Bess snorted. “Sounds like most men I know. Gone all hours. Comin’ and goin’ as they please.”
“I still say he hasn’t a wife. Looks barely groomed half the time. Needs a wife to dress him I’d say.” Mae grinned.
“Don’t be foolish, ladies,” Gibbs interrupted, stopping at their table. “I have seen Mrs. Taylor with my own eyes I have. More than once.”
“Have you, Miss Gibbs?” Charlotte asked.
“Indeed I have. Dr. Taylor once brought her around to see the place. Right fine lady, by the looks of her. Very handsome, with the finest feathered hat I’ve ever seen. Hair dark as night and eyes twinklin’ like stars. Glowed she did. Like she was eating up every word her husband said. Never seen two people so in love.”
“Goodness, Miss Gibbs, I’ve never heard you string together so many words at one time,” Charlotte said with an appreciative smile.
The woman frowned and bit her lip. “Well, I could not stand here and not put you to rights. Not about good Dr. Taylor’s wife.”
“How long ago was this,” Charlotte asked, “since you saw Mrs. Taylor?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Few months now ... maybe half a year.”
In common milkweed, white juice, which oozes out of
the stems and leaves when broken ... clots,
like blood, soon after exposure to air.
—JACKSANDERS,THESECRETS OFWILDFLOWERS
CHAPTER10
After two weeks of caring for the little foundling boy, Charlotte sat on the bench in the manor garden at dusk, tears streaming down her face.
She became aware of Dr. Taylor standing near. When she glanced up at him, his expression grew alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Dr. Taylor! If only you had been here earlier. Dr. Preston said there was nothing he could do, but had you been here, I know you would have at least tried... .”
“Slow down, please. What has happened?”
“The little boy—he’s gone.”
“The one you’d taken to feeding?”
Charlotte nodded, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“I’m sorry.” He sighed in frustration. “I’m afraid it happens more often than I can stand ... or explain.”
“Dr. Preston said, ‘Get used to it. I have.’”
“Unfortunately it’s a natural response. One must harden oneself or work elsewhere.”
“I should never get used to it.”
He nodded. After a moment he stepped closer and murmured, “Come, Charlotte.” He offered his hand. Her brain mildly noted his use of her Christian name, but at that moment she was beyond caring.
She allowed him to help her to her feet. Her time was drawing near and she would have found it difficult to get to her feet unassisted, even had she not been in so distressed a state.
“Come,” he repeated. “I shall help you to your room.”
He held her by her arm and guided her inside and down the passage.
