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Miss Shaw and the Doctor
Fenella J. Miller
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An imprint of
Musa Publishing
Copyright Information
Miss Shaw and the Doctor, Copyright © Fenella J. Miller, 2012
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.musapublishing.com
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First published as Your Tender Heart by D.C. Thomson, 2010
Published by Musa Publishing, March 2012
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
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ISBN: 978-1-61937-260-3
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Editor: Tamara Taylor
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Dedication
For all my writing friends —
especially Wendy Soliman, Jean Fullerton,
Maureen Lee, Fay Cunningham and Sheila Norton.
Chapter One
“Bentley Crossroads. Miss Shaw, it’s time for you to alight.”
Sarah jerked awake. The interior of the mail coach was pitch black, with not even a glimmer of moonlight. “Thank you, Coachman. I am coming.”
By the time she stumbled down the steps, her trunk and valise were on the dirt beside the road. Before she had time to straighten her bonnet and shake out the creases from her skirts, the coach had gone, leaving her alone in the middle of the night in a deserted country lane.
Her employer, Sir John Fenwick, was to have sent someone to meet her. However, the lead horse on the stagecoach had cast a shoe, and she was several hours late. In her experience, one could never trust equines as they were always demanding an owner’s attention. Whatever servant Sir John had sent would have returned to the squire’s abode long since.
A distant church clock struck the hour; she counted carefully. Midnight—it would not be dawn for another few hours. Thank God she was travelling in June, and the weather was clement. It would be no hardship to sit on something that didn’t rock from side to side for a few hours. The sweet sound of nightingales came from nearby woodland, and she smiled. She was to be entertained whilst she waited. Sitting on the lumpy curved lid of the trunk soon became uncomfortable, so she sat on the ground and used her trunk as a back rest. Her eyes flickered shut, and she dozed.
“Dr. Moorcroft, sir, you’re wanted at Bentley Manor. Lady Fenwick is unwell.”
Adam was wide awake and throwing on his clothes before his butler had finished speaking. “Tell them I will be with them directly. Send word to the stable to have my gig brought round.”
Less than ten minutes later, he was on his way, his medical bag on the seat beside him. With the lanterns bobbing on either side of the gig, he guided his horse down the country lane that would lead him to the squire’s house. Lady Fenwick’s fifth child was on its way, and he was anxious to be with her throughout the labour. He had been against her trying for a boy; her heart was weak and the strain of delivery could prove too much for her. However, so far the pregnancy had been remarkably easy. When he had examined her two days ago, there had been no sign of the erratic heartbeat that had characterised the other pregnancies.
There was no time for delay. He must urge his team into a canter, despite the danger of doing so in the dark.
At the sound of rapidly approaching hooves Sarah pushed herself upright. How kind of the squire to send someone out to look for her. She had fully expected to wait until the morning to be collected. She picked up her valise and withdrew her handkerchief from her reticule to wipe some of the grime from her hands.
The gig, travelling at a spanking trot, showed no sign of pulling up. The driver could not have seen her. Leaning forward, she waved her handkerchief furiously. The beast shied and the vehicle slewed sideways. The unfortunate driver slipped from his perch and vanished into the hedge.
“Oh, my goodness! What have I done?”
The horse, having recovered from its fright, now waited a few yards away as if nothing untoward had happened. The outline of the gig was clearly discernible in the welcome light of the lanterns. It appeared undamaged—indeed, not even the traces were tangled. Only the driver had suffered a mishap. She was most concerned about him.
The head and shoulders of the missing man emerged through a gap in the hedge. He was covered in twigs, his hair awry, and his smart topcoat sadly mired. She was relieved to see he had not injured himself. Apparently, the hedge had made for a soft landing.
This was no servant—oh, dear! She had made a grave error of judgement and would never have attempted to wave down the gig if she’s realised. The gentleman did not look at all pleased to see her. In fact, he looked furious.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said. “I thought you were a servant from the manor come to collect me.”
He drew himself up to his full height, which must be two yards in his stocking feet. Every inch quivered with rage. “Are you mad? Only an imbecile would wave her handkerchief at a horse as you did. You are lucky we were not killed by your stupidity.”
Sarah bristled. How could she have known the silly animal would tip its master over the hedge? She had already apologised. There was no need for him to be so unpleasant.
“If I had not done so, you might not have seen me. As a gentleman, I’m sure you would not wish me to be marooned here on my own for the rest of the night.”
She risked moving closer and curtsied politely. “I am Miss Sarah Shaw, the new governess for Lady Fenwick. I have been sitting here for over two hours.”
“Dr. Adam Moorcroft.” He barely nodded.
“I should be most grateful if you would assist me, Dr. Moorcroft.”
“I suppose I shall have to give you a lift as I am going to the manor myself.” He viewed her large trunk with disfavour. “That will have to remain where it is until tomorrow. Bring your valise. Let us hope, Miss Shaw, that my horse is not lame after your foolishness.”
“All that I possess is in that trunk. If you will not put it in your vehicle, then I shall remain behind with it. Please, do not let me delay you. No doubt you are on your way to deliver Lady Fenwick’s child.”
She’d expected him to pick up her trunk, however reluctantly, and toss it in the gig. Instead, he shrugged and turned his back. “As you wish. You will come to no harm here; I shall inform them that you’re waiting. Goodnight, Miss Shaw. I cannot say it was a pleasure meeting you.”
Before she could protest, he jumped back into his gig, collected the reins, and vanished, like the mail coach, into the night. Sarah dropped her bag on the ground and barely restrained herself from jumping on it. The man was a monster. No gentleman would leave a lady, however humble, in the darkness on her own. If she had the misfortune to meet him again she would have somethin
g pertinent to say to him—and it would not be at all polite.
Scarcely half an hour had passed before a small cart arrived from the opposite direction. Somewhat mollified, she greeted the youth holding the reins with more enthusiasm than she should have.
“Thank you so much for coming out to fetch me. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you. I have been sitting here this age.”
“The doctor woke us up and told me to get out here quick smart. You hop in, Miss Shaw. I’ll get your trunk in the back.”
After a considerable amount of heaving and pushing, the bulky object was safely installed in the pony trap. The time was now after one o’clock in the morning. Would this poor start to her new employment be held against her? No doubt the house would be fully occupied preparing for the arrival of the baby. If a boy was born this time she was certain Sir John and his wife would be so happy her tardy arrival would be forgotten.
“There, miss. All right and tight. I reckon you’d have been there until morning if the doctor hadn’t routed me out.”
“I shall remember to thank him next time we meet. What is your name?”
“Dan Smith, Miss Shaw. I’m a stable boy. I ain’t been here long. Only started last Michaelmas.”
By the time they arrived at their destination, Sarah knew far more than she wished to about Dan and his work. She also discovered the last governess had left under a cloud. The boy was somewhat unclear as to why, but was certain the young lady had not been there more than a few months before she was dismissed.
Full of foreboding, she clambered out of the cart as soon as it rolled to a stop behind the house.
“My trunk can remain where it is until morning. Thank you again your assistance, Dan.”
With a cheery wave he drove off, leaving her to find her own way in. As was to be expected, there were lights on throughout the house. If she knocked on the side door, someone was bound to let her in.
As she raised her hand the door flew open and a plump maid curtsied.
“Lawks, there you are, Miss Shaw. We was wondering what had happened to you. I’m Betty, your maid. I’ve to show you to your room.” The woman bobbed again and all but snatched the bag from Sarah’s hand. “This way, we’ll take the back stairs, too much going on round the front.”
Even these stairs had burning sconces. No expense was spared in this establishment. This was a good sign, in her opinion, for when the staff was treated well it meant the master and mistress were goodhearted. Betty led her through the twisting passageways, up several narrow staircases and out into a spacious corridor.
“Here we are, miss. Her ladyship insisted the candles be lit. It’s been a mite difficult since Miss Reynolds left three weeks ago.” Betty shook her head before continuing in little more than a whisper. “I’m warning you, miss. The little girls look like angels, but they’re not. I daren’t say nothing else—more than my job’s worth.”
She pushed open a door and stepped aside. “Here you are. Cook has sent you up a nice supper tray.” She grinned. “More like a midnight feast. You’re lucky everyone’s up because of the baby, otherwise you’d not have got in. Mr. Foster, the butler, locks up at ten o’clock sharp when the master and mistress are home.”
Sarah stepped into her chamber. More than half a dozen candles burned—such luxury. This was her private parlour, well-appointed and of a good size. The furnishings were fresh and dainty. She could be happy here.
“Thank you for bringing me up here, Betty. I shall manage very well now. I’m sure you have other duties to attend to.”
“Lawks, Miss Shaw. Didn’t I say? I’m to look after you. Your bedchamber’s through that door. If you’d care to give me your bag, I shall lay out your night things whilst you eat your supper.” Her maid vanished with the valise.
Under the crisp white cloth was a veritable feast indeed: a warm meat pasty, fresh bread and cheese, chutneys and pickles, and a dish of hothouse peaches, alongside a jug of freshly made lemonade and a pot of piping hot coffee. It had been so long since she had eaten she was sharp set and finished everything.
Wiping her lips on the napkin, she leant back in her chair with a sigh of contentment. She was going to love it here. She would completely disregard Betty’s improper comment about her young charges. Her role was to bring order into their lives, to restore harmony in the schoolroom.
Bidding goodnight to the friendly maid, she removed her soiled outer garments and released her corset. With a sigh of relief, she tossed the hideous garment aside. Mama had once shown her a book of fashion plates from years ago when ladies of quality wore their gowns high-waisted. It must have been a comfortable fashion.
Quickly washing in the pitcher of warm water so thoughtfully provided, she slipped on her nightgown and returned to her bedroom. She wasn’t sure if she should get into bed—she was so fatigued she feared she would not wake up in time to start her duties. She took her responsibilities seriously. With Lady Fenwick confined, she must take care of the four little girls. Perhaps she would risk going to bed as there were still five hours until she had to rise. In her previous employment, she was expected to be in the schoolroom to supervise breakfast. Rarely did she go to bed before eleven. There were lessons to prepare for the next day as well as taking care of her own laundry and mending in what little spare time she had.
When the family moved to Scotland, she was relieved. This gave her the opportunity to seek fresh employment. The agency she used had welcomed her and her excellent references. Several jobs were available. Taking care of four girls aged between four and nine had appealed to her. This gave her a ready-made class. So much more could be done to make lessons interesting when there was more than one child being taught.
The delicious aroma of chocolate woke her. Sarah pushed herself upright and stared in delight at the tray left on the bedside table. She was certainly not going to go hungry in this establishment.
A small ormolu clock on the mantel struck seven times. Heavens, what a poor beginning! She should have been in the schoolroom preparing for her charges an hour ago. She tumbled out of bed and ran to the dressing room, almost colliding with Betty, who was gathering up the garments she had worn yesterday.
“I am so late. I should have been—”
“No need to worry, miss. Miss Reynolds wasn’t expected to be in the schoolroom until eight-thirty. I didn’t mean to wake you when I brought in your chocolate. Why don’t you run back to bed and have your breakfast? When I’ve finished hanging up your clothes, your bath will be ready.”
How pleasant to be treated like a member of the family and not a servant. She had not met either Sir John or Lady Fenwick. The offer of employment had been made on her letter of application and references alone. She was certain this job would be far more to her liking than the previous one.
As she sipped her chocolate and nibbled on a soft morning roll liberally spread with honey, she called out, “Betty, has the baby arrived yet?”
“No, but it should be any moment now. If it’s a boy this time, my word, there’ll be some celebrations.”
Word came from downstairs as she was dressing that the new arrival was the much wanted boy. What a good start to her time here. She would make the day a happy one for the girls. After a brief introductory lesson, the remainder of the time could be devoted to entertainment in honour of the girls’ baby brother.
After the unusual luxury of a bath, Sarah made her way to the schoolroom, which was on the same floor as her corner apartment. The schoolroom and nurseries were in the main part of the building, facing the park. All that was required of her was to cross the hallway and she was at her destination.
The sky was heavy and grey this morning. Perhaps the trip outside would need to be postponed. She paused to check her reflection in the window. Her collars and cuffs were sparkling white, her dark green gown uncreased, her hair neatly coiled at the back of her neck. Satisfied, she walked briskly to the schoolroom door; it had been left slightly ajar, but she could hear no sound of the g
irls inside.
She had arrived before her pupils. Excellent. This would give her time to get out the slates and find the other items she needed for the morning lesson. The desks were set out neatly, two in front and two behind. The blackboard and easel was well supplied with chalk, the inkpots were full, and the pens had sharpened nibs. There was a globe, a bookcase full of books and in a cupboard were paints, brushes, and paper.
All that was required were her pupils. She had prepared a welcome gift for each. These were small watercolours upon which she’d painted their names, encircled by roses, in the centre of each watercolour. Elizabeth, the youngest, was four years of age; upon her painting were rabbits. She put this on the desk nearest to the front. Charlotte, who was two years Elizabeth’s senior, had cats on hers. Isobel and Lorna, the twins, had just celebrated their ninth birthday. They had horses on their paintings.
She checked the fob watch pinned to her bodice. The girls were tardy—already three minutes past the time they were expected to be in the schoolroom. She would not stand and wait but go and find them. Her letter of appointment had been specific. Her task was to restore order in their lives.
Betty had explained where the girls’ chambers were situated. No sound filtered from behind the first door. She would not knock. She had the right to enter as she pleased. The door was slightly open, so she pushed it firmly. A slight noise above her head made her glance upwards. Too late. She was bombarded by a miscellany of books and other hard objects, which had been balanced across the opening. Screams of laughter greeted this unpleasant experience.
For a moment Sarah swayed in the doorway, the impact the books making her dizzy. The pain brought tears to her eyes. She gritted her teeth. She would not retreat in disarray; if she did, the pattern would be set and her charges would have ascendancy. Stepping forward, rigid with anger, she viewed the culprits. Under her stern stare, the giggles faded. She addressed the twin who was smirking in the corner. She, clearly, had been the instigator of this unkind prank.
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