“How did you know?”
“Miss Ingram,” Davina said gently, “if you insist on keeping black cats named Lucifer and Mischief, you can hardly blame the unenlightened for thinking you are a witch.”
“What else can you name a black cat? George?”
“George would be a splendid name.”
From her expression, Miss Ingram thought the name not satisfactory at all. But her consternation melted and her eyes turned dreamy. “I was reading about Scotland today. I should like to go there next summer.”
“We are in Scotland now,” he said.You live in Scotland.
“Oh. I thought we were in Brighton. I could have sworn I smelled the sea.” She looked down at her meal, of which she had partaken a decent amount. “I think I will retire now and read a while before sleeping.”
She stood to go. He did too.
So did Davina, who had not finished her own dinner. “I should see her to her chamber.”
He gestured for the servant waiting silently near the door. “Please see that Miss Ingram is escorted to her chamber, so Miss MacCallum can continue her meal.”
The young man shadowed Miss Ingram from the small dining room. Davina watched them leave, hesitated, then sat again. “A witch, no less. It is good she lives in the city. Out here that rumor could still take a bad turn.”
Alone, finally. How ignoble for that to be his first thought. “It was disconcerting that she did not remember where she is, or where she lives.”
“As we age, memories move around. The oldest ones seem to gain more prominence. She will probably need to be watched closely soon, however. I am relieved that Sir Cornelius told you he is aware of her condition.” She lifted her fork, poised to continue her meal, then paused. “That is the hardest part about being alone, I think. When we age, we need care again, and without family who will give it?”
“Is that why you want to turn my property into a hospital? To give that care?”
Her response was to eat. His question had vexed her, from the evidence of her severe expression.
“I think of it as my property, of course,” she paused to say. “I have no illusions I can staff a hospital such as one finds in the cities these days. However, a dispensary would be useful there. Perhaps an infirmary with a few beds. It would be a place where the poor and sick could come to have someone with medical knowledge tend to them.”
“Would you be that person?”If you win our little battle, would you live out your life there?He did not care for the images that conjured, of this vibrant woman devoting herself to nothing other than the care of others. She should be enjoying life and being young. She should be loving and being loved, not only as a caretaker.
“I would find a true physician to live there, of course.” Her voice had grown testy. “The income from the land would pay him.”
“Did you think I mocked you with the question?”
“We both know my limitations regarding giving medical advice.”
“Sir Cornelius does not. He told me that three hundred years ago, physicians were trained in apprenticeships, much as you served with your father. In his opinion, the medical schools today often are inferior. What is such a school but an apprenticeship, after all, but perhaps a less intensive one?”
Her hard expression melted. “It is, of course, useful to have more than one teacher, so they are superior in that way. However, I approve of the new view that all physicians should spend time in a hospital while training, and not only take notes at lectures. Seeing maladies is far different from hearing about them.”
“Were you never allowed to listen to any of those lectures?”
A smile broke. “One day my father had me dress as a man and snuck me in. A young man sitting beside me in the theater kept falling asleep instead of taking advantage of this wonderful opportunity. I confess, my foot jabbed his leg each time he did.”
“I find it difficult to believe no one was aware of the ruse. You could never pass for a man.”
“Well, I bound my—um—I bound myself and wore a coat. My hair was the hardest part. I kept a low-crowned hat on the whole time and let others think me rude. This was before . . .” She absently fingered the ends of her hair.
“I have grown fond of your hair, Davina. It becomes you.”
Acknowledgment passed in her eyes that he had addressed her with familiarity. He waited for her correction.
“You are just being kind.”
“Not at all. Although I confess, I have pictured it longer, like a waterfall of spun moonlight.” Where the hell had that poetic nonsense come from? It blurted out, breaching his reserve in one big jump over common sense.
