by Nancy Klein
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “You were honest, Miss Hale. That is what is most important.”
“I hope we can remain friends?”
“Friends indeed,” he replied in a repressed voice as he left the room. “I am not sure we were ever friends, Miss Hale.”
She sighed at his departing words. Glancing down, she noticed that she still clutched his handkerchief in her hand. Carefully folding it, she slipped it into her pocket, another small piece of him to remind her of all that she had lost.
Chapter 11. The Lion and the Unicorn
The night watch at the clinic seemed endless. Rather than wake Dr. Donaldson at midnight, as he had requested, Meg let him sleep. He had tended the victims of the fire for much of the day alone until Meg arrived; it seemed best to let him rest until morning, when his patients would return. The evening was quiet after Mr. Thornton’s visit. The injured men rested comfortably, and, to her great relief, did not succumb to their injuries but showed signs of improvement toward the morning. Two were able to sleep, and the third drank some water.
Meg had plenty of time that interminable evening to think; in the early hours of the morning, she found her thoughts were drawn to the Master of Marlborough Mills. He was a man of such principle and honor, but that principle was tempered by a kind heart. A woman would be very lucky to win the heart of such a man, and she hoped with some bravado that he would find a woman worthy of his love; her conscience suggested that he had found the right woman, but she sternly silenced that voice.
As promised, several servants from Marlborough Mills arrived shortly after dawn, bringing bandages and containers of custard and broth. Meg gave the men bowls of broth, and when they kept the broth down, offered the custard to them as well. When Dr. Donaldson, unshaven but rested, came into the examination room that morning, he found two of the injured men sipping broth, and Meg in the process of removing the bandages of the third so that she could examine his wounds.
Looking up from her ministrations, she greeted the doctor in a relatively cheerful manner.
He crossed his arms on his chest and glared at her. “Miss Hale, I asked you to awaken me at midnight. Have you been up the entire night?”
“No, I managed to steal a few hours of sleep on a cot in the back room, once I determined that our patients were resting comfortably. I would have heard them easily enough had they called out. Please tell me if I am hurting you,” she said in an aside to her patient, who shook his head stoically.
Dr. Donaldson removed the lid from one of the large cooking pots. “Who brought this food?”
“It came from Marlborough Mills,” Meg replied quietly.
Dr. Donaldson whistled, and leaned against the doorjamb. “So, Thornton heard about the fire and sent to see how we made out—that was good of him.”
Meg focused on the length of clean bandage that she unwound from the roll. “He came here to find out how we got along. It was very good of him, considering that we have heard nothing from Mr. Hamper.”
Dr. Donaldson’s mouth twisted in derision. “I would have been downright shocked to learn that Hamper had come to check on his men. I have no very high opinion of that man, and this has done nothing to alter my opinion.”
Meg fussed with keeping the bandage in place about the man’s wound. “It shows the high regard in which Mr. Thornton holds you that he came to offer us assistance.”
An amused smile crossed the doctor’s features. “It does indeed show his high regard, but I doubt very much whether that regard is directed at me.”
Meg ignored his provocative remark. “Thanks to Mr. Thornton, we have nourishing food to feed the men, as well as clean bandages to replace our supply. When I am finished here, I shall go around to the apothecary for more salve.”
When she completed her bandaging, Dr. Donaldson grasped her by her elbow and propelled her from the room. “Indeed, you most certainly will not go to the apothecary. I shall send Boucher when he arrives. You are to go straight home and to bed. I do not want to see you here until much later today.”
“The other patients—” Meg protested, but he cut her off.
“I can handle the patients. I will need your help later today in assessing home treatment, and in performing a complete inventory of supplies. Meg, do not argue with me,” he added as she opened her mouth. “I do not want you ill from lack of sleep. Your mother needs you, and I need you.”
He surprised both of them by kissing her lightly on the forehead before pushing her out onto the sidewalk. “I do not want to see you back here until after four this afternoon,” he ordered, and shut the door in her face.
Meg walked briskly home, warmed by Dr. Donaldson’s praise and concern. They had done a good day’s work yesterday, and were truly blessed not to have lost another life to the fire. She thanked heaven once again for the opportunity to work with a skilled physician from whom she had learned so much. She also said a prayer of thanks for Mr. Thornton’s kindness. She could still feel his strong arms about her. Unable to trust her treacherous feelings, she had wrenched herself from his embrace, and regretted seeing his expression of soft concern fade to one of stiff propriety.
Halfway home, Meg decided to stop in at Francis Street. Mary had mentioned yesterday that her sister had complained of pains in her chest. Of late, Bessy had shown little appetite and was not sleeping through the night. Meg had prepared several draughts to help her sleep, but her patient complained that they gave her unpleasant dreams and she would rather remain awake than to wake in a fright. Meg thought of how her relationship with Bessy had developed since she had come to Milton. She regarded her as a close friend who knew everyone in the Princeton district and most of the workers at Marlborough Mills, and enjoyed talking about their lives. She loved to hear stories about London, and Meg delved deep into her memory to come up with information about London during this time period, rather than the London Meg knew so well. Lately, Meg had spent her visits reading to Bessy; the girl would lie back in her bed, propped up on pillows with her eyes closed so that she might concentrate on the adventures of Ivanhoe. She was quite enthralled with the stories of the dashing knight and his chivalrous pursuits.
Upon arriving in Princeton, Meg stepped lightly to the door of her friend’s house and knocked gently, not wanting to disturb her friend if she were sleeping. Several moments passed before Mary opened the door, wrapped in the shawl that Meg had given her. Tears stained the girl’s face.
Meg asked sharply, “Mary, what is it?”
“Oh, Miss, it’s Bessy.”
Meg stared at her. “Has she had another spell?” Mary shook her head vehemently, unable to speak.
Meg entered the room and found Bessy lying on the bed, her face smooth of care and her arms crossed on her chest. She clutched a scrap of lace that Meg had given her. She felt the girl’s pulse for several moments before releasing her wrist. Bessy was dead.
Mary crept next to her and Meg placed her arm about the grieving girl’s shoulders. “Bessy is gone. But you knew that, didn’t you? ” Mary gave a small sob and burrowed her face in Meg’s shoulder.
It was inconceivable that the lovely girl who had been her first friend in this strange town should be dead. Bessy was beautiful in her repose, her expression calm and a half-smile upon her lips. Her pain was gone and she was at peace.
Tears pricked Meg’s eyes. She had thought that if she saved Mr. Thornton, she might be able to save others as well. Nicholas and the rioters were safe, but she had held out a small, wild hope that Bessy might be spared an early death. She heaved a sigh; her friend’s illness had been too far along to make any difference. How arrogant to think my nursing skills alone might make her better. Nothing could have saved her.
With sudden decision, she turned to Mary. “Let me help you. What can I do?”
Mary hesitated. “Please, would you help me lay out her body?”
“Of course.” She stopped and asked, “Where is your father?”
Mary ducked her head. “Ov
er to Goulden Dragon.” Her voice was no more than a whisper as she wiped her eyes with a corner of the shawl.
Meg grimaced. “Let me go round and fetch him home.”
Mary gasped in consternation. “You mustn’t go there by yourself, miss! It is a rough place.”
“I daresay I have seen rougher. I shall be but a minute—I’ll be fine. I will send your father home to you, and return when I have fetched a few things from home.” She hugged Mary before she stepped into the busy street.
Meg wended her way through Princeton to the door of the Goulden Dragon. It was quite unsavory looking, but as Meg had intimated to Mary, she had seen worse in London during her early days of nursing. She pushed the grimy door open and stepped inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the gloom of the large barroom. As she scanned the interior, she was accosted by a rough looking man. “Hell-o, my bonny girl, what brings you here?” The man leered at her.
His bleary eyes and the odor of stale ale told her that he had been imbibing for some time. “I am looking for Nicholas Higgins. Is he here?”
“Can’t say that I have seen him, but bide awhile with me.” The man reached out to take her arm, but she slapped his hand off. His look of surprise transformed to one of anger. “Think you’re too good for me, missy?”
“Shove off, Trimble,” Nicholas said in a low, deadly voice. He had come up behind Meg and stood glaring over her shoulder at the man.
It was obvious that Trimble recognized Higgins as someone to reckon with, for he moved away without saying another word. Nicholas watched his retreat before turning his attention to Meg.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked.
“I have come to fetch you home.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” He stood, arms akimbo, legs spread wide. “Is Bess all a-lather because I’ve been gone for too long?”
Meg continued to look at him with a steady regard. “I think you had best go home, Nicholas. Mary needs you.”
His expression grew wary, as if he had a premonition of what she was about to say. Taking her by the arm, he led her outside the taproom, away from the prying eyes of his cronies. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
Meg closed her eyes; she knew of no gentle way to break the news. “Nicholas, Bessy is dead.”
His face went lax with shock. “Bess…dead?” She nodded, and his face crumpled in grief. As he staggered toward her, she clasped her arms about him so that he sobbed his grief into her shoulder. They stood several moments in the street thus, the object of curious and compassionate eyes. When Nicholas pulled away at last, swiping his hand across his eyes, he asked, “Was she alone?”
“No, Mary was with her. Nicholas, I must go home and gather some things to help Mary prepare the body for burial.” Her voice trailed off as an idea occurred. She must keep him from returning to the tap room, given his grief. “Would you like to come with me to speak with my father?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No, I want to see my girl. Thank you for fetching me.” He turned and headed for his home. Meg made certain he turned the corner before she headed for home. She had been exhausted when she reached Princeton, but the shock of her friend’s death acted as a bracing tonic, and she was awake. She would not let Mary down.
As she rushed into the house, Dixon came up from the kitchen and immediately noted her stricken expression. “What is it, Miss Meg?”
“Bessy is dead,” Meg choked out. Her tears flowed freely, as Dixon petted and cosseted her over the loss of her friend.
“That poor child! I hope some neighbor has come to help Mary. She will be prostrate with grief.”
“I am going to help Mary, Dixon.” Meg sniffed. “I have come home to gather a few things before I return to Princeton.”
“Miss Meg,” Dixon exclaimed in consternation, “do not tell me that you are going out after being at that clinic all night!”
“I must! Mary has asked me to help prepare her sister’s body. I cannot refuse her.”
“Let me go instead,” Dixon urged, but Meg shook her head firmly.
“No, Dixon, thank you for the offer, but I must go. This is something I must do for Bessy as well as Mary. You stay in case Mother needs you. I will be home soon.” She kissed Dixon on the cheek and smiled reassuringly before mounting the staircase to her room. With economical movements, she extracted several undergarments from her chest of drawers. Stepping to her armoire, she pulled out the green gown that Bessy had admired so extravagantly the evening of the Thornton’s dinner party. Her friend had never worn such a dress during her lifetime, so it somehow seemed fitting that she be buried in one.
********&********
On a warm summer’s day, Bessy was laid to rest in the graveyard far above Milton. She wore the sage green ball gown that her friend had selected for her. Meg and Mary had laid out the body in her finery, and filled the coffin with flowers and rosemary, for remembrance. Mary had tucked in various mementoes that Bessy loved, such as her shawl and the lace-edged handkerchief Meg had given her.
Nicholas Higgins was disconsolate; Mary told her that he had wept like a baby when he returned home and saw his oldest daughter lying peacefully on her bed. He could not think coherently for days after Bessy’s death, and depended upon Meg to make the few simple arrangements necessary to bury his eldest daughter.
Mr. Hale attended the funeral, as did Jenny and her family. It was a small service, and the vicar read Bessy’s favorite Bible verses. Higgins hung back from the grave until Meg took him by the hand and forced him to stand between Mary and her for support. After the funeral, Meg insisted that Higgins and Mary come to her house for tea so that Nicholas could be consoled by her father, and Mary find a sympathetic ear in Dixon. It was a somber tea, but Nicholas appeared to find solace from his talk with Mr. Hale. Once she saw they were conversing comfortably, Meg left them and joined Dixon and Mary in the kitchen.
Mary spoke wistfully about Bessy, and the mischief that she and Bess got into when they were young girls. Nicholas would not allow them to have a pet, Mary explained, but the girls would let the neighbor’s dog into their house while their father was at work, under the indulgent eye of their mother. Nicholas never knew where the extra chop left over from dinner went; unbeknownst to him, the girls would spirit it away for their four-legged friend.
Margaret smiled at this story. “Was the dog named Brutus?”
“Why, yes,” Mary replied, her eyes wide with astonishment. “How did you know that, Meg?”
Meg caught herself. “I supposed Bessy told me.” In truth, she remembered Gran’s stories about this dog whenever Meg and Amelia asked for a pet, and Lily refused. Luckily, Mary was so lost in her memories that she accepted Meg’s explanation.
When the time came for their departure, Nicholas was quite calm. Meg followed them out onto the stoop and hugged first Mary, then Nicholas. “I will come as soon as I can to visit.” She could say not more, for her tears were close to the surface as she thought of the void in all of their lives. As she extracted herself from Nicholas’ embrace, her eyes met those of Mr. Thornton. He stood across the street and stared at her. Her lips parted in surprise, and she started forward. After staring at her for a brief moment, he spun about on his heel and walked quickly in the direction he had come.
“Thornton will not think much of you consorting with union rabble,” Nicholas remarked gloomily.
Meg lifted her chin and met Nicholas’ gaze directly. “That is Mr. Thornton’s problem, not mine. I will come to you as soon as I am able.” She lingered on the stoop to watch father and daughter walk home arm in arm.
She hoped that Mr. Thornton might reconsider and return, but they did not see him that day or the remainder of the week. Mr. Hale worried that business kept him too busy to call for his lessons, but Meg feared he would not come because of her. She grieved to think her father might be deprived of his friend’s company because of her actions, but she did not know how she could mend matters. She could not accept his offer of marriage
, no matter how much her heart cried out for his love and companionship. Perhaps she would never marry, for if not him, then who?
Chapter 12. The Garden of Live Flowers
Despite her desire to visit Princeton following the funeral, Meg was unable to do so for several days. The following morning, Mrs. Hale awoke with a fever and complained of severe pains in her chest. Each time she coughed, bright splotches of blood appeared on her handkerchief. Meg sent for Dr. Donaldson, who told her in hushed tones that her mother’s condition had worsened. The disease had her in its relentless grip, and he doubted she would last many more days. He pulled Meg aside to ask if she had written to her brother, and when she nodded, he replied, “I hope he arrives in time.”
Meg was desolate at the thought that Mrs. Hale might never see her son again in this world, and said a hurried prayer that Frederick would hasten to Milton. She wondered once more where Margaret Hale had gone; what would she think if she returned home to find her mother dead?
One day not long after Doctor Donaldson’s visit, Meg returned home from the clinic in time to see Mrs. Thornton entering her carriage. She asked Dixon why Mrs. Thornton had visited, but Dixon would only say that her mother has asked Mrs. Thornton to come. Mystified, Meg asked her mother, but Mrs. Hale refused to respond, saying that it was a personal matter between herself and Mrs. Thornton. Meg shrugged her shoulders; it was obviously not her concern. She let the matter drop.
Because her conscience bothered her, Meg confessed to Mr. Hale that she had written to Frederick. To her surprise, her father thanked her. The blinders had been removed from his eyes at last; he knew the degree of his wife’s illness, and could see the faint shadow of death upon her features. As Dixon had predicted months before, he was fretful and anxious, and Meg feared that he, too, would fall ill, given his anxiety and guilt. He had convinced himself that his wife’s illness was his fault; nothing Meg said could sway him from this strong conviction, and he suffered great mental agonies. Meg often heard him in his library late at night, muttering and pacing. To turn her father’s thoughts, Meg asked him to accompany her to the Higgins’ home on her long overdue visit.
