by Abby Ayles
After all the adrenaline pumping of the mountains, it felt nice to know that she could listen to the gypsy music, have something nice to eat, and just walk around without worrying about frostbite, fainting, or falling off a cliff. There was such a thing as too much adventure, after all.
But her heart, mind, and soul were all revived by what she was experiencing. Far from tired, she was full of peace and joy, and ready to experience everything Spain had to offer.
The earl was another matter entirely. He was worn out and it was plain to see. Although his leg was healing well, healing used a lot of energy. Kitty knew this, Dr. Allen knew this, and both had tried to warn the earl. But the latter had ignored their advice and made a point of staying up late reading by candlelight, talking all day, and generally not sleeping anywhere near enough for the duration of the journey.
Kitty suspected that the stress of the trade was keeping him alert, but it had also consumed his mental energy. He was surprisingly revived when he went into a tall building to discuss trade routes, leaving Kitty and the servants sipping drinks and eating some small local cakes in a restaurant opposite.
But after the trade discussion was complete, she could see that he was starting to grow very tired. As the sun fell towards the horizon, he emerged from the building looking contented, but also as though he were about to fall asleep on the spot. The group made their way to a quaint little inn where they bade each other goodnight and slept more soundly than they had in a long time.
It was only the next morning, reuniting for breakfast at the inn's bar, which had been fashioned into a little cafeteria for brunch, that Kitty realized he had taken a turn for the worse again. Although he had been doing well during the carriage ride, now his leg was swollen again from overexertion, and he still seemed tired in himself.
“I do believe that after breakfast we ought to return home,” he said.
Kitty felt a little pressured. “There is no urgency now, though, is there? Shouldn't we all enjoy the scenery and the food a little while longer?”
“Not at all. I cannot wait to be home to tell Cassandra and Delilah of the excellent route we have secured,” he said with a grin.
“Then you ought to send them a postcard,” Kitty replied.
“It will not do. Besides, I wish to be in my own house. No, we must be crossing the Pyrenees again within three days,” he said plainly.
“We ought to rest and wait until your swelling goes down,” Kitty insisted. “If you get frostbite, then you could lose your leg.”
“I shall not get frostbite,” he replied. “If you have already forgotten, the carriage is quite warm.”
“And what if we break down?” she asked. “Please, just think of your health.”
“I am. And what is better for my health than to be home and happy?”
Kitty gave up. There was no reasoning with this man. Especially as a younger, lower class woman. The earl did not even acknowledge the authority of professionals such as doctors, what hope did she have?
So they set off that very day, with barely a chance to see the sights which the city had to offer. The mountains loomed by the second day and by the third, as he had predicted, they could no longer see Spain.
Earl Sinclair pressed on, and with each day his condition grew worse. Something seemed to have set off the swelling in his leg, making it red and tender. Anything was possible, from a further injury to an infection, and as soon as the risks were mentioned the earl simply covered his leg with a blanket and refused to speak of it.
By the time they exited the mountains, Kitty feared for the worst. In the small carriage she had not had the opportunity to ask Dr. Allen for his opinion, but as soon as they reached the village she made use of her freedom to seek him out.
“Dr. Allen, I am concerned about Lord Stamford's condition,” she said.
Dr. Allen nodded. “I am also. But if he will not acknowledge medical care I cannot inspect his leg properly.”
“From what you have seen, do you believe there is any hope of saving him?” she asked as flatly as she could.
Dr. Allen fell quiet a moment.
Kitty looked to her feet, then looked up again. “Please, do tell me. I can handle the news.”
“I do believe that if it is not treated swiftly he will lose the leg,” Dr. Allen said.
Kitty made an effort to remain calm and just nod, but inside her heart was beating angrily. Her emotions were an uncontrollable whirlwind. She wanted him to do well. She wanted him to recover. And she was deeply hurt by the idea that he might lose his leg to his injury.
But she was also angry. Here was a man who could make a full recovery if he were only to stay still and take medical advice like any normal, sane man would. Here was a man who had no business losing a leg at his age, in his physical condition. A man who, by any stretch of the imagination, should probably already be healed. And he was dooming himself to being a cripple. Through sheer stubbornness he was driving himself into the fate she had worked so hard to narrowly avoid.
“What can we do to prevent this?” she asked Dr. Allen.
“I cannot do anything,” the doctor replied. “If he discovers that I am a doctor, not only will he ignore my advice, but I daresay that he will ignore yours, possibly even end your friendship immediately. No, it is you who must act, if you can find the strength to.”
“What must I do?” she asked. “I will do anything to help my friend.”
“You must be my assistant. You are familiar with your own condition. His is different in structure, but externally it is much the same. I will provide some herbs and ointments for now, and we shall ensure he receives proper English medical care once home,” Dr. Allen explained.
She hesitated. Could she do this? Could she work as the intermediate step between Earl Sinclair and the doctors? Could she, worst of all, sneak pills, powders, and herbs into his meals, and persuade him to have ointments applied to his injury, without arousing suspicion?
She drew a deep breath. “I shall do my very best,” she said to Dr. Allen.
“I need to be able to trust you,” he said sternly. “The earl's life may be in your hands, and he is most definitely my responsibility.”
She felt her heart throb. “I understand, doctor. We will do everything in our power to ensure that he makes a full recovery.”
But it would not be so simple. She knew this already. When they got back they may still be alone. She knew it was her duty to ensure he was well, but she was also concerned. The man needed a real doctor, not her. And without his sister and Cassandra for influence, would he even listen to her?
Chapter 25
As Kitty had anticipated, Delilah and Cassandra were not home. They were still away on their retreat. In a way, it was reassuring. Kitty knew that she and the earl had become too close during their travels, as men and women often did when together for an extended period of time, and she needed to recover her composure.
But Kitty was also frustrated by this. It meant that she would not have anyone to support her decisions concerning the earl's welfare. It was all well and good, the doctor saying she ought to act as his intermediary and ensure that the earl received the treatment he needed. But without support she was not sure she would be respected enough.
England was rather underwhelming compared to the adventures they had been on. It was dreary and cold and damp, everyone dressed in predictable clothes, the peasants looked less quaint and more common and dull than the ones in Europe, and everything just smelled of smog and horses. All of this was overshadowed by the excitement of being at home, though. Kitty was pleased to see her father once again.
He had missed his little girl greatly. He had been reading her every letter, and although he had given her permission to leave for Spain, he had fretted the entire time she was away, longing only for her safe return. As he told her all this, she could tell how difficult it must be, as a parent, to know when to hold a child back and when to let them go. She was grateful for how masterfully her father
navigated these boundaries. He made mistakes, but to err was human. She knew how much worse he could make things.
“And the earl?” her father asked, interrupting her dinnertime recollection of the French villages.
She hesitated.
Upon arriving home, Earl Sinclair almost immediately retired to his room and would not emerge. So Kitty had made sure the staff were ready to bring him food and a change of clothes, then left him to his own devices and returned home for the evening.
She shook her head. If she could not tell her father, who could she tell? “He is being stubborn about his broken knee. He keeps pushing himself to the limit, worsening his condition, and not taking any medication,” she explained.
“And his doctor?” Lord Langley asked.
“That is just it, father. He refuses to see any doctors at all. He does not trust them. So his condition just worsens and worsens, because he refuses to hear anything other than that he knows best,” she said, exasperated.
“He sounds a troubled man,” her father admitted. “I must say, when I heard your friend's brother was a gentleman I feared that things may go awry, but I did not expect in this sense.”
Kitty blushed, but nodded in agreement. “I too was concerned, but I had not anticipated just what a difficult man he would be to care for. I absolutely understand his sister's request for support during these troubling times.”
“Where is his sister now?” Lord Langley asked.
“We have sent notice to her, that she may return, but she is at least four days away, and there is no guarantee that he will listen to her either, when it comes to medical care,” Kitty explained.
“I am at a loss, I must say,” her father confessed with a sigh.
Kitty fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “It is a most vexing situation. But I would hate for such an honorable man as the earl to suffer an unnecessary amputation, or worse, under my care. I want to do more for him.”
“But what can we do, my dear?” her father asked. “We are to him in terms of authority what Dr. Allen is to us, and Dr. Allen's expertise is to him what my expertise is to Dr. Allen. If we have no authority and he will not listen to sense or wisdom, what more is there?”
“Dr. Allen, what would you advise?” Kitty asked, stirring her soup pensively.
The doctor, who had been quietly eating his own soup and listening to his hosts talking, startled ever so slightly at the sound of his name and smiled in embarrassment. “I would advise what I advised in France: That you administer the treatments which I, and any other relevant physicians, recommend, making use of his trust in you to guarantee that he receives adequate care.”
“Then that is what we shall do,” her father said sternly. “The man is an earl, and a friend of my daughter. We shall not allow him to suffer if we can prevent it.”
Kitty was not sure of this. Not sure at all. “Father,” she said, “I am not the right person. I may be experienced with such ailments, but I am not learned enough, nor trusted enough by him. What if something were to go wrong? Or he was to reject my care?”
“Then I shall trust you to use good judgement, and take responsibility should it fail,” Dr. Allen said sternly. “Whatever the case, it is better than him receiving no treatment at all, don't you think, Miss?”
“You must do whatever you think wise, but please follow Dr. Allen's advice,” Lord Langley insisted.
Kitty felt her heart growing heavy. It was what her father wanted. And, just as he hated to refuse her things, she hated to refuse him things. Besides, she longed to be by the earl's side once again. Dr. Allen was right. Any care would be better than no care. She needed to make sure she was there to look after him the minute he needed her.
She barely touched the rest of her soup, and nibbled at her entree, before departing as soon as the meal was over, to ensure that Earl Sinclair was not suffering in her absence. Dr. Allen accompanied her, despite having eaten heartily himself, and wanting to repose.
Back at the mansion, Kitty felt fearful for her friend's well -being. He was apparently in a lot of pain. She did not want to deceive him, but she knew it would be the only way to bring him some relief.
It began innocently enough. He asked, weakly, for a tea. He was thirsty and tired and needed something to revive him. Dr. Allen seized this first opportunity.
“In his present state, especially after travelling, he may not notice the subtle changes in his drinks. We must act sooner, rather than later,” he explained.
Kitty abstained from telling him just how much like a poisoner he sounded. It was unnecessary, and only fed her own guilt.
“This powder comes from a very powerful root. Provides intense pain relief,” the doctor explained, producing a small jar.
Dr. Allen carefully measured some of the powder into Earl Sinclair's tea. “This ought to help him greatly,” the doctor remarked. “And the taste is such that he shall probably not notice it is tampered with. I daresay he shall be used to the taste by the time he has a chance to notice.”
Far from reassuring Kitty, this just made her feel worse. How could she be doing this to someone who trusted her? How could she be feeding him something he explicitly did not want to be consuming? She felt like a monster, even bringing it to him, and secretly hoped he would notice the taste, spit it out, and demand a new one.
He did not.
He hummed in pleasure and enjoyed three full cups of the tea, remarking how wonderfully it quenched his thirst, and how much he had missed a proper English brew.
Kitty felt immensely guilty as Earl Sinclair sipped his tea. He looked so pained, so tired, though, that she immediately forgave herself. He may not know it, but this was his first step on the road to recovery. Proper, medically supported recovery.
It was not what he wanted, but it was what he needed. He was allowed another teapot with the medicine before the doctor expressed that he should have no more until bedtime, otherwise he might develop a resistance to it.
The medicine did not take long to have an effect, at any rate. Earl Sinclair seemed much more lively and content. The pain had been masked.
Of course he did not know this. As far as he was concerned, he was making a miraculous recovery, and as soon as he was able he leapt to his feet and began walking around the room, looking for things to do to entertain himself with.
Aghast at seeing him trying to play various parlour games on his swollen leg, Kitty reported back to Dr. Allen, asking for help with it.
“Perhaps he will be fine,” she suggested, more hopeful than earnest.
“Not at all,” Dr. Allen replied.
Kitty shook her head. “Not at all? But the pain is gone.”
“But the injury is still there,” Dr. Allen replied with a frustrated sigh. “No matter how much pain we take away, it is just hiding the extent of his injury. He must still rest. We must immobilize him somehow.”
Immobilize? This was beginning to sound a little extreme to Kitty. A bit of a painkiller and a hot water bottle for the swelling was one thing. But providing him with sedatives was another matter entirely. Could she be expected to sneak such serious medication into his food, against his wishes?
But she had already begun. Who was she to oppose any of this now? At Dr. Allen's discretion, a variety of specialists were consulted, and a complete medical therapy was put together for the earl before the day came to a close. With full agreement among the physicians, a dose of opium was measured out and provided to the earl, to keep him peacefully in his bed so that he could heal.
After administering the sedatives, he was much more receptive to the balms and warm compresses which she was to apply before bed. Kitty had been instructed to say there were just for massage and warmth. Any inkling of something medical may be off-putting to the earl.
So that is what she did. She washed his leg down with water infused with medicinal herbs. She massaged his knee with oils and ointments to reduce the swelling and protect the skin from dryness and cracking. And she applied a herbal compre
ss, and a stone water bottle, before bed, to keep the swelling down through the night.
The earl put his trust in her, believed her, and did whatever she requested. She was not sure if this was the effect of the opium numbing his senses, or if he genuinely had this much faith in her. Either way, she felt she was taking advantage of his circumstances. She would never like for someone to take her medical care into their own hands, entirely against her will, no matter how good their intentions. So why would he?
She tried to justify it to herself. It was no worse than putting sugar in a child's medicine. But this was no child. He was an adult man, and her social superior, and she was lying to him in order to administer treatment he did not want. Whether it was in his best interests or not, she could not shake the feeling that she was doing something irredeemably wrong by defying his desires.
Retiring to her room for the night, Kitty just hoped that Delilah and Cassandra would be back soon. They would know what to do. They would talk a little sense into the earl. Or, at the very least, they would reassure her that what she was doing was not wrong, provide her with some support and company, and remove some of the shame she felt at staying in his house, alone besides the staff.
Chapter 26
Earl Sinclair seemed so much better the next morning that Kitty could scarcely believe he was the same person. This was what he ought to have been doing all along. All fears and shame was dispelled. If this was what it took to heal him, then it was her duty to disregard his wishes and his complaints and ensure that he received the care he needed.
She continued administering herbs, powders, ointments, and lotions throughout the day, under the guise of meals, tea, and massages. He was grateful for her attentiveness, and she was grateful to see him relaxing and healing at long last.
And yet he continued to deny the value of modern medicine. Of course he would! After all, he had no idea that modern medicine was healing him. As far as he was concerned, his miraculous overnight recovery was an act of God, or his body fighting back, or simply the comfort of being home again.