The Healing Season

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “Yes, of course. I shall be there around six in the evening.”

  He gave a final nod and, after placing his hat back on his head, he turned and left her. She remained standing looking at his departing figure. What a strange man. How dare he censure her outfit? Then she giggled. There was something strangely pleasurable in shocking him, so much more stimulating than dealing with those jaded society men whose only goal was so transparent.

  Several nights later, Henry waylaid Ian as the latter was on his way down a corridor in St. Thomas’s.

  “Tonight’s the night.”

  “Yes? For what, a lecture?”

  Henry’s teeth gleamed. “Better. A stimulating few hours among the ton at Devonshire House. D’you have a set of evening clothes?” He eyed Ian’s jacket critically.

  Ian frowned. “No.”

  “P’raps Southey has something that will fit you. You’re about his size.” He gave Ian a slap on the shoulder. “Come along with me to my rooms. We’ll have you looking like a gent in no time.”

  Ian’s steps slowed. “Wait a moment. What are you talking about? I’m due to lecture here at eight.”

  Henry shrugged. “No matter. We can still arrive by ten. The party will be just commencing. I’ll meet you here at nine and we’ll go to my place.”

  Ian stifled a sigh. “Not tonight.”

  “You gave your word, my good man. Have you already forgotten?”

  Ian stared at him as the foggy memory finally came to the surface. “And you mean to exact fulfillment this evening?”

  Henry smiled. “As soon as your lecture is over.”

  Ian nodded wearily. “Very well. I’ll be here.”

  Eleanor fanned herself in the warm press of people. She had never been among such a brilliant gathering. She recognized many figures of the ton from their theater boxes, but had met very few in person, except, of course, for some of the gentlemen, when they hadn’t been with their spouses. Most of those pretended not to see her tonight.

  The thought didn’t perturb her. She understood how the game was played. She looked sidelong at her escort. At least His Grace, d’Alvergny, had been as good as his word. Her invitation had arrived by post a few days after her meeting with him in the park.

  She had been surrounded by young bucks since they’d arrived. Since the opening of Don Giovanni, The Spectre, her renown had grown. The piece was a smashing success. Every night the theater was filled to capacity.

  “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” A handsome young man, whose name she couldn’t remember, stood before her as a new set was starting up.

  “I would be delighted,” she replied. As they lined up to dance, she felt a sense of awe that she was ranged along with the gentle ladies of the ton. None had yet addressed her, but here she was in their midst. Someday they wouldn’t ignore her.

  The orchestra began to play the notes of the piece, and Eleanor moved through the formal steps. Those hours of private dance lessons were finally paying off.

  What a splendid company of people. Eleanor’s gaze swept across the immense ballroom. The light from a dozen chandeliers glittered off the mirrored and marbled surfaces, sparkled off the diamonds in women’s hair and around their pale necks, and shone from the fuller’s white of the men’s cravats.

  She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of in her own appearance. Even the jaded d’Alvergny had given a low whistle when he’d come to collect her.

  Eleanor promenaded hand in hand with her partner before separating from him at the end of the line. As she pivoted back into place, she caught sight of a familiar face.

  Her stomach did a flip-flop and she almost missed her step. It couldn’t be! She couldn’t turn around at that moment to see if she’d been mistaken. It had certainly looked like Mr. Russell. She wouldn’t mistake the fiery luster of his hair anywhere.

  But what would he be doing in such an exalted assembly? She had missed his second visit to the farmhouse and had wondered when she might see him again.

  She bit her lip, impatient for the end of the set. The piece seemed interminable. When the music finally died down, her partner began with some pleasantries, but she ignored them and led him back to d’Alvergny. Her heart sank, wishing now she were not obligated to remain with him the entire evening. Her joy at coming to this exalted assembly suddenly decreased as she realized the price.

  D’Alvergny smiled benignly at her and she repressed a shudder. Overfed, aging dandy. But she smiled sweetly.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “Immensely.” She flicked open her fan to hide her expression.

  He nodded. “As you see, I deliver on my promises.”

  She inclined her head but made no rejoinder. Did he expect her to be his exclusively on the basis of one favor? If so, he had a lot to learn.

  “Let me introduce you to some more people,” he said after a few moments.

  “Delightful.” All the while her mind raced, looking for a way to excuse herself for a while.

  As they walked around the ballroom, she was able to scan the other side of the room.

  Her eyes hadn’t fooled her. It was Mr. Russell, stuck against one gold-embossed wall, looking as if he was at Newgate awaiting sentencing rather than surrounded by a company of the first stare at a splendid gala. Whatever would he be doing at a gathering like this? she asked herself again.

  Another man, who looked far more at ease, turned to address Mr. Russell.

  She waited until the duke had made some introductions and was deep in conversation before placing her hand on his sleeve. “Excuse me, Your Grace. I am going to retire for a bit.”

  He bowed over her hand, and Eleanor left the duke chatting with some people. She made her way around the room to the salon set aside for the ladies’ use. It wasn’t until she returned that she looked for Mr. Russell, glancing around first to seek d’Alvergny. Good. He was nowhere to be seen. Probably gone to the card room.

  She wended her way toward Russell.

  He didn’t notice her until she stood directly in front of him and tapped his arm with the tip of her ivory fan.

  The frown on his face transformed to one of surprise. His dark eyes scanned her appearance for a few seconds, from the white ostrich plumes in her piled hair to the silvery-gray crape of her gown.

  “What a pleasure to see you here,” she said, her heart dancing wildly. He looked incredibly handsome in his black coat, his auburn hair combed back to reveal his wide, strong forehead.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Neville. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  She smiled coyly, fluttering her fan to mask her nervous state. “Pray, why ever not?”

  He seemed at a loss how to answer.

  “I do beg an introduction,” the gentleman at his side broke in then. “Ian, you mustn’t be selfish keeping the identity of this beautiful lady all to yourself.”

  “Mrs. Neville, may I present my friend, Lord Cumberland? Henry, the actress, Mrs. Neville. I’m sure you are familiar with her work.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “’Pon my honor, of course! Mrs. Neville, I’ve seen you many times on the stage, but never had the dream of meeting you in person. May I salute your prodigious talent?” He bowed deeply over her hand.

  She curtsied. “Thank you for the kind compliments.”

  “Your portrayal of Leporello is absolutely brilliant. I’ve never laughed so hard.”

  “Well, Mr. Dibdin’s libretto is partially responsible for that.”

  “To be sure, but your singing and execution of the lines are what bring the audience to such riotous applause.” He turned to Ian. “Don’t you think so?”

  Mr. Russell cleared his throat. “I haven’t as yet been to see the show.”

  “You haven’t? You must. It’s all the talk of the town right now. Why, the score pokes fun at everything from melodramatic tragedies to the state of matrimony.” Cumberland frowned at him. “However did you come to meet Mrs. Neville if you haven’t seen her on the stage
?”

  He turned to her. “Ian never goes to the theater or mingles with the ton.” He gave the surgeon a friendly jab. “You sly fox, keeping your acquaintance with Mrs. Neville all to yourself.”

  “Actually it was on a medical call, Lord Cumberland,” Eleanor replied when all Russell did was scowl at his friend.

  Cumberland looked dumbfounded. “A medical call? You didn’t break any bones, I trust?”

  She chuckled. “No. A fellow actress needed attention, and Mr. Russell rushed to the scene.”

  “That’s Ian for you. Always on duty. Well, I am glad to know you at last. What a crush tonight. May I get you some refreshment?”

  “No, thank you. I’m quite all right.”

  “I had to drag Ian here tonight, and to think how narrowly I missed your acquaintance.”

  “Indeed?” She raised an eyebrow at Mr. Russell. Ian, she repeated to herself silently, storing away the information. “What finally induced him?”

  “Well, I keep explaining to my slow-top friend here that the only way to get people of influence aware of the plight of the other half of the city is to rub shoulders with them and tell them they can help. It’s all a matter of opening their eyes.”

  She looked with interest at the two. “Do you really think they’ll care?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Lord Cumberland replied. “But we must bring it to their level. For example—”

  “If they don’t begin to care about the filthy living conditions of half this city, the typhus will not stay within the boundaries of the East End,” Mr. Russell cut in. “They’ll find it is no respecter of persons.”

  She widened her eyes at his harsh tone. “You mean to frighten them?”

  “Unfortunately, Ian is a bit extreme in his methods. I am trying to tell him that charm goes further than fear tactics.”

  She smiled mischievously at Ian. “Yes, indeed, I agree wholeheartedly.”

  “Did you know Ian dreams of opening up a children’s hospital?” Cumberland went on.

  She turned with even more interest to the surgeon. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes,” his lordship answered for his friend. “Our hospitals currently don’t admit children. Unless it’s a case of a broken bone to be set, we turn away children with illnesses.”

  “Most doctors are intimidated by children,” Ian said. “They somehow think because children’s bodies are smaller, they will be more difficult to diagnose.”

  Eleanor’s hand went to her heart as she thought of Sarah. “I didn’t realize…I thought it was because most families didn’t have the money to pay for a doctor to attend their children.”

  “That’s also the case,” Ian conceded. “Between the two, few children in the East End, and even in the more prosperous parts of London, receive any medical care.”

  “How do you propose to change that?”

  Mr. Russell spent the next several minutes explaining his idea for a hospital primarily for children, but also as a place to educate mothers. He said most of the existing books—the few there were—were full of remedies centuries’ old.

  Eleanor was amazed at the animation that took hold of his features as he warmed to his subject. His brown eyes lit up with passion for the defenseless members of society. His long fingers jabbed through his hair in frustration at the slow-moving bureaucracy of medical institutions and government agencies. His words painted eloquent and vividly graphic images.

  Suddenly, he broke off with a disconcerted look at the two of them. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to monopolize the conversation. I’m sure you are not interested in listening to me discourse at length—”

  Eleanor and Cumberland both began to speak at once, Cumberland with a laughing retort, but he immediately stopped, gesturing to Eleanor. “Let the lady speak. Is my friend boring you to distraction or not?”

  “Mr. Russell may be a lot of things, but he is never boring.” With an enigmatic look at him, she continued. “I admire his commitment to the least fortunate members of our city and I wish him all success with his endeavors.”

  With regret, she took a step back, knowing that d’Alvergny would be looking for her. He could be most persistent. “I must rejoin my party, gentlemen, but I have enjoyed the conversation immensely. It was a pleasure, Lord Cumberland.”

  “Oh, must you go when we’ve only just met?” he asked with exaggerated regret.

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again this evening.” She granted him a lavish smile and held out her hand.

  She turned to Mr. Russell and offered her hand. He took it in his and the two gazed at each other a long moment.

  What was going through his mind? she asked herself. Did she have the same effect on him that he had on her? Did his blood stir at the touch of their two hands, the way hers did?

  She let his hand go reluctantly and turned away.

  It was several moments later before she located d’Alvergny. He was talking with a heavy, florid gentleman she recognized as the very wealthy Mr. Digsby. Digsby the old wigsby, she recited to herself, because he still clung to the old fashion of wearing a powdered wig.

  D’Alvergny turned to her. “Ah, Mrs. Neville, there you are. Digsby has been regaling me with tales of your show last night. Is it true the horse was a bit restive?”

  Eleanor laughed, trying to recapture her mood of earlier in the evening, when she’d been so dazzled by the gathering. Why did it now seem dull and drawn out? “Yes, we weren’t sure for a moment whether Don Guzman’s statue would be able to get it under control, or whether the poor beast would go dashing over the orchestra and into the pit.”

  Mr. Digsby bowed over her hand. His dark little eyes lingered on her décolletage and Eleanor had the urge to slap his jowled cheek. But she knew how important it was to keep the admiration of men like Digsby. Digsby himself was a banker and a generous patron of the arts.

  As other gentlemen joined them, their conversation turned to financial matters, then to politics. Many voiced their concern over the growing riots since the end of the war. They all feared an uprising among the masses.

  Eleanor compared their conversation to Mr. Russell’s. She looked across the large ballroom. Russell and his friend were still where she had left them. Cumberland was in a lively conversation with a lady, but the surgeon remained standing stiffly, his expression severe.

  He certainly wasn’t going to catch any backers that way.

  Eleanor turned with her most persuasive smile to Digsby, and placed her hand on his arm. He looked at it, then back at her, his expression immediately warm and interested.

  “There is someone you must absolutely meet.” She turned to d’Alvergny. “Your Grace, we shall return shortly.”

  D’Alvergny bowed in her direction and continued the conversation he was in. His focus lingered on her and she gave him a smile full of promise.

  She led Digsby through the crowd of people until they came to Mr. Russell and his friend. Mr. Russell’s eyes widened to see her again. He looked from her to Digsby as she introduced them.

  “My dear sir, you must have heard of the eminent surgeon, Mr. Ian Russell. He is over at St. Thomas’s.”

  “Is that so?” The fat banker gave Ian a sharp look.

  Ian inclined his head, wondering why Mrs. Neville had brought him over.

  “Mr. Russell is doing great work in Southwark with the poor masses. If anyone succeeds in calming their anger, it is people like him.” She began to describe the day they had been caught in the middle of the riot. The banker’s eyes widened in consternation and he began to eye Ian with more interest.

  “All these people seem to want are jobs and food on the table. And you should have seen the children that day.” Her voice almost broke. “Do you realize how many are without homes? Many live in overcrowded conditions in buildings not fit for animals. They are underfed and lack the most basic necessities. I know it must tear at your heart to think of such things, but isn’t it wonderful that there are individuals willing to help th
e needy? Mr. Russell has a plan to provide medical care to many of these children. Mr. Russell—” she turned to him with an encouraging smile “—you must tell Mr. Digsby of this noble undertaking.”

  She immediately began asking him detailed questions, and Ian marveled at how skillfully she used the information he had imparted to her in their previous conversation to ask the right questions now.

  “And what happens to these children in the winter months?”

  “Many live in little better than hovels, with no heat, no supply of clean water. They huddle together for warmth. There are always outbreaks of fevers and other epidemics. Typhus, measles, dysentery—you don’t see massive outbreaks of these maladies in this part of town. We isolate the infectious, give the patient the proper care, and the illness is prevented from spreading, except perhaps to the most immediate family.”

  The banker nodded thoughtfully.

  “I can only see the problems growing and eventually spreading as more and more people come to the city. Since the end of the war, the population has grown. In and around the borough of Southwark, there is probably a gin shop on every corner, but a great number of women and children go hungry.

  “Children are left on church doorsteps and at foundling homes. Many are stiff and blue by the time they are discovered.”

  As Digsby began asking him questions, Ian warmed to his subject, seeing real interest in the man’s eyes. By the end of their conversation, the banker had invited him to address his private club in a week’s time.

  Ian watched Mrs. Neville as she and the banker walked away. Why had she done this for him? What had motivated her? His heart sank when he saw the group she returned to.

  All men.

  What was she doing among a group of middle-aged, obviously wealthy men?

  There was only one possible reason.

  He turned away from the sight, feeling a bleakness in his soul that not even his work could relieve.

  Chapter Nine

  The next night Ian went to the mission for one of its weekly street preachings. He usually assisted with handing out tracts and praying for people.