She looked at Lady Celia. “That is, if you don’t mind, my lady?”
“Go on.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Flit in and out as you please. Never said I needed a dedicated nurse.”
The tart tone stung, but recalling the panic on Dr. Finch’s face, Anne forced a smile, thanked her, and took her leave, diverting briefly to the dressing room to retrieve her case.
She descended quickly to Dr. Finch’s evident relief, and together they hurried out of the house. Anne nearly had to jog to keep up with his longer strides.
As they hurried down Tibbiwell Lane—the two of them rushing along together, medicine case in hand—people turned to stare.
In a quiet aside, she said, “May I suggest an alternate route?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s stop here first.” She gestured to her grandparents’ former home.
“I don’t ... Why would we?”
“A slight detour. We will arrive quicker this way than going all the way around.”
Anne knocked, and a moment later, kindly Mrs. Baylis answered the door.
“Miss Loveday, a pleasure to see you again. And Dr. Finch, I believe? I’ve only seen you from a distance. Excellent constitution. Never sick a day in my life.”
“Then perhaps today’s the day.” Anne said in a rush, “Would you mind terribly if we took a shortcut through your back garden? There’s something of an emergency at Valley View Lodge.”
Comprehension dawned.
Mrs. Baylis looked past them to the street, where a neighbor and the passing postmistress were watching.
“Of course.” Mrs. Baylis opened the door to them. Then with another glance at the curious onlookers, she gave two loud coughs and closed the door.
Anne squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Baylis led them to the back of the house. Dr. Finch looked out through the rear windows, eyes widening. “I did not realize anyone had such a good view....”
“Never mind. Best hurry. Heard that poor lamb crying from here.”
“Thank you again.”
The two hurried out and across the garden, reaching Dr. Finch’s back door within moments. He sent Anne a sidelong glance. “I will explain everything later, but let’s see to the child first.”
She nodded her agreement.
Inside the house, they found a woman in an apron bouncing a sobbing baby to no avail. His housekeeper, she assumed.
“I returned as soon as I could,” he said. “This is Miss Loveday, nurse to Lady Celia, come to help. Miss Stark was not available.”
“Good idea. It’s time we had reinforcements. Can’t get him to stop crying.”
“Thank you for trying, Mrs. Tufley.”
He took the child from her and carried him to another room, saying, “When Mrs. Tufley’s daughter came down with a cold, I resigned myself to Robbie contracting thesame. But all this crying? I fear it is something worse—a fever. He’s very warm.”
“And no wonder he’s warm, upset as he is.” Anne regarded the child crying inconsolably, nose running, hand to his head.
“Might he have an earache?” she suggested. “One of my half sisters often suffers from them when she has a cold or other respiratory complaint.”
“He certainly seems to be in pain. Many physicians prescribe a mercurial application like quicksilver with sulfur, and purging or blisters on the nape of the neck, but I hate to subject him to those measures when he is already miserable.”
