An uncomfortable weight pressed on Anne’s chest, accompanied by a flicker of jealousy—something foreign to her and distinctly unpleasant.
She swallowed and asked, “What happened?” Anne dreaded the answer, fearing she knew what it was, or rather, who.
His reply surprised her.
“She grew disgusted with any talk of my training or patient symptoms. The smells of the sickroom, of the sick, and worse. It’s why I’ve taken to frequently washing my hands, my person, my clothes. And wearing a special cologne containing vanilla to combat the lingering odors. All those measures proved insufficient. Her disapproval of my profession mounted. And when I proved unwilling to forgo my chosen path, she chose to forgo a future with me. She has since married another and has a beautiful family.”
“How awful for you. I am sorry.”So not Rosa,then, Anne concluded, wondering again what their relationship was.
He shrugged. “I am happy for her ... truly. Though sometimesI can’t help but consider how much less fulfilled, yes, but also how much less lonely I would be now had I made a different decision.”
Anne forced her gaze away from his pained profile and stared into the fire until her eyes burned. And watered.
Sometime later, Anne awoke with a start. She’d not intended to fall asleep. Her gaze quickly swept the room. The patient still slept peacefully, thank God. Her physician slept as well. Anne rose and added fuel to the fire as quietly as she could.
Straightening, she walked near and stood beside him. His head was leaning against the back of the chair, long legs stretched out in front, eyes closed, fair hair falling over his brow. Without his cravat, his collar lay open, leaving his neck exposed, a shadow of whiskers darkening his jaw.
She reached over and gently smoothed the fallen lock of hair from his brow. His eyes opened and before she could retract her hand, he captured it in his. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. The new growth of beard scraped against her skin, even as the sweet kiss soothed it, sending warmth and pleasure up her arm and straight to her heart.
Be careful,Anne, she admonished herself.Remember your resolve.Though at the moment, she could not have said why.
Determined not to let another mistake happen, or to be blamed for something she didn’t do, Anne began making tiny markings on both the digitalis and laudanum bottles after each use, logging these in a small notebook. She asked Rosa to verify the readings and date and initial each line.
Lady Celia’s heart rate remained irregular throughout the next day and then returned to its previous levels. Dr. Finch and Dr. Marsland continued to call on her often andto assure Miss Fitzjohn that her mother was improving by the hour.
When Lady Celia was somewhat recovered and feeling more herself, Anne talked to her, gently probing to learn if anyone had gone into the dressing room Anne used who should not have been there, or if she had seen anyone pour something into her tea, noticed it having an odd taste, something. Anything.
Lady Celia pressed her eyes closed, trying to remember. “Now you mention it, the tea did taste odd. More bitter than usual and yet cloyingly sweet too. I remember thinking it must have been left to steep too long, so someone added extra sugar to compensate.”
“But ... you don’t take sugar in your tea,” Anne said, remembering her father saying digitalis was very bitter.
“You’re right. What’s all this about?”
Anne pressed dry lips together and admitted, “You had a bad reaction ... to what appears to have been too large a dose of digitalis. I don’t believe I measured incorrectly or somehow doubled a dose, so I’m trying to figure out how it happened.”
Anne wondered again if the tea had somehow been tampered with, and if so, by whom, for a pattern was clearly emerging. First the broth, then the bees, and now this.
“Hmm.” Lady Celia pursed her lips in thought, then asked, “What do the doctors say?”
“They have both been extremely kind about it. Concerned about you, of course, as your family has been. While some assume I ... must have made a mistake.”
“Not you, Anne. I trust you.”
Relief and uncertainty wrestled within her. Anne hoped Lady Celia’s trust in her was not misplaced.
Anne reminded herself that she was not scatterbrained or forgetful. She was competent and skilled. And she would doeverything in her power to make sure no further harm befell another patient in her care.
The next day, Anne went downstairs to retrieve a tray of tea and toast for Lady Celia’s breakfast. Kezia shyly approached her, wanting to thank Anne for her kind ministrations to her father, Joe Webb.
When Anne returned to Lady Celia’s room a short while later, she was surprised to see the goose feather on the floor outside the door, meaning someone had ignored the signal and gone in anyway.
She paused, hearing voices within.
“Consider it a loan,” Mr. Dalby was saying. “I am one of your beneficiaries after all, but I need the money now.”
“I don’t owe you a farthing. I can write you out of my will at any time, just as easily as I wrote you in.”
“I would not advise it.”
