To Charm a Bluestocking

by Renée Dahlia

  ***

  Nicholas grimaced as Josephine left the room. Dark shadows lurked underneath her eyes. She must have stayed up all night to watch him. He had no memory of the past night, only a fog of laudanum and pain. And the odd sense that cool hands had nursed him. He scrunched up the paper. For someone who made a life with charmed words, to be reduced to a few scratched notes hit hard. He flung the ball of paper as far as he could manage. It lobbed halfway across the room and rolled to a stop on the rug. The effort made his lungs burn as they failed to suck in enough oxygen for the small motion. Accustomed to good health, now here he was forced by injury to lie still. Unable to speak. His body ached all over. His foot throbbed. And he had a stabbing pain in his face. Would he be scarred?

  And what for? Had he saved Daan? He presumed that the three friends wouldn’t have left an injured person behind. Nicholas assumed the worst. A noise made him glance up and one of Josephine’s friends had come back into the room. He couldn’t remember which one was which. He glared at the ceiling. A frown formed but pain punched him in the head. He slowly moved his face until the pain subsided enough to quell the wave of nausea. He didn’t know what expression his face now held. It didn’t even matter. Not vomiting or subsiding into unconsciousness mattered more.

  The friend dragged a chair over to his makeshift hospital bed and sat. Why couldn’t he remember the name of her friend? Whoever it was, she wasn’t as restful as Josephine. He ground his teeth. She chattered away to him seemingly unaware of his agony. She didn’t seem to require a response though, which was good as he wasn’t up to it. He clutched his pencil and wrote,

  Daan?

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t read your writing.’ She shook her head and cute blonde curls danced around her face. Marie. This one was named Marie. He closed his eyes. Well, at least he remembered something. He dragged a breath in through his mouth and opened his eyes.

  News Riot?

  ‘Yes, here on the front page. I will read it to you.’ She unfolded the newssheet and began to read.

  Socialists Riot in the Streets

  A massive demonstration turned ugly when socialists and Orangists, loyal to King William III, clashed yesterday alongside the Port of Amsterdam. The two groups rioted, ending in a standoff outside the socialist pub, Ship and Anchor, which was raised to the ground by revengeful Orangists. Among the great scenes of chaos, several Orangists were injured by the mob and four socialists were killed as they tried to defend the Ship and Anchor. The publican at the Ship and Anchor was counted among the dead.

  The King’s military was dispatched to deal with the rioting mob, but it was several hours before the situation was diffused. The Ship and Anchor has been completely destroyed, while many other shop fronts have been smashed and vandalised. Socialist leader Pierre Van Percy has been arrested for allegedly shooting at Chief Superintendent Koekje. A mob has gathered outside the police headquarters demanding the release of the popular leader.

  Daan was dead. The publican had been a solid man, useful and friendly. Van Percy should pay for that loss.

  Good. I hope they hang him.

  Marie leant over to read his writing. He knew he hadn’t been blessed with the neatest writing and his fury had made it even messier and incomprehensible.

  ‘I’m not sure that they will,’ she said. ‘The editor’s opinion piece says that the authorities won’t have enough evidence to convict him of anything. His employee is, apparently, paying for his lawyers in the belief that the Chief Superintendent has mistaken him for someone else.’ She took a breath and he saw her frown as she re-read the article.

  ‘Is he related to the professor?’ she asked.

  Brother.

  Marie started to fire questions at him. He opened his mouth to tell her to shut it, and winced as his face stretched and burnt in agony. He shut his eyes as bile rose. He willed it back down and swallowed. He opened his eyes and wrote,

  Not now. Hungry.

  It didn’t seem to matter that he’d written something. She prattled on while his anger and frustration at the situation grew. He was about to throw his notepad at her when she finally stopped talking and read his response.

  ‘Oh, gosh. I’m terribly sorry. Here I am talking and talking while you are starving. I will just grab something.’ Marie leapt out of her chair as if stung by a wasp and raced out of the room, leaving Nicholas helpless on the settee. He clenched his fists at his inability to move. He didn’t need this additional test of patience. Where the heck was Josephine? She wouldn’t allow this nonsense. He had no idea what she liked about this person that had been thrust upon him. He stabbed his pencil into the notepad in fury and frustration. The lead broke off leaving him without any means of communication. He growled at the sense of impotence this gave him, and that spurred another set of coughing. He gasped for air between each hacking breath, mentally cursing all and sundry for this situation.

  Several hours later, Nicholas had suffered through several more steam treatments and had managed to swallow some broth. He emerged groggily from an uneasy sleep and peeked out from under one eyelid. Josephine and her friends hovered about him, furiously discussing the best way to bathe him. Perhaps it was simply the presence of Josephine. Perhaps it was her voice. Whatever it was, his shoulders lost their frustrated tension and he sank deeper into the pillows that propped him up.

  The words of the three friends slowly seeped into his conscience and he grinned as he listened to their dilemma. Surely he could bathe himself. His only injury was to his face and foot. The rest of him, while bruised and sore, seemed to be in normal working condition. He looked up at them as they debated several equally crazy schemes as they tried to juggle modesty and proper patient care.

  ‘Thought you …’ Nicholas croaked. He struggled for breath so he could finish his joke. ‘Doctors?’ he jested.

  ‘Yes, we are doctors,’ said Josephine. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, and her eyes flicked cheekily towards her friends. Oh. They must enjoy their mad banter. His lips kicked upwards on the good side of his face. He’d become better at keeping the injured side still and didn’t want to ruin his smile with a grimace of pain.

  ‘We are doctors. Not nurses,’ said Claire. Her voice was strong with indignant protest. He bit his teeth together, not wanting to let out the laugh that would bring more gasps for breath. Marie laughed and waved her arms in a gesture of dismissal.

  ‘Usually we stand next to the patient with a clipboard and make pronouncements and decisions about their care. We don’t bathe patients, or for heaven’s sake, change bed pans,’ she said. The three friends laughed. Claire clapped Josephine on the back. A warmth filled his chest as Josephine leant into her friend for a quick hug.

  ‘Perhaps we should hire a nurse?’ said Josephine.

  ‘I will walk,’ Nicholas stated, his voice functioned for a few words. He wasn’t the total invalid they made out. He could get himself to the bath.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the chaise lounge and sat up. The sheet covering him dropped down and three pairs of eyes widened at the sight of his naked torso. Injured or not, he still had it. His grin broadened, at least on one side.

  ‘That bruise appears to be healing,’ said Josephine. Her voice was throaty and the change in sound made him aware that she was affected by the sight of him. He clenched his stomach muscles, unable to resist a moment of showing off and saw Claire’s eyes widen with glee. A delightful pink flush tinted Josephine’s face and her eyes flicked down his torso and back up to his face. He couldn’t look away from her, although he did see Claire nudge Marie out of the corner of his eye. It was Josephine’s enjoyment of his nudity that drove him, and he pushed himself up with his arms.

  As soon as he tried to put his weight on both legs, he collapsed back on the chaise lounge in agony. Pain speared up his leg, reminding him in the worst possible way that he had an injured foot. Holy God, that hurt! It must be broken. He’d sprained his ankle once before and it didn’t hurt nearly as much as that.
All manner of curses roamed through his head as he realised that his recovery rate was going to be much slower than he’d hoped. It wasn’t just the pain in his foot. That small effort had him short of breath too. He wished he could blame the pink charm splashed on Josephine’s face for his inability to breathe. The pounding of his heart perhaps. In reality, his lungs were not ready for any physical effort.

  Josephine must have seen the pain flash across his face as she responded immediately. She picked up both his legs and helped him place them back on the bed. She plumped the pillows up around him. He leant back, vainly trying to keep his eyes on her face. As she moved him back to comfort, her breasts hung close above his bare skin. Even fully dressed, his brain, and his groin, reacted to her proximity. He let out a slow breath. At least that part of his anatomy still worked. He pressed his buttocks deeper into the pillows so his erection didn’t create a tent in the flimsy sheet that lay over him.

  Finally, she pulled the sheet up to his chin and stepped back.

  ‘A sprain shouldn’t hurt that much,’ she said. ‘I wonder if there is a break in that foot. We will have to examine it much closer, I fear.’

  The three doctors sprang into order. Gone was the confused, disorganised rabble that they had resembled when he woke up just now. It was replaced by an efficiency that came only from years of study, and hours and hours of practice at the hospital. Nicholas grinned, at least inside, at the change in their bedside manner and couldn’t help himself.

  ‘It suits you …’ he croaked out and tried to suck in more air to finish his statement. This really stretched the bounds of being amusing. ‘Being doctors,’ he said. He was rewarded as three heads looked up at him with matching grins on them.

  ‘You have it right. We are much better doctors than we are nurses,’ said Claire in her usual brash fashion.

  ‘Cut it off?’ he asked slyly about his busted foot to see if he could get another bite from them.

  ‘Oh no,’ they said in unison.

  ‘It most definitely won’t come to that,’ said Josephine. Her voice was clear and focused. The pink flush had mostly faded, with just a slight tinge across her cheeks. Her voice cut through his need for sarcasm and warmed him with its sincerity. He was upset, and if he was honest with himself, angry about having to be stuck in bed with a busted foot and stupid lungs that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t even tell a joke properly. His face hurt too much to scowl and his lungs didn’t function enough to do anything. Josephine’s simple reassurance reminded him that he was being cared for. There was no need to bait them when they were just trying to fix him.

  ‘It is very difficult to tell with all this swelling. And I wonder if the swelling is causing extra pain that is making it difficult to tell if or where a break might be,’ said Josephine.

  ‘You know what we need?’ mused Claire.

  ‘Yes?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘A machine that lets us look inside a body without having to cut it open,’ said Claire. Marie gave her a little shove and laughed.

  ‘Yes and horses say meow. Sure.’

  ‘If anyone manages to invent one, I’ll buy it,’ said Josephine. Nicholas strained towards her as passion for her work infused her voice.

  ‘Imagine how easy it would be to work out what is wrong with someone. There would be no infection risk either as there would be no need to cut into them.’

  ‘Speaking of that, do you think we should make an incision to release some of this swelling?’ asked Marie. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

  ‘The risk of infection is too high. I think we should just keep it elevated and wait. Time and gravity might do enough,’ said Josephine frowning.

  ‘Yes, perhaps a pressure bandage rather than an incision,’ agreed Marie.

  Marie and Claire helped Josephine rearrange the pillows so that Nicholas half-sat to help his breathing while his injured foot remained propped up high.

  ‘Is that comfortable?’ asked Josephine as she continued to fuss with his bedding.

  ‘Yes,’ growled Nicholas. Nothing would help. His face hurt, his foot hurt and his pride hurt. His voice was still rough and the effort of these last few words caused another coughing fit. The three friends illustrated their efficiency with his lung injury even though it had only been a day or so since the accident. Marie left the room to get another steam draft while Josephine rubbed his chest to ease the pressure. Marie came quickly back with the steaming bowl of caffeinated water and they all continued the routine of administering the steam to him, their patient.

  Just as the water cooled down, a quiet knock sounded at the drawing room door. Nicholas flicked off the sheet that kept the steam focused on his mouth to see Betsy in the doorway.

  ‘Miss Carlingford, a note has arrived for you. It was hand delivered and there is a uniformed person waiting for your response,’ said Betsy, clearly overwhelmed by the idea that Claire had a personal footman. Claire took the note and quickly scanned it.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she yelled. ‘Do you know what the date is? Our first exam is tomorrow morning!’ Claire pushed past Betsy towards the waiting footman. Nicholas watched with amusement as Marie and Josephine began to argue about how best to care for him while also managing to get to their exams over the course of the next week.

  ‘Quiet,’ said Claire in a booming voice that commanded authority. Both Josephine and Marie whirled around to look at her as she stepped back into the room. Nicholas got the sense that Claire didn’t often yell at her friends. Josephine’s mouth hung open and her face was pale. Curiously, the tips of her ears were pink, as if she was both shocked and mad at herself. Nicholas would have asked her, but he still fought for his own breath.

  ‘Here is what we are going to do,’ said Claire, in a voice that reminded Nicholas of his teachers at Eton. ‘We are going to sit down and map out the next week. Exactly when our exams are on, who needs to be where and when. Then we will work out a schedule of care for St. George. He doesn’t require three doctors to be here all the time. No-one in the hospital gets that level of care.’

  ‘True,’ said Josephine cautiously. ‘We have also been nursing him. I suspect we might need to get Betsy to do some of the nursing work. She has some experience, actually. Perhaps we have been remiss in not involving her.’

  ‘What experience?’ asked Marie.

  ‘Her mother had a paralytic stroke and she was her sole carer for years.’

  ‘Well. Why didn’t you say so earlier?’ stated Claire, her hands on her hips. ‘Betsy would know more than us about washing a bed-ridden patient.’

  Amused at the idea of being washed by the mousy Betsy, Nicholas wanted to interrupt this rather fascinating interplay between the three friends with something sardonic but could only manage a cough. Josephine’s eyes flashed at him in response to the noise.

  ‘She is quite slight. Perhaps we could get Cook’s brother to assist next time he is here,’ said Josephine. She had a deep frown on her face and her gaze roamed all over the room. Nicholas could see that she was trying to find a solution and he wanted to reassure her that it would be fine. He wasn’t at all sure that it would be fine—his face still hurt like the devil. But for her sake, and his, she needed to finish her degree. He may have failed at stopping the union uprising, but he wouldn’t fail at this task. She must finish without harassment.

  ‘Come. Let’s go to the dining room to work this out. The table there is bigger and we can work without …’ said Claire. They walked out of the room and left him without any further entertainment. He closed his eyes and tried to snooze instead.

  Chapter 17

  Nicholas would pace if he could. It was goddamn frustrating being stuck here. Dammit, it wasn’t even a proper bed. By contrast, Josephine looked so fresh this morning. Although, she had changed back into one of her awful brown gowns. Even a potato sack would be more flattering than that garment. It didn’t seem to matter. Her concern for him shone and provided some light to his morning. He wanted her to give up everything and stay by his
side. The amount he craved her company bothered him. He tugged at his good ear. Surely it was just a side effect of the boredom. Even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie. He had craved her company before this accident. The accident just made it impossible to control the neediness he felt.

  This morning she had hesitated on seeing him lying there prone. It made him wonder if she would give up everything she had worked for just to comfort and entertain him. He knew that if she did make that choice based on emotion, it would come at an eventual cost to both of them. Neither would forgive themselves if Josephine didn’t finish the task she was here for. Nicholas didn’t want her to resent him for her loss, so he’d curtly sent her on her way.

  Somewhere on this assignment to help her finish her studies without harassment, Nicholas had become her greatest champion. She must finish her studies. In part because it meant his assignment had been successful and Nicholas craved career success like any other red-blooded man. Especially now that the other assignment had ended in tragedy.

  Mostly, he wanted Josephine to finish for herself. He had come to admire her tenacity and intelligence over the last few weeks. Finishing these last exams would declare her success to the world. He wanted to be part of her story. He craved being part of her life. To make this fake romance real. He had to get better so he could be her partner as she quietly changed the world’s view of women. His chest puffed out as he anticipated their future.

  Cook entered with a full complement of breakfast. Dutch pancakes, with a side of bacon and eggs, and a glass of fresh milk. His stomach growled at the divine smell. He tucked in with that fierce concentration only able to be achieved by a starving man. The soft pancakes slid down his still sore throat. He had to cut the bacon up into tiny pieces to swallow it. It didn’t matter, this was the best thing he had ever eaten. As he finished up with not a bite left on the plate, Nicholas suddenly realised that he needed to write some letters. First to Chief Superintendent Koekje, also to his landlady to pay the final bill and retrieve his things. He had to write a report to Walstone too. Koekje first—he would be able to give him any new information he might require for Walstone. Nicholas took a deep breath of satisfaction. The food had invigorated his brain, and now he had something to do. He thanked Cook for the fine food and asked for his letter writing equipment.