Drawing in a sharp breath, she let it out in a long sigh, her strength ebbing as she stared at him. “I do not understand, Isaac. Under Papa’s guidance, you fared well enough, but with each passing year, you are growing lazier and lazier. We rely on you, and we need you to provide, but Dr. Vaughn has already over the majority of the village—”
Mama’s voice cut through her tirade, drawing Violet up short as the lady called to her daughter. Giving her brother a narrowed look, Violet swept from the room. Holding fast to the little control she had left, she stepped into the parlor and smiled at her mother.
“I was just working on Dr. Vaughn’s supplies,” she said.
“Yes, and I do apologize for tearing you away, but I couldn’t recall the name of the novel you just finished that you enjoyed so thoroughly. I just began reading it, but I cannot recall the title,” said Mama with a furrowed brow.
“The Whispering Catacombsby Clara Blackwood,” said Violet before turning back to the door.
Dr. Vaughn shifted and moved to rise. “Might I be of assistance—”
“Nonsense,” said Mama, waving him back to his seat. “She’ll be done in a trice…”
Not waiting for another interruption, Violet turned away from the pair and escaped once more whilst cursing herself again and again. Why had she ever allowed Dr. Vaughn in this house? She ought to have given him the cut direct and sent him on his way. No, Violet Templeton was the fool that had allowedhim a portion of her heart, and one did not treat a friend as she had. Not after everything he’d done.
Sagging against the corridor wall, she covered her face. What had she been thinking? That question was so broad and encompassed so many situations in her life at present that no single response existed.
But that wasn’t true.
Almost everything fell under the umbrella of family. Everyone else in the village had abandoned or dismissed her, and they were the only constant in her life. The Templetons were far from perfect, but they cared for her, and surely, protecting them was justification enough. Wasn’t it? Yet even as she considered that yet again, the souring of her stomach testified to her uncertainty.
Violet forced herself to straighten; she needed to see to Dr. Vaughn’s bag and send him on his way. Any thought beyond that was entirely unhelpful at present.
With quick steps, she returned to the herb garret, but when she opened the door, Isaac leapt away from the table, causing the bottles in Dr. Vaughn’s valise to rattle. The latch stood wide open, and Isaac held a stopper in one hand.
“What are you doing?” demanded Violet, hurrying to his side.
“What I must,” replied Isaac, stuffing the cork back into place. “If Dr. Vaughn is gone from Oakham, everything will go back to how it was, and the easiest way to do so is to make him look like a quack.”
“So you meddled with his medicines?” Violet’s eyes widened, and she instantly lifted the bottles, each of which had labels affixed to the side.
Unstopping the first, she sniffed, but even as familiar as she was with each of her tonics, it was difficult to tell the blend of herbs and oils from one another once they were distilled and processed so thoroughly. Was it balsam of horehound? Violet rather thought so, though she couldn’t be certain.
“I did what was required to protect my family,” said Isaac with a frown. “Surely, you can see the logic in it. Prescribing the wrong medicines will make him look incompetent—”
“Yes, Isaac,” she snapped. “I am well aware of what it will do to him, but didn’t you think about what it might do to his patients? Our neighbors and friends?”
“There’s nothing all that harmful in there,” said Isaac with a dismissive wave of his hand before stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“As you struggle to tell the difference between comfrey and belladonna, you will forgive me if I do not place much stock in your opinion on the matter,” she snapped.
Isaac scowled. “I may not be as skilled as you, Violet, but I am not brainless. Nothing I did will do any serious damage to anything except Dr. Vaughn’s reputation.”
Staring at the bag, she began lifting the bottles out; she was going to have to dump the contents, clean the vials thoroughly, and refill them properly. “You know the body well, but you’ve never cared for the apothecary side of medicine. Even harmless things can be poisonous in the wrong combination, Isaac—”
The door opened, and Dr. Vaughn poked his head inside. “I know your mother said you could manage on your own, but I wanted to keep you company.”
Holding one of the bottles in her hand, Violet froze in place. Good heavens. What was she to do? She couldn’t very well empty out his entire bag without questions being raised—
Isaac snatched the vial from her hand and slipped it and its brothers back into the case, snapping it shut. “No need, she’s finished.”
Dr. Vaughn’s brow pulled low as he studied her, and Violet could only stare back. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to break her very ribs if it didn’t quiet soon, and the very air around her thinned, leaving her lightheaded as Isaac herded Dr. Vaughn to the door.
Violet’s eyes fixed on the bag.
Just let it be. It wasn’t her doing. Isaac’s actions were his own. Yet those bottles could cause more than tension between Dr. Vaughn and the townsfolk. Remaining silent might place his patients in danger. The townsfolk may have turned their backs on the Templetons, but that didn’t excuse the pain those medicines might inflict.
But this was for her family.
