Ecstasy Wears Emeralds (15 page)

“He's crying, doctor.”

The mother's voice barely carried over the infant's unhappy screams, and Rowan smiled. “He is, indeed, Mrs. Dorsett. Why don't you just sit there and I'll take a look at this loud, young fellow and see if he'll tell us what the bother is. Come here, handsome man.” He lifted the small baby out of her arms and signaled Gayle to come with him to the exam table. He deliberately kept his voice low and even, instead of trying to compete with his charge. “My stethoscope is there, in the first drawer under this table. Pull it out and let's have a listen to his lungs.”

Gayle found the instrument easily. “Here you are.”

“I can tell you already without using it that he seems to have ample strength and a clear cry, so that's a good sign.” He laid the boy down carefully to unwrap him a bit for the examination. “See? His color is good, though admittedly a bit red in the face from his efforts. Then we listen, like so . . . in between the cries . . . for any wet drawing sounds . . . but he's a beauty.” He took the earpieces out to allow Gayle to try to listen. “Can you hear it? The air moving freely? Like a high-pitched sound, and there should be a little muffled wind on the intake and just before he breathes out. Yes?”

“Yes!”

“So, we know it's not pneumonia or an ailment of the lungs. His mother said nothing of coughing or fever, so that's a clue. What next?”

“It could simply be colic. I would feel his stomach. Is it distended or hard?”

Rowan pulled up the boy's little shirt and a gentle exam confirmed all. He put her hand under his to demonstrate the pressure and pattern of his search.

She gasped. “It's hard as a little drum!”

“Poor fellow! See how he pulls his legs upward? He's miserable, but this will quite literally pass.” He rolled the infant over, keeping his own warm hand pressed against the baby's stomach to offer some temporary relief. “It's colic, Mrs. Dor—”

Rowan stopped himself as they both realized that Mrs. Dorsett, who was all of seventeen, had fallen fast asleep in the chair behind them.

Gayle surveyed her with sympathy. “She's a child herself. Has she no help?”

He shook his head. “Not that she's spoken of.” He turned back to the table. “All right. Ring for Barnaby and Florence, and then while we're waiting for them, let me show you a few simple techniques to help our patient. You see? I can use the slight heat and pressure of my hand. Sometimes it helps to rub his back or belly in a wide circular motion, and if we sit him up and do so, just make sure he's reclined and comfortable. None of this is a cure. We'll make sure she gives him fennel water before his feedings and look into her own diet for the cause. Often, he'll just outgrow the trouble in just a month or two and her burden will ease.”

She rang for the servants, and Gayle and Rowan worked quietly side by side with the fussy baby until his cries slowed and he dropped off to slumber. Barnaby arrived and surveyed the scene. “Who am I to take?”

“Can you carry Mrs. Dorsett into the library without waking her? It's dark and quiet in there, and the reading couch will be perfect for her to rest for a while. Let everyone know not to disturb her, all right, Barnaby? And then keep an eye out so that when she does awaken, there's no panic. Florence will have her boy, and tell Carter to slip several shillings into her basket before she goes.”

“Easy enough!” he answered softly, then stepped aside into the room as Florence pushed past him.

“Oh! A dear baby!” she exclaimed quietly, happy to be called to take him from Gayle's arms. “I'll see to him, doctor, no worries there! The kitchen is warm and quiet this time of day, and he'll be a little prince for me, won't you, sweet?”

Both mother and baby were sorted away for rest and care, and Rowan wrote down the instructions for the fennel water for Gayle to give her later.

And so the day went. Any hope he'd held of his apprentice being put off by the press of his less noble patients and their complaints died quickly. Instead, he found himself enjoying a Wednesday as he hadn't in a long while. Gayle set many of them at ease, and her interest and questions were never misdirected. She was quick with her hands and never in the way. The morning seemed to fly, even as his entryway filled with patients.

“Ah, Miss Featherstone!” Rowan looked up from the pile of cards with a smile. This would be one visitor that would try the patience of any apprentice, so he was curious to see what Gayle would think of Ada Featherstone—for the young woman was never well, no matter what anyone said or did, and could not be convinced that she would survive the month. A spinster in her midthirties whose brother had left her money enough for a little bit of pretense but not enough to secure a husband or fend off pity, Ada had made her health, or lack of it, her singular pursuit. He wasn't oblivious to the quirky element of romantic fantasy that dear Ada attributed to their weekly appointments, but he hoped that it was better to harmlessly indulge her than offend her. “What brings you to my office today?”

“I am . . .” Ada hesitated as she spied Gayle, her expression a bit wary. “I am suffering. But who is this?”

“This is Miss Gayle Renshaw. She is assisting me today.”

Miss Featherstone eyed Gayle as if she were a rival on the battlefield. The drooping feathers in her bonnet quivered with the emotion of their owner, and she sniffed her dismissal—but withheld her disapproval, to Rowan's relief—as she finished her study of his new “nurse.” Then she proceeded to devote her attention to Rowan as if Gayle were invisible. “I am dying, Dr. West. I am sure of it!”

“Come, Miss Featherstone.” He led her to one of the chairs across from his desk and took its companion to sit near her. “How can you be so sure? You look better today. Did you not find any relief using the remedy I prescribed last week?”

She sighed dramatically. “I did, at first! You are a genius, Dr. West, and you know I rely entirely on your care. But now . . . I'm dizzy. Nearly all the time! Before it was just headaches, but with this new terrible symptom, I'm in a terror! I could fall! I could break my neck! Or faint in the street!”

“Oh, dear.” He nodded, trying to give every appearance of a man deep in thought and temporarily stumped by the news. “We cannot have you at risk, Miss Featherstone!”

He looked back at Gayle, standing in the corner patiently. “I need my stethoscope, Miss Renshaw.”

He listened to Ada's heartbeat, pressing the small drum just to the edge of her collar and averting his gaze to protect Miss Featherstone's keen sense of modesty. Then, setting the instrument aside, he gently felt her throat and glands, looked into her ears and eyes, and shook his head. “You must take better care of yourself, Miss Featherstone, and see that you relax in the afternoons. You should take a nap each day before teatime.”

“I try! But it is so difficult when one is suffering to think of rest! I'm terrified that if I recline too much, I'll expire right there.”

“Then we must remove this terror so that you can recover.” He held out his stethoscope to Gayle. “I'm afraid it seems that you”—he paused dramatically—“have overexcited blood.” Gayle was behind Miss Featherstone and gave him a puzzled look, but he pointedly ignored her and continued. “It's a common condition for women with artistic and delicate constitutions, such as yourself.”

“Oh, my! Overexcited blood!” Ada repeated enraptured.

“It is
not
life threatening, but it would certainly feel worrisome and cause all of the symptoms that we've been battling.”

“What can I do?”

“I'll have to send for a special compounding mixture from a colleague of mine who has been researching this very thing. Please allow me to send over a tonic with instructions by noon tomorrow. But you must swear that you will take only the careful doses that I prescribe and not take too much! It is extremely potent, but very efficacious for your condition if managed properly.”

“I swear, I will follow your instructions to the letter, as always.” She fanned herself with her gloved fingers. “Is it . . . terribly expensive?”

“Dreadfully so!” Rowan proclaimed. “But I refuse to let you give me a penny until we see you better! I've taken an oath, Miss Featherstone!”

“Oh, my! How wonderful!” Miss Featherstone rose from her chair, energized by the prospect of a new diagnosis and exotic tonic. “I knew you would resolve it! Thank you, Dr. West!”

She sailed out, her bonnet feathers happily waving at them as she left, and Rowan turned back to face his suspicious apprentice.

“Overexcited blood?”

Rowan shrugged. “I know there's no such thing, and thank you for not spoiling it. Miss Featherstone is . . . I do what I can to keep her happy.”

“Is she ill at all?”

He shook his head. “Not in all the years I've known her.”

“And these special tonics and mixtures?” she asked.

“Variations of sugar water, ginger syrup, and lemon or sweetened flour paste pills when her symptoms are acute.” He went back to his desk to make himself a reminder note to send Miss Featherstone's latest “remedy” by morning. “I may assign you to designing her next tonic if you'd like the practice.”

“Wouldn't she be happier if she knew she was fine?”

“No! And I'm not sure that she wouldn't really lose her health if another, less scrupulous, doctor was in the picture.”

Gayle crossed her arms. “Does she pay you for your services?”

“Not yet and I never expect her to. I've told her that I will send her a bill as soon as I've successfully treated her and she is better. But I can hardly bill a woman when I've ‘failed' to relieve her suffering, so the agreement works out beautifully. She gets to come every Wednesday and show off her best bonnets, and I make sure she's not on some quack's doorstep taking opiates.”

“She's insane.”

“She's lonely. Where is your compassion?” he chided her gently, unsure of where the violet storm in her eyes had originated or why. “Ada is difficult, but not any more than most.”

“She's a bit . . . too familiar with you, Dr. West.”

It was close enough to jealousy to make a strange, joyful fire uncurl around his chest.
Hell, I'm wrong, but I think I'll enjoy the misconception and that delightful little pout for now.
“Many patients feel a bit of ownership and entitlement to their doctor's time and attention, but don't blame poor Ada for it.”

A knock on the door ended the debate, and he was sorry for the interruption.

A middle-aged man came into the room, the scent of gin immediately permeating the small room. He crushed his hat in his fists as he bobbed a mumbled greeting at Rowan before he caught sight of Gayle. “I ain't droppin' my pants in front of the likes of her!”

Rowan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Miss Renshaw, it seems I'm in need of a few things from Mr. Fitzroy's.” He pulled a short list off his desk and handed it to her. “Theo will drive you.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse him, but then the man went on even more loudly to say, “A man's gotta right to keep himself to himself without some woman lookin' on! Bad enough my tackle's gone red and itchy, but
she's
not gettin' a peek!”

“Yes, Dr. West. I'll see to it right away.” She took the folded paper from him so swiftly he could hear it leave his hands, and she left the men to themselves.

Rowan turned to his unhappy patient, praying that Gayle would come to appreciate the courtesy of respecting a man's privacy and being spared the sight of what promised to be an embarrassing rash.

Chapter
12

It was mortifying to be sent away, but Gayle was not so proud that she couldn't see the sensibilities that had driven her out of the room. For all her stubborn determination to prove herself, she'd taken one look at that man and decided that for once, retreat truly was the better part of valor.

Rowan's anatomy books had provided her first frank look at the male form, and while she'd grown accustomed to the drawings, the reality of a sputtering, unshaven, ruddy drunk dropping his pants with Rowan at her elbow was unthinkable.

She'd spent a great deal of time with Rowan, but today had been the best day she could remember. Yesterday's fiasco had been rewarded with an opportunity to work side by side with him on over a dozen patients. Today, it had been impossible not to admire how polite and respectful he was to each patient, no matter how mean their dress or the state of their arrival. Each one was made to feel important and cared for, and it was clear that the entire household enjoyed participating in the doctor's Wednesday practice.