“Go on, then, and meet me back here at nine. Wear that pretty blue frock of yours.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, your eyes look so blue when you wear it. I am quite sure Davey shan’t be able to look away from you.”
Sally had not been asking about the dress but did not correct her. “I did so like Davey.”
“’Course you did. Any girl would be a fool not to. Quite a looker, he is.”
“Aye ...”
“Well, then, see you back here tonight.”
“All right.”
Sally turned to go, then turned back. “Wait. Won’t you be needing some o’ this yourself?” She held the vial aloft.
“I have another in my room.” She grinned archly. “My last employer was a surgeon.”
For some reason, the face of Dr. Taylor appeared in her mind. Unsmiling, soft-spoken Dr. Taylor. He was a physician. She had often assisted him in the ward. Had he ever used the stuff? Yes, she believed he had on one or two occasions, when an infant had been inconsolable in pain or had arrived in the turn injured.
Would it be all right, even though Edmund was quite healthy?
Mrs. Taylor requested a morning alone with her daughter, and Charlotte gladly obliged, offering to go into the village to do a bit of shopping and pick up a spool of wicking Mrs. Beebe wanted from the chandler’s. Daniel said he was going in, as well, and would give her a lift in the carriage.
“Thank you, but actually, I long for a walk,” Charlotte said.
“As you like.”
But instead of harnessing the horse, Mr. Taylor caught up with Charlotte on the road, medical bag in hand. “I’ve decided to walk in as well. Exercise is good medicine, and I have taken too little of late. Do you mind?”
She shook her head, supposing it was appropriate to share a public road with her employer but still hoping neither Marie nor Mrs. Taylor was looking out a rear window.
They walked more than the proper distance apart, she with her hands behind her back and he switching his bag from hand to hand as his arm tired.
After walking in silence for several minutes, he asked, “And how do you like the coast?”
“Very well indeed.”
“Glad to hear it.” He cleared his throat. “I hope things are not too ... strained ... between you and Mrs. Taylor?”
She faltered, “Umm, no. Not really.”
“She is still not quite herself. I wish you could know her as I do, happy and loving and full of life—”
“But how improved she is!” Charlotte interrupted. “That is something to be thankful for.”
“I am. Still, I had hoped the two of you might become friends.”
“Dr. Taylor, you and she are my employers. I do not expect friendship.” Charlotte hurried to change the subject. “Are you leaving for London again this week?”
“Yes. I shall put in a few days at the Manor and visit my father.”
“Do greet him for me.”
“I shall.”
They had just crossed the wooden bridge over the river and were on the path leading into Old Shoreham when a well-dressed man approached from the opposite direction. His head was tilted down as he walked, evidently preoccupied. Blond curls shown from beneath his hat. Charlotte fell behind Dr. Taylor to make way for the other man to pass.
