“Our?” Mrs. Monty repeated. “Wot you mean our?”
James glanced at Grace, who had a clear, impassive face.
“Miss Sharpe is studying to become a doctor and she is quite good with fevers. I’d let her see your bairn if you want Mr. Monty to get any sleep tonight.”
Although visibly hesitating, Mrs. Monty handed over the baby, who wailed even harder having been placed in a stranger’s arms. To her credit, however, Grace appeared unfazed as she laid the child down on the only small mattress in the corner of the room. The little boy stood up from the floor and reached out his hand to her.
“What do you have there?” she asked gently as he dropped a small, cone shaped piece of wood with a rusty nail in it.
“It’s a spinner.”
“Is it?” she said, inspecting the roughly made top toy. She held it up so that James could see. “Impressive little toymaker, isn’t he?”
“I didn’t make it,” the boy said.
“Charlie, stop it. Let the woman work,” Mrs. Monty scolded as the boy went back to his makeshift treasures.
“Are there any rashes? Has their diet changed?” Grace asked matter-of-factly as she lifted the nightgown.
“That one has little red spots on his back,” the mother said, tension in her voice. “But the other one doesn’t.”
James and Grace immediately looked at one another. Blisters and a fever could be one of two things. Either it was varicella, a relatively harmless illness, or smallpox, a deadly sickness that could wipe out hundreds of people if allowed to spread.
“His back, you say?” James said, noting that one of the only few deciding factors was that smallpox showed up on the palms and soles of the patients. James bent over Grace who had the child on his stomach, pointing to a small cluster of spots. “Are there any on their hands and feet?”
“No,” the mother said.
“Have there been other spots before these?” Grace asked.
“Yes, some on the legs, but they’ve disappeared a bit now.”
Grace turned to James.
“It’s likely varicella then. Smallpox lesions usually show up all altogether.”
“Smallpox?” the mother repeated in a frantic hush. She reached for her baby, snatching her away from Grace. “My babies don’t have smallpox.”
“I know, I was just explaining—”
“You’ll have us kicked out onto the street if you say that too loud.” She glared at James. “Are you trying to get us booted from here, doctor?”
James lifted his hands, in an attempt to calm her down.
“It was a mistake, obviously, but the good news is the babies will likely just need rest for the next few days. I’ll come back before next week to check on them, if you’d like.”
The woman hesitated, her eyes on Grace.
“Alone, I should hope?”
He sighed.
“If you wish.”
“Yes, please,” she said pointedly.
James was quick to give her a tincture of chamomile.
“This is for the itching. Just dab a little on a clean cloth and wipe down the lesion.”
