Running out of tears, she finally pulled away from Kinlock and fished a handkerchief from her pocket. “I'm sorry to be such a watering pot. It's just that what you did seems so much like a miracle. I . . . I can't quite believe it.”
Kinlock gave a tired smile that made him look surprisingly boyish. “Well, you wanted a miracle. Did you stop at St. Bart's church the other day?”
“No, but I certainly will tomorrow!”
“Be sure you do. Even God likes to be thanked when he's done well.”
Sally stood. “Time for me to go back to David. Are there any special instructions about what to do for him during the night?”
“My only instructions are for you to get a good dinner and a solid night's sleep,” he said sternly. “Doctor's orders. If you don't start taking better care of yourself, you'll be a patient in no time. You needn't worry about Major Lancaster. Morgan will stay with him, and I'll stop by tomorrow.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then had second thoughts. With the tension ended, she was weary to the bone. There was nothing she could do for David that couldn't be done as well by someone else. “Very well.”
Kinlock got to his feet and rolled his shoulders, loosening taut muscles. “Would this grand establishment run to whiskey?”
If he wanted to bathe in a tub of the best port, Sally would make sure that his wish was granted. “Shall we go downstairs and find out?”
Kinlock collected his medical bag, and they descended to the drawing room salon. Lady Jocelyn's well-trained butler responded to Sally's tug on the bell cord, speedily producing decanters of whiskey and brandy. She had to give the staff credit. Not once had anyone indicated contempt for her lowly self by so much as the flicker of an eye, though no doubt they had plenty to say in the servants' hall.
Noticing that Ian Kinlock's hands were shaking as he poured himself a whiskey, she asked, “Are you always so strained after surgery?”
He looked a little shamefaced. “Aye. My hands are steady as a rock during an operation, but after I have trouble believing I was foolhardy enough to do it. It's uncommonly difficult to cut into a human body, knowing how hard it is on the patient, but sometimes surgery is the only cure. Like today.” He tossed back half his whiskey, then replenished it and settled on a sofa, drinking at a more moderate pace.
Sally sipped her brandy. Very fine, as she'd expected. “What was the awful-smelling dressing that you used?”
Kinlock grinned. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes, please.”
“Moldy bread and water.”
“Good heavens! After making such a point of clean instruments, you put that filthy stuff on David?” Sally exclaimed, genuinely horrified.
“I know it seems strange, but all over the world there are folk traditions of using moldy materials for dressings,” the surgeon explained. “In China, they use moldy soy curd. In eastern and southern Europe, I'm told the peasants keep a loaf in the rafters. If someone is injured, they take down the bread, cut off the mold and make a paste with water, then apply it to the wound.”
“How remarkable.” Sally had always been insatiably curious, a good trait for a teacher. “Do you keep a moldy loaf in your attic?”
He shook his head reminiscently. “This particular specimen was given to me by a Russian sailor who swore that it was the best he'd ever used. I gave it a try and found I lost fewer patients to infection and mortification. I've been feeding the mixture bread and water for the last eight years.”
“What made you decide to try something so unorthodox in the first place?”
“I've traveled widely, which gave me an interest in folk medicine. My more traditional colleagues sneer, but sometimes it works. One of my aims in life is to test such practices and discover which are valid.” He smiled. “For example, I've seen no evidence that putting a knife under a childbed cuts the pain in half, but willow bark is indeed good for aches and fevers. When I find something that works, I use it.”
Now that David had been treated, Sally found herself curious about Kinlock the man rather than Kinlock the surgeon. “What are your other aims in life?”
“To save as many people from the Reaper as I can, for as long as I can. In the end, death always wins. But not without a struggle, by God.” His expression was bleak.
Wanting to erase the sorrow from his eyes, she raised her glass. “A toast for today's victory over the Reaper!”
Expression lightening, he clinked his glass against hers, and they drank. Sally poured more for each of them, and they drifted into general conversation, both enjoying the post-surgery euphoria. Sally spoke of her governess job, Kinlock about his training in Edinburgh and London. After training as both physician and surgeon, he'd become a ship's doctor, which had taken him to many strange parts of the world. Later, he'd been an army surgeon, refining his skills in the bloody crucible of battle.
Sally could hear his passion for his calling in every word he said. Mad Scot indeed! She blessed Dr. Ramsey for sending her to this man, who was surely the only surgeon in England who could have saved her brother.
Chapter 8
T
ired from a long day away from home, Jocelyn almost walked past the salon when she finally returned, but paused when she heard a woman's voice. Could Aunt Laura have recovered from her anger and returned to London?
Hoping that was the case, she opened the drawing room door. To her disgust, she found not her aunt, but her uncouth sister-in-law in the process of getting drunk with some rumpled looking fellow Jocelyn had never seen before. Her face stiffened at such liberties being taken in her home. However, remembering her resolution to be more patient, she quietly started to withdraw. Sally might be in her cups, but she probably wouldn't steal the silver, which wasn't in the drawing room anyhow.
Before she could escape, Sally glanced up and saw her. “I've bad news for you, Lady Jocelyn.”
“Oh, no. He . . . he has died?” Jocelyn froze, chilled to her marrow as sadness and loss swept over her. So David was gone, his wasted body growing cold upstairs, the green eyes closed forever. She had not even been at home. That brief visit yesterday had been good-bye. No wonder Sally had called for the brandy decanter.
“On the contrary,” Sally continued in her strong schoolteacher's voice. “Dr. Kinlock here performed a rather splendid bit of surgery, and it seems likely that David will not only survive, but recover completely.”
He was going to
live
? The words were an even greater shock than his death would have been. Dizzy from trying to assimilate such contradictory news, Jocelyn moved forward and grasped the back of a chair to steady herself. How wonderful if what Sally had said was true. David deserved life and happiness.
But in the midst of her gladness one powerful thought resonated: A live husband was not what she had bargained for!
“I know you wanted him dead.” Sally rose and approached Jocelyn, her eyes glittering. “Perhaps I'd better stay here to guard him until he can be removed from your home. Since he isn't about to die on his own, you may wish to remedy the situation.”
Jocelyn felt the blood drain from her face. “What a despicable thing to say! While my intention was to become a widow, I didn't want to see David dead. If you are capable of appreciating the distinction.” Blindly she fumbled around the chair and dropped into it, torn between faintness and a desire to claw Sally's eyes out.
She felt something cool in her hand and looked up to see the doctor pressing a glass of brandy on her, his eyes watching with professional concern. “Drink that, Lady Jocelyn. It will help with the shock.”
Obediently she sipped from the glass, choking a little as the brandy burned its way down. But the surgeon was right, for her mind began to work again. She stared down into her glass and tried to sort out her feelings.
Nothing could make her sorry that David Lancaster was going to live. But what would this mean to her plans for Candover? Even if the duke fell in love with her, she couldn't marry him. The knowledge made her want to weep.
Realizing that she was on the verge of drowning in confused emotions, she forced her attention elsewhere. To the surgeon, for example, who improved on closer examination. Rumpled he might be, but his gaze was intelligent and kind as he briefly described why the major had been so ill and what had been done to cure him.
By the time he finished, she was able to manage a genuine smile. “My thanks, Dr. Kinlock. You've done a good day's work. I haven't known Major Lancaster long, but I do know that the world is a better place for his survival.”
Before Sally's disgusted eyes, Kinlock almost started to purr under the hundred-candlepower charm of Lady Jocelyn's smile. Even the most intelligent of men seemed unable to recognize a highbred tart for what she was.
As soon as the thought formed in her mind, she was ashamed of herself. The brandy must be working on her empty stomach. Her accusation that Lady Jocelyn might harm David had come from the same source. As soon as she'd said the words, she wanted to bite her tongue, and not only because Kinlock had glanced at her with disapproval. Lady Jocelyn herself had looked startlingly vulnerable, like a kicked child, when Sally had made her unthinking charge. Who would have thought the witch had feelings? Probably she was just upset at the insult to her dignity.
Nonetheless, Sally had been very rude to her hostess. Though apologies were not one of her specialties, she said stiffly, “I'm sorry for what I said, Lady Jocelyn. I'm sure David will be well cared for here until I can move him. I'll start looking for another place immediately so you won't be unnecessarily inconvenienced.”
“There's no need to hurry. The house is large enough to house a regiment, or at least a company.” Wrapping herself in her habitual coolness, Lady Jocelyn rose to her feet. “Dr. Kinlock, you will send me a bill for your services? I trust you will make it consonant with the results.”
He glanced at Sally. “Miss Lancaster engaged me, and I believe that she intends to take care of the bill.”
“Nonsense, the responsibility is mine.” She gave the surgeon another wondrous smile. Sally had to admit that if a smile like that ever came her way, even she might be willing to overlook Lady Jocelyn's numerous defects of character.
Her ladyship glanced at the mantel clock. “It's getting late. Pray let my carriage take you to your homes. Unless you wish to stay overnight, Miss Lancaster?”
Guilt at her earlier rudeness made Sally refuse. “No need. Dr. Kinlock says David will sleep all night, and Morgan is here to watch him. I'll walk to my employers. It's not far, and it's still light.”
She hadn't thought of her job in several hours, but it suddenly struck her that she would have to make sure that the Launcestons continued to be happy with her. Lady Jocelyn was bound to disavow the financial settlement, since she wasn't going to receive the quick widowhood she'd bargained for. No matter. David's life was worth everything Sally owned, and a life of leisure wouldn't have suited her.
After a swift glance at Sally, Kinlock overruled her. “We'll be happy to accept your kind offer, Lady Jocelyn. I shall make sure Miss Lancaster reaches home safely. If you will call the carriage, we will be on our way.”
“This isn't necessary,” Sally muttered as Lady Jocelyn summoned her carriage.
The surgeon chuckled. “In my professional opinion, it is. How often do you drink brandy?”
“Almost never,” she admitted. “But I am not in the least bit foxed.” Her dignified statement was undercut by a hiccup.
Eyes twinkling, Kinlock took a firm hold of her arm and guided her outside to the carriage. Sally climbed in and sank gratefully back into the soft velvet squabs. She was unaccountably a little dizzy and inclined to giggle. How odd.
She had no memory later of what, if anything, they talked about on the short ride, but before they reached the Launcestons' town house, Kinlock signaled the driver to stop and set them down.
Sally blinked owlishly out the window, recognizing a tavern about two blocks from her employers' home. “We aren't there yet.”
He took her hand to assist her from the carriage. “Aye, but the food is good, and I intend to see you fed before I return you. Otherwise, your employers will be sacking you for drunkenness and it will be my fault.”
His tone was amused, but Sally still took offense. “I am not drunk. Jus' . . . just a trifle well-to-go. Don't need to eat.”
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “You might not be hungry,” he said diplomatically, “but I am. Will you join me so I don't have to eat alone?”
When he put it that way, she couldn't refuse. In fact, she didn't want to. She was ravenous, now that she thought about it.
The tavern was a clean, well-kept place, with enticing odors wafting from the kitchen. The owner greeted Kinlock like an old friend and seated them in a dark, quiet corner. Sally rapidly put away bread and cheese, a hot beef and onion pie, a peach pudding, and the strong coffee the surgeon ordered her to drink.
After draining her coffee, she said candidly, “I'm sorry to be such a nuisance, Dr. Kinlock. I must have been a bit drunk, or I wouldn't feel so much more sober now.”
Smiling, he surgically sliced an apple into eighths. “Relief for your brother coupled with brandy on an empty stomach did have an interesting effect on you.”
She relaxed against the high-backed oak settle, feeling very much at peace. “I don't think I've eaten a full meal since I saw the casualty lists after Waterloo.”
The spring had seemed endless while England waited for a battle with the Corsican Monster, miraculously returned from Elba and with whole French armies rushing to his support. She'd read the newspapers compulsively, hungry for every scrap of news. Perhaps she'd had a premonition, because she had never worried so much during the years that David had fought on the Peninsula. When the news of his severe injuries finally reached her, she hadn't been surprised. Sick and terrified, but not surprised. And then the waiting had begun. . . .
Reminding herself that was all behind her, she said, “I'm sorry that because of taking care of me you'll have to walk home when Lady Jocelyn's carriage could have taken you. Do you live near Bart's?”
“No, I have consulting rooms just a couple of blocks away, on Harley Street, and live in rooms above. I eat here often.” He traced a circle in a small spill of ale. “What's the story behind your brother's marriage? Not the usual arrangement, I think.”
Sally sketched out why Lady Jocelyn had wanted to become a rich widow, and how David had become her husband. The story sounded bizarre when she explained, but the surgeon showed no signs of shock. She suspected that it would take a good deal to surprise Ian Kinlock.
When she had finished, he shook his head with a bemused expression. “The poor woman. No wonder the two of you have been at daggers drawn. Your interests in the major's health have been entirely different.”
“Do you blame me for wondering if she might put a period to his unwelcome existence?”
“Nonsense, lassie, you don't believe she's a threat to him any more than I do,” he scoffed. “Didn't you see her expression when she thought he was dead?”
“She did look distressed,” Sally conceded. “Probably she was afraid a death in the house would upset the servants.”
“She may not want to be married to your brother, but he's a likable man, and she was genuinely happy to hear that he would be well. It will be amusing to see how the two of them work this out.”
Dealing with life and death all the time must give surgeons a morbid sense of humor. “The thought of having Lady Jocelyn as a permanent sister-in-law has no appeal for me. She's the haughtiest female I've ever met.”
“She's not so bad, for all she's a member of a class of useless wastrels.” He sliced up a second apple, having finished the first. “Quite a charming woman, actually.”
Sally wisely refrained from comment. Lady Jocelyn was not someone they were likely to agree on. Under the circumstances, politics would be a safer topic of conversation. “You sound like a radical.”
“If it's radical to despise lazy people who have never done a particle of good for anyone else, I suppose I am. Women who assassinate character and spend more money on one gown than the average family sees in a year, men whose idea of sport is slaughtering helpless animals and gambling away their fortunes.” He smiled wickedly. “I've often thought hunting would be a good deal more fair if the foxes and pheasants were armed and could fight back.”
Sally pictured a fox aiming a shotgun and began to laugh. “I can certainly think of a few members of the beau monde who would be improved by buckshot in the breeches.”
His grin made her recognize the impropriety of her remark. Kinlock was so unconventional that he made her forget to hold her tongue. She studied the craggy face shadowed by the thick shock of white hair, the expressive features that could reflect such extremes of anger and compassion. She would never be able to repay him for what he had done.
Her gaze fell to the remaining apple slices, which he'd pushed aside. Once more forgetting to think before she spoke, she asked, “Are you going to eat those?”
She immediately wanted to hide under the table, but he only slid the apple pieces to her. “You've quite a bit of eating to catch up on. You've grown too many bones from worry.”
He thought she was skinny, she realized as she ate the last two apple slices. Her next thought was to wonder why she should care. To her alarm, she realized that she would like him to see her as a woman in her own right, not simply the sister of a patient.
Acerbically she told herself that the stirring of excitement she felt was only because of the intimacy of this relaxed dinner. In the whole of her spinster life, she'd never dined alone with an attractive man like this, except for David, and brothers didn't count.
Of course in Kinlock's eyes, she was a skinny little governess who had become tipsy and insulted a beautiful woman who turned men into entranced slaves. Humiliated at the thought, she swallowed the last of the apple and slid from the oak settle. “Time for me to return to the Launcestons'.”