Mrs Jamison chortled. ‘Have you met Cedric? He’s a one. Likely burn the house down as like as not.’
Letty smiled. She’d given Cedric stitches on more than one occasion. ‘I have indeed. He is a repeat customer.’
* * *
For the next hour, Letty kept busy, the afterbirth was delivered and then the Jamison family trooped in solemnly to meet their new sibling. Of course, Mr Jamison offered a sup of something to wet the baby’s head and, as always, Letty refused.
She never lingered. With the child born, Mrs Jamison would be more likely to notice her doctor’s feminine features, too poorly disguised. She might see the tufts of red hair peaking from under the wig, the swell of her breasts, despite the binding, or that her hands were too small and delicate for a man.
While treating any patient, Letty seldom worried that she would be discovered. It was as though her mind was too occupied with treatment, remembering the details of anatomy, relieving pain, determining the correct poultice or herb, or placing stitches into flesh. But once finished, her mind circled, worry omnipotent.
At times, she still could not believe that the crazy idea she and Ramsey had concocted four years ago on a bright, starlit winter walk was working...had worked.
Besides, she was too hungry and exhausted to do anything save return home with all possible dispatch.
So, after checking once more on patient and child, she packed her belongings into her doctor’s bag, made sure any stray hair was tucked under the wig, adjusted her jacket, straightened her shoulders and strode out into the bright daylight with a masculine swagger. The Jamison lads had already hitched up her horse, the stalwart Archimedes, and Cedric stood on the second plank of the fence, balancing precariously, a long yellow straw clenched between his lips at a jaunty angle.
‘Hello, Cedric,’ she said, clambering into the trap and watching as he climbed down to open the gate. ‘You happy with your new sister?’
‘She’s all right. A brother would have been better.’ He peered up at her, wrinkling his freckled nose. ‘Girls are dull. Still, at least I’m not the youngest no more.’
With that consoling thought, he swung open the gate and Letty tapped Archimedes into reluctant movement and he ambled forward, happy to find his own way down the narrow lane.
At times, she missed the lectures at Guy’s Hospital, the lively discourse between students, the classes in anatomy and the excitement of the illegal autopsies and new procedures.
Today was not one of them. In London, there had also been an undercurrent of fear. She remembered hurrying through poor, narrow streets with her collar turned high and her shoulders hunched, even more determined to hide her gender than at the hospital.
Sewage from the Thames tainted the air. Garbage littered the streets and beggars and drunks would lie at the entrances of the shops, hospital and along the river bank while urchins would run up to her, grimy hands out-thrust. Sometimes prostitutes would sidle up with their toothless, painted faces, taken in by her male garb.
This was much nicer, she thought, gazing through heavy-lidded eyes at the country’s clean, morning brilliance. It was nice, to relax to Archimedes’s rhythmic movement, the reins limp in her hand.
Sometimes her secret felt heavy, but on this fresh, shimmering hopeful dawn it was delightful and precious.
As always, she took the back route, skirting the village centre so that she could approach the stable by the lane. Doubtless, the villagers thought the doctor an odd recluse and Miss Barton equally eccentric. Still, she could take no chances. She had worked so hard for this life and it still felt fragile—like the houses they’d constructed as children from playing cards and toothpicks.
The lane behind her house smelled of lavender. Already the day promised to be warm. It had been an unusually hot summer and the air had that heavy, lazy perfumed feel of August. Mixed with the lavender she detected manure. Likely Arnold had been gardening, already eager to beat the day’s heat.
‘Ah, there you be, miss.’ Arnold stepped out from the stable. She’d known him since childhood: groom, gardener and friend. He always kept an eye open for her when she was out at night and irritatingly insisted on calling her ‘miss’ despite trousers and wig whenever they were alone.
He was quite stooped with his years, moving with a rolling nautical gait as he stepped forward, taking hold of the reins. ‘You must be that tired. You go up to the house. Sarah will have a bite ready for you, no doubt.’
‘Thank you.’ She gave Archimedes’s wide girth a final pat before getting down from the buggy and entering the stable.
She found her clothes in the small valise under the hay and dusted away the yellow straw, before hurriedly removing her trousers and thankfully pulling off the powdered wig. She shoved this into the valise, running her fingers with relief through her straight red hair. Then she pulled on her dress and exited the stable’s dustiness.
In the winter months, she’d likely abandon this practice. Even now it seemed like an excess of caution, but worry was deeply rooted and in these bright, long summer days she feared that someone might see ‘Miss Barton’ enter the doctor’s house or vice versa.
Thanks to her inheritance from her father, she owned both the two stone houses visible at the far end of the garden. Eagerly, she hurried towards the one on the left, stepping across the paving stones of her overgrown herb garden. The leaves brushed against her skirts which would likely be yellow with pollen.
‘I am that glad to see you back.’ Sarah came to her the moment she’d pushed open the back door.
Sarah had first worked as a nursery maid and was also more friend than servant. ‘Sit there. I have fresh bread and the kettle is hot so I can make tea.’
‘Thank you. I was going to head straight to bed, but perhaps I will eat first,’ Letty said.
She had not eaten for hours and the kitchen smelled delightfully of cinnamon and fresh bread. Kitchens always smelled wonderful. Even as a child, she’d loved kitchens above all other rooms, except the library. Of course, her mother had seldom entered the kitchen, or had done so only to lecture the staff. Her mother was the daughter of a housekeeper and had spent her life trying to forget this fact.
‘Well, I have food enough, but you won’t be having that much time to sleep if you’re planning to visit your sister-in-law.’
‘Good gracious, I didn’t know I was!’ Sarah sat rather heavily, propping her head on her elbows, too tired to stay erect.
‘It is the fourteenth and your mother and Mrs Barton invited you weeks ago—most specific she was.’
Letty groaned. She loved Flo. She owed both Flo and her brother everything. She would never have been able to register at Guy’s Hospital without her brother’s help. Certainly, her mother would never have allowed her to live in London if Flo had not offered her accommodation. Nor would she have pulled off her peculiar double life without Flo’s ingenious excuses.
However, the garden party would doubtless involve her mother.
Letty was a tremendous disappointment to Mrs Barton. Indeed, her mother would have disowned her except she feared it would cause talk. Mrs Barton hated to be the topic of ‘talk’. Besides, Ramsey had convinced one of his more aristocratic friends to provide some mumbo-jumbo about the upper classes adoring eccentricity.
Living alone in her little stone house was certainly eccentric.
Not that Mrs Barton knew about the doctoring. Letty smiled grimly. That information would doubtless have sent Mrs Barton into a decline or given her fits. Indeed, the fact that Letty had wasted almost two years in London without finding a husband was sufficiently dreadful.
‘I suppose I must go,’’ Letty said, her head sinking lower.
‘A failure to show might result in a visit from the elder Mrs Barton.’
Letty groaned. ‘I’d best avoid that.’
‘Indeed,’ Sarah agreed.
/> ‘Give me an hour to sleep,’ she instructed. ‘Then get me up for this flower party.’
‘Garden party, I believe, miss.’
* * *
As expected, her mother’s influence was clearly visible and nothing had been done by half-measures. Liveried servants lined the flagstone path leading towards the comfortable brick façade of Letty’s childhood home. The box trees now resembled African animals and the ornamental fountain frothed and burbled. The flower beds were colourful perfection, the dark soil freshly turned, the weeds removed and a statue of a lion placed in the very centre of the rose garden.
A huge tent stood on the emerald lawn. Long tables covered in white linen extended from its shadows, laden with food, drink, silver cutlery and crystal stemware. Meanwhile colourful groupings of the local gentry and other notables chattered, protecting their pale complexions under ruffled sunshades in pastel hues.
Letty frowned. What was the point of a garden party if one erected a house and hid from the sun?
Just then, she saw her mother. Mrs Barton was not as tall as Letty, but was still slim. She had been talking with several ladies close to the box tree giraffe, but stepped forward on seeing her daughter.
‘I am glad you are here and on time,’ she said, with a bob of her white parasol as she presented her cheek for a kiss. She looked well. She had Letty’s pale skin and reddish hair, but her locks had a pleasant auburn shade, threaded with a few strands of grey, as opposed to Letty’s more vibrant hue.
Letty tried to think of a suitable but truthful response. She couldn’t really say that she was glad to be here. In reality, there were any number of places she would have preferred to be.
‘I am glad you are happy,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I wonder if there is not a connection between one’s physical health and one’s emotions.’
Her mother’s forehead puckered, as though uncertain how best to take that statement. ‘Well, never mind all that. And where is your sunshade? You know how dreadfully you freckle. And why must you insist on wearing such dull shades?’
‘Likely a reaction to the overly bright hues of my youth,’ Letty murmured.
‘But grey? It is such a raincloud of a colour.’
‘But serviceable.’
‘Which you would not need to worry about if you had not decided to waste money buying a house. I am quite certain your father did not intend for you to fritter your inheritance.’
‘The purchase of a house hardly seems frivolous.’
‘It is when you could stay with me at the Dower House or with dear Flo and your brother. Well, no matter—I have a gentleman I particularly wanted to introduce—’
At that moment, Flo, or Florence, approached, her smile wide and genuine. ‘But first, Lord Jephson is here and I absolutely promised him an introduction. He wanted to meet you as he has a lively interest in humours. You do not mind, do you, Mama?’
She addressed this last statement to Mrs Barton while expertly steering Letty towards the house.
‘Humours! You know science has moved beyond humours. And who is Lord Jephson?’ Letty asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
‘A rich lord without a wife which will absolutely thrill your mother. But don’t worry, I don’t think he has any interest in acquiring a wife. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to you. Ramsey is in his study and will be so delighted to see you. He says you are the only person outside of London able to provide intelligent discourse—’
Just at that moment, a disturbance occurred beside one of the long tables and both Letty and Flo turned abruptly.
‘Good gracious.’ Flo lifted her skirts so that she could move with greater efficiency. ‘I think someone has collapsed or fallen.’
Letty hurried after her sister-in-law. Quite near to the tent, a cluster of women encircled a young female reclining on the grass. The woman wore black, but looked to be young with fashionable blonde curls peaking from under a dark bonnet.
‘Do not crowd her,’ Letty directed.
‘Really, I can get up,’ the young woman said, struggling to stand.
‘A fallacy. You are as white as a sheet and look ready to swoon again.’ Letty pushed through the bystanders, kneeling beside the young woman, instinctively reaching for her wrist to feel for a pulse. ‘Give yourself a moment. You are likely still dizzy and—’
Before she could complete this sentence, a second wave of interest coursed through the group of onlookers. A tall man approached, striding from the house, his gait uneven. From her kneeling position, the newcomer’s height was extenuated, his broad shoulders all but blocking the sun so that his size appeared superhuman, like Zeus or Neptune.
‘Elsie? What happened?’ His voice was harsh. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘No, I just went dizzy with the heat. Really, I am quite fine now.’ The young woman again tried to rise. Two splotches of colour appeared on her otherwise pale cheeks. Her skin looked damp with perspiration. Letty saw miniature beads of moisture along her upper lip and forehead. Moreover, her face had a fullness or puffiness which Letty did not like.
‘I disagree,’ she said, releasing her wrist. ‘Your hands and face are bloated. I cannot accurately measure your pulse in present circumstances, but it seems too fast which could indicate a more serious condition.’
‘Young lady—’ The man addressed Letty sharply as he knelt also beside the prone woman. ‘Who are you? And why are you attempting to scare my sister witless?’
Letty glanced at him. His face was still shadowed from the sun, but there was something arresting about him and she found herself momentarily bereft of breath.
‘I do not intend to alarm her,’ she said, her mouth peculiarly dry. ‘Merely to ensure that she seeks medical treatment.’
‘She is already under medical care.’
‘It doesn’t seem to have been entirely effective. I would advise further consultation.’
‘Thank you for that. Obviously, I will ensure her physician is called immediately.’
‘Please, Tony,’ the young woman said. ‘Can we move from here? Everyone is looking.’
‘Let them. And don’t flatter yourself. They are likely more interested in me than you.’
It was true, Letty realised. The group of onlookers had grown and stared openly with an avidity at the gentleman which seemed oddly devoid of good manners—particularly among a group who could forgive murder more readily than a lapse of etiquette.
Letty nodded. ‘Indeed, I would strongly advise moving out of the heat.’
‘It is still quite cool indoors,’ Flo said, now also bending. ‘I can help.’
‘Rest assured I can support my sister,’ the gentleman said, putting out one hand to help the young woman.
This single-handed gesture seemed oddly awkward, Letty thought, as she stood, also supporting the young woman.
‘Perhaps—however, you appeared injured when you walked here. You are only offering one hand and, depending on the nature of your injury, the strain might do further harm.’
‘You need not concern yourself. I am quite capable of managing my own physical condition,’ he said tersely.
‘Now, rise slowly and you will be less likely to feel vertiginous,’ Letty said, ignoring the irascible gentleman as they helped his sister rise.
Together, they moved towards the familiar stone bulk of her family’s home, crossing the lawn, an odd, unwieldly threesome, while Flo walked ahead. They left the crowd behind and the quiet deepened as the chatter of voices fell away and Letty could better hear the young woman’s laboured breathing.
With her arm about the woman’s waist, Letty could feel the bulge of pregnancy—about five or six months along—although these new fashions made her belly less noticeable. Occasionally, she peeked at the gentleman, but he kept his face averted and largely in profile, silhouetted against the bright summer sky.
A
lthough tall and broad, he had a thinness also, likely due to whatever hardship he had endured. There was a familiarity about him. She saw it in his profile and the timbre of his voice. She could not place him, but she had likely met him during her eighteen months in London and her peculiar double life, that odd mix of days and night within London’s brightest ballroom and the morgue.
‘The front Salon will be hot,’ Letty said, as they stepped out of the warmth into the familiar front hall. ‘We should go into the library. It will be cooler.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Flo agreed. ‘And is there anything you need? Smelling salts? Brandy? Well, there is brandy in the library already. But if there is anything else?’
‘Solitude and quiet would be nice,’ the man said.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Flo replied, her hands making the fluttering motions she always made when nervous. ‘I will let Letty—Miss Barton—take you to the library.’
‘You didn’t need to be rude,’ Letty said to the rather formidable gentleman, as soon as Flo had left.
‘It proves effective in clearing a room.’
‘So does the discussion of pustules—that doesn’t mean one has to do it.’
The man gave a sharp, spontaneous bark of laughter, which struck her as familiar. ‘You speak from personal experience?’
‘Yes. Well, it was actually an abscess.’ It had been during her adolescence and her mother had spoken rather harshly to her on the issue of suitability. She had learned some restraint since then.
He looked her, his expression intent, and she had the feeling he had not properly noticed her previously. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Might we focus on my sister and not my manners? Elsie, why don’t you sit here on the sofa?’
‘Thank you,’ the young woman agreed as they helped her sit. ‘I am Lady Beauchamp, by the way, and this delightful creature is my brother, Lord Anthony. And thank you, Miss Barton. Truly I appreciate your kindness.’
‘It is nothing. Hopefully, you will feel better after a rest. Oh, and I would advise keeping your feet elevated,’ Letty said, placing a brocade cushion under Lady Beauchamp’s feet and helping her to lift them. ‘Are you in any pain?’
A Debutante in Disguise Page 3