With a heavy sigh, Arthur sat back on his heels. “We needn’t move him until the laudanum takes effect, which should be within the next few minutes.”
Rubbing his forehead with his bicep once more, Arthur rose to his feet and held out his hand to Miss Templeton. The lady stared at it for a long moment—which was when he realized howbloody it was. Yet before he could retract the hand, she took hold of it, and he helped the lady to her feet.
And her eyes were level with his.
The flurry of activity hadn’t allowed Arthur’s thoughts to register much about the lady, even if her larger size ought to have been obvious when she’d managed Mr. Evans’ legs without being batted away. Despite his being tall for a man, Miss Templeton matched him, and though she was by no means plump, the lady was broad-shouldered. This was no delicate creature who might be tossed about by the winter winds. No, she was perfectly proportioned and as different from the likes of Miss Bacon as a majestic oak was to a delicate weeping willow.
The lady’s dark tresses were pulled up in a simple style, but the natural curl gave it a texture that kept it from looking plain and bestowed a softness to Miss Templeton’s features that no amount of curling papers or irons could manage. A few locks had fallen free of her hairpins, brushing softly against her cheek—
“Allow me, Dr. Vaughn,” she said, lifting the edges of her skirts to wipe his hands and jerking him from his perusal.
But Arthur pulled away. “Stains on a surgeon’s clothes are a mark of pride. After all, the more stains, the better the surgeon. Or so they say. There’s no need to ruin your dress as well.”
Miss Templeton’s lips pulled into a wry smile as she motioned downward. Though his clothes had been mostly spared, her skirts were beyond salvaging. Dirt and blood caked the pale muslin, and Arthur had spent enough time attempting to clean such things from his clothes to know the gown was a lost cause. To say nothing of the ragged bits of petticoats that peeked out from below the hem.
Before he could mount another argument, Miss Templeton poured a ladle of water over his hands and scrubbed at the skin with her skirt. And Arthur could do nothing but submit to the ministrations.
Chapter 3
“Will his leg mend?” asked Johnny as his father finally drifted into unconsciousness.
As Miss Templeton continued to clean his hands, Arthur studied the man on the ground. “I’ve done my best to clean the wound, but I cannot promise anything other than I’ve given him his best chance.”
With her job done, Miss Templeton turned away, drawing Arthur’s attention as she cast her gaze about. Spying an overturned basket on the side of the road, she knelt beside it and pulled out a reticule before scooping the rest into the container. Arthur didn’t know what she was about, but he couldn’t help watching whilst trying to answer young Mr. Evans’ questions.
“The bandages will need to be changed every three days or whenever they are sullied. I suggest having another set of bandages on hand so you can rotate washing them whilst always keeping the wound covered,” said Arthur as he unrolled his sleeves. “Pay close attention to the coloring of the skin when you do so. If it is swollen and red, you ought to have it examined again. Keep your home free of any foul odors and do not leave the wound uncovered, as he is in a fragile state and exposure to any miasmas would be dangerous. Keep a wary eye for fever…”
Returning to Arthur’s side, Miss Templeton pulled out a small brass notebook and pencil, scribbling notes as he detailed the steps for recovery, including a few herbs that might be of use. Cupping would be quite useful in this situation, but he didn’t know if the Evans had the funds for such a procedure—but surely, they could purchase or forage a few plants for a tisane.
“Here, Johnny,” she said, pulling the paper free. “I’ve written it all down, so you needn’t remember it on your own.”
“My thanks, Miss Templeton—”
“And I have a lotion that might help as well,” she added, pulling a pot from her reticule. “It’s taken some experimentation, but I’ve found that this mixture does wonders for wounds. When you change the bandages, rub it carefully onto the stitches. It may sting a bit, but it will help to stave off infection.”
Arthur’s brows rose at that. “What is in it?”
Miss Templeton’s dark eyes turned to him. “The base is beeswax with several astringents mixed in—dried meadowsweet, marshmallow plant, and a pinch of zinc sulfate.”
Before Arthur could comment on that (though he wasn’t certain if his first question would be concerning that intriguing combination, that she’d fashioned it herself, or that the prepared lady carried around a pot of it in her reticule), the crowd set to work moving the wreckage away and directing the cart to transport Mr. Evans home.
Again, Miss Templeton waded into the thick of things, helping guide and organize the helpers with ease. Several men sent him questioning looks as though expecting him to step forward, but Arthur drifted into the background, pleased to let the capable lady take control.
With his work done, his limbs felt weak and shaky, giving witness to just how anxious he’d been about his patient. Having performed numerous surgeries in his career, Arthur would’ve thought that such nerves would no longer plague him, but each time he took hold of his scalpel, the chances of success were far too questionable to ever be at ease.
Arthur had told Miss Templeton the truth—he’d studied amongst the best doctors in London, and he knew too well how uncertain the fellow’s future was. Surviving the procedure was naught but the first hurdle to overcome. The number of patients that succumbed to infection during recovery was so high that Mr. Evans had only an even chance that he would heal. Now, it was up to time and his family’s ministrations to see him through the rest.
Seeing them lifting Mr. Evans, Arthur hurried back into the fray and helped to guide the patient into a bed of straw Miss Templeton had requested for him.
“My deepest thanks, Dr. Vaughn,” said Johnny, the first in a string of people all eager to shake his hand and offer their congratulations.
“I am glad to be of service,” he replied, his gaze drifting to his makeshift operating theater. Miss Templeton scooped her ruined cloak from the ground and draped it over her arm as she readied her basket. The others paid her little mind, though Arthur couldn’t help his eyes as they turned to her again and again.
Finally, the wagon moved on its way, taking Mr. Evans home to recover as the others drifted away, eager to be off now that the afternoon’s entertainment was over. Yet Arthur found himself standing in place, watching Miss Templeton.
He ought to say something to her. Needed to. Longed to, in all actuality. There were so many words in the English language, and any number of them would do for just such a conversation. Yet Arthur was stuck in place, staring at her like a simpleton.
“I am grateful you did not exaggerate your skills, Dr. Vaughn,” she said, glancing in his direction. “You do fine work.”
