It was on the tip of Anne’s tongue to insist she did not snore but she refrained. She would prefer to have a bit of privacy and a bed.
“Very well.” Dr. Marsland gestured for Anne to follow him to a dresser where a few bottles and a measure stood. He explained, “I have prescribed digitalis in syrup form to control her dropsy. Take care with it.”
“I shall.”
“Give her four spoonfuls in the morning, three spoonfuls in the afternoon, and the same again at night. Along with one spoonful of laudanum to help her sleep. Here, I’ve written it down for you.” He handed her a slip.
Sounds easy enough, Anne thought. Surely she could manage that—she hoped. “Very well.”
Then he pulled a slender volume from his coat pocket and laid it on the dresser. “And here is a new nursing guide you might find helpful in caring for the patient.”
“Oh. I am sure I shall. Thank you.”
“I am right here, you know,” Lady Celia said. “No need to talk about me as if I were not present.”
“Forgive me, my lady. That was not my intention.”
Lady Celia rose and, leaning heavily on a cane, gingerly made her way toward the bed, to a cord hung between door and bedpost.
Belatedly, Anne hurried over to assist her, but the woman waved her away. “I am not an invalid yet.” She tugged the cord. “I will send Jane for fresh sheets and towels for you.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Marsland said, “Miss Loveday, if you might walk me out? I will give you a few more instructions on the way.”
“Of course. I’ll need to gather my things from Yew Cottage, but I will return soon, Lady Celia.”
The older woman smirked. “I shall try not to die until you do.”
On their way downstairs, Dr. Marsland recommended keeping Lady Celia on a simple, plain diet, explaining thatthe cook and kitchen maid already knew what to do, and asking Anne to alert him to any significant changes in the patient’s appetite. “And as much as it is in your power, strive to remain in her good graces.”
“How do I do that?”
“Humor her whims if not harmful to her health, avoid disagreeing with her, and endeavor to keep any ... critical thoughts to yourself. At least—” here he sent her a self-effacing grin—“that is what I do.”
Anne grinned back. “And has it been effective?”
“Only moderately, I’m afraid.”
As they walked back along the corridor, he stopped and knocked on the doorframe of what was clearly the library.
Inside sat a dark-haired woman, well dressed, though not in the most fashionable of gowns.
She looked up from a book when he entered.
“Ah, good, Miss Fitzjohn. Please pardon the interruption, but I would like to introduce you to your mother’s new nurse.”
“Oh?” One dark brow rose. “I thought you told me no one else was available?”
“Miss Loveday has only recently arrived in town, a family friend of Miss Newland’s come to stay.”
Anne tentatively entered the room after him, and he turned to include her.
“Miss Fitzjohn, allow me to introduce Miss Anne Loveday. One of Thomas and Sarah Spring’s granddaughters. Her father is a surgeon-apothecary, so she has assisted in sickrooms before.”
“Ah yes, she does look vaguely familiar.” Miss Fitzjohn gave Anne a slight nod before turning back to the physician. “And you think Mamma needs someone to look after her day and night?”
“Well, Miss Loveday must sleep sometime. And I havepromised her time on Sundays to spend with Miss Newland, but yes. Your mother must have the best of care. We none of us should wish to be thought negligent.”
