by Paula Paul
Atewater followed through with his advantage. “I suggest we go to our rooms to prepare for departure. We’ll all meet in London again for Lord Dunsford’s funeral, of course, but perhaps by then we’ll have had time to cope with this tragedy.”
He very gently took Isabel’s arm and led her out of the room, thinking that the entire messy situation had worked to his advantage after all.
“They’re all daft,” Nicholas whispered as he took Alexandra’s arm to escort her out of the room. When Alexandra didn’t reply, he stopped suddenly and let go of her. “Surely you don’t believe what those two were saying. A ghost?” He gave an indignant snort. “An old man in his cups and a hysterical woman are hardly credible witnesses.”
Alexandra was mulling the so-called ghost sightings over in her mind, and she knew she’d once again taken a little too long to reply. “Perhaps not, but…”
Nicholas raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, wearing a skeptical expression. “My dear, you are a woman of science. I find it difficult to believe you would even consider the possibility of a ghost.”
Alexandra turned away from him and resumed walking toward the door. She had already asked a servant to see that a carriage was ready. “I find it interesting that three people claim to have seen the ghost of Lord Dunsford.”
“Three?” Nicholas sounded surprised as he hurried to catch up with her.
“Yes, Cook told me this morning she has seen Lord Dunsford, or what she insists is his ghost. I dare say, sightings by three different people is interesting.”
“Mmmm,” Nicholas said, pausing before he opened the door for her. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but he quickly gathered his wits. “I say, why don’t we discuss this over luncheon? We could have the staff prepare something, and we could take it in one of the private sitting rooms perhaps.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I still have my rounds to do, and I must open the surgery by one, and, since I am sure to be called as a witness at the hearing, I must make myself available for the justice.” Alexandra regretted the stiff, formal sound of her statement. In truth, she would like to discuss the odd situation with someone who showed signs of intelligence. Besides that, she was hungry, but what she had said was true; she was running out of time to make her rounds.
“Very well then.” In spite of his smile, Nicholas did not hide the disappointment in his voice or in his face. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the hearing.” He raised an arm to signal one of the stable boys. “The carriage for Dr. Gladstone, please.”
“You’re welcome to call,” Alexandra said, “but I assumed you would be returning to London with the others.”
“London?” He sounded for a moment as if he’d never heard of the place. “Oh yes. Yes, of course, London.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Nicholas. Perhaps we will indeed meet again sometime.”
“Yes, of course.” He seemed oddly distracted. Perhaps the death of his friend was finally taking its toll.
He helped Alexandra into the carriage, and when she looked back, long after the carriage was on its way, he was still standing on the path, watching her departure.
Alexandra was tired by the time she finished her rounds, and when she returned to receive patients in her surgery, a message was waiting for her, summoning her to appear at a hearing for Elsie O’Riley later that day. The hearing obviously had been hastily arranged so Elsie could be properly charged in time for trial when assizes convened. She had to close her surgery early in order to be at the Blue Ram, where all such hearings, as well as the courts of the assizes, were always held, since there was no public building large enough.
Just as Nicholas had forewarned, the hearing was a mere formality, and it became even more obvious as she answered the questions of Squire Thomas Trowbridge, a local landowner who acted as justice of the peace, that Elsie would, indeed, be bound over for trial. Poor Elsie appeared frightened and confused. She could not afford a barrister to represent her. Although she had the right to cross examine the witnesses herself. But she did not know how to exercise her right. She asked no questions, but sat with her head bowed, awaiting her fate. If only Nicholas could have volunteered his time, but, since he was a witness himself, that was out of the question.
As it turned out, she did not see Nicholas at the hearing. He, like all the other witnesses, had given their testimony and their depositions and had been dismissed.
She was looking forward to a light supper and bed, but before Nancy had finished preparing the meal, someone pounded at the door. Alexandra opened it to a man dressed as a farm laborer and who introduced himself as Seth Blackburn.
“’Tis me wife,” he said, his face gone white and his big roughened hands twisting a dirty cap. “The baby’s comin’, but ’tis turned bottom first, and me wife is dreadful screamin’. You must come with me, doctor, and we best hurry.”
Alexandra left her supper untouched. She had to saddle Lucy herself, since Freddie went home to his mother at night. It cost her some time, but finally she raced alongside Seth on his Percheron to the cottage at the edge of town. Alexandra had never met Seth Blackburn nor his wife. Mrs. Blackburn, whose name she learned was Priscilla, like most of the working-class women Alexandra served, never came to her during pregnancy or child-birth unless a problem developed. Alexandra’s efforts to encourage regular visits of all women with child had so far been to no avail. She couldn’t help thinking that if she had seen Priscilla Blackburn sooner, she might have detected the breech position of the baby and been able to effectively turn the fetus. Now, she could only pray that she was not too late to help the woman and her child.
The Blackburn’s cottage smelled of boiled cabbage and consisted of only one room furnished with a crude wooden table and chairs, a few shelves, and a cupboard, all on a hard-packed earthen floor. The deep-set windows were hung with white muslin curtains, however, and the pots above the fireplace were gleaming, giving the place a warm, cozy look. A boy of about two years sat on the floor with a yellow dog of mixed ancestry. At one end of the room were more curtains used to partition a bedroom. Priscilla, her face drained of blood, lay on the straw bed. Her dark red hair was plastered to her face with perspiration.
A hoarse moan escaped her throat when she saw Alexandra. It was hard to tell whether the moan signified relief or despair, but the hoarseness told Alexandra she had spent a long time screaming in pain.
The baby’s buttocks were already presenting themselves, and Alexandra had to wash quickly and get to work. She was not able to turn the baby, and the most she could do was aid the birth by slipping her hands into the canal to manipulate the small body a little. Priscilla’s body tore hideously as the buttocks emerged, and she screamed in agony. Seth, accustomed only to his own daily, less arduous labor, turned away, frightened. Alexandra, however, worked hard, stopping only occasionally to wipe the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her dress, wishing she could offer her patient the luxury of ether, as women in the cities used now. It had become quite popular since the queen had sanctioned it by being the first in England to use it when her son was born. But Alexandra could only offer soothing words and a leather strap for Priscilla to clamp her teeth into when the pain was at its pinnacle.
It was tiring and painful labor Priscilla did, and it cost her a large quantity of her life’s blood. After several hours, the baby, a boy, was born, and Alexandra knew the reason for the breech presentation. There was a twin. The second boy was stillborn a few minutes later.
Seth, who had excused himself twice to step outside to vomit, now stood by the bed with trembling hands and was even more white-faced than his wife. He did not yet know the second baby was not breathing. “Twins, by God. She’s give me twins.” he cried, and for a moment Alexandra thought he might faint with ecstasy, or at least wake the boy who had now fallen asleep on the floor, using the yellow dog as a pillow.
“The second one does not live,” she said quietly. Seth’s face drained of its color again, and he fell to h
is knees weeping. Priscilla’s glassy stare showed no emotion. She turned to Seth and spoke only two words in a weak voice. “Bury it.”
While Seth took the lifeless form in his arms to oblige, Alexandra wrapped Priscilla’s abdomen with tight bandages to provide support for the loosened tissue and gave her citrate of iron and quinia, along with a generous cup of beef broth, then helped her put the surviving baby to breast.
“Take a little of the powders each day,” she said, referring to the iron and quinia, “and I will provide more when that is gone.”
Priscilla shook her head, too weak to speak, but Alexandra knew she was most likely concerned about the cost.
“You must,” she said, “to restore the blood you’ve lost, else you’ll not live to see the babe walking.”
Priscilla’s eyes grew wide with fright, and Alexandra knew she would take the powders. She knew, too, that it would not likely ever be paid for, but the worst of her knowledge was that even if she took the medicine faithfully, she still might not live more than a few weeks.
She left Seth with instructions to see that Priscilla continue the medication, along with rest. She did not waste her time giving her the usual instructions for a two-week lying-in period. Working-class women, even the sickest, did not have the luxury of giving up two weeks for recovery from childbirth. Most doctors said lower class women survived without the lying in because they lacked the delicate constitutions of the upper class. Recently, though, Alexandra had begun to wonder if all women, except for the very sick as Priscilla was, would benefit by leaving their beds sooner.
She was too tired to contemplate that now, though. She wanted only to get back to her home and fall into bed for at least four hours sleep before she had to begin another day.
Lucy found the way home with no guidance, for which Alexandra was thankful. She found she had to use all of her powers of concentration to stay awake enough to keep from falling out of the saddle. The light Nancy left burning in the parlor was a welcome and comforting sight, and as Alexandra slipped from the saddle, she could think of nothing but getting Lucy put away and getting into her own warm bed.
She had the saddle in her arms and was on her way to the barn to put it away when she felt a human arm circle her neck tightly enough to cut off her breath so that she couldn’t cry out. Then the arm moved, and a hand, cold and damp with sweat clamped her mouth just as the tip of something cold and sharp touched her throat. A quick, sharp pain, and then warm blood running down her throat and between her breasts, soaking into her dress to mingle with Priscilla’s blood.
Chapter Seven
Alexandra tried to twist her neck so that the assailant would not puncture her jugular vein, but the strength of the heavy hand on her mouth and around her throat prohibited any movement. She knew she was about to die.
It could have been death that jumped, dark and hulking, from the shadows, forcing her, along with her would-be killer, down to the ground. She knew, though, before she hit the ground, it was not death who attacked, but Zack. She could see her assailant next to her, a shadowy masculine form, struggling on the manure- and straw-strewn ground as he tried to escape Zack’s lunge. Zack would have had the advantage, except that he smelled her blood, and his menacing growl changed to a frightened whine as he turned toward her and gently kissed her wound with his tongue.
It was just enough time for the man to scramble to his feet. For a moment Zack seemed confused as to whether he should run after the man or stay by Alexandra’s side. He ran, his bark loud and ferocious in the darkness. He stopped a few yards out before he caught up with the predator and watched, as if to make sure he was not coming back, then he ran back to Alexandra.
By the time he reached her side, Nancy had a lamp lit and was standing at the door holding it and calling out into the night.
“Who’s there? What is it, Zack? Zachariah!” She held her lamp high, peering into the darkness.
Zack gave one sharp bark, and Alexandra, her hand clasped to her throat, cried out. “Nancy. I’m here. Come help me.”
“Miss Alex? Is that you?”
Before Alexandra could answer, Zack ran toward Nancy, grabbed the skirt of her nightgown in his teeth and pulled her, dancing an awkward sidestep.
Nancy let him pull her while she tried to keep her balance and hold onto the lamp. As soon as she was close enough to see the blood-soaked front of Alexandra’s dress and to see the blood pouring from her throat, she stopped and put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.
“Help me up, Nancy. I’ve got to get inside.”
The sharp command brought Nancy out of her stupor. She set the lamp aside and pulled Alexandra to her feet. “What happened, Miss? Who hurt you like this?”
“Someone with a knife. I don’t know.” Alexandra could hear the weariness in her own voice, and she was not certain her legs would carry her inside. She walked with her arm slung around Nancy’s shoulders while Nancy held her tightly at the waist and Zack barked his encouragement.
Alexandra called out to the dog in her weak voice. “Good Zack. Good boy. You saved my life.”
“If I hadn’t just let him out for his nightly business, where would we be, Miss? I ask you that.” Nancy sounded half tearful, half angry as she helped Alexandra into the house. “You shouldn’t be out at night, you know that.”
It was an old argument to which Alexandra didn’t bother to respond. She’d said too many times that she had no control over the time, day or night, that her patients needed her.
“And I’ve told you dozens of times,” Nancy continued. “You should have a boy who stays around at night. Not someone who goes home to his mum the way Freddie does.”
That was an old argument as well, but now Alexandra’s response had a new irony. “If Freddie had been here tonight, he’d most likely be dead now.”
“Oh my, Miss Alex, don’t talk that way.” Nancy’s voice trembled as she spoke. Her hand trembled as well when she reached to open the door and guide Alexandra inside.
“Take me to the surgery,” Alexandra said, “and bring me a basin of hot water.”
For a moment, Nancy didn’t move. Instead, she stood looking at Alexandra shaking her head while tears rolled down her cheeks. “Who would do this, Miss? And why?”
“Nancy, please. I’ve got to tend to this wound right away.”
“Oh yes.” Nancy hurried away with the lamp, leaving Alexandra to light her own lamp and find her way to the surgery. Zack followed like a shadow.
She was standing at the mirror, trying to examine the wound when Nancy returned with the water and fresh bandages. She went to work immediately helping Alexandra remove her bloody dress and clean the gash, but she was not the usual calm, efficient Nancy who so often helped Alexandra with medical emergencies.
“You must calm yourself, Nancy.” Alexandra was once again examining the wound in the mirror. She had seen that, while it was a significant gash, it was not at the jugular vein, but it was in the tender area where the chin joins the throat. It was not so deep that it could not heal, and no vital muscles, tendons, or blood vessels had been affected. “I’m going to have to depend on you to help me close the wound.”
Nancy’s eyes grew wide. “Close the wound? Oh no, Miss Alex, I couldn’t.”
“Of course you can. You’ve helped me sew up dozens of wounds.”
“But not on you, Miss Alex. Not on you.” Zack growled, low in his throat, and Nancy jerked her head toward him. “Now don’t you go telling me what to do as well. I’ve had enough of your bossiness.”
“I’ll need to mix a styptic before you close. Can you bring me the ingredients, please, Nancy?” Alexandra held a piece of gauze to her wound as she spoke, and it quickly soaked with blood. Seeing the blood, Nancy turned white again, and for a moment Alexandra feared that she would faint. She turned away quickly and gathered the items.
Within a few seconds Nancy brought a mixture of gallic acid, powdered opium, sulfate of zinc, and alcohol. Alexandra mixed the ingredients,
then soaked another piece of gauze in the mixture and applied it to her wound. Ribbons of fire radiated from her throat under her skin and through her tissue and nerves to her jaw, eyes, and head and down the back of her neck to her shoulders and back, but she kept applying the solution until the bleeding stemmed enough to finish the task.
“Now the sutures, please, Nancy.” Alexandra had barely spoken the words when the room began to whirl around her, and there were dark spots interrupting her vision.
“Miss Alex.” Nancy’s frightened voice and Zack’s alarmed bark seemed to come from very far away, and then the dark spots consumed her.
She awakened to the sharp scent of ammonia and the sight of Nancy bending over her. She lay on the floor where she had slipped from her chair. Zack looked down into her eyes, doing his best to lick her face while Nancy swatted him away with one hand and waved the smelling salts under her nose with the other.
Alexandra’s first reaction was acute and almost unbearable embarrassment. It wasn’t unusual for her patients to faint from pain, especially when they had been deprived of rest, but she had not expected to succumb herself. She tried to get up, but Nancy pushed her down.
“Not yet, you don’t,” she said.
“But I’m all right, Nancy. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sure I just—”
“I’m afraid you just found out you’re mortal like all o’ your patients.”
“You must let me up from here, and you must understand there were extenuating circumstances that caused me to…to, well, slip for a moment, and—”
“You’ll not be getting up until I’m sure the blood is back to your head where it belongs, and you didn’t just slip, as you well know. You fainted. You needn’t worry, though. Nothing’s hurt but your pride.” Nancy was dabbing at Alexandra’s throat with another soaked bandage. Alexandra’s moment of weakness had brought out Nancy’s strength. She was fully in control now. Within a few minutes she had Alexandra up on the table, needle and sutures in hand.
