Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at Violet. “Licorice root?”
“Mixed with elecampane and plantain,” she replied. “And I include a dash of laudanum in her nighttime brew as well. It does wonders for a cough—”
“I do not wish to sleep today,” said Mama between coughs. “I have been sleeping so much.”
Dr. Vaughn nodded and poured her a cup, and before Violet could assist, he had Mama propped up and drinking. Settling her down with the skill of one well used to such actions, he said with a hint of disapproval, “I’ve found that London is vastly different than the country, but I cannot believe it is so entirely foreign that Oakham would frown upon people of any age and gender participating in a concert. I know for a fact that Mr. Lewis Finch is going to be playing the piano.”
“Is he?” asked Mama with a raise of her brows as her lungs settled once more.
“He adores playing, and he’s quite good, in fact. I know many young ladies use it as a way to parade their talents about, but surely, it would do them good to see a lady with your grace and experience perform.”
Violet paused at the door, watching the pair, though they seemed not to notice her, and she was struck by the sight, for she could hardly align this image of the man with the awkward and shy one that so often faced the world. At present, Dr. Vaughn didn’t struggle over his words—he was charming, even—and it made her smile to see them both settle into a comfortable conversation as he continued to minister to Mama.
Glancing over his shoulder when the lady wasn’t watching, Dr. Vaughn made a shooing motion, and Violet snapped from her thoughts and slipped from the room.
***
With a steady hand, Violet used a dropper to add ten minims to the mixture. The scent of the peppermint oil filled the room, blending with the spices permeating the air. The setting sun made it difficult to see properly despite the lamps lit around her, and she held up the vial to the light, swirling it about. It seemed the proper color, though she would have to check it again in the morning.
Turning back to the recipe book, she flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the lines as she sought out the next instructions. There were a good many of these that she knew by memory, but regardless, Violet checked the exact measurements of the analgesic; there was nothing dangerous in the pain powder, but the wrong combination would render it useless.
Which was when she recalled the pot simmering over the fire.
Rushing over to it, she wrapped her apron around her hand and snagged the handle, moving it to the table in a fluid motion. It smelled foul, and though Violet longed to add a few dashes of something aromatic to alleviate the stench, there was little point. Those who still ascribed to this quackery placed their faith in wretched scents and flavors.
“Good heavens,” said Dr. Vaughn with a grimace as he stepped into the room. “Are you making boil of earthworm?”
Turning her eyes to those very heavens, Violet nodded. “It takes little effort and cost to make it, and many people still swear by it.”
Dr. Vaughn huffed and gave her a half-smile. “I’ve never seen any evidence that rubbing crushed earthworms boiled in olive oil and red wine heals bruises. Then again, I have morethan a few placebos I would rather not supply. The patients demand them because they’ve used them all their lives, and it makes them feel better, so I indulge them.”
The gentleman brought over several jars that had been readied and placed them beside the pot without asking, before snatching up the funnel and settling it into the mouth of the first. Violet quickly filled each and set the empty pot back on the table. As the main ingredient was olive oil, it needn’t be cleaned immediately, though she would need to see to it before long.
“Thank you for your assistance,” she said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Having someone with Mama eased my worries.”
“I am happy to be of help, but from your tone, I fear you think I mean to leave,” he said with another of his warm smiles. “I came down to force you to have a rest and some dinner.”
“Dinner?”
Dr. Vaughn nodded. “It is a meal one takes in the evening. Though I am rather partial to pork pies, I had Peggy warm some roast beef and boiled potatoes, which she assures me is more to your liking.”
“It is.” Violet wished for something better to say, but those were the only words her lagging wits were able to supply at the moment. “You are staying?”
“Do you still require my help?” he asked with the same puzzled expression that was stamped on her face, though Dr. Vaughn’s was questioning her sanity.
“If you are willing.”
“Then I am staying.”
Violet swallowed past a sudden lump that had formed in her throat, and she nodded.
“But do you have a pencil and paper on hand?” he asked, glancing about for the objects. “If you don’t mind, might I have Peggy deliver a message for me?”
“Certainly,” she said, reaching into a nearby drawer for the articles. “I do hope nothing is amiss.”
Dr. Vaughn shook his head and began scribbling out words. “Not at all. The Finches invited me for dinner, and I must send word that I am unavailable.”
Violet straightened, her hands gripping her apron until it was thoroughly wrinkled. “You are canceling your plans for the evening?”
