Roland’s eyes widened a smidgen. “Oh, yes! With the little weighted animals in the window? Ducklings and so on?”
“That’s the one!” Dr. Casper said, grinning. “Anyway, the Ashanti bit on the sign sort of served as a beacon to the rioters, saying, ‘Here are successful people who aren’t exactly like you.’ So they became a target. That’s how we met, my wife and I.”
Roland held up a hand. “That’s how you met?” he repeated. “Were you rioting?”
“No, you fool boy, I was doctoring. Pay attention!” Dr. Casper snapped, frowning. “By then, I had joined forces with Rabbi Hirsch and a few of the other old-timers you see about here from time to time. We were trying to barricade and damage-proof the buildings and get people into homes with basements through the nights. But my Violet had decided that she’d rather throw rocks at the rioters, and she made the same mistake you did. She had very good aim.”
He turned then and pulled the flap of his ear forward, demonstrating a big, puffy scar behind it with pride.
“She got me at twenty paces!” he said. “But she knew the rabbi and believed him when he told her I was on the side of help, otherwise she might’ve crossed the street and finished the job with a second rock. I came to with blurry vision to her angelic face, and the rest was history.”
He sighed, releasing his ear and leaning back fondly. “They wouldn’t take me back at Guy’s after that.”
“After you offered aid to victims of a riot?” Roland repeated.
“Just so,” said Dr. Casper. “If I’d been shaking a pitchfork at those bloody Catholics, I’d have been welcomed back without issue. But I went and resisted, and that can’t be tolerated.”
He paused, stifling a yawn as though this were just another story from an old man’s youth, and shook his head, blowing air through his lips.
“I suppose they might’ve dismissed me when I married Violet, anyhow, though they’d never have admitted that was why,” he continued. “So, it was well enough that we got it over with, and I did fine practicing privately and making home calls for most of my life, until my damned knuckles mutinied.”
“The Gordon Riots,” Roland realized, taking a small step forward. “Is that what you’re talking about?”
Dr. Casper peered at him, his eyes canny despite their age. “Yes, that one was named for George bloody Gordon. May he rot. Let’s hope our own tangle doesn’t progress to a named historical event, hm? For all our sake.”
“Agreed,” said Roland, glancing once more out the window before looking back at the doctor. “May I borrow that?” he said ofThe Lancet.“I think I ought to read it a bit more carefully.”
“There’s a good lad,” said the doctor, handing it over. “Now stand in front of me while you do that so I can have a cheeky nap, hm?”
CHAPTER 15
Mae’s first two priorities after arriving at the picnic were to thank Matthew Everly for still being willing to host the thing, with all the trouble about, and to try Rosalind Everly’s lemon curd pie, in that order.
Mercifully, she’d been able to do both at the same time, and could report back to Rosalind that her pie was perfectly delightful, even though Mae privately believed lemons should be confined to savory dishes as a matter of rule.
Matthew, as ever, refused to accept any particular accolade or thanks for his service and practically shooed her away, hugging his own slice of pie to his chest as though it were the most precious thing on this year’s shared table, which, by Mae’s estimation, was a sign that her gratitude had been heard and received, even if it was also summarily dismissed.
She’d done what she could.
The Holy Comfort churchyard had, at its center, a large fig tree with benches beneath it. That was where her friends had gathered, sitting in a circle on the grass with several babiesbetween them, chattering away as the sun climbed to its zenith in the sky.
Mae found a spot on the blanket next to Vix and eased to her knees, smiling at the way little Annabelle Beck, a little over six months old now, reached for her as she did so. Vix’s own son, named Ambrose after her husband, did not acknowledge Mae at all.
She found that equally charming, truth be told.
“Here,” said Vix, turning and flinging a wrapped paper box from the ether into Mae’s lap with all the decorum of emptying a chamberpot. “A gift.”
“A gift?” Mae repeated, picking up the box and giving it a little shake. “What is it?”
Vix gave her a smirk. “A vote of confidence. I suggest you do not open it in mixed company unless you want to scandalize them.”
“Oh?” said Hannah. “Now I want to know what it is.”
“And me,” said Rosalind, pouting. “I like being scandalized too.”
Everyone looked at her with skepticism, including her sister-in-law, who also had a baby on her lap to Rosalind’s left.
“What!” she exclaimed. “I do! I’m a woman wed now! Oh, here comes my brother.”
