New World, New Love (10 page)

C
harles Noiret proved to be as interesting as Louise had been told he would be. Although there were already a number of guests gathered at the Hoinville residence when she arrived, she picked him out intuitively. He stood with his back towards her, gesticulating vigorously in some deep discussion with two other men, who – as she discovered later – were local doctors. His plum velvet coat had seen better days, his shoes were polished but well worn, and his thick, unruly fair hair was tied back by a bedraggled ribbon.

He spun round on his heel with an unassailable jauntiness as Richard spoke to him and she looked into a smiling brown-eyed, high-browed face, the mouth mobile, and the cleft chin decidedly stubborn. As the introductions took place he made a sweeping bow of unnecessary depth that made her think of a schoolboy doing his best.

‘I hear you’ve not been long in this country, Dr Noiret,’ she said as he faced her again. ‘But you’ve made a niche for yourself already.’

‘Indeed I have,’ he answered enthusiastically with an almost boastful pride. ‘All thanks to Mr Hoinville for granting me a loan at a low interest. He’s also lent me one of his horses on which to make my calls until I can afford to buy one of my own. My surgery is down near the docks in an old house that needed plenty of repairs. I’ve had that done and the whole place scrubbed and whitewashed as well as installing some necessary furnishings. Fortunately I had my surgical instruments with me when I escaped from France and so I was saved that expense.’

She smiled, liking him. ‘So, if that’s your location, I can tell you’re not aiming to make a fortune with rich patients.’

‘
Mon Dieu
! No!’ He shook his tousled head vehemently. ‘There are more than enough doctors ready to wait on them! To date, among other patients who have come to me, I’ve some of our own countrymen and women unable to afford medical aid elsewhere.’ He tilted his head to one side, eyeing her mockingly. ‘You’re welcome to view my premises if you’re not too proud to let your skirts brush past the poor.’

She knew he was challenging her. ‘Every weekday I work in a milliner’s shop from seven in the morning until seven at night. But if Sunday afternoon is convenient I’ll call on you then.’

His eyebrows shot up and he made his ridiculous bow again. ‘On the strength of that promise I shall escort you into dinner.’

In all there were ten guests with Richard at the head of the table. Louise was seated at his right hand, with Charles beside her, and the conversation was lively. The other two émigré doctors were older, serious men, one of them accompanied by his wife and spinster daughter, who had escaped with him. The other doctor was a bachelor, proud that, as he spoke a little English, he had obtained a position at the New York Hospital. Louise, hearing his efforts as he demonstrated his knowledge of the language, hoped his patients would be able to understand him. Charles, on the other hand, spoke it fluently, having had an English tutor in his boyhood. As dinner ended, Richard rose to his feet and raised his glass in a toast.

‘To our great President.’

Everybody stood and drank the toast. Louise could tell that it was always customary at Richard’s table and she approved, for from all she had heard and read of George Washington he deserved the respect and affection of his people.

Delphine had made her own plans for Sunday with Margaret and her parents, which left Louise free to go on her own to the address Charles had given her. Although her apartment was in a poor area, it was superior to the rough district where Charles had established himself. All the houses looked in need of repair and rubbish littered the streets. The shining brass plate on his door shone like a piece of gold in its incongruous setting of poverty and decay. To the side of it was a stone mounting block left from the house’s grander days. She tugged the bell-pull, aware of being watched with curiosity by those lounging in their doorways or sitting at their windows. Some barefoot boys had stopped kicking a ball made of rags to stare at her.

Immediately, from within, footsteps came running and the door was jerked open by Charles in his shirtsleeves and wearing a bloodstained apron. ‘You’ve come at just the right time!’ he exclaimed with relief. ‘I need help! I’ve a patient here with a knife wound!’

She threw off her cloak and followed him at a run into his surgery. The patient, a burly-looking fellow bare to the waist, lay strapped on to a high-legged, leather couch, blood flowing from a single horrific slash across his chest and arm. Charles hurled a clean cloth at her. ‘Apply pressure here!’ He indicated the spot. ‘As hard as you can! I have to stitch him up without delay!’

Without a second’s hesitation she obeyed. Charles took needle and thread to begin his work. The patient was barely conscious, but he uttered a dreadful-sounding howl as the needle entered his torn flesh and would have jerked upwards if the leather straps had not held him down. Then his head lolled to one side as he became totally unconscious. His breath stank of ale and brandy, the tattoo marks on his arms indicating that he was a seaman, and it was her guess that the knifing was the result of a drunken brawl. Although he was oblivious to all that was going on, Charles spoke to him now and again as the stitching proceeded.

‘Hold on, Ben! I’m not going to let you die yet.’

Louise had to change cloths many times as each became blood-soaked, throwing them into a bucket. When the stitching was done Charles padded and bandaged his patient. Then Louise unfolded a blanket, drew it up to the seaman’s neck and tucked it in around him.

‘Well done, madame!’ Charles said admiringly, offering her a bowl of water in which to wash the blood from her hands and arms. ‘Many women would have fainted away at that gruesome sight. You’ve helped with something like that before.’

‘Not exactly. There was a convent not far from Versailles where I went as often as I could to help in the nuns’ charity work. Mostly it was assisting at births – so many abandoned women and young girls turned to the nuns for help – or else I fed the sick and dressed any injuries.’ She looked across at the patient as she dried her hands. ‘What happened?’

‘There was a fight outside one of the taverns and he suffered the worst of it. Four of his shipmates dumped him here and went charging off again to search for his attacker.’

‘If they find him it could be extra work for you.’

He shook his head grimly. ‘Not in the mood they were in. It would be a gravedigger’s task.’ Then he noticed the state of her dress. ‘Those bloodstains! Your gown is ruined! I should have thought to give you an apron.’

‘There was no time to waste. Every second counted. That seaman’s life depended on it.’ She was glad to reassure him. ‘My gown is muslin and will wash.’

‘That’s a relief.’ He went to bend over his patient and looked at him closely while feeling his pulse, before adjusting the blanket again. ‘I managed to get some brandy into him to dull the pain and he’d already drunk enough ale to sink a ship, so he couldn’t have felt much. But he will suffer from the wound when he comes round and he’s lost a lot of blood. Fortunately he seems to have the strength of an ox and that should help him pull through.’

‘Perhaps you’ll get more seafarers after this one’s recovery, being so near the docks.’ She sat down in the chair he had drawn forward for her.

‘I’ve had a number of them already.’ He took a bottle of Madeira and two glasses from a cupboard. ‘Apart from accidents at sea, which need proper attention when a ship comes into harbour, they pick up all sorts of diseases in foreign ports and pay generously for any treatment that helps them. I get stevedores and other dock workers, who usually want to pay in goods they’ve stolen from the cargoes, but I always insist on money.’ Grinning cheerfully, he sat down on the opposite side of his desk. ‘Those fees go towards financing treatment for patients who have nothing. The same system worked when I was in practice at home in Calais.’

‘You sound like Robin Hood in the English legend.’

He threw back his head in laughter. ‘Not I! I’m just practical. The penniless sick have the right to be healed and I use the best available method. If I were in luck, sometimes in Calais I’d be called to a prosperous merchant’s house and that would help to fill up the coffers too. I’m counting on the same happening here to let me clear myself of Richard’s loan.’

Louise raised her glass. ‘To Ben’s speedy recovery.’

‘I echo that.’ After drinking the toast he put his glass down and went again to his patient, his frown showing his concern. His long, capable fingers sought out Ben’s pulse once more before returning to carry on their conversation. He had drunk two glasses of wine to her one when suddenly the patient uttered a deep-throated groan. Instantly Charles was on his feet. ‘He’s regaining consciousness. Now I must get him to drink plenty of water. Luckily I’ve some fresh-drawn from the pump.’

She went to his side. ‘Can I help?’

‘No, you’ve done more than enough this afternoon.’

Just then the front door crashed open and there came a thumping of heavy boots along the hall as Ben’s shipmates returned. As they burst into the room, demanding to know how he was and angry that his assailant had eluded them, Louise seized the moment to make an unobtrusive departure. Charles signalled that he would see her again soon.

She was careful to keep her cloak wrapped around her to hide her bloodstained gown. It was as well that Delphine was with the Hammonds because she was in no mood for an hysterical display of concern.

It was now early summer and the straw hats at Miss Sullivan’s shop were selling well. She was fully aware that the variety of shapes and colours suggested by Louise had greatly extended her market. Her stock began to dwindle quickly and soon the straw hats were sold as fast as orders could be fulfilled. Those in the workshop were glad of the overtime and even Louise, who was now working on the more elaborate millinery, had to break off to help when demand exceeded supply.

At Monsieur Rousselot’s dancing school Delphine had advanced under his intensive tuition and was given her first class of pupils. To her great disappointment they were all aged three to five. At the end of the first day she complained bitterly to Louise.

‘I can’t cope with little children. I don’t even
like
them! They wouldn’t pay attention and kept running off the floor to their nursemaids, who sat in a row along the wall gossiping together. When I called the class to order the children either bawled their heads off or else stood there as if petrified and wet themselves.’ She stamped her foot like a child herself when Louise responded by laughing. ‘It’s not funny! I didn’t work as hard as I have done to end up with a bunch of babies. You know I never even liked playing with dolls when I was little and I’ve no time for any of them.’

‘Hasn’t it occurred to you,’ Louise said, trying to compose her face, ‘that Monsieur Rousselot could be testing your patience? After all, when you advance to older children and adult classes you’ll have plenty of pupils who’ll seem to have two left feet and no sense of rhythm. Your patience will be tried enough then.’

Delphine looked doubtful. ‘Do you think that’s what he had in mind?’ Then, always dramatic in her actions, she threw up her hands helplessly. ‘Then I’m finished! I’ll never get those infants to learn anything and I’ve two more batches of them coming tomorrow. My career is over!’

Louise shook her head. ‘Don’t lose heart so easily. I’ve an idea that should help you. After we’ve eaten dinner we’ll get the sewing basket out and I’ll tell you what to do with your classes.’

Delphine found that by smiling at her pupils, using quiet tones, and by handing each child a flower from a bunch which she and Louise had made together, they were soon coaxed into forming a ring and pretending to be flowers as well. After a while even the shy ones stopped hanging on to their nursemaids’ skirts to join in the dancing games. All the crying that was done took place when it was time to go home again, including the stamping of little feet in temper, but that was the responsibility of the nursemaids. Thankfully, Delphine closed the door on them.

But she had made a beginning. Although there were days when she could have screamed at times with impatience, she kept a smile glued on her face and had the satisfaction of having an orderly class when Monsieur Rousselot happened to come into the room.

‘They were all turning in the wrong direction, but some were managing the steps quite well and the rest were bobbing up and down to the music. As always, I’m left a nervous wreck!’ She collapsed with exaggerated exhaustion into a chair.

‘Persevere,’ Louise advised firmly. ‘I’m certain you’ll advance from that age group before long.’

Her words proved right. Soon Delphine was teaching the young adults’ class, both boys and girls. There were budding romances, but these were watched out for and quashed by the girls’ own chaperones. Delphine had begun to take everything in her stride, but the highlight of her days was the time she spent at the Hammonds and when free of work she was rarely at her own home, except to sleep.

Louise had begun to see Charles every Sunday afternoon. They would set out from home at the same time to meet along the way. He had given her a key, which meant that if he were delayed through dealing with an emergency she would wait at his house until he returned. Neither of them had any money to spare and often they would take a picnic to a grassy stretch that overlooked the river or enjoy the ocean’s air from a promenade. Sometimes she sat before him on his horse and they would leave the city behind and go out into the countryside. Otherwise they chose a park with shady trees where she would sit beside him as he lay full-length on the grass. They told each other their hopes and dreams that they had never told anyone else, which meant a great deal to them both.

When their outings were over for the day he would cook omelettes in his kitchen for them both or else she would provide supper at the apartment. They had grander fare when invited to Richard Hoinville’s mansion, but enjoyed their simple meals together just as much, never running out of talk or laughter. Once she asked him why it was that he, who had done so much for the health of the poor in the past, had been forced to flee France.