An Honest Heart (9 page)

“Yes. He had a church just north of here in Tackley. ’Twas but a poor parish, so Caddy knew from a young age that she must fend for herself. But because of her father’s connections, she was allowed entry into a fine school in Oxford. She sewed clothes for her classmates to earn her own pocket money, and many of them have remained loyal customers these many years.”

Yes, Miss Bainbridge struck him as the kind of woman who could make her own way in life. He caught a sigh before it escaped his lips. Women who could make their own way in life rarely saw the need for love or courtship or marriage. At least, that’s what his grandmother taught him.

Of course, he hardly knew the woman. No need to be thinking about her in such terms anyway.

As if his mind had the power to conjure her, Miss Bainbridge alighted from Johnny’s father’s cab just outside the shop. She took a bundle from Alice, who climbed down behind her.

Caddy caught sight of them when she turned to pay her fare, and her face drained of color. She shoved the bundle into Alice’s arms, hoisted her skirts, and rushed toward them.

“Mother, are you unwell? Dr. Stradbroke, what happened?” She reached for her mother’s free arm, wrapping her hand around the thin wrist, but Mrs. Bainbridge shook her off.

“Nothing is wrong. I visited Mrs. Howell, as I told you I would. Dr. Stradbroke called in just as I was ready to leave, and he graciously offered to escort me home.”

Not quite how he remembered it happening, but he did not contradict her.

Miss Bainbridge’s blue eyes bored into him as if mining for the truth. He pressed his lips together and adopted a devil-may-care expression. At least, he hoped he did.

Caddy opened the front door of the shop, then held it open for Dr. Stradbroke and her mother to pass through in front of her. She sent Alice to the workroom with the dress, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the spectacle of the doctor assisting her mother out of her cloak. The gentleness he exhibited was incongruous with his massive size. He towered over Mother by a foot at least, and his broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms contrasted with her frailty, giving her a waiflike appearance.

He held the woolen double-cape toward her, but instead of taking the garment, she wrapped her tiny hands around his large ones. “Doctor, I cannot thank you enough. Will you not stay and take tea with us? I am certain Agnes will have laid out plenty of food. Caddy and her girls work so hard all day, they need more than just a morsel at teatime.”

Neal glanced over Mother’s head and caught Caddy’s eye. If the burning in her cheeks was any indication, he no doubt saw the blush that glowed from her face. He seemed to want her to make the decision for him, but she would not oblige. She tried to keep her face impassive and will her cheeks to cool.

“Thank you for the invitation, ma’am, but I must be getting home. I have been out on calls all day, and I promised young Johnny Longrieve to tutor him in reading in the evenings. As the only doctor in the immediate vicinity, it is better if I am home should anyone need me.” He laid the cloak over the cutting table, made a slight bow to Mother, then moved toward the door. “Miss Bainbridge, will you see me out, please?”

Caddy’s breath caught in her throat. She nodded and moved toward the door—but he accelerated to get ahead of her and open it before she could.

She waited until it closed behind them before whirling on him. “I knew something was wrong. How ill is she?”

Dr. Stradbroke held up his free hand, his gaze sympathetic. “There is no cause for immediate fear. Your mother’s heart is weak. But I believe a daily regimen of fresh air and exercise may be beneficial in her case. She is not to exert herself, however. No more than a stroll, and not alone. She may go as far as the greengrocer, but no farther, and only if she has promise of a quarter hour’s rest once she arrives there. She should stay indoors in foul weather, especially when it is cold. Of course, this daily exercise should not interfere with any treatment her regular doctor has prescribed. I will call on her again next week and see how she feels.”

Caddy listened in fascination. He was such a young man to be so serious and so knowledgeable—surely no older than she, who still had almost two years until she turned thirty. And handsome. She hadn’t failed to notice how every woman on the street slowed or paused to get a good look at him. Being seen with him, deep in conversation, filled her with a strange sense of pride. She wasn’t certain why—he could do nothing for her or her business. Perhaps it was the interest he’d taken in Mother’s case. Yes, that must be it.

“Miss Bainbridge?”

“Sorry. I was . . . thinking. So, a daily walk to the greengrocer, and you will call in a week to see how she fares?” Caddy forced herself to pull her gaze away from the infinite blue pools of his eyes. She wanted to touch the thick, blond-tipped lashes rimming them to see if they were as soft as they appeared. And that strange lilt to his speech, which she could not identify, made her want to keep him engaged in conversation as long as she could.

What was wrong with her? She’d seen many a handsome man in her life, and she’d never allowed one to affect her this way. Why now? And why Dr. Stradbroke? “If she seems weaker in a day or two, have her send word to me.” He shifted his large black leather bag from one hand to the other. “But I do not think she will.”

Caddy nodded, swallowing hard, forcing herself to view this man dispassionately. She had no room in her life for that kind of distraction. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He inclined his head. “My pleasure.” He started across the street, whistling as he made his way toward the apothecary’s building.

She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, fighting the urge to watch him walk away. Before entering the shop, she took a deep breath and prayed God would settle her mind and allow her to focus on the work she needed to do.

With Lady Carmichael’s gowns finished and delivered, Caddy turned her attention to the green-and-silver ball gown she’d promised Miss Buchanan’s cousin for tomorrow night. It required few alterations, but she needed to work on the monthly inventory with Phyllis tomorrow. That task would have to wait until after she’d gone to the bank in the city and deposited the cash she’d received for Lady Carmichael’s two gowns—material and labor—along with a generous bonus for her speed in finishing the gowns. She might not like Lady Carmichael, but she did appreciate the woman’s patronage.

Long after she’d said good night to her mother and seen the apprentices off to bed, Caddy sat in the workroom, all of the candles and lamps lit while she worked on taking in the bodice of the green-and-silver ball gown.

Hours into the dark of the night, her neck and back ached, but she finally finished. She hoped Miss Dearing would be pleased with the dress. The design was plain, but with a fabric such as this—a green vine pattern on a silver silk tissue—ornate styling would overwhelm the wearer.

After carefully setting the bodice in the box with the skirt, Caddy put out the lamps and snuffed the candles, leaving only one lit to carry upstairs with her.

A crash sounded from the store. Breaking glass. She groaned. Obviously something too heavy had been placed on an upper shelf and the bracket had given way, smashing whatever was below. She hoped it was not the notions display case, with its expensive curved-glass front.

Cupping her hand in front of the candle’s flame, she stepped into the shop to see if she could determine how much damage she would be faced with in the morning.

Halfway across the store, an excruciating pain exploded across the side of her head. White stars blazed in her eyes, then all went dark. She was falling . . . falling . . .

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

E
xhausted from everything that had happened in the past thirty-six hours, Neal opened his mouth for another wide yawn—but movement inside Miss Bainbridge’s dark shop stopped him. He stepped behind an old elm tree and peeked around it. The glass panes in the front door were shattered—someone had broken in!

The door swung open and a cloaked figure ran down the street. Neal tore away from his hiding place, intent on giving chase—but quickly realized he’d never be able to catch the criminal. Instead, he ran into the shop, hoping no harm had come to anyone.

He stepped cautiously in the darkness, not wanting to grind the broken glass under his feet into tiny shards, which would make cleaning up nearly impossible.

Dress figures stood to his right and left, displaying ready-made gowns through the front windows to passersby. A few feet in front of him was the high table where he’d seen the store clerk cutting fabric for customers. On either side of that table were display cases—one with buttons and hooks and all kinds of decorative items, the other for ribbons and flowers and feathers. On the other side of the table and cases, lining the back wall, were shelves up to the ceiling containing bolts of fabrics. All looked exactly as it had on his previous visits.

He made his way toward the counter at the end of the room, behind which was the door to the workroom and the stairs up to the family’s private area.

Seeing a faint glow coming from behind the counter, he quickened his step and rounded the end.

A candle lay on its side, sputtering, having rolled out of its holder. The flame came perilously close to a pile of fabric on the floor. He dropped his medical kit and reached for the brass holder. Its light revealed the pile of fabric on the floor to be a person.

Holding the candle high, he reached for the woman’s shoulder and rolled her onto her back. His breath caught in his throat.

“Miss Bainbridge!” After straightening her head, he pressed two fingers to the side of her throat. A low, steady pulse met his touch, and he let out a relieved puff of air. He brushed her hair away from her face, but a clump stuck to her right temple. Warm dampness coated his fingers, and when he looked at them in the wan candlelight, they were dark.

Head wound.

She groaned and raised a hand to her head. “What . . . happened?”

Pressing against her shoulders to keep her from trying to sit up, Neal adjusted his position from crouching to sitting on the floor beside her. “Hush. You’re going to be all right.”

Her eyes flew open. “Dr. Stradbroke! What are you—? Oh. I remember hearing . . . and when I came in . . .”

“Did you see who did this to you?” Assured she was not going to try sitting up again, Neal released her shoulders and reached for his kit, holding the candle over it to find what he needed.

“There’s a lamp up there.” Caddy waved her hand to indicate a place above her on the shelves lining the wall behind the counter. “Third or fourth shelf.”

Neal rose, found the lamp, and used the candle to light it. The additional illumination brought Miss Bainbridge’s injury into shocking relief. Blood covered the right side of her face from a gash that looked like it reached from the far corner of her eyebrow up into her hairline.

“You are most likely going to require stitches. If so, I will need a far brighter light, boiling water, and bandages.”

“And needle and thread, I suspect—which I can certainly provide you with.” Her smile melted into a grimace.

Neal couldn’t help smiling back. Even injured, she didn’t lose her sense of humor. “Do you mind if I examine you for other injuries first?”

“No, I don’t mind.” She closed her eyes, and even in the dim light, he would have sworn the cheek not covered with blood flushed.

To avoid further embarrassment, he averted his gaze as he checked her shoulders and collarbones for displacement, lifted and moved her arms, wrists, hands, and fingers, then moved down to her feet and lifted and moved her legs, letting his senses of touch and sound judge her mobility and her reaction to movement.

He moved back to her side. “Do you hurt anywhere other than your head?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Good. I want you to place your hands on my shoulders. I am going to raise you up—do not try to help. Let me do all the lifting.” Placing his hands on her waist, he waited until the slight weight of her hands settled on his shoulders.

A few more inches, and he’d be embracing her. The thought sent heat rushing up the back of his neck, and he hated himself for it. He had nothing but respect for Miss Bainbridge, and he did not want the pleasant acquaintanceship he’d begun with his new neighbor to be spoiled by unrequited attraction and juvenile reactions.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He got his feet situated under him for balance, then pushed up with his legs, holding her steady with his upper-body strength.

For a woman who looked to be of average build, he was surprised by how light she felt. Nowhere near as light as her mother, but not as substantial as he’d been prepared for.

He kept his hands on her waist until he was certain she had her feet under her. “I am going to hand you the lamp to carry. I will keep my arm about your waist for support, if you do not object.”

“I don’t object.” Though darkness hid her face, he could hear a smile in her voice. His explanations of his methods were sometimes amusing to his patients, but one of the first things he’d learned from his mentor was to err on the side of caution and give too much instruction and information rather than to risk ruining his reputation by offending a patient’s sensibilities.