“I’d be obliged, miss. At the Court, are ya? My eldest works in the scullery there.”
“Kezia? Ah yes. She’s a good girl.”
“Thank ya, miss. I quite agree.”
Anne swallowed. She had not sewn stitches in some time. And even then her father had been there to guide her. “I coulddo it. Or I’d be happy to advise you, Doctor, if you prefer to do it yourself.”
“I’d appreciate your assistance.”
“Don’t blame ya,” Joe said, voice growing languid now the laudanum was taking effect. “Females are more experienced with needles, ain’t they? Go on, miss. Let’s get it over and done.”
After cleansing the wounds, Dr. Finch provided needle and suture thread from his bag—both looked perfectly new.
Anne told herself to concentrate, to remember her father’s instructions. Then, taking a calming breath, she began.
It was an excruciating half an hour—for her and especially for Joe, who grimaced each time the needle pierced his skin at the points Dr. Finch directed, despite the pain medicine.
Finally, it was done.
Dr. Finch bandaged the wounds and fashioned a sling for the man while Anne stowed the remaining thread.
Mr. Palling returned as the doctor gave the man parting instructions. “You’ll need to rest that arm, Joe. Let the wounds heal.”
Mr. Palling nodded. “Go home, Joe, and take care of yourself. I’ll not give your place to another.”
“Thank ya, Mr. Palling.”
Apparently Mr. Palling was a more kindhearted mill owner than some Anne had heard about, and she was grateful for Joe’s sake and for his family.
Anne and Dr. Finch walked Joe to his humble cottage—perhaps two rooms up and two down—in Vicarage Street. There, a concerned missus rushed out, face elongated in distress at seeing her husband with his arm bandaged and in a sling.
“He’ll be all right, Mrs. Webb. He’s been fortunate.”
Dr. Finch gave the woman some instructions on wound care and said he would return to remove the sutures in due course.
“I can work tomorrow, though, right?” Joe asked.
“Joe, no. Rest that arm. You heard Mr. Palling. Your place will be waiting for you.”
“I hope so. Well. Send me the bill, Doc.”
“Mr. Palling shall cover it, I imagine.”
“I’d rather pay it myself, if I can. Don’t want him to think the better of keepin’ me on.”
“I’ll talk it over with him. Don’t worry about that now, Joe. Just rest, and be grateful it was not worse.”
“I will. And I am grateful. Thank ya both.”
They bid the couple farewell, and seeing several pairs of young eyes at the small window, Anne waved to the watching children.
Then she and Dr. Finch turned and walked away.
As they went, he said, “It truly could have been worse. Far worse. Lost fingers, arms, lives ... Perhaps not so much here, but in steam-powered mills in the north ... Well, I confess to you I feared the worst.”
“So did I.”
“And yet, you accompanied me. Thank you for doing so. And for setting the stitches. I owe you for that.”
