor. The other young ladies took the opportunity to escape, leaving the teacher lunging in all directions for errant children.
Young Margaret reached her before the teacher was able to call out for her return.
“Good day, Mrs. Colton. Do you remember me?”
She tilted her head and gave the child a tender smile. “Of course I do, Margaret. You are dear to me and quite unforgettable.”
A heartwarming smile crossed the young girl’s face. Margaret held her roses inches from Elinor’s nose. “I’ve come here today to give Grandfather these roses. He died in the war with the American colonies. But you do not have any flowers for Mr. Colton.” She pulled a perfect bloom from her bunch and handed it to her. “Please take this, as I know Mr. Colton must have a flower. They are for remembrance, right?”
Elinor pursed her lips. “That’s right. Yellow is…was his favorite color of rose. Thank you.”
The young girl giggled and skipped back to the group of girls, now moving forward in a collective herd to the altar.
Elinor closed her eyes and mulled over her thoughts. She had once taught Margaret lessons, and now Margaret taught her by example. A lesson about determination, exemplified by the child’s steadfast effort to reach her, despite her teacher’s demands and physical restraint. Elinor placed William’s rose at the base of his plaque before she ran outside to find Berdy.
Berdy was nowhere near the gig, so it cost her precious minutes before she found him. They made their farewells to the reverend, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves speeding out of the village in the direction of Pinnacles.
After returning home, she flew into the study, heading for William’s books. She resolved to stop depending upon her knights, like Henry, and teach herself about medicine. Ross once told her she could understand the contents if she tried, and she had no intention of letting him down. She charged over to the bookshelves and started pulling out every medical book in her possession. Silently thanking William’s passion for books, she glanced at the pile of medical tomes before her: Quincy’s Lexicon, Mothersby’s Medical, Hooper’s Compendium, Hunter’s book on gunshot wounds, and many others. She arranged them by relevance to Ross’s injury and began to read.
Very quickly, a plan emerged to find the appropriate treatment. In each book she would look up the word: brain, coma, putrescence, septic acid, and suppuration. Some physicians hailed the effects of Peruvian bark; others claimed it had no beneficial effect whatsoever. By late afternoon, pages of her treatment notes spread across the polished desk. She read each remedy several times and compared remedies among authors.
By the end of the day, her treatment plan solidified. Any remedy or practice that was not universally agreed upon by every author was eliminated. What treatments remained were carefully cross-checked and common themes identified. She had a remedy to treat him internally for fever and externally for inflammation. Backup treatments were also written down should his wound fester.
At first light, she roused Berdy out of bed, gave him twenty minutes to dress and bring the gig to the door.
Berdy rubbed his eyes. “So Lady Helen will let us visit him? Cheer up, Elli, that must mean he is doing better, right?”
“No, I don’t think he is doing better. That’s why we are going now. If Lady Helen tries to stop me, I’ll twist out of her grasp and run upstairs, or do whatever it takes to see him.” She could still recall little Margaret doing the same to reach her.
“Gad, I’ll help.”
“Dr. Potts should be there by now, so I expect he will support us and insist we are both allowed in. But I have little hope Rowbottom will even allow us to get that far.”
“Maybe we should sneak in the entrance at the back?”
She began to sigh, but willfully stopped herself. “No, we’ll just go forward and fight.”
Twenty-two
At the halfway point on their journey to Blackwell, Berdy suddenly said, “I’ve got it! I will yell ‘fire,’ and everyone will rush out of the house. Then
you can slip in and see Ross undetected.” His explosive revelation almost put the gig into a ditch.
“Berdy, that’s irresponsible.” Elinor clutched the seat with one hand, and with the other hand, held on to the back of her poke bonnet, leaving the ends of the pink satin ribbons to whip around her face. “Think of the panic you’ll cause. The fire brigade will be sent on a false alarm. No, that is a very bad idea, indeed.” Elinor thought his suggestion qualified as the worst Berdy Rash Scheme ever.
Her censure didn’t even slow him. “The brigade won’t be called if I stand in the front of the house and yell ‘elephant.’”
“Elephant! In Cheshire?”
“Elephants are frightening. People will run out of the house fast.”
She huffed. “No, they won’t. If everyone is upstairs in the sickroom, why would they run downstairs and outside if an elephant is waiting for them? Why would anyone, anywhere in the house run outside, for that matter?”
“Right.” He gave the ribbons an urgent flick. “I could shout that the elephant is heading upstairs.”
“Elephants cannot climb stairs—”
“We must do something. A man’s life is at stake.”
“Be serious, please,” she said. “Some people even like elephants. So we will ring the bell and simply not take any refusals.”
He shook his head. “No, Rowbottom will refuse us entry before I can say, ‘My good man.’ I’ve got it! We’ll ask to call upon Lady Helen. Rowbottom probably lacks instructions along those lines.”
His suggestion was a good one. Elinor peeked at him again, her understanding of the new Berdy much improved. In the future, his Berdy Rash Schemes would likely fade in number, and the mature Berdy—the man who shouted forceful directions at the foundry—would eventually prevail. Her newfound pride in him gave her a brief sense of ease.
They traveled in silence for the next ten minutes. Once they arrived, she marched up to Blackwell’s giant front doors and yanked on the bell. The possibility Ross might be overbled returned to gnaw at her, and she used this fear to fuel her resolve.
Rowbottom answered and gave the expected response to visit the patient. “I am afraid that is impossible, madam.” Yet the valued servant remained in place and failed to close the door. Kindness shone in his steely blue eyes.
She stood fast. “Lady Helen Thornbury please, Rowbottom. We wish a private word with her. I assume the visitation denials apply only to calling upon her son.”
Rowbottom nodded, grinned, and informed them Lady Helen had not left her son’s side. He then led them to the drawing room. Elinor sat on a chair farthest from the door, so it would be harder for the servants to throw her out when directed.
Berdy stood behind her chair with his hand resting on her shoulder.
Silently fighting the lump forming in her stomach, she refused to recognize her panic. Instead, she told herself the lump was nothing more than tenacity, and she must use it well.
Lady Helen appeared twenty minutes later, failed to greet her guests, and stood before Elinor. The older woman was stoic in a black gown with a white fichu tucked into her sash. “This is all your fault. First you spread vicious, untrue rumors around town that my son wrote a vulgar handbook. Then you led him on like a strumpet for your own purposes. I understand you planned to break his heart and never approve of the lease. If he dies, it will be on your conscience.”
Elinor jumped to her feet. “No!”
Berdy strode forward to stand between the two women. “Please calm yourself and take a seat, both of you. None of that is important now.” He addressed Lady Helen. “Besides Elinor and myself, I speak for others when I ask how Mr. Thornbury does today. Indeed, Mr. Mabbs, Mr. Burton, and several neighbors have inquired about his health.”
A lock of hair escaped Lady Helen’s cap, and she brushed it behind her ear without seeming to care about the outcome. Her spirits collapsed and appeared too low to put up additional resistance. She stood unmoving, dull weariness marking her features. Then she fell upon a yellow sofa like her legs lacked the strength to hold her upright. “I’ve been told of the circumstances surrounding his accident.” She stared at Elinor now sitting across from her. “I understand you tried to protect him, and he received his wound attempting to save you. Is my information correct?”
Elinor’s heart sank; Ross must not have improved. “Berdy is right. Does that matter now? All I can say is Mr. Thornbury acted like a true gentleman, and I will do everything possible to ensure the criminals responsible for his injuries are brought to justice. My relative, Mr. Browne, will assist me in this endeavor, I’m sure.”
Lady Helen nodded, then stared into the blazing fire. The firelight outlined deep furrows carved across her brow.
Normal compassion compelled Elinor to reach out and embrace her, but she refrained, knowing her sympathies would be unwelcome. “How is he?”
His mother continued her vacuous stare at the fire. “Dr. Potts is with him, but I must admit preference for my medical man. Unfortunately, his trip from London is delayed, and he might not arrive for several days. I had hoped the bleedings would have a positive effect by now.”
Elinor jumped to her feet. “Bleedings?” She rushed to kneel before the older woman. “Something is amiss. Dr. Potts recommended no bloodletting due to the large amount your son lost in the accident. Plenty enough blood to release the bad humors. And even yesterday, he promised me the bleedings would stop. Please, for your son’s sake, take me to him. We must insist these lettings stop together, you and I.” She grabbed Lady Helen’s hands and pulled them both to their feet.
In the process, one of the older woman’s black gloves slid off and dropped to the floor. The horror expressed in Lady Helen’s wide, unblinking eyes as she stared at her glove indicated Elinor’s words had hit their target. Perhaps the identical concern had flowed through her mind.
Together the women rushed upstairs and entered the sickroom with such a velocity that the door was thrown back against the wall with a bang. Berdy followed close behind.
A rancid smell assaulted Elinor first before she noticed Ross lying on a large bed. His head, shoulder, and arm being the only part of him not covered.
Dr. Potts stood by the fire and scowled at them.
The local leech man, Mr. Gulch, sat by the bedside and tended to the bloodletting.
Elinor ran to Ross. “No! Stop immediately.” She turned to Dr. Potts. “You promised no bleedings. He’ll die from loss of blood, and it will be your fault. You are murdering him, sir. I insist you stop this instant.”
Ross’s mother joined Elinor’s side. “Yes, two hours ago you said we were finished with the bleedings. Now the leech man has arrived and is practicing his trade without my knowledge. The leeches must be removed immediately. I will have your head if he dies.”
Dr. Potts stepped toward her. “Elinor. I need your—no—I request the honor—no—let me explain—”
“Remove them,” Elinor screamed. “Now!”
The doctor sneered at each of them in turn, hesitated as if weighing his options, and ran from the room, knocking over two chairs in the process.
Berdy tripped over one of the falling chairs as he chased after Dr. Potts.
The two women exchanged startled glances. Lady Helen tried to pull a leech off Ross’s arm, but it held fast.
“Don’t,” Elinor cried. “I know from my medical books that if you pull them, the heads only latch on stronger. Remove your creatures now, Mr. Gulch.”
Mr. Gulch frowned. “But I ’ave not received a shillin’ for—”
Elinor clutched his coat. “Remove them!”
He shrugged her off and tenderly stroked a slimy, engorged leech. “No fee, let ’em drink, I say. My pets must feed. Unless I am paid.” He held out his palm.
Elinor had no money on her person, and she did not dare waste a single second. Even if Lady Helen went
to obtain the funds, how much more blood would be lost in that time? Elinor took off her brooch and held it under Mr. Gulch’s nose. “It’s gold and diamonds. Worth more than your bloody leeches. Remove the beasts. Now!”
Mr. Gulch snatched the brooch, squinted at the stones, then grabbed a leech. “There’s a trick to remove ’em. Stick your nail under the sucker like this, then flick the dears up.”
Elinor shook his arm. “All of them. Hurry!”
Mr. Gulch quickly removed the leeches, placed his pets in a jar, and scurried from the room.
Ross appeared quite blue, and very little blood trickled from the leech’s puncture wounds on his arm.
Behind her, Lady Helen instructed the upstairs housemaid to remove the blood-soaked rags. She turned away at the first sight of the pretty china bowl half-full with her son’s lifeblood. “I can’t—I can’t stay anymore.” She started toward the door.
Elinor grabbed her shoulders, pulled the woman back into the room, and turned to face her directly. “You’re his mother. You must stay.” She embraced Ross’s mother. “He’ll be all right.”
Tears flowed across the older woman’s cheeks as she dropped her head again. “I cannot—too painful.”
“We will save him. You and I together, agreed?” Elinor stepped back and shook her. “Helen. Vegetable acid. Do you have vinegar in the house?”
Startled, the older woman looked up. “Of course, but—”
“Have some fetched, please.” Elinor moved to Ross’s shoulder and started to unwrap the linen bandage.
“What are you doing?” Lady Helen asked.
Elinor stared at her hard, an unmistakable sign to the older woman not to be missish. “Get the vinegar first.”
“Yes, yes.” Ross’s mother left the room for a moment and then returned. “Rowbottom will retrieve all we have from the kitchens. But why vinegar?”
Once the last bit of linen was removed, both women recoiled from the sour smell. Lady Helen spun to face the window.
Elinor ignored her and fought her own rising tears. “Yesterday I read all of my husband’s medical books, and vegetable acids are the best easily available treatment to heal a festered wound. Wine is slightly less efficient, and other recommendations, like gastric acid, will take too much time to acquire.” She grabbed the older woman’s shoulders, shook her, and spun her to face the bed. “We must work around the clock—together.”