She did step aside however, not to grant Mr. Evans admittance but so the doctor could enter.
He glanced at her as he stepped through the door and drew to a halt, his studious gaze searching her face before sweeping over the rest of her. “Looks like you could do with some medical attention too.”
“I’m fine,” Harriet muttered, earning a frown from the doctor. “My sister’s the one who requires your help.”
Dismissing the duke in her shabby lodgings for just one moment, she gestured toward the cot where Lucy lay. In doing so, her gaze landed upon the bucket of vomit and the chamber pot she’d not yet managed to empty.
Her eyes widened as she quickly ran to shove both items out of sight. The doctor was used to seeing such things and besides, his opinion didn’t matter. But the duke?
Harriet cringed and took a deep breath, her nose instantly scrunching as she was met by the foul odor filling the room. It would take a while for the open window to take effect.
“She’s certainly hot, that’s for sure,” said the doctor. “I’ll need that bucket of puke you hid along with the chamber pot.”
Lord have mercy. Where was that hole she longed to disappear into?
Accepting defeat and utter humiliation, she collected the items and set them before the doctor so he could examine both. He grunted, gave a satisfied nod, and returned his attention to Lucy.
“Ah, you’re awake,” said the doctor. “I’m Doctor Fielding. I’ve come to see if I can discern the cause of your ailment. Tell me, does anything pain you right now?”
“My stomach,” Lucy moaned. “Feels like glass.”
“May I?” He reached out as though meaning to touch her, and waited until she gave her consent.
Harriet glanced at Mr. Evans, whose attention was fixed on the doctor’s movements with such intensity it almost looked like he willed him to make Lucy better. And in that moment, Harriet’s heart expanded. She’d thought she might be falling for him before, but no. That had been nothing more than physical attraction while this…this was falling. Knowing he cared, not only for her but for her sister, instilled in her a deep emotion akin to having found her way home.
To him.
It terrified her beyond measure.
Sensing her gaze, he glanced toward her and offered a tender smile – the sort that pierced her soul while binding her to him with added force. She attempted a smile of her own, then returned her attention to the doctor who currently pressed down on the lower right side of Lucy’s stomach.
“Does it hurt right here?” the doctor asked.
Lucy shook her head. “It’s more to the middle.”
The doctor straightened. “I don’t believe it’s anything too severe. The vomit isn’t milky as it would be with cholera. Based on her symptoms, however, I do believe it’s related to something she ate or drank.”
“But we’ve had the same food,”Harriet said
“What about when you’re not home?” Mr. Evans quietly asked.
Harriet shook her head. “I usually leave her some bread along with some ham and cheese. Or a pie from the baker’s. That’s what she had yesterday, but I had the same when I returned home and I’m fine.”
“It’s possible someone handling the food was sick and passed it on. You might just be more resilient.” The doctor glanced at Lucy. “I recommend she gets plenty of fluids and that her meals for the next two days are as basic as possible. A slice of toast with butter or some porridge will do.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Straightening, he studied her before saying, “Those cuts on your hands and face need tending. If you like, I can help.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She’d no intention of spending extra money on having a doctor clean her wounds. Besides, she was rather eager to get both men out the door.
With that in mind, she prepared herself for the most dreaded part of this conversation. For though she believed she had enough funds to cover the cost, she was determined to repay her friend. The higher the sum, the longer that would take. She took a deep breath. “How much do I owe you?”
The doctor glanced around, allowing his gaze to slide over the room while Harriet scrunched her toes. “Will ten shillings do?”
Her jaw dropped. “But that’s…that’s…” Less than a quarter of what she’d expect. “Are you certain?”
“Quite.”
