“One who looks like me? What does my face have to do with this?”
“Mr. Thurlowe, you know the lasses are partial to your looks. They are all sweet on you. I don’t mind. I mean, I know my Molly would never stray. I’ve never believed I had a concern with you and she.”
“Oh, well,” Ned said, “that is a relief.”
“I thought you’d want to know that I trust you around my wife.”
“Except she doesn’t want to talk to me when she isn’t feeling well, and that is a problem.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to talk about her bum.” Crisp laughed. “That is good, no?”
No, it wasn’t good. In truth Ned’s mind was whirling over the idea that a patient in pain would refuse care because of his looks or her shyness. It didn’t make sense to him. Once he started working, all he saw was a body, not the person.
He had to ask, “Did Mrs. Estep help her?”
“She is going to. She has a lotion she makes. Uses cream,” he supplied helpfully. “She wants one of the boys to go to The Garland later today to pick up a bottle for their mother.”
“I’m right here,” Ned had to offer. “I can help your wife.” He had an ointment with sulfur in it. He even took another step toward the door. Crisp stopped him.
“Please, sir. She’s happy. You aren’t a married man but I’m here to tell you that when the wife is happy, you leave well enough alone. Besides, she’d have my head for telling you.”
“I don’t know if Gemma’s cure will be effective or the best thing for your wife.”
“If she is happy, it doesn’t matter.”
Ned had no choice but to ride away.
“And why does it bother you so much that Mrs. Crisp is confiding in this Gemma?” Kate Balfour asked.
It had been a long day. The conversation with Crisp made Ned question himself. He was now doing something uncharacteristic—unburdening himself. He didn’t tell them the nature of Mrs. Crisp’s ailment save that it was highly personal.
When he’d called on Kate, she had asked him to join them for dinner. He didn’t feel like being good company. However, returning to an empty house wasn’t comforting, either. He accepted the invitation, and then, before he knew what he was about, he shared the story of Mrs. Crisp.
“I’ve taken care of these people,” Ned said. “I’m a good doctor.”
Balfour handed him a glass of claret. “You are. That is why I’m insisting that you see to my wife and child.”
“And I don’t think anyone is saying you are a poor doctor,” Kate said. She had a shawl around her shoulders and her hair was down. She had picked at her food, even after Ned had gently reminded her that she was “eating for two.”
She appeared tired.
Or worried.
Ned watched her closely, even as he sat back in his dining chair and challenged, “Then what are they saying?” He threw the words out and before either of them could answer, snapped, “Because they have all embraced Gemma. Crisp and the Widow Smethers were open about it, but others . . . I can sense they hold back around me. They are being duplicitous.”
“Duplicitous?” Kate echoed.
“Yes, they seek my advice and then they ask hers, as if they are comparing us.”
Balfour shrugged. “She is new. People gravitate to the new.”
“That’s true,” Ned agreed. “Except, when I first came here, they put me through my paces. No one trusted me. I worked for their trust—”
He sat up, struck by a new thought. “Is that it? They still don’t trust me after five years of my being amongst them?”
“It is nothing like that,” Balfour assured him. “You are making too much of this. I’ve never even heard of the woman. No one has mentioned her to me. Well, save for what you’ve told me. I don’t even understand why she bothers you so much.”
“Because ever since I came here, and even when I was in London, there has always been a battle between home cures—which are often based on nothing more than superstition and silliness—and information learned after rigorous study. Do I believe the night air carries bad vapors that cause disease? No. I’m not certain of the causes for many diseases but it isn’t the air or we would all suffer from typhus or wasting diseases, and we don’t.”
“Then what does cause them?” Balfour asked.
“We don’t know—yet. Someday I believe we will. It used to be that if you had a growth under your skin or on your breast, it was because you were a sinner and God was marking you. Now we understand that some bodies form tumors that can, judiciously, be cut out of the patient to his betterment. We are learning so much right now about the true nature of illness and disease, it annoys me when someone like Mrs. Estep sets up shop and everyone believes whatever cures she peddles. Cream on piles? Really?”
“There is some truth to what people pass around,” Kate countered. “When I traveled with acting troupes, we rarely had the time or money to seek out a physician. There were all sorts of remedies we shared.”
“Such as?” Balfour asked.
“Chewing ginger root was a good one. Someone always had it on hand. It seemed to cure a number of ailments such as nausea and sore throat. I even used it once for a headache. And it was good protection against contagion.”
Ned shook his head. “I doubt if the ginger protected you from someone else’s illness. Or had any effect on your headache, although the strong flavor might have taken your mind off the discomfort. I will agree that it is well-known for helping to settle the stomach.”
“And it is true, isn’t it, that some plants, when they are steamed, can help breathing.”
“Another truth,” he could admit. “Eucalyptus is one. The oil in the leaves puts out a strong aroma that seems to help. Some mints can do the same.”
“These remedies were known by the locals first, correct?”
Ned had to smile. “I concede your point. Yes, often locals identify those healing qualities first. Still, I must offer two caveats. One is that the steam one is breathing probably does more than the oil from the plant. The second is that eucalyptus has been studied by men of learning. If something is worthwhile, it deserves intelligent review.”
“Which can only come from men?” Kate asked.
“Yes, of course,” he answered before he realized he was walking into a trap. He threw his napkin on the table and raised his hands. “All right. Correct me.”
She didn’t hesitate. “My sister is as good if not better an apothecarist than her husband, even though he taught her everything she knows. So perhaps Gemma has studied the cures she offers. Perhaps they have merit. Perhaps not all things come from London.”
“She has you there,” Balfour said, clapping a delighted hand on the table. “You yourself are frustrated by the stranglehold London has on research and which scholarly papers should be chosen for presentation.”
That was true. The purpose of the lecture series he had started was to bring attention to those studies outside the mainstream of academic thought.
“I also think,” Kate said, picking up her teacup, “that a tea garden sounds like a lovely idea. It would be an ideal gathering place.”