The Healing Season

Eleanor shook her head sadly. “None that I know of. She is a singer at the theater where I work.” She wondered if the words meant anything to him, but saw no reaction in his eyes.

“When she missed a performance, I stopped by her room on my way home. I didn’t want her to be dismissed from the troupe. I found her doubled over, bleeding…well, you saw her condition.”

Again his eyes gave her no clue to his thoughts, though he listened intently. She scanned the rest of his face, noticing again the reddish tints of his hair. She wondered if he had the fiery temper to match.

“I see,” he replied, his tone softening. “You said she had taken some potions?”

“Yes, she told me she’d been to a local herbalist who’d given her a remedy to take, but to no avail. Then she’d bought something from a quack. It made her awfully sick, but still…” Her voice trailed off at the indelicate subject.

“No menses,” he finished for her.

“Just so,” she murmured, looking down at her hands, which still held her handkerchief.

“I’ll stop by to see her again today.”

“That would be most kind,” she said with a grateful smile. “Are you sure she cannot be moved?”

“It would be highly risky at this point. You cannot nurse her yourself?”

“No. I can look in on her every day and bring her fresh linens and refreshment, but I usually have rehearsals in the afternoon and performances in the evening. My evenings are late, so in consequence, my day begins later than most.”

He was weighing her words. Finally, he said, “It may be possible to find her a nurse through a Methodist mission I work with. There are many worthy women who give of their time there to help the poor and infirm.”

“If they could send someone, I’d gladly pay her. I meant to tell you as well to send your medical bills to me.”

He dismissed her offer with an impatient wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you go to the mission and inquire about a nurse? They are usually shorthanded themselves, so I don’t promise anything.”

“Very well. Where is this mission?”

“In Whitechapel.”

“Whitechapel?” Her voice rose in dismay. That was worse than Southwark.

“Yes.”

“You want me to go there alone?”

“I beg your pardon. I go there so often myself, I forget it’s not the kind of neighborhood a lady would frequent.” His glance strayed to the outfit she’d given so much thought to that morning.

She wasn’t quite sure his tone conveyed a compliment. “I should think not.”

He considered a few seconds longer and finally answered, the words coming out slowly, as if he was reluctant to utter them. “If you’d like…I could accompany you there. Would late this afternoon be satisfactory? Your Miss Simms should really have some nursing help as soon as possible.”

She nodded. “I will be at the theater this evening, but I don’t have a rehearsal this afternoon.”

“I can leave as soon as I finish with all my patients here.”

“Very well. Do you have a carriage?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t keep a carriage.”

“We can go in mine, if you think my coachman won’t be beaten and robbed while he is waiting for us.”

“He’ll be quite all right, I assure you.”

“Then I’ll come by around three o’clock. Does that give you sufficient time?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

As she turned to go, his next words stopped her. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

She turned around slowly.

“The other night, I mistook you for…”

Assuming her cockney, she filled in, “A doxy?”

She detected a slight flush on his cheeks. At his nod, she batted her hand coyly. “Gor! Think nothin’ of it, guv’n’r. ’Appens all the time. I don’t know wot it is about folks, but they’re forever mistayken me for someone else. Sometimes even the Queen, poor old deah. I tell ’em ‘I ain’t such ’igh quolity.” She finished with a hearty laugh. “But neither am I no judy, no, sir!”

He was giving her a bemused look, as if he didn’t know what to make of her little performance. “You’re an actress.”

“Yes,” she answered in her own accent. “You’ve never been to the Surrey—the Royal Circus now?”

“No.”

“No? It’s not far from here.”

“I don’t go to the theater.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Never?” The theater was one of the few places where everyone could meet and find enjoyment, from highest to lowest in society. “Are you a Quaker?”

He gave a slight smile. “No, I haven’t the time for such amusement.”

She remembered the packed waiting room. “I can well believe that.”

When he said nothing more, she knew it was time to make her exit. “I shall not keep you from those who need you more. Until three o’clock, then?”

“Until three o’clock.”

Ian popped a few cardamom seeds into his mouth as he watched Mrs. Neville’s chaise pull up at the curb of the dispensary. The actress was punctual, at least. He was still annoyed with himself that he’d committed to accompanying her to the mission. He had little time to spare for excursions like this. Still, the girl needed nursing. It was a miracle she was even alive.

The coachman opened the door and let down the steps. Ian climbed into the smart coach, nodding to Mrs. Neville and seating himself opposite her in its snug interior.

She glanced toward the dispensary before the carriage door shut behind him. “It looks deserted now. What a difference from this morning.”

“Yes, every broken limb has been set, every wound bandaged.”

As the carriage lumbered forward, she asked him, “Do you have such a roomful of patients every day?”