The Thorn Keeper

by Pepper D. Basham

  “On the contrary, I think it’s more about how unpretentious and determined you are.”

  The tenderness in his gaze held her fast and quickened her pulse. Oh, to give in to the draw, to fall into such admiration. The memory of their near-kiss drew her gaze away from his with a rush of heat.

  “I’m afraid I’ve always had a mind of my own.”

  “Which I suspect caused most of the trouble,” Jessica murmured.

  “And that’s exactly what I presume will cause all the greatness too,” David countered. “Secretly making plans to bring in the support of the town? A fundraiser which will not only help financially but boost morale. It’s brilliant.”

  Her smile escaped. “My deviousness is brilliant?”

  “When channeled in the right direction, yes.” Their gazes held before Catherine looked away again, sliding another step away from him and all his magnetism.

  “I don’t support the idea of deviousness being brilliant in any form. It sounds sacrilegious.” Adelaide pouted out her words, her porcelain brow in a pucker, but just as quickly it cleared into a smile. “But the thought of a ball puts a shine on these dark times of war.”

  Catherine studied Adelaide a moment, trying to follow the poor girl’s conviction jump, but David’s scrunched brow distracted her.

  “You don’t fancy a ball, Dr. Ross?”

  David frowned and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can do with the balls, it’s the dancing”—he winced—“that I’m ill-equipped to appreciate.”

  “Dancing?” She lowered her voice and searched his face. “You can’t dance?”

  “Of course you can,” Adelaide responded with more energy than Catherine had seen since the poor girl entered the room. “You’re a gentleman. Every gentleman can dance. It’s in his very blood.”

  “If dancing is a prerequisite for being a gentleman, I’m afraid I might not be as gentlemanly as you suppose, Miss Moore. You see, I’ve never learnt.”

  “It looks simple enough.” Jessica nudged back into the conversation. “Surely, with a few lessons, we can both be prepared for one ball.”

  “And it is for a good cause,” Catherine added, bringing his attention back to her in all of its warmth. Oh, she nearly melted from the sweetness.

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Marianne almost left the floor, the youthful joy in her expression contagious. “Who would teach us? I only had a few lessons from my aunt, but I’ve always dreamed of truly dancing. And at a real ball.”

  If Cinderella could take human form she would materialize as Marianne McIvoy.

  “My dear, I’m not certain the ball would be for common folk,” Adelaide added with enough false sweetness to inspire Catherine’s nausea.

  “That’s exactly the sort it is for, Miss Moore. Who better to have the joy of participating in a ball than the ones whose lives have been most impacted by this war.” Catherine challenged the small woman, taking advantage of her few additional inches in height. “Their men are the ones risking their lives.”

  “But the benefactors…”

  “Are well aware of the audience and the purpose,” Catherine nodded, certain her conversations with Madame and the letters she’d sent painted a clear understanding. She turned to Marianne. “And I suspect Marianne can have her Cinderella ball to her hearts’ content, along with any fine lady who has the stuff to come and support a good cause.”

  “Well, if you put it like that, I don’t see how anyone should refuse.”

  “Nor I.” David’s grin grew to laughing point. “I’m determined to attend, even if I cannot dance a step.”

  Oh, how she loved their banter. “I would expect no less, Dr. Ross.”

  “I have a brilliant plan.” Adelaide came alive. “I don’t see that I can be as much a support with the wounded as I can with dancing. I am quite good at it.” She moved a fraction closer to David. “And you will have no need to feel the embarrassment of coming off as uneducated or a country bumpkin.”

  “Thank you, Miss Moore. I certainly wouldn’t want to appear as bad as that in front of the whole town.” David’s voice took on an uncustomary sarcastic edge. Catherine had the sudden urge to kiss him.

  As if he read her mind, he sent her a secret wink, and she covered her smile with her hand. How dare he? He was supposed to distance himself for his own good, and here he was flirting. Flirting? David Ross! “I suppose you can dance, Nurse Dougall?”

  She couldn’t help but catch on to the impish spirit he cast. “I’m an excellent dancer.” She smiled sweetly. “What money-hungry debutante wouldn’t be if she wanted to snatch the best catch, right?”

  Adelaide Moore set a firm look of disproval on Catherine, scanning her simple nurse’s attire. “I don’t think you quite understand the meaning of debutante, so I shall teach them to dance.” Her teacup chin lifted high. “It will be my service in the war effort. After all, what could be worse than a gentleman who cannot dance?”

  Catherine avoided both Rosses and the generous Miss Moore for a good part of the morning, still chuckling at the young woman’s idea of sacrifice through teaching dance lessons to the less fortunate of Roth Hall. A third of the men in the hospital had not only lost their sight from chlorine gas attacks, but possibly their future employment as well. Another third had lost limbs, and a conglomeration of the last third held a mix of mentally unstable to possibly returning to the Front. Dancing? Certainly not the highest social priority on the list.

  She slid into a quiet corner of the hallway and drew out the letter Marianne had given her. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, but the name was. Lady Eleanor Hollingsworth. Catherine held her breath. She’d written to Lord and Lady Hollingsworth three weeks before, explaining her relationship to Grandmama and touting the wonders of Dr. Ross and his hospital. From her myriad of correspondences, she’d only received two responses thus far – one from a woman in Cornwall who explained that she was already funding a hospital in her country estate, and another from a kindly old cleric who sent a small donation.

  The paper, boasting a monogramed ‘H’ at the top of the page, slid through Catherine’s fingers with the smoothness of its expense.

  Miss Dougall,

  I was pleased to receive your letter and learn of your work with Dr. Ross in the Ednesbury War Hospital and Roth Hall Orphanage. I would like to hold an interview with you regarding the work you and Dr. Ross are doing in Ednesbury, as I grew up in the town and have great sentimentality for its general welfare. Please wire if you are available to attend an interview on Thursday.

  Sincerely,

  Eleanor Hollingsworth

  Thursday? Catherine folded the paper. Two days? Her thoughts spiraled through possibilities. This could mean an important opportunity for the hospital and orphanage….and with David’s interest, the timing couldn’t be better. Hopefully, her absence would clear his head of this ridiculous attraction, and maybe Adelaide Moore’s dance lessons would turn his head. Catherine nearly lost her laugh. Poor David, but Adelaide Moore, with her spotless pedigree, would make a much better adornment to David’s life. Catherine frowned, disappointment rearing its ugly head. David wasn’t some playboy after a title and prestige. His intelligence required an equal partner, and his subtle humor needed a quick mind to truly appreciate it. His heart reflected the essence of a gentleman in every way that mattered most. Could Miss Moore recognize that above her concern for the appearances?

  Catherine shook her head and quickly put her London visit into motion. She made arrangements with Fanny, entrusting her with the secrets of the mission, wired Aunt Josephine to secure lodging, and asked Marianne to accompany her down to Madame’s to leave three new designs and ensure Annie and Janie were settling in to their new positions.

  Mason was kind enough to take her bags down to the car without drawing any attention. She left a note for her mother and then started for the servants’ stairs.

  “What are you up to?”

  Jessica Ross’ voice paused her movement.
She turned and adjusted her expression for an excuse, unable to hide her escape when she wore one of her most fashionable coats, a small rim hat, traveling gloves, and her favorite black boots with silk laces. If Jessica knew anything about fashion, it was as clear as air Catherine was off to some well-to-do occasion.

  Jessica took a few steps closer, examining Catherine’s attire with renewed suspicion. “You’re up to something. I knew it from this morning.”

  “This morning? What did I do this morning?”

  Jessica crossed her arms. “Don’t play innocent with me. You spent a solid hour trying to dodge David, even complimenting Miss Moore on her hairstyle to draw David’s attention to it. Why would you do that?”

  “You’ve made your intentions clear that an advantageous marriage for your brother is of the utmost importance.” Catherine rested her hand on the servants’ door latch. “I want what’s best for him too. And it isn’t me.”

  Jessica stared at her in silence, whether seeing her with fresh eyes or trying to determine Catherine’s honesty, Catherine couldn’t tell. “And now you’re holding a bazaar and ball as a benefit for the hospital?”

  Her words came slowly, almost contemplative.

  “The hospital needs the help, wouldn’t you agree? Even with the funds the new staff brought with them, we are not an up-to-date facility by any means. From what I’ve read, some of the best options are smaller rooms with fewer wounded, as well as available plastic surgeons and specialists for those with breathing conditions. We can’t offer any of those things, but with the proper support, we could.”

  Jessica lengthened her measured look for a few more seconds. “And now you’re leaving?”

  Catherine sighed. “It isn’t something underhanded as you suspect. I just don’t want to garner any premature hopes. I received a letter today from a possible benefactress who has the means to endow us with a substantial amount of support – more than anything your great Aunt might offer.”

  “So it’s a competition against Aunt Maureen?” The skepticism returned with a glint to those green eyes.

  “No, I have nothing to prove to your hideous aunt, but I would not see your brother entrapped by her. Not if he can stand on his own feet and use his clear-headedness to run his own hospital. He has the capabilities to be great…he only needs the means to prove it.” Catherine placed her palm over her heart. “I know the type woman she is because I used to be one. She’s dangerous and will go to great lengths to ensure she gets what she wants. We must make certain we are holding as many cards as we can.”

  “So you’re doing all this for David?”

  Catherine looked down and adjusted her gloves. “I should be gone three days, maybe four. I hope this will give you ample time to sway David’s heart in the direction of Miss Moore if that is your wish.”

  Jessica shuddered and rubbed a hand into her forehead. “I can’t believe I agreed to bring her here. The woman is a pillow sham with nothing but social drivel on the brain.”

  Catherine grinned. “But she’d look lovely on his arm. And, of course, she’ll teach him how to dance.”

  Jessica’s frown inched upward. “Good heavens, as if that will win the war. She’s the very example of the female mindset I fight against. It was such a stupid mistake to listen to Aunt Maureen…but you are right, she is devious.”

  “I’m an expert at stupid mistakes.” Catherine held Jessica’s gaze, making her point. “I’m sure you’ll make things right.”

  The woman was smart. One of the reasons Catherine couldn’t quite dislike her as much as she wanted to do. “I’m not sure which one of our mistakes is worse.” Her grin grew broader. “Yours or mine.”

  Catherine relaxed her smile even more, a faint kinship coming to light between them. “Time will tell, won’t it? If your poor brother ends up marrying the pillow sham, I think your choices might end much worse than mine.”

  Catherine turned the latch for the servants’ stairs.

  “Catherine.”

  Catherine braced herself and turned.

  Jessica stepped forward. “You love him, don’t you?” Her voice held no accusation. No disgust. Only an honest curiosity.

  Catherine drew in a deep breath, preparing to jump the chasm between knowing a truth and speaking it aloud. She didn’t need Jessica’s approval or even her good favor, but knew the woman wasn’t all prickles and stings. She may be an overprotective sister, but for all the right reasons. “Yes, I do, and I’ll fight as hard as you to make sure he’s happy.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Do you have a few hours free?”

  Jessica pushed off her cap and shook loose the mass of blonde waves so her head could breathe.

  David took her by the arm and drew her down the hallway. “Maybe three?”

  He wore his intensity with such sincerity. She loved that about him. Focused. Certain. Her frown bent. Stubborn when he wanted something. From the way he teased and stared at Catherine Dougall, he knew what he wanted.

  Most days, he was brilliant. Not today.

  “What did you have in mind? You’re hardly the pub sort.”

  His glance down the hallway had her reconsidering the pub slight. “David?”

  “I have this…venture I’ve started. Something I need to keep quiet, but I need a nurse.”

  “You need a nurse.”

  “One who can keep a secret.” His stare added an exclamation mark to his statement.

  Oh, good grief, what had he done?

  “You need a nurse, and have to keep it secret?” She placed her hands on her hips. “David Ross, that combination does not bode well.”

  “Shh…” He waved a hand to quell her volume and pressed his words into a whisper. “I’ll explain along the way.”

  Jessica barely believed his story until he brought her into the abandoned shop on Ellis Street. The building appeared vacant by design, but when he opened the back door to allow her inside, the dim candlelight revealed a small group of people. Their worn and simple clothes labeled them as working class at best.

  “How have you done this?”

  His smile turned sheepish. “I haven’t. Aunt Maureen has. She’s funded every quid.” He winked and gestured her forward. “Let’s see to our patients, shall we?”

  It was a remarkable endeavor. People of all ages, the poor who needed medical attention for various ailments and who were simply, due to their social status, considered unfit to be seen. The injustice of it fueled and added determination to follow her brother in this preposterous scheme.

  She treated some of the humblest of the patients—a widow’s burn wound, a boy’s broken nose—and as she watched her brother, a fresh awareness for his love in his work humbled her. He held the same passion as their father – the same desire to go against the grain to serve. He couldn’t help it. A swell of pride brought tears to her eyes and provided a new understanding of his ability to make his own future.

  She hated to admit it, but Catherine was right.

  David needed freedom to do what he did best – without the restraints of a power-hungry aunt to control him. She saw how the people’s suspicions melted away within the first few minutes of his care, and how they repaid him with whatever they had—a knitted scarf and gloves, a pie, a sack of potatoes. He took each offering with the grace of a king. A sense of shame fell over her. She’d created a box for her own brother. In trying to protect him from the hurt she saw in their father, the struggles, the devastation in being an outcast from one’s family, in trying to keep him clear of heartache, she’d neglected to see how very capable a man he was.

  He had the skills to administrate his own hospital, he only needed a partner with the ability to make the right connections, gain benefactors, and navigate the social world of which David knew very little. But not Adelaide Moore.

  Which left another uncomfortable confession in her spirit she would not voice.

  A last patient arrived as they were closing up the doors, hidden in the shadows, waiting for he
r opportunity. She was a plain sort of woman, with a dour expression and sturdy frame.

  David approached. “May I help you?”

  “I…I don’t trust doctors.” She bit out the words, but the worry lines around her face seemed to bring her another step forward. “But I’ve been told you are good and…and I think something’s wrong. I’m too large for what I’m eating.” She placed a palm on her extended abdomen.

  David nodded. “I understand. Come inside, Mrs…?”

  “Call me Janie. That’s what most people do.”

  “Very well, Janie.” He glanced to Jessica. “Get a cot prepared, will you?”

  With the utmost discretion, he examined her. When he had finished, he stepped back and helped her to a seated position. “Janie, you’re in good health, though I would suggest you try to eat a few more vegetables. You’re going to be extra busy in two months, I should think.”

  “The baby is fine?”

  “Both babies seem to be fine.”

  “Both?” Her eyes grew wide, and then her entire expression fell. “I can’t care for one, let alone two.” She stood, adjusted her modest, clean gown, and walked toward the door. “But I know where they shall be cared for. Thank you.”

  “Is there no way you can keep them? Perhaps your husband could—” Jessica stopped when the woman shook her head.

  “The vile man who did this to me ain’t interested in me nor any children. I don’t think his wife would think too kindly of it.” Janie walked to the door. “But I appreciate your good work, Doctor. There ain’t many of the poshies who lower themselves to help the likes of us, but Roth Hall’s proven itself with you and Miss Catherine.”

  David paused as he wiped off his hands. “Miss Catherine? You know her?”

  “Oh no,” Jessica blurted. “What has she done?”

  “Done?” Janie’s calmness disappeared behind smoldering eyes. “She’s done more than anyone else in this town would do to help women like me. We’re rejected from the day people know we’re with child. We live with shame and grief, and worry how we’re going to survive from one day to the next. Miss Catherine’s found me a good job when everyone else would as soon spit on me. She’s shown that God’s not forgotten the lowliest of his people. That’s what she’s done.”