She shook her head. “We’ll worry ’bout it now,” she said and her head went up. He saw the pride in her face then, and it gave him heart. She was a game little girl. If he was so smart, he needed to think of something, and fast, because Flora was smart too. He could buy a little time, though, and kill two birds with that single proverbial stone.
“I do need to be paid, Flora, but right now, I need to take care of your kitten, and time’s a-wasting,” he said, reaching for a sheet of paper. “I’m going to send you across the street with a note for Miss Grant. Do you know who she is?”
Flora nodded. “The kind lady.”
Douglas felt his eyes tear up. Gadfreys but he was an easy mark. “The very one. Pay close attention: Your kitten needs some food, and soon. Sometimes that’s as important as surgery.” He started writing. “Take this to Miss Grant. She’ll know exactly what to do.”
“Because she takes care of wee kittens too?” Flora asked.
“Most certainly,” he said, perjuring himself without a qualm. “Now you do exactly what she tells you.” He reached in a dish on the counter next to his surgery table and took out two coins. “Two pence should do the job.”
“But I told thee I …”
“I’ll add it to your bill of receipt, Flora,” he told her and broke out the firm voice he hadn’t used since his Royal Navy days. “You have to do exactly what Miss Grant wants. Your kitten is depending on you.” And Scotland expects you to do your duty, he nearly added, knowing the late Lord Nelson would approve.
He finished the lengthy note, hoping at first that Olive could read his chicken scratch, and then confident she would know what to do, even if she couldn’t read the note. He wrapped the paper around the coins.
Eyes full of determination now, Flora took the money and hurried out the door, closing it quietly behind her, as her gran had probably taught her. He turned back to his other patient. “All right now. Better we do this while your mistress is across the street.”
He picked out his smallest capital knife and threaded a needle with catgut.Excuse that, he thought and chuckled. He put on his surgeon’s apron and stuck the threaded needle into a handy spot easily within reach. The kitten objected to the alcohol swab, but was too weak and hungry to struggle.
Douglas lit his lamp and pulled it close, then moved aside the box Flora had stood on. “I have got to stow away some boxes,” he told the cat. “Mrs. Fillion—you’d like her—sent me my trunk and other things I forgot I had.” He looked down at the box labeled “Shells” and wondered why he had collected so many from foreign beaches. He toed the box under the table.
Some pledgets of cotton completed his preparations. He poised the bistoury over the wounded paw, then moved it higher, seeking the joint. “All right now. If youscratch me, I’ll …” He chuckled again. “I’ll be scratched. Better than the time that powder monkey bit me. Here I am talking to cats. Take a deep breath and think of something pleasant like mice.”
Chapter 16
Flora, what a welcome surprise!” Olive Grant said as she opened the door. All she knew about the MacLeods came from Maeve, who was cutting up onions right now.
“You’ll never see them in here,” Maeve had told her. “They’re MacLeods from Skye and even prouder by half than the Sutherlanders.”
And yet here stood the smallest MacLeod, orphaned because her da had been one of the Highland soldiers who fought at New Orleans in America. Her mam had died of abuse that none of the others would talk about, as they were cleared out of their homes in the Highlands.
She had a sweet face and those round eyes that usually don’t linger long after infancy, except in the lucky few who keep them forever. Olive could not overlook the worry and the tight-lipped mouth that suggested Flora MacLeod was only just keeping a lid on her feelings.
Flora held out the folded note. “Two pence from the good doctor across the street and down a bit,” Olive said. “Let me take your shawl, my dear. Sit here, and I will see if Maeve has a biscuit.”
Flora should her head. “Gran said I was not to ask for anything.”
“You didn’t, did you? Here you are.”
The biscuit went down in a hurry, which told Olive worlds about the child before her and helped explain the portions of Douglas’s note that she couldn’t quite decipher. She read it again and understood just what kind of a sly man had taken up temporary residence in Edgar. She pocketed the note and gestured to the kitchen.
“Mr. Bowden attached the utmost importance to what we do, and it must be done right.” Olive poured a combined cup of water and milk into a saucepan and set it on the Rumford, luckily still fired up from breakfast. “We’ll let that boil.” She held out the note to Flora. “It says here that the oats must be of the right size and consistency or your kitten will not eat.”
“Her name is Pudding.” She sighed, forgetting herself. “Mostly because I wish had some.”
I wish you did too, Olive thought, and she turned away because there must have been a little soot from the Rumford lodged in her eye.
“There now. I will add some oats and stir.” Olive stirred, then requested that Flora pull over a stool and be ready to help.
Her eyes serious, Flora was soon stirring the oats round and round, and dabbing at the saliva at the corner of her mouth. Olive looked away again.
“There now. I believe we have it.” Olive took the pan from the cook top and uttered an exclamation. “Oh, dash it all! I wasn’t paying attention, Flora. Mr. Bowden most distinctly asked for fine-ground oats, and look what I have done.”
Flora looked and drew in a deep breath of the fragrant oats, her eyes closed in pleasure.
God forgive me when I complain that my lot in life is noteasy, Olive thought as she watched the little girl.I am not an orphan from the Highlands.
