No Cure for Love

by Jean Fullerton

  She gathered herself together and started to leave. Robert moved a second after her and was beside the door when she reached it. He held the brass handle but didn’t open it.

  ‘Please give my regards to your mother and Josie,’ he said in a low voice. He was so close to her that she could smell the faint lingering scent of bay rum from his morning shave.

  Unable to force out any words, she inclined her head and he opened the door. She hastened into the echoing corridor and, taking a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the heavy doors that led to the Whitechapel Road.

  Bloody fool yer are, and no mistake.

  As the hotel butler opened the door to admit Robert, Mrs Munroe pulled her shoulders back and fixed a smile on her face. After four days in the coach to London every bone in her body screamed. Robert sent her a fleeting smile as he entered and she adjusted her position to ease the stabbing pain running down her left leg.

  ‘Robert,’ she said, as he reached her. Casting her eyes over him she conceded that he looked none the worse for moving to London. If anything, he looked jaunty and more relaxed than she had seen him for a long time. She caught her breath: he so resembled her brother, his namesake. The same broad stature, the mop of unruly brown hair. Even his eyes had that same intense dark colour. The years had not lessened the sorrow she felt at the loss of her much loved older brother, crushed under the hooves of a cavalry charge. Wellington might have won a decisive victory but she could never hear the word Waterloo without coming close to tears. Robert, her son, in a red military coat, would look just like dear Rob.

  She offered him a cheek, which he kissed lightly. ‘Mama, you look well.’

  ‘So do you. I want to hear all about your work, but let us wait until Caroline joins us.’

  She indicated that he should sit opposite her. The buttoned leather chair sighed as it took his weight.

  ‘How long will she be?’

  Her shoulders relaxed, thankful that it had been worth suffering Caroline’s wearisome chatter on the long journey. ‘I am glad to find you enthusiastic about seeing her,’ she said as the butler brought in tea.

  ‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  There was something in his tone that made her pause. She sent her son a sharp look, but he seemed relaxed, an untroubled smile on his face. She opened the tea caddy and measured out several spoonfuls and added them to the pot.

  ‘She’s gone to Bond Street with Mrs Manners,’ she told him. She picked up a smaller caddy and spooned two teaspoons of the black leaves into the teapot.

  ‘To buy a French ball gown to knock out the eyes of Edinburgh society,’ he said, as she scalded the leaves then rattled the spoon around.

  ‘Girls today have too much freedom,’ she said, as she offered him a dish of tea. She caught the hint of an amused smile.

  ‘I know I’ve said it before, but in my day we were grateful for one new gown to start the season. And it was white, or at least a demure pastel shade. But now.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Red! Can you believe it? A red ball gown for a girl not yet twenty-two. I ask you.’ She shook her head as if the ball gown had been fashioned in hell itself. ‘I don’t blame dear Caroline, she is a sweet girl, but a young woman’s reputation is so easily tarnished by a thoughtless action or an unsuitable acquaintance that a mother should always be vigilant and ready with a loving hand.’

  Her own daughters, Hermione and Margot, sprang to mind. A loving hand was not always easy to apply and caused no end of nervy tears and hysterical tantrums. There was barely a day in the Munroe household without the smelling salts being called for, but it was her duty to raise them godly, dutiful and unblemished.

  ‘I am surprised you offered to bring her to London with you, Mama,’ Robert said, finishing his tea and offering his cup for more.

  She sighed loudly. ‘My dear Robert, I brought her to London because you are almost thirty and she has been the only woman you have ever raised your eyes from your studies long enough to notice.’

  ‘Of course I noticed her. It would be hard not to, she’s very pretty,’ Robert said. Mrs Munroe caught the same tight tone as before.

  ‘I am glad you think so. She is the right age and social status, and she is the apple of her father’s eye. He will not stint at spending whatever is necessary to keep her happy. She is a fine young woman and would make you the perfect wife. Don’t you think?’

  For all her religious scruples, Mrs Munroe was not blind to the advantages of having Caroline Sinclair as a daughter-in-law. It was not only her father’s largesse that would benefit Robert, but a pretty wife to care for might persuade him to reside in a more suitable neighbourhood. Goodness knows there wasn’t anyone with more of a heart for the poor than herself, but that didn’t mean challenging God’s ordering of society and making them your neighbours.

  Robert didn’t answer. He just stared at a point above her head. ‘Robert!’

  ‘Mama?’

  ‘I was saying that Caroline would make a perfect wife for you.’

  ‘I agree.’

  He didn’t sound as if he did and she had her reservations. Caroline Sinclair was pretty enough, with the charm of youth, but she was rather flighty. Before Robert began paying attention to Caroline, she had tried to steer him towards the Smyth sisters, both of whom were accomplished, if a little plain. But she couldn’t blame him for being attracted to Caroline. After all, even the most serious and scholarly man is still a man.

  ‘She will be a great help to you in London society. Her mother might not have taught her much, but she has imparted to her the rudiments of being a hostess. She would be quite capable of holding soirées and the like and inviting men of influence.’

  ‘I think you are forgetting that I practise in East London,’ he told her. ‘There are very few men of influence there.’

  Just like Robert to look for obstacles, thought Mrs Munroe. She gave him the same look she had given him at twelve years old when she found him dissecting rats in the summer house.

  ‘You will, however, need to show her a masterful hand because of her tender age. Your father agrees with me wholeheartedly that you should get on with matters. You know how he hates indecisiveness.’ She pursed her lips together. ‘In short, Robert, if you don’t make her an offer soon some other man with his wits about him will.’ She fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘I am sure your outgoings are considerable in London.’

  ‘I live modestly in my two rooms at the hospital, and have been appointed the chairman of the Parish Emergency Committee,’ he replied. ‘There is no need for me to rush into marriage. Besides, Caroline has already told me in her letters that she has no desire to settle in London,’ he said, stretching out his arm across the back of the chair.

  Irritation started to bubble within her. What on earth was the matter with him? Any man in his position, with a limited income, would run Caroline down the aisle. She was not going to leave London without ensuring that Robert secured the young woman - and her father’s fortune. She drew in a deep breath.

  ‘Even so, marriage to Caroline would allow—’she stopped mid-sentence as the door opened and the subject of their conversation glided into the room, followed by a hotel porter struggling with a variety of boxes. She spotted Robert and made her way towards him. ‘Doctor Munroe,’ she said, executing a perfectly balanced curtsy.

  Robert bowed and Mrs Munroe was gratified to see his expression soften. ‘Miss Sinclair. What a pleasure to see you.’

  Mrs Munroe patted the seat next to her. ‘Come and sit by me, Caroline. I am sure you are eager to hear all about Robert’s important work amongst the poor. He is well thought of even in government circles.’

  Caroline did as she was bid and sat on the edge of the sofa. Carefully she arranged her skirt around her legs and assumed a polite expression of interest.

  Robert started to tell them about the hospital and his work there. His mother listened avidly, but it all seemed very familiar. She had heard much the same from the ministers work
ing among the dregs of humanity in Edinburgh’s Old Town. Of course, as a doctor, Robert wasn’t as much concerned with the moral wellbeing of the poor as she was and was apt to make excuses for their idleness. Caroline was evidently less engrossed by Robert’s tale. Several times Mrs Munroe caught the young woman out of the corner of her eye stifling a yawn. Each time she blinked to stop the stretching of her face and gave Robert the sweetest smile, but thankfully he didn’t seem to notice.

  She sent Caroline a stern look, but the girl didn’t see it because she was gazing out of the window.

  ‘Is that not interesting, Caroline?’ Caroline gracefully turned her head and her face grew attentive again. ‘What do you think of Robert’s ideas on illness?’

  Robert looked at the young woman sitting beside his mother. Studying him for a few moments while Caroline collected her thoughts, Mrs Munroe noticed a tension in him. She had the impression that he was doing what was expected, but that his attention was elsewhere. Then it occurred to her that he had been much the same since he had arrived. There was something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  Caroline’s finely arched eyebrows drew together just enough to indicate thoughtfulness but not so much as to wrinkle her forehead. ‘Robert knows I am always amazed at his understanding of such complex things. But’ - she sighed, and smiled adoringly at him - ‘you expect too much of our sex if you think us able to understand such things.’

  Mrs Munroe snorted. ‘What nonsense. Women are perfectly able to understand such things, if they put their minds to it,’ she said. ‘Don’t you agree, Robert?’

  ‘I do.’

  Caroline gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh really, you do tease. I doubt you could find one woman who could understand all the things you find so fascinating.’

  ‘I already have, a Mrs O’Casey,’ Robert replied. ‘I explained all my experiments in detail and she understood perfectly.’

  There was that tone again, but even stronger this time. Several questions fired themselves into Mrs Munroe’s mind, but Caroline asked the most pressing one.

  ‘Who is Mrs O’Casey?’ Caroline’s voice was conversational but Mrs Munroe heard an underlying sharpness. Caroline was suddenly taking a keener interest in Robert’s work.

  ‘Just a widow who came to the hospital a few days ago to thank me,’ he said casually, but there was a new alertness in his expression. Mrs Munroe scrutinised her son more closely.

  ‘Thank you?’ Caroline asked. ‘For what?’

  ‘For caring for her daughter and a close friend. She took an interest in the laboratory and I showed her around,’ he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. Caroline was appeased, Mrs Munroe was not. Robert hadn’t lied but there was more to be said, and it occurred to her that it might not be something that Caroline needed to hear.

  ‘Caroline has joined the Society for the Moral Improvement of Distressed Women,’ she said, steering the conversation into safer waters. Whoever Mrs O’Casey was, she warranted no further consideration.

  Robert’s eyebrows shot upwards. He might well look surprised. It had taken her a month of cajoling to get Caroline to agree. She hoped that socialising with women whose thoughts weren’t only about lace and silk would help her improve her mind.

  ‘I have.’ Caroline lowered her eyes, then swept them up flirtatiously at Robert. A dimple appeared on her left cheek. ‘I am going to the next meeting, aren’t I?’ She looked to Mrs Munroe, who nodded, keeping her eyes on her son. Caroline started to pluck absent-mindedly at the fabric of her dress. ‘I must confess, I don’t know much about it all.’ Her face grew very serious. ‘But I think that if we had a subscription ball we could raise money to help the poor.’

  At that moment Mrs Munroe knew that, whatever she did, her quest to develop Caroline’s social sensibilities was doomed. Although she might have wished that Robert had entered a more lucrative and prestigious occupation than medicine, he was a gifted doctor and the right wife could make him a rich one.

  There was no denying that on all counts Caroline had the right attributes that Robert needed in a wife - but!

  There was a knock on the door and the hotel valet entered. Moving silently over the carpet he handed her a note on a silver tray, bowed and left the room. She opened it, looked at the lines she had scribbled that morning and frowned. She rose to her feet.

  ‘It’s from Lord Effingham,’ she said, sending up a silent prayer for forgiveness. ‘I will have to answer it immediately.’ Robert rose to his feet, but she waved at him. ‘Sit, Robert, and keep Caroline company. Manners will chaperone.’

  She caught her maid’s eye, and Manners picked up a book and settled herself in the far corner of the room.

  ‘Will you dine with us on Monday?’ she asked Robert as she leant towards him.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, kissing her again on the cheek.

  Taking up the bogus letter she let Robert take her place on the sofa. As she left the room she sent another fervent prayer heavenward asking that Robert might take the opportunity given him and do what was expected of him.

  As his mother left the room Robert cursed Lord Effingham’s letter.

  Beside him Caroline rustled and gave him a shy look. ‘How fortunate that Lord Effingham’s letter needed immediate attention.’

  Robert smiled. ‘Just so.’

  And it was. There, gazing up at him with breathless admiration, was Edinburgh’s foremost beauty. Her pale lilac ensemble with delicate pearls and bead embroidery scattered over it highlighted her hazel eyes. As she looked at him, her small red mouth was pulled together as if waiting for a kiss. She looked absolutely lovely.

  Whatever madness had possessed him to put off making an offer to her? It was his unhealthy obsession with Ellen O’Casey, of course, he knew that. But now he had to put that aside.

  His mother was right. Caroline was everything a man with a position in life could want in a wife. True, she was, as his mother so quaintly put it, excitable and frivolous, but he was sure that was nothing more than youthful enthusiasm. It was to be expected. She had led a sheltered life, as was proper for a gently born woman.

  Robert gave Caroline the warmest smile he could muster. She fidgeted, and the springy brown ringlets at the crown of her head bounced. A vision of Ellen’s dark auburn hair curling around her neck flashed into Robert’s mind. He shoved it aside and concentrated on his prospective fiancée.

  ‘I was so pleased that you decided to come to London with Mother.’ He half moved to take hold of her hand but stopped.

  What would be so terrible, he thought. After all, there was an expectation that they would soon become engaged. It had been the talk of Edinburgh throughout the winter.

  Marry Caroline. Robert felt his heart start to thunder in his chest. That was why he’d come here after all. To propose.

  With a quick look at the redoubtable Manners at the end of the room he took hold of Caroline’s hand. She smiled up at him, but there was an emptiness in her gaze that quite suddenly irritated him.

  ‘Caroline.’ She gazed up at him expectantly. He started again. ‘Caroline, I ... I wish you could be a little more interested in my work.’

  She looked disgruntled, as well she might. A young woman anticipating a proposal of marriage didn’t expect to be quizzed about her attitude towards her future husband’s career. Her eyebrows pulled together.

  ‘I don’t think your mother left us alone so you could talk about your work,’ she said, her lower lip jutting out.

  ‘I just want to know why it is so difficult for you to take an interest in what I do,’ he persisted. A picture of Ellen listening as he explained his experiments sprang into his mind.

  ‘I am very proud of you and your work but I just don’t find it as enthralling as you do.’ She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

  And she was. He could see it in her eyes. Caroline was truly sorry, but there was nothing she could do about it. A chasm opened at Robert’s feet. A pretty chasm, but a chasm nonetheless.


  Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s that widow woman, isn’t it?’

  Caroline might not understand logical science but she certainly understood her instincts.

  ‘I—’

  ‘What’s her name?’ O’ something?’ she asked through tight lips.

  ‘Mrs O’Casey,’ he answered and wished he hadn’t. The sound of Ellen’s name fell like a stone between them and was totally out of place in the plush hotel room. Ellen belonged in his other life, his real life. Not in this lavish chamber with Caroline’s Bond Street purchases stacked up in the corner, but in the life of hollow-eyed children with rickets and women, not yet out of their twenties, wasted and old before their time. His eyes fell on the pile of brightly coloured boxes. What she had spent that morning on frippery could keep a street in Wapping for a year and probably longer.

  Caroline shuffled away from him and folded her arms. ‘What is Mrs O’Casey to you?’

  It was a fair question. What exactly was Ellen O’Casey to him? The answer had to be ‘Nothing.’ What else could it be?

  ‘I told you she was a widow whose child I tended to.’ He took Caroline’s hand again. ‘That’s all,’ he said, as much to convince himself as her. ‘Now let’s forget about her.’

  Caroline regarded him for a long moment and then started to talk about her shopping trip and the most recent assembly ball, and his mind drifted off into a world of its own. Ellen came back to him. Ellen singing, Ellen talking and laughing, Ellen giving him a roasting. Caroline’s voice drew his conscious mind reluctantly back from its pleasant wandering.

  ‘And I told Ruth Dalrymple that you would be back in Edinburgh before the summer was out.’

  She smiled up at him, waiting for him to agree. He tried, but he couldn’t. People, not only in London, but in Edinburgh and other large towns, lived like animals, in filth, starvation and poverty and all she could do was propose a ball to raise charity money. As he had said to Danny Donovan, the poor didn’t need charity, they needed a decent place to live and food to eat. But Caroline would never see that. Trying to open her eyes to the suffering of others was a lost cause. And so was this courtship.