The most difficult fees to collect were those owed by the wealthy. They clutched every last penny in their fists, refusing to pay the Templetons their due until several reminders were sent, and then it was only farthings at a time. In truth, if everyone paid in a timely fashion, the family wouldn’t be hovering on the brink. For goodness’ sake, Violet wagered that if everyone in Oakham paid what they owed, it would far outweigh anything Isaac had done!
But pride goeth before a fall. No amount of justification would wipe away her brother’s sins, and there was little good to be had in stirring up trouble.
Ignoring the pair, Violet moved to the side table where several prescriptions awaited delivery and found the one intended for Mrs. Durrant. She paused and looked at the others all lined up—each for Dr. Vaughn’s patients—and when she turned, the cachet molds sat there, mocking her.
Mr. Wrigley was yet another defector. No matter how much more he was willing to pay for his luxury medicines, it didn’t make up for the loss of such a prime patient. Not only did he honor his bills (and in a timely fashion), but the gentleman was a veritable mess of ailments that plagued those with more money than good sense and lived indolent lifestyles bound to disturb the digestive system and flare the gout.
Violet rubbed her forehead and focused on the task at hand. Returning to the door, she handed over the tincture vial and a slip of paper with the dosage instructions. Holding firm to her self-control, she refused to be goaded by their behavior and demand payment; to do so would only embarrass the family further. It was gauche enough that they must deal with money, but the proper order was to send a bill—not demand coins in hand—and then pray the Durrants deigned to pay it.
With another smug lift of their chins, the pair swanned away, confident in their social and moral rectitude.
Shutting the door, Violet leaned against it, her eyes cast heavenward as though that might supply the answers to their troubles. The family had savings enough to weather temporary turmoil, but she felt it in her bones that this was more than a spring storm, destined to cause a little vexation before clearing to a beautiful summer.
What had she been thinking being so chatty with Dr. Vaughn? Whether or not he was a kind soul, his being here was causing her family’s finances to crumble around them. Violet may long to spend more afternoons by his side, enjoying the beauty of her home and his delightful company, but that was nothing more than Icarus yearning to fly closer to the sun.
It was one thing to treat him civilly, but to speak to him as though they were on friendly terms had been a mistake. Witheach illness, more and more villagers chose Dr. Vaughn over Isaac, leading to fewer prescriptions, as the new doctor was proving far more cautious in his diagnoses. Meanwhile, Violet was treating the fellow as though he were a friend. A confidant.
No matter how much Dr. Vaughn claimed he didn’t wish to cause harm, he was doing so every day he remained at Oakham. And clearly, the suppositions she’d dropped in Mrs. Lark and Mrs. Wolverton’s ears had made no impression, for the village was entirely enamored with the fellow.
What was she to do? Violet didn’t have the answers, though she knew spending an afternoon gabbing with the gentleman didn’t help. No matter how enticing a prospect it was.
Returning to her work, she began weighing out the various powders. Though not the recipe she would’ve chosen, it would do well enough for Mr. Wrigley’s intestinal troubles, as little would truly improve until the gentleman altered his diet. Carefully, she placed a rice paper circle into each of the indents in the cachet mold and measured out the dosage into the center—and stared at the mixture.
Ingredients required careful dosages. Simply increase the powdered rhubarb, and it had the opposite effect. In fact, everything Dr. Vaughn had prescribed could easily compound Mr. Wrigley’s ailments if measured improperly. A little shift. That was all it would take.
No one would know she hadn’t followed Dr. Vaughn’s instructions; even if anyone suspected foul play, it was impossible to prove. All Mr. Wrigley would see was a physician whose treatment failed to provide relief. How quickly would they all turn back to Isaac Templeton then? He may be unreliable in some respects, but his prescriptions worked.
No harm would be done. Just a touch of temporary discomfort.
Violet’s pulse stuttered and realization flooded into her, causing her heart to thunder. Her stomach dropped to her toes, her face flushing as she jerked away from the table. Good gracious! Had she truly considered poisoning someone? Whetheror not it would be a minor inconvenience to Mr. Wrigley, how could she contemplate doing something so vile?
Shuddering, she threw herself into the work, filling the rice paper with the proper powder and lining the opposite side of the hinged molds with the cachet tops. Carefully wetting the edges of the circles, she snapped the lid shut, which pressed the tops and bottoms together as the seal dried, cementing them into one disc-like capsule.
Violet’s heart refused to settle as she turned her attention to the alembic and found the glass fogged over as the mixture inside simmered. The vapor drifted upward, where the condensation gathered and traveled down the long neck of the tube before depositing it in the receptacle. Then, reaching for the cachets, she popped out the finished circles that held individual doses of the powder, ready for consumption.
Bouncing between the two, she watched the distillation whilst preparing Mr. Wrigley’s medication, and all the while her mind churned over what she’d nearly done, what was happening to her family, and what was to come. Her limbs felt like lead as she moved through the motions, and when a knock sounded at the side door once more, Violet nearly dropped the bowl of powders on the floor.
And the shock took hold of her tongue when she opened the door to find Dr. Vaughn standing there.
Chapter 20
“Good afternoon, Miss Templeton,” said Dr. Vaughn with a nod of the head and a smile that, despite glowing with pleasure, wasn’t warm enough to stave off the chill in Violet’s bones, and the impulse to slam the door in his face seized hold of her. Could he see the guilt eating at her?
“Good afternoon,” she murmured in return, her gaze darting away from him.
He drew his arm around and presented her with three large hydrangea blossoms, their colors a mixture of pinks, purples, and blues. They were a bright pop of color, drawing Violet’s gaze along the arm and up to Dr. Vaughn’s eyes that crinkled as he offered them up.
“Another of our neighbors has a plethora of blossoms, and I saw fit to abscond with a few of them,” he said. “I thought you might enjoy them, as you do not have any of your own.”
“That is very kind of you,” she said in a quiet voice.
“They are a bribe.”
Violet’s brows rose at that, and she couldn’t help the faint smile that twitched at the corner of her lips at his pronouncement. “Is that so?”
Dr. Vaughn nodded. “I was hoping I might steal away a bit of your time in which you can teach me how to make that incredible salve of yours.”
That compliment ought to have lightened her spirits, but it only made her heart sink further. Why must he be so kind and generous? It would be so much easier to despise the gentleman if he had even the slightest ounce of arrogance or cruelty. But no, he swept into her life with all the affection of a brother.
