by Jane Jackson
His blank expression reminded her of Richard’s condemnation of Edward’s indifference to any concerns but his own. She pushed the memory away. Edward spent every day dealing with situations of life and death. It was perfectly understandable if details of etiquette slipped his mind. Especially as they did not directly affect him.
‘My visits may continue provided I arrive and leave with Colin’s mother.’ Bitterness overwhelmed her. ‘Thus people who have no interest in the work I do may be reassured that at least I am observing all the proprieties.’
‘That’s all right then.’
For now perhaps. But what would she do when Colin left the Infirmary?
As they entered the ward Molly was holding her son’s limp hand and talking softly to him. Seeing Edward she started to get up.
‘Please don’t move, Mrs Treneer.’
‘I don’t want to be no trouble, doctor.’
‘Come as often as you wish. Colin is very weak at the moment but your presence will be a great comfort to him.’
‘That’s what Miss Elliot said.’
Darting Susanna a glance that made her squirm, Edward nodded. ‘I’ll be back again later, Mrs Treneer. If you have any questions I’d be happy to answer them. Will you come with me, Miss Elliot?’ He led the way across to the dispensary and opened the door. ‘I understand your desire to offer reassurance but in future I would prefer that you did not discuss a patient’s condition.’
‘I didn’t,’ Susanna cried. ‘You told me when I first started here that anything I learned about the patients was not to be spoken of to anyone. I have never broken that confidence. I simply told her the medicine might make Colin sleepy but if she sat and talked to him he would know she was there.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ Edward’s tone was more curious than condemning.
‘When I was twelve I had scarlet fever and was delirious for twenty-four hours. But I remember my mother sitting beside my bed telling me that my brother William had fallen out of a tree while trying to retrieve his kite. And the seamen have sometimes mentioned things I’ve said when they appeared to be quite unconscious.’
‘I see.’ Edward was non-committal. ‘Perhaps now would be a good time to begin your instruction.’
Susanna was ecstatic. ‘What would you like me to do? Shall I wash my hands?’ As he moved about the dispensary collecting bottles and jars off the shelves and items from the banks of wooden drawers, she went to the sink. But as the cold water ran over her wrists she shuddered, remembering the last time she had stood there.
‘Oh, Susanna.’ She glanced round quickly. It was the first time she’d ever heard Edward laugh. ‘Your enthusiasm is a tonic by itself. If I could bottle it how much easier my job would be.’
Filled with a happiness she had never imagined, she crossed to stand beside him.
‘Because most of our patients spend the greater part of their lives cold, wet, exhausted, and hungry, their general health is often poor. Mr Roberts, for example. As well as inflammation of the lungs he has an ulcer on his left shin which refuses to heal. He has had it nearly a year.’
‘Poor man. Will you be able to cure it?’
‘I hope so. I shall treat it with the powder you are about to make.’ Taking a small lump of camphor from a jar he placed it in a marble mortar which he handed to Susanna. ‘You cannot grind this all at once. It must first be broken into smaller pieces. Strike it gently with direct blows.’ Holding the mortar against her midriff she did as he directed. The camphor cracked and separated. ‘Now, one piece at a time, first bruise it then rub the pestle round until it is ground to powder.’ Taking a bottle from the middle shelf of the glass‑fronted cupboard he measured three drops into the mortar. ‘Spirits of wine helps camphor powder more easily.’
Opening a wooden box he removed a pair of brass scales and set them on the bench.
‘Developments in anaesthetics and antiseptic procedures have greatly reduced the number of post-operative deaths.’ He placed a tiny flat square weight onto one of the concave brass circles suspended from the overhead arm by three fine chains. Susanna’s gaze darted from mortar to scales. She didn’t want to miss a thing. ‘Unfortunately, there are too many cases where we simply do not know enough or the patients reach us too late.’ He spooned white powder from a brown glass jar with a wide top into the other dish.
‘Like the Portuguese?’
The jar slipped from Edward’s hand, making her jump as it clattered against the scales before landing with a thud on the bench. ‘What do you know of him? I left strict instructions that no one was to enter that room. Didn’t Albert tell you?’
‘When I arrived Albert wasn’t in the Infirmary.’ Susanna defended herself. ‘Nor were you. I heard this terrible moaning and shouting. I recognised the language. That’s how I knew he was Portuguese. The poor man was in great distress.’
‘But you didn’t go in?’ At her hesitation his expression darkened. She wanted to explain but he didn’t give her the chance. ‘Did you touch him? Or anything belonging to him?’
She could understand him being cross. She had disobeyed an order, albeit unwittingly. But he had never used that tone with her before, a sharp anxiety that made her nervous. Placing the mortar and pestle carefully on the wooden bench she wiped her palms down her skirt, recalling the dreadful appearance and nauseating smell of the raving man.
‘I only wanted to reassure him he hadn’t been forgotten. His cries were truly piteous.’
‘Susanna, your motives are not in question. But I wish – No matter. It is too late now.’
‘What do you mean, too late? What was wrong with him?’ She recognised Edward’s expression as the one he adopted on the ward when patients asked questions he did not wish to answer.
‘Did you touch him?’ he repeated.
‘He seized my arm and would not let go. I – the smell …’ Her stomach contracted.
Edward’s mutter sounded suspiciously like a curse. Crossing to the sink he rinsed his hands. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what happened from the moment you entered the side ward.’
Twining her fingers together she recounted all that had happened.
‘And then you came straight in here?’
She nodded. ‘I was – distressed. I didn’t want anyone to see me.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I washed my hands and rinsed my face.’
The slight shift in his expression sent a dart of fear through her. ‘Susanna, this is important. Think carefully. Did you touch your face or wipe your eyes before you washed your hands?’
She went over the sequence again in her mind. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I came in, shut the door and leaned against it for a moment. I raised my hands – but the smell –’ She shuddered violently. ‘I went straight to the sink and turned on the tap. I washed my hands then rinsed my face.’
‘And the jade disc?’
‘I washed that too.’ Her hand strayed to her throat where it lay hidden next to her skin. As Edward’s gaze followed the movement she realised too late what she had done. Reluctantly she felt for the loop of thread. ‘You’d better have this.’
The delicate pink medallion lay on his flattened palm. ‘You don’t want to part with it, do you.’
She shook her head.
‘Why? After such an unpleasant experience …?’
Susanna bit her lip then the words burst out. ‘My family are plain Quakers.’ She grasped the drab material of her dress. ‘All my clothes are like this. I have never owned any jewellery, nothing pretty or colourful. That medallion …’ she gazed at it with longing. ‘It’s just so beautiful. I think it’s Chinese.’
He handed it back to her. ‘Why don’t you ask John Burton at the Old Curiosity Shop? He has a shop full of rare objects from all over the world.’
‘I can keep it?’ Susanna was startled. ‘But what about his next of kin? Or Teresa?’
‘Susanna, the man was not lucid enough to give even his own name. So there
is no way of tracing his family, or the girl. If you would like it then have it. Tell me, in the past two days have you noticed any feeling of feverishness? Any chills? Anything at all out of the ordinary?’
Squirreling the jade quickly away inside her dress she shook her head. ‘No. Nothing at all.’
‘Even so,’ he said quietly, ‘I think I should examine your eyes and the glands in your neck. Would you like Mrs Treneer to be present?’
‘Why?’ Susanna was apprehensive.
‘She is your chaperone, is she not?’
‘No, I meant why is an examination necessary?’
‘A precaution, that’s all. While you are in the Infirmary I am responsible for your safety.’
Already riven with guilt over her disobedience she was anxious not to cause further trouble. ‘There seems little point in disturbing Mrs Treneer for something which will take only a few moments.’ The nervousness that thinned her voice sprang from more than one source. ‘Please do whatever you feel is necessary.’
Edward beckoned her forward. ‘Come and stand in front of the window.’ His fingers felt cool against her fiery cheeks as he turned her face. Aware of her deepening blush she sought escape behind her lowered lashes. ‘No, look up,’ he directed, apparently oblivious to the effect his nearness and touch were having on her. He gently thumbed her eyelids down one after the other. ‘Now look to the right … and the left.’ Their faces were only inches apart. He slid his hands to her neck and with sensitive fingertips palpated the glands beneath her jaw and at the back of her skull. Her shiver had nothing to do with fear.
‘Please, Edward, I have a right to know. What was wrong with him?’
He stared into space with frowning concentration, relying on his sense of touch to identify what he could not see. His voice was carefully emotionless. ‘He had the pox.’
‘But I’ve seen smallpox. His spots were nothing like that. And that smell – I’ve never known –’
‘Susanna,’ his hands were gentle on her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t smallpox. The Portuguese died of syphilis.’
As the implications registered her eyes widened in horror.
As her father’s office was surrounded by inns and ale houses she was used to seeing seamen accosted by the gaudily dressed women with painted faces and glassy hopeless eyes who loitered beneath the hissing gas lamps. Her mother referred to them as ‘poor unfortunates for whom we must pray,’ but would not explain why. And while helping distribute gifts of food and clothing to the destitute families of dead sailors, she had overheard snatches of low voiced conversation concerning ‘man’s base nature’ and ‘the wages of sin,’ and deduced that sometimes sailors died because of what they did with those women.
Since coming to the Infirmary she had occasionally walked in on banter between the patients in which the pox had been referred to in tones that ranged from anxious to bawdy. But because they instantly changed the subject she had not realised the same word referred to two very different diseases. The shock was like a sudden drenching with icy water.
‘Listen to me. Are you listening?’ She nodded, her head wobbling like a flower too heavy for its stem. ‘It’s possible for syphilis to be passed on by simple hand-to-hand contact with a sufferer who has open sores. The infection is transferred to the moist tissues of the eyes and mouth then enters the bloodstream.’
She stared at him, her horror deepening as fear for herself was joined by another appalling thought. ‘Oh no! Colin – the operation – I touched – held –’
‘Exactly,’ his face was grim. ‘Now do you understand why I issued those instructions? And why I took the precaution of examining you? But you are not infected, Susanna.’
‘H-how c-can you b-be s-so s-sure?’ There was a faint roaring in her ears and the walls rippled as if she were seeing them through a heat haze.
‘Because the infection shows itself within a matter of hours in the form of a fever and swollen glands.’
The roaring grew louder and the room darkened, closing in on her. ‘I feel … strange.’
She was vaguely aware of Edward’s arm around her and a scraping noise. Then she was eased down onto the tall stool normally kept beneath the bench. The relief was incredible. From somewhere in the distance she heard Edward telling her to bend forward. Giving in to the gentle pressure on her back she obeyed. Suddenly his supporting arm had gone. Engulfed by a sense of loss she was too weak and shaky to move. Then she felt cold water on the nape of her neck. The acrid sting of ammonia under her nose caught in her throat and made her eyes water. But it cleared her head and she felt better almost at once. She straightened carefully.
‘You really are perfectly all right,’ Edward repeated. ‘Washing your hands immediately should have removed any risk of infection. But I’m sure you understand I wanted to be absolutely sure.’
‘I’ve never fainted before.’ Her surprise made him smile.
‘It’s perfectly understandable. You did have rather a shock.’
She screwed up her courage. ‘Edward, you – you’ll still teach me how to prepare medicines?’ As he regarded her in silence, his brows lifting, she added quickly, ‘I promise faithfully to follow your instructions. Please, Edward. Coming here … seeing you …’ it trembled on the tip of her tongue but some sixth sense stopped her, ‘… means everything to me.’
‘I should say no.’ He seemed to be talking as much to himself as to her. ‘But your visits give great comfort to the patients. Having an attractive intelligent young woman interested in their welfare not only exerts a definite civilising influence, it seems to speed recovery.’
She was amazed and delighted. ‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘Melancholy and boredom depress the spirit. This is especially true of men with little or no education who are conditioned to hard physical work and who take pride in their skills. For them illness is a sign of weakness, a cause for shame. My own days are too full for me to spend time talking with them. I desperately need more staff. In fact I am preparing a report for the committee. The trouble is I haven’t had time to finish it.’
This was just the opening she needed. ‘I started to tell you earlier that in future my visits would depend on Mrs Treneer’s availability. But though she wants to see Colin at least every other afternoon it just won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the Treneers have two more children and very little money. Fishing has been poor lately. And with Colin unable to work for several weeks money will be even more scarce. Molly has two cleaning jobs: one in the morning at an ale house, another in the afternoons at the fish market.’ Susanna grimaced at the thought of what both jobs involved. ‘There are simply not enough hours in the day for her to fulfil all her obligations and still find time to visit Colin regularly. Yet if she does not …’ She shrugged helplessly.
‘I see.’ Edward regarded her with a thoughtful frown. ‘You appear to know the family. How would you describe Mrs Treneer?’
‘She’s a woman of strong moral character. She lives in poor surroundings but her children are clean and so is her home.’
‘Do you consider she has a level head and a strong constitution?’
Susanna smiled. ‘Running a home, caring for a husband and three children – one of whom is disabled – and earning extra money from two cleaning jobs? She would put many men to shame.’
‘I think that answers my question. It seems to me that several problems could be solved if Mrs Treneer were to come and work at the Infirmary. Would you not agree?’
‘It’s a wonderful idea! Oh Edward, I couldn’t bear not to come. You cannot imagine – the chance to learn, to assist you – it’s everything –’ She looked away, blushing furiously.
He was brisk. ‘Perhaps you will come with me while I speak to Mrs Treneer? I’ve been considering employing a nurse for some time but I didn’t know of anyone suitable.’ He paused. ‘I would miss your help, Susanna. We all appreciate what you do here.’
‘Thank you.’ His
words said so much and yet so little.
Chapter Ten
Lowell gazed down with almost clinical detachment at the sweat-glazed woman beneath him. He could feel her urgency, her need. Her heat and musky scent of arousal enveloped him. Yet despite the intense intimacy of the moment, skin hot on slippery skin, it was as if he stood outside himself, observing: heartsick at what he was doing, and at the need for it.
The house had the cold staleness of a place unlived in.
‘It belongs to friends of mine,’ she had said as he followed her through the echoing hall where white-shrouded furniture stood ghostly and unfamiliar in the half light. ‘They’re abroad for the winter. So much more discreet than an hotel, don’t you think?’
He hadn’t argued. He had spoken very little. Life at sea provided few opportunities to practice small talk. Besides, what was there to say? Both knew why they were there. She seemed quite unperturbed by the lack of conversation. That alone would have reassured him she was no novice in these matters. Her possession of a key to her friends’ house simply confirmed it. She had even brought candles.
‘I can do without a fire,’ she had smiled, her dark eyes bold and hungry. ‘But I must have light. Making love in the dark is like eating meat without salt. There’s no piquancy, no savour.’
A fusty odour of disuse had wafted from the sheets. Now damp and creased they smelled of her perfume. He did not care for it.
The candles flickered. The house was large and elegantly proportioned. But a raw wind blew outside. And with no fires to warm the high ceilinged rooms, draughts feathered like chilly breath across his sweating back.
Yet she seemed oblivious to the cold. Her eyes were closed, the fine folds of her lids shiny. At forehead and temples her hair, wet with perspiration, was a darker shade of gold and clung to her skin in snail-like curls. The tip of her tongue slid over her parted lips to moisten them.
His body quickened and as the tremor rippled through him she clutched his shoulders and arched her back, her hips thrusting upwards.
