Authors: Julia Tagan
“Point taken.” A woman carrying a bundle of sticks bumped into Freddie. “It certainly is crowded. Ouch.”
Harriet moved to his side, to protect his bad arm, and lifted up her skirt to protect the hem from grime. At first, she'd been reluctant to take off her breeches. If she'd been wearing layers of skirts and petticoats in the forest, she'd never have been able to escape as easily from her assailant's grasp.
Yet up in the hotel room, when she'd selected an apricot-colored gown from one of Lord Warwick's trunks, she'd let out an involuntary whoop of glee. The dress itself was of Scotia silk, and included a cape of cream with a matching border. When she looked in the mirror, her appearance had astonished her. Not only were the gown and cape the most fetching ensemble she'd ever worn, her skin was dewy and her eyes shone bright, a result of the exercise and fresh air.
“I'll walk on this side to prevent anyone else from jostling you,” she said to her brother.
“Thanks, Harry.”
“Of course.”
He gave her a grateful glance. “I'm sorry I wasn't of much help in the forest. If my arm weren't hurt, I would have leaped into the fray. But it seemed you two had everything under control. We're lucky we made it out of there.” He stopped and pointed across the street. “The Craven Arms. Here we are.”
Fear surged through Harriet's body. What if her father wanted nothing to do with her? “Do you think he's there?”
“I'm sure he is.” Freddie's face was hard.
The pub was dark and dingy, the only real light coming through one dirty window facing the street. Yet a festive air filled the room. Toby, Mrs. Kembler, and Martin had rounded up a dozen or so Birmingham-based actors to help out and all gave a cheer as Harriet entered. She made her way around the room, thanking them for joining their ranks on such short notice. William hung back, and she could tell from his eyes he viewed the scene with disdain.
“Where's Father?” she asked.
A collective groan broke out. “Sleeping it off, most likely,” shouted a man Harriet vaguely recognized.
“Was a rough night last night for him. I'd be surprised if we don't see him for a day or two,” said another.
“Does he have a room here?”
“Out back, you could try.”
Harriet followed a barman's directions and found herself in a courtyard that smelled of stale beer and rotting cabbage. A small half-door to her right was ajar. As she was about to peek inside, it flew open with a great force. She stepped back and barely caught her balance.
Her father stood before her, rubbing several days' stubble on his chin and blinking hard as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was still impressive, with a sharp nose, piercing eyes, and a thick head of silver hair that contained some flecks of black. But his posture, which had once been soldierly, was slightly stooped, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his recent troubles.
“What the hell?”
“Father?”
His hand fell from his chin as he studied her. “Harry?”
“Father, I've come from London.”
He opened his arms and they awkwardly embraced. He smelled almost as bad as the courtyard, but it wasn't anything a quick bath couldn't fix.
He wandered to a bench and sat, looking around him as if he were trying to get his bearings. She hoped he was still sharp, that the alcohol hadn't dampened his wits.
“What are you doing here? Why aren't you in London?”
“I heard you were in trouble and I came to help.”
“I'm not in trouble. All is fine here.” He rubbed his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “You shouldn't have come. Go back to your other family.”
Her heart dropped. “You are my family. You and Freddie.”
For the first time, he focused on her, eyeing her up and down. “You've grown into quite a lady.”
“Thank you.”
He let out a phlegmy cough. “Are we supposed to be honored by your visit? That you're slumming with the likes of us.”
“Of course not. I'm your daughter. You know I'm not a real lady.”
“And I'm no father. Or anything these days. For God's sake, I sleep in a cubbyhole.” Misery was etched on his face and he looked away in embarrassment.
The gown had been a mistake. Her father was ashamed at his fallen fortunes and here she was dressed like a princess.
“Go, girl, if you know what's good for you.”
She sat beside him, unsure whether to reach out and touch his arm. “Not when I'm come this far. I only want to help. You're about to be tossed into prison and everyone tells me you've given up. How can that be?”
He stood and wandered away in the direction of the pub, but at the last minute he turned. “There's no point. Nothing lasts. Theater is here for a moment. You put on a play, then it's over and no one remembers it or cares. Like us.” He waved his arm. “We're here, and then we vanish.”
She moved closer. “That's not true. We came from Lord Warwick's. He spoke so highly of you, of the company. You've made a mark and you'll make a mark still. So many people depend on you.”
“Warwick remembered me?”
His answer was a sign of hope he hadn't completely changed, that the accolade-seeking actor was still alive somewhere inside him.
“Your Lear is entrenched in his memory.”
His eyes softened and he sat beside her once again. “You're a dear girl, coming back after so long. You look so much like your mother, I was afraid I was being haunted when I first saw you.”
“No, I'm no ghost. And I've tried reaching out to you in the past. Why didn't you return my letters in all this time?”
“You needed a clean break. Better not to drag you back to this life.”
“It's too late. I'm here. Now tell me, why are you in your cups again?”
“I don't mean to be.” He sniffed the air and his gaze turned toward the pub, like a hound surveying a fox den. “I'd been so careful for many years. After your mother died. But then I got careless.”
“You'll be tossed into prison if you don't pull together a show.”
“Wilkinson is out to get me. They all are.”
“That's the drink talking. I'll take care of everything, if you'll let me.”
“Why would you do that?”
She took his hand. “I know how difficult it was to hand me over to another family. And I appreciate everything you've done. Let me do something kind for you in return.”
He rubbed his face with his hands. “I tried to control myself. Every day I say I won't do it, but I can't. For so many years I was able to go easy on the ale, or go without. But it seems my will is gone.”
The door to the pub opened and William stepped through. Harriet couldn't help but see her father through a stranger's eyes. He was feeble and smelly and wearing rumpled clothes he'd probably slept in for days. For a moment, she was ashamed of him.
Her father examined William, and Harriet worried he'd mock William's impeccable manners and accent. Instead, her father broke into a huge smile. “How strange. It's Butler. How strange.”
“Father,” interjected Harriet. “No. He's not a butler.” She remembered her manners. “My lord, may I present my father, Mr. Farley. Mr. Farley, Lord Abingdon. His lordship has been helping us during the journey from Chipping Norton.”
“You're an earl?”
Her father's bluntness appalled her. “Yes, Father. Lord Abingdon.” She gave an apologetic glance to William. “He's not well.”
“No, I'm fine.” He shook his head. “It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord. I'm at your service.”
“Charmed.” His expression portrayed exactly the opposite sentiment.
She moved closer, protective of her father. “Will you let me help you? We've come all this way. Everyone's gathered and we can tell them the show is on and head to the theater.”
“I don't know if I have the energy anymore.”
“I'll take care of everything.”
Her father sighed, and she took it as a good sign, one of resignation at her request.
“What about Adam?” he asked.
“He's here as well. Everyone's come back for you.”
“Why did you do this? I don't deserve it.”
“Of course you do. After everything you've done for Freddie and me. Shall we go?”
He nodded and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “I'll try.”
They stood and she led him into the pub. The assembled actors burst into applause and her father rose to the occasion, delivering a brief speech about rising from the ashes. His transformation was remarkable, as he preened from the attention, even offering to lead the troupe to the theater.
“A lively bunch,” said William as the crowd streamed outside.
She was thrilled her plan had gone so smoothly. “They're enthusiastic, there's nothing wrong with that.”
“A bit like herding cats, if you ask me.”
She made a move to leave but William stopped her. “You're not going with them.”
“I must.”
“I have business to attend to and you'll come with me.”
She couldn't hide her irritation. “But what if my father slips up? He may need me.”
“You said you were going to persuade him, and to my amazement, you did. He's on his way to the theater and appears to have the task well in hand. I have business to attend to, and, for the moment, you are not leaving my sight. Once I'm finished, I'll take you to the theater for your practice.”
“Rehearsal.”
“Whatever you want to call it.” He put on his hat and motioned her forward. “Let's go.”
Chapter 9
“Would you mind slowing down? I can barely keep up.”
William chafed at Harriet's question. During the ten-minute walk from the pub, he'd run through several chemical combinations in his mind, and had almost forgotten she was beside him. It had proven an effective distraction from the fetching radiance she exuded now she was wearing a proper gown.
“We're almost there,” he said.
“And where are we going?”
“You'll see.”
After turning off the high street, they ventured into a part of town William would never have entered voluntarily. If he'd known Urswick's neighborhood was this seedy, he would not have insisted Harriet accompany him. A couple of thugs eyed them and he pulled her closer. He didn't need a repeat of what had happened in the woods.
When they'd been attacked, and he'd seen Harriet yanked off her feet by that oaf of a man, he'd wanted to kill him. Hatred and viciousness had swept over him and his strong reaction had taken him by surprise. He'd never before been required to jump into a crisis and rescue a maiden from harm. With the maiden's assistance, of course.
He stopped in front of a nondescript red brick building and held out his arm to help Harriet up the uneven front steps. A battered sign with the words “Apothecary & Surgery” hung next to the door.
“This is where your colleague works?” Her tone was quizzical.
He nodded. Perhaps he'd made a mistake in agreeing to come.
“I expected something a little fancier. I pictured your apothecary passing out smelling salts to fainting ladies and that sort of thing.”
“Urswick doesn't treat members of the
ton
.”
“I imagine not. You didn't meet at Oxford?”
“No. As a matter of fact, we've never met. Only corresponded.” He bristled at the uncanny way she had of voicing his own doubts out loud. “Stop inundating me with your questions. The sooner I speak with him the sooner you'll get back to the theater.”
She pursed her lips but kept quiet.
Inside was a small antechamber. To William's relief, the interior of the building was clean and tastefully, albeit simply, decorated. In one corner, a number of small, coughing children huddled around a woman sitting patiently in a wingback chair near the fireplace. An older couple perched on a wooden bench, looking tired and pale.
“It's much nicer in the inside than I expected,” whispered Harriet.
“Don't judge a book by its cover. Isn't that one of Shakespeare's quotes?”
“No. Excellent effort, though. What exactly is this place?”
“It's a free dispensary. Set up by Urswick to help the poor. He has a midwife on staff, as well as a surgeon, while he handles the compounds and medicine. A remarkable place, to tell the truth.”
“So anyone can come here and get well, for free?”
“Exactly.”
“But who pays for all this? It must cost hundreds and hundreds of pounds.”
“The wealthy inhabitants of Birmingham contribute. It's in their best interests to keep disease at bay, as it affects the entire community, eventually, when the poor are ill.”
Harriet eyed him suspiciously. “You contribute, too, don't you?”
He didn't answer.
“Of course you do. How wonderful!”
She gazed up at him and he was touched by her enthusiasm. Before he could respond, an angular man with spectacles entered the room.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“I'm looking for one Mr. Urswick. I am Abingdon.”
The man beamed with excitement and his spectacles slid down his nose an inch. He pushed them back up with one finger. “My lord, you've come.”
“Mr. Urswick, it's a pleasure to finally meet you,” said William. “Miss Farley, may I present Mr. Urswick of Birmingham. Mr. Urswick, Miss Farley.”
Urswick bowed and said hello, then turned his attention back to William. “I hope you had an easy journey.”
“Not exactly, but I'm delighted to be here. Where can we speak?”
“Come back to the apothecary. Miss Farley, you're welcome to join us. It may be better than you sitting here among the unwell.”
Urswick led them into a small, well-lit room filled with medical equipment, herbs, scales, mortars, and pestles. William could barely contain his excitement, although he tried to stay composed so Harriet didn't start peppering him with more questions. The two men sat on tall stools at a long table and Urswick guided him through the steps he'd taken to try to reduce the cinchona bark to its key component. Harriet stood behind William, peering over his shoulder.
“And what does that do?” she asked, pointing to a burner.
Urswick was about to reply, but William cut him off. “We don't have time for queries, Miss Farley. Please take a seat by the door.”
She stalked off with a huff. “âAnd other of such vinegar aspect that they'll not show their teeth in way of a smile.'”
“I'm sorry, what?” Urswick looked around, perplexed.
“
Merchant of Venice
,” offered Harriet with a disingenuous smile.
“Never mind.” William threw her a warning glance and encouraged Urswick to carry on. He shared his own theories and calculations and was delighted to find the apothecary was able to effortlessly incorporate them into his own experiment. Yet a half-hour later, both were at a dead end.
“It's no use,” said Urswick finally. “Nothing we've tried will isolate the neutral sulphate.”
Before William could respond, an unfamiliar woman came barreling through the doors.
“Come quick, Mr. Urswick, we've got an accident.”
Without hesitation, Urswick dashed out and William followed him into the foyer. Several men carried in two stretchers and Urswick motioned the men to follow him into the surgery, where they gently lifted the patients onto side-by-side examining tables. On one, a young man who appeared to be about twenty years of age writhed in agony, while the other held a young woman about the same age who was still and pale, her eyes closed.
“What happened?” asked Urswick.
“Runaway horse. Their carriage overturned on Church Road,” offered one of the men. “They tumbled right out and it fell on top of them. Nasty accident.”
“I'll need your help,” said Urswick to William. “My surgeon's out on a call.”
The room swayed and William took a deep breath. He'd studied the human body and its miraculous functions at school, but he'd only had to help someone so gravely injured once before. And he'd failed.
“I'm a physician, not a surgeon,” he said quietly.
“And I'm an apothecary, but I don't let it stop me.”
William nodded and hoped he didn't look too pale.
Harriet was standing nearby. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He wasn't sure what to say, when he didn't know what he himself should be doing. Luckily, the woman who'd first fetched Urswick introduced herself as the dispensary's midwife. She pulled Harriet to her side and together they began preparing the patients. William opened his medicine bag, his hands shaking. He didn't want Harriet to see him like this, ineffectual and incompetent. What if he made a terrible mistake?
“This leg is broken and will need to be set,” said Urswick, pointing to the man.
William drew close. He recognized the bones and the muscles from his textbooks, but the difference between looking at an illustration and the actual tissue was staggering. And fascinating. Before he knew it, he and Urswick had pinpointed the exact location of the break.
“We're lucky it was in the lower leg, as the femur is much harder to set,” said Urswick.
He instructed William to hold the man's knee still while Harriet soothed the man, who groaned and muttered even though he'd been given a dose of opium for his pain. Urswick moved around to the end of the table and grasped the man's foot with both hands and, without warning, pulled hard. The man gave out a harsh cry and fainted.
“Better that way, poor bloke.”
Amazingly, with one more sharp tug the tibia was realigned and reset. From there, they worked together, stabilizing the leg with a splint and checking for any other injuries.
Once finished, they moved on to the woman.
“It's mortal, I'm afraid,” said Urswick, gently probing her head. “Her skull has been fractured. You can feel it here.”
William touched the woman's hair, soaked scarlet with blood. A dozen memories came flooding back to him. He heard again his brother's cries for help after they'd brought him back to the London house after his accident, the shock of white skull beneath his wound, the furiousness of the bleeding.
“My lord?” asked Urswick.
“Yes, I'm sorry.” William blinked and brought himself back to the present moment. “There must be something we can do. She's still alive.”
The woman gasped a couple of times and opened her eyes. “Please help me.” Her voice was weak and hoarse.
The midwife leaned over the woman. “You'll be fine, you're in the surgery and being taken care of.”
“My husband?”
“He's got a broken leg but he'll recover,” said Urswick, his voice kind. “You should rest now.”
Urswick turned away and put away his tools.
William approached him, panic rising up in his chest. “Can't we do more? Why don't we examine her more fully?”
He put his hand on William's arm. “It's the skull. You know as well as I do it's a deep fracture. It's a miracle she can even speak.”
“She's gone,” announced the midwife.
William returned to the patient. Her eyes were still open, her skin a translucent pallor tinged with blue veins. He reached out and closed her eyelids, and the softness of her skin almost made him cry out.
He must pull himself together and get control of his emotions. He was a physician, after all. Again he heard the awful words his brother had said to him the evening of the accident. The allegations and lies. And the terrible things he'd said back.
William's stomach lurched. He was an embarrassment, as his father had always declared.
“I feel dizzy,” said Harriet.
William stared at her in surprise.
“You're not used to this, of course,” said Urswick. “The kitchen's around the back and we have tea. I'll show you the way.”
“No need, his lordship will accompany me.” She clutched William's arm. “Thank you, Mr. Urswick.”
William pulled himself together, gave Urswick a quick nod, and led Harriet out of the room.
* * * *
In a small kitchen at the rear of the building, Harriet poured a cup of tea and handed it to William. The room was pleasant and cozy, with an open window and lace curtains that danced lazily in the breeze. Outside, a large yard had been cultivated into a lush herb garden, where plants and flowers of all sizes and colors flourished.
“Thank you for pretending to be ill for my sake,” said William. “I'm not sure what came over me.”
“Are you all right?” She took a seat at the table and motioned for him to do so as well. His color was slowly returning, but he still seemed shaky. He'd been so analytical in his examination and treatment of the man's leg she'd been surprised by his strong reaction to the death of the woman.
“Yes, I'm fine.”
“William, you must be honest with me. What happened back there? One minute you were fine and the next you were about to tip over.”
His answer was stilted. “The woman, her passing, brought back certain memories.”
She studied him. Medicine no longer held a cold, scientific connotation for her. She had been amazed at the grace in William's hands as he'd worked with Urswick to set the man's leg, and the gentleness with which he'd closed the woman's eyes forever. Putting on a play seemed trivial in comparison. “It must be difficult, seeing people die in your line of work.”
“I'm new to this.” His voice was quiet and vulnerable. “The training we received at Oxford was theoretical. Our examinations were in Latin, for God's sake. I've rarely had the chance to truly help someone. I'm a farce.”
“Why couldn't you become a surgeon instead of a physician?” She already knew the unwritten rules of the peerage, but she wanted to keep him talking and confiding in her.
“It's not proper. Besides, my father always told me I was wasting my intellect and my abilities by going into medicine. He didn't see the point.”
“What would he have you do?”
“What my brother did. Politics, gamesmanship.”
“Sounds awful, if you ask me.”
William laughed and she was relieved to see his eyes were no longer dull and glassy. He took a sip of tea, his hand enveloping the fragile china.
She stifled the urge to reach out and touch his arm. “What you did was wonderful. You worked like a surgeon, not some over-educated leech. You were a real help to Mr. Urswick, so you see, it doesn't matter what your father thinks.”
“My father, my brother. It was not an easy household.”
“I'm sorry neither one is around to see how you've done, what you can do. I'm sure they'd change their minds.”
He didn't respond for a moment. “My brother died in a carriage accident. I'm sure you've heard. It was the talk of the town.”
“Yes, I'm afraid I did.” She held her breath, hoping he'd continue.
“The carriage overturned, crushing him and his passenger. Like today. Unlike today, neither one survived.”
“How horrible. You must miss him terribly.”
“Unfortunately, we argued the last time we spoke, and I regret it terribly. Later that evening, they brought him back to the residence, his body a mass of broken bones and blood. I was unable to help.” He rubbed his face with his hands and looked up at the ceiling. “Earlier, with Urswick, I'd hoped to do something to improve my sister's health. And once again, I've failed my family.”