‘I was just about to do an examination, my lord,’ Jeffers said.
Tony straightened. ‘Yes, yes, of course. I will wait outside.’
‘Dr Hatfield,’ he said pointedly, angling his head towards the door. But the ridiculous woman still stood rooted to the spot between Jeffers and the bed, like an unnecessary, trumped-up bodyguard.
‘Lord Anthony.’ She made no move, nor softened her pugilistic posture.
‘Dr Hatfield, I wished to talk to you and I believe Dr Jeffers has this in hand. Perhaps we might adjourn to the library.’
‘Dr Jeffers is not examining anyone until he washes first.’ Letty pressed her lips together in a firm, stubborn line. ‘Maria has the water ready.’
‘As I said before, I do not like your tone, young man,’ Jeffers started.
‘You do not need to like my tone or anything about me. I just want to ensure that you wash prior to examining my patient.’
‘My patient,’ Jeffers corrected, snapping his lips together and emphasising the pronoun. ‘And I’ll have you know that I was practising long before you became qualified. Likely you were still in nappies or mewling in your mother’s arms.’
‘Quite possibly. I am not certain of your age. However, I do know that the mortality rate among new mothers whose labour you attend is high.’
‘Again! Again, you impugn my reputation? You are an upstart!’
‘Stop,’ Tony said. ‘Enough of this. I will not have either of you frighten my sister with talk of mortality. Nor disturb her with this bickering. Jeffers, wash your hands if only to quieten this—this person. It can hardly do any harm and perhaps then he will leave the room.’
‘The soap and water is over there,’ Letty said pleasantly, stepping aside.
With a final angry glance, Jeffers went towards the water as Letty walked to the door.
‘As for you...’ Tony followed her, lowering his voice ‘...for goodness sake find a maid and change. And wait for me in the library.’
* * *
The corridor felt pleasantly cool after the warmth in the bedroom. Sweat prickled on her forehead and her cheeks felt flushed as though on fire. For a moment Letty stood quite still. No one was in the hall. For the first time in hours—indeed, since Tony had recognised her—she was alone.
Letty leaned against the wall, glad of its sturdy coolness at her spine. The exhaustion felt so heavy, it was a physical thing. Her limbs seemed almost to vibrate as though unable to bear her weight.
Tears prickled, clogging her throat and goosebumps prickled, oddly mixed with the dampness of sweat.
What should she do? She stared at the white wall opposite as though it might provide direction. From somewhere down the passage, she heard a clock, its ticking rhythmic. Behind her, she could hear the muffled tones of voices.
Tony would be out soon. He would not remain during the medical exam.
She straightened. She needed to escape. She did not want to see Lord Anthony. Not now. Not until she’d had time to think, to sleep, to push away the tears which already blurred her vision.
Nor did she want to find some confused maid and explain why the male doctor required a dress. Besides, then she would be truly rumbled and some unacknowledged part of her still hoped.
With desperate energy, she inhaled, squared her shoulders and started down the corridor. Why hadn’t she insisted on bringing her own buggy? She wanted only to leave, to escape into the darkness, curl into the comfort of her own bed, slow the rotating thoughts that circled within her mind.
But she was Dr Hatfield. As long as Tony had not disclosed her secret, she still had that identity and its authority.
By some miracle, she found her way to the front hall. Dobson still stood at the door. Had he been there all night, impervious to fatigue? Did he know...?
As she neared him, he allowed his proper features to relax.
‘It is a happy day for this house, sir,’ he said.
He did not know.
Her body felt limp with relief, but she kept her figure straight and her tone masculine and imperious. ‘Indeed—however, I require a carriage immediately.’
‘You are leaving, sir? Mrs Greene, the housekeeper, has made up a bedchamber in case you wanted to rest and we thought you and Dr Jeffers and Lord Anthony might want to drink to the new lad.’
‘Thank you. It is already after dawn and I have patients to see. I am certain Dr Jeffers will be able to do any drinking necessary.’
‘Yes, sir. You did not want a small repast?’
‘No, I wish only to leave and I am not used to these questions,’ she snapped.
Later she might regret her sharpness. Such impatience was not in her nature, but right now she was a desperate wounded animal, wanting only to return to its lair.
‘Yes, sir. I will order the carriage directly.’
She stood within the hallway, like a fugitive. Every noise, the creak of a board under a servant’s foot or the muffled sound of a door closing, made her startle. She could not see Tony again. Not now. Not today. Not yet. She needed to get away. She needed to make sense of the situation and determine how best to cope.
She needed to keep Dr Hatfield, his strength and autonomy, for at least another day.
Finally, she heard the clatter of horse’s hooves outside. Dobson opened the door, as always imbuing the simple motion with ceremony. She slipped out, hurrying down the stone steps into the chill grey light of early morning. Phillips swung open the carriage door.
She entered, leaning back against the padded cushioning with a relief that was close to elation. The door shut and the vehicle jolted forward, its wheels rattling over the drive. Through the window, she watched as the house became smaller and more distant, at last disappearing as they swung into the wooded copse.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears. Her lids felt so heavy it was though leaden weights were tied to them. The full gamut of emotion rocked her: joy at the birth, desolation at discovery, frustration and whatever it was that she felt for Lord Anthony with his hard, intelligent, sad eyes.
She heard the distaste lacing his words—You are a fraud. You are a fraud and a trickster... A fraud...a trickster. The words became a part of the wheels’ rhythm, repeating over and over.
Of course, she’d known she would be found out. Logically, she’d known it was always only a matter of time. But she hadn’t expected this level of pain. She hadn’t expected to see his hard, steely grey-blue gaze piercing her whenever her lids fell shut. She hadn’t expected to hear the reverberation of his cold tone throughout her head, or the ache at the hurt disappointment lacing his words.
She’d anticipated anger, worry, scandal, consequences...
But not this personal pain. She had not expected to feel this awful hopelessness as though something infinitely precious had been lost.
Nor had she expected this flickering of guilt—as though she had somehow let him down or robbed him of something.
* * *
At last she dozed, a fitful sleep filled with confused images which left her feeling more exhausted when she startled awake.
The vehicle had stopped. The village appeared as it always did, a tranquil place. Phillips opened the door and she stumbled down, shivering. She felt as cold as though it were winter and not summer’s end. Indeed, goosebumps prickled her arms, despite the warm sun, and she shuddered as she stepped towards the door.
It opened. Arnold’s wonderfully solid and familiar figure stood within the portal. She blinked. It would not do for Phillips to see her cry, she thought, as she half-stumbled through the doorway.
‘I’ll just go and make sure the horse gets food and water,’ Arnold said.
For a moment, she stood quite still. She heard his footsteps, voices and at last the horse’s hooves click-clacking down the cobbled village street.
She
went to the study and sat. Her mind felt blank, empty or numb.
‘You’re still here. You should be over to the other house,’ Arnold said, when he re-entered. ‘I’m guessing you had breakfast. Or are you wanting something to eat? A little luncheon? Sarah went out to get some milk, but she should be back soon enough.’
‘No, that is fine. I am more tired than hungry.’
‘You should go to bed.’
‘Yes, I should go,’ she agreed, making no move to do so.
He nodded. ‘You do look a mite worn, if I may say so. You’ll feel better after a rest.’
‘Yes,’ she said, thankful for his calm, familiar, reassuring kindness, even though she knew it wasn’t true. She wouldn’t feel better.
She was glad Sarah was away. Sarah cared, but would likely demonstrate this by worry, nagging and perhaps even an ‘I told you so’.
Just then she did not think she could cope with Sarah’s kindness—or her worry.
‘You go over to the other house now,’ Arnold prompted. ‘I can help you up if you need. Sarah will get you later for lunch or supper.’
‘No, I’m fine.’ She rose. The energy required for the simple movements felt huge and her limbs weighted. She exited through the back door and crossed to the other house, her movements still pedestrian, her movements awkward and leaden.
As always, Sarah had turned down the bed and Letty knew there would be a warm brick at her feet. Moving slowly, Letty pulled off the powdered wig, the jacket, the soiled shirt and trousers.
She stared at them, studying the outline of the trousers and shirts against the blue rug. Useless. Obsolete.
Pulling on her nightgown, she threw herself into her bed and under the covers. She lay there quite still, feeling her body relax as finally she allowed the tears to fall, wetting her cheeks and her pillow.
She had never wanted to be a fraud. She had never wanted to put on the ludicrous wig, trousers and spectacles. Was it her fault that society thought her genitalia affected her ability to learn? Or that she would swoon or faint at the sight of blood? How could they judge? How could Lord Anthony judge? Had he seen her in the morgues or with the stolen bodies in the anatomy lab? Had he inhaled the air reeking with the smell of decomposition and alcohol? Or walked beside her as she hurried home past brothels and beggars?
Had he seen the wounds she had stitched or the child that had survived at Guy’s even though everyone had anticipated his death?
Now he would likely expose her secret. Her family would be ridiculed.
And, even if he did not, she had lost his good regard. Those moments playing cards had felt as close to friendship as she had ever experienced with a male. And then later—
She pressed her hands to her eyes as though that might stop the thoughts which circled, crazy like a child’s spinning top, so that it seemed she’d never sleep but would twist and turn, mired in her own linen, dampened with sweat.
How was it fair that she had lost the regard of a man who likely owed his life to the medical profession because she had wanted to join its ranks? She had wanted to learn...to heal...
Exhaustion won. She fell into a heavy sleep marked by dreams where Tony was shouting at her only to peculiarly morph into a clergyman, vaguely remembered from her childhood parish. She hadn’t liked him. He’d stood at the pulpit, wagging his finger and staring at her as though able to read her soul.
‘A fraud’ and ‘a trickster’...except now it was not the clergyman but Tony. ‘A fraud’ and ‘a trickster’...
* * *
‘Miss—miss—wake up.’
Sarah’s voice pulled her out of sleep.
‘Huh? What—what is it?’ she asked. ‘What time is it?’
‘Morning. You’re slept more than fifteen hours straight. I couldn’t even wake you for supper last night.’
‘Really,’ Letty rubbed her head, staring around the bedchamber as though something in her surroundings might help her track down the missing hours.
‘His Lordship, Lord Anthony, he’s here and he wants to see you.’
Letty started at her maid’s words, sitting up, instantly alert. ‘Is it Elsie? The baby?’
‘No, no. I mean it can’t be. He didn’t ask for Dr Hatfield, but you, miss. Most specific he was.’
‘Unfortunately, that doesn’t preclude that possibility,’ Letty said.
‘What?’ Sarah froze, her hand tight about the cup of chocolate she was about to place on the night table.
Letty saw the maid’s fingers, swollen from arthritis, turn a mottled, yellowed white from the pressure on the cup.
‘Does—does he know, miss?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes.’
Her maid’s face blanched. Her hand shook so that a drop of chocolate spilled. She did not seem to notice as she sat on the bed, a heavy movement which made the mattress wheeze. ‘Oh, miss.’
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Letty said robustly, although the slight tremor in her voice made her tone sound fake even to her own ears.
‘It’s the end of your world, miss.’
‘Yes,’ Letty said, unable to pretend.
‘But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the baby or Lady Beauchamp, miss. He did not seem unduly worried.’
‘And, let us be honest, he would ask for Jeffers, in that event. I presume he has come to inform me of—of what he intends to do with this information.’
‘Oh, miss, but I am sure he is a gentleman. Likely he will suggest that you stop and that he won’t say nothing.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But that is hardly consoling.’
‘It is better than a scandal, miss.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. After all, she did not want Flo or Ramsey dragged through the mud. But for herself... For herself, stopping would be the worst of it.
It hurt that Sarah, who knew her better than anyone, did not really understand.
‘I knew this would happen sometime,’ Sarah said.
‘It does not take a clairvoyant to see that, I suppose.’ Letty spoke tartly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘Well, I guess I’d best get this over with.’
‘Yes, miss. I’m sorry, miss.’
‘I know.’
Chapter Nine
Miss Barton’s cottage was small and scrupulously neat. The furnishings were simple. The shelves appeared clean and had very few ornaments or novels and certainly none of the scientific books he had anticipated.
Just then the door swung open and Letty entered. She walked quickly, her back ramrod-straight and her hair again pulled severely into a small tight bun.
‘Your sister and the baby? They are well? There is no sign of fever?’ she asked instantly, before even greeting him, her dark brows fiercely furrowed.
‘They are well,’ he said, her concern for his family briefly derailing his anger.
She looked very pale. Dark shadows ringed her eyes. The grey dress did her no favours, if anything serving to emphasise her slim frame and ashen complexion.
‘You did not need to leave last night,’ he said. ‘You must have been very tired.’
He hadn’t liked the thought of her sitting alone in the carriage as it wound through the countryside. Indeed, she must have been frightened at what he would do and say.
Of course, she deserved to be damned scared and yet, conversely, he didn’t like to think of her either alone or scared.
‘I felt it would distress your maid unduly if Dr Hatfield suddenly asked for a dress,’ she said, eschewing any prevarication, with just the hint of amusement lacing her tones.
He felt reluctant admiration at her ability to see humour in the face of adversity. They could have been friends, he thought suddenly. In a different life, they could have been friends.
And, he reminded himself, if she hadn’t decided to participate in this ludic
rous sham—this ruse. Amusement morphed into anger. He valued honesty and integrity. Why had she done it? If she were desperate for funds, surely his offer of marriage would have been a better solution.
‘You wished to see me?’ she prompted.
‘Yes,’ he said irritably. ‘It would seem we have something to discuss given the recent revelation.’
‘Indeed,’ she said, quite calmly.
‘Like why?’ His anger spilled out. ‘Why this huge deception? Why do this?’
‘It seemed like the best option at the time.’ She sat, waving a hand to suggest he do the same.
‘Working under false pretences. Pretending to have credentials you do not have? Tricking your patients? That seemed like the best option!’ he snapped, refusing to sit, but pacing.
‘Yes,’ she said, but dully as though forcibly muting her emotions, her tone colourless as her complexion.
‘Was it for money?’
‘No, potatoes.’
‘Pardon?’
‘My patients tend to pay me more often in potatoes and other vegetables. Fruit when in season, eggs and butter,’ she said. ‘Honey and wine on occasion.’
‘Miss Barton, this is no joking matter. You have put me in an untenable situation.’
‘Rest assured, I did not choose this double life merely to place you in an inconvenient position.’
His anger grew, fuelled by this fake calm façade. She must feel something. She should feel something. My God, he was feeling something. He was feeling more emotion than he had felt in months. Indeed, more than he ever wanted to feel. But Miss Barton appeared calm and composed. He could not stay still while she sat with a singular lack of motion as though a bloody statue.
‘Can you at least explain why you did this? Don’t I deserve that much?’
‘I can’t see why you would,’ she said.
‘I offered you my hand in marriage. I trusted you. I trusted you with my sister’s care. You put her at risk—’ He stepped closer with the words.
‘No!’ That single word blasted from her, shattering any calm façade. She bolted upright. Colour flushed into her pale face, the hue intense. Her green eyes sparkled with sudden fire. ‘No!’
A Debutante in Disguise Page 15