Marrying Miss Hemingford (15 page)

Anne thanked her and left, starting towards the infirmary and then changing her mind when she remembered Mrs Smith saying people came out of there worse than when they went in. And this had been borne out by Dr Tremayne. ‘They know nothing of cleanliness,' she recalled him saying at the meeting round the library table. ‘They perform operations and treat wounds with the same unwashed hands they use to prepare food or empty slops.
Dirt is the biggest killer of all. That is why I want this hospital, so that we can lead by example.'

She could picture him, sleeves rolled up, dark hair awry, surrounded by patients, all clamouring to be seen, and it filled her with an urge to be there, to share his burden. She tried to remind herself that she was disgusted with him for kissing his sister-in-law in that intimate manner, but the image of him at work, as she had seen him work on Tildy, quite dispelled that. She set her feet firmly in the direction of his house.

Her imagination, if anything, had underestimated the pandemonium there. The waiting room was bursting and there was a long line of people patiently waiting at the door. She pushed her way in, amid angry protests that she should take her turn and being a nob didn't give her the right to be seen first.

Justin, hearing the commotion from the adjoining room, went to calm everyone down. His heart gave a lurch when he saw the cause of it, but then he steadied himself and smiled at her. ‘As you see, Miss Hemingford, I am not in a position to receive visitors.'

‘I am not a visitor. I am here to help.'

‘You?' He only just managed to stop himself from laughing.

‘Yes. Why not? I promised to find you an assistant and here I am. Tell me what to do.'

‘You cannot mean that.'

‘Indeed I do.'

‘You must be mad.'

‘No madder than you.'

They stood three feet apart and glared at each other,
until he gave a grunt that could have been a laugh, and said. ‘Have it your own way. I haven't time to argue. See if you can organise these people. I need to look at the most urgent cases first. And I need records kept.' He nodded towards a chest of drawers. ‘You'll find cards in there.' And with that he returned to the patient on the couch, leaving her to try and carry out his instructions.

She peeled off her lace gloves and stuffed them in her pocket before removing her coat and bonnet. She hung them on a hook behind the door where she found Mrs Armistead's discarded apron. It was much too big, but she wrapped it round herself, tying it tightly into her waist and turned to the queue. ‘Now, let's see if we can have some order, shall we?'

Justin heard the commotion die down and then the soft murmur of her voice as she spoke to each patient in turn. He did not believe for a moment that she would last out an hour, let alone a day, but at least she was willing, more willing than Sophie had been. He had asked for her help only to goad her, knowing how appalled she would be. Miss Hemingford was not appalled, apparently not afraid, but she had not experienced the worst of it yet. She could have no idea what the work entailed and, for someone who had obviously never done a hand's turn in her life, it would come hard. He didn't know whether to be angry that she had the effrontery to think she could make a difference or bemused by her naïveté.

But it was wonderful to have her so near. He had only to call out and she would be there, her bright eyes meeting his, her smile setting his heart thudding. But he would not call her. It was a kind of test, a test of himself to see
if he could work efficiently with her so close and a test of her to see if she had the stamina for it. If she lasted a couple of hours, he would relieve her, tell her she had proved her worth and send her home to her tea parties and fundraising. He was very grateful to her for that. But as for acting as his assistant… She was mad and so was he to allow it.

He finished examining the patient on the couch, told him to rest at home and gave him a bottle of restorative, though nothing he could think of would restore the man's damaged heart. Then he picked up the bell and rang for his next patient.

He looked up as the door opened and Anne ushered in a woman carrying a baby who was so thin and weak, she wondered that the child was still drawing breath. She was filled with compassion and aware of her own inadequacy. ‘Mrs Bristow, Doctor.'

‘Thank you.' He smiled. ‘You seem to have quietened them down.'

‘Yes. I told them they would not be seen any quicker by making a fuss.' She paused as the mother sat down and began pulling the ragged shawl from her infant, who was too weak even to cry. ‘Some of them admit they are not ill. They say you give them money to buy food for their children…'

‘Food is the medicine they most need, Miss Hemingford. You will find a tin containing coins in the top drawer of the chest. Sixpence each usually suffices.'

She retreated, found the money and halved the queue in a matter of a few minutes, though some who had come only for the money undoubtedly needed medical attention
as well and she told them to come back later when the doctor was less busy. There was one man who had cut the top of his thumb off at his work who needed immediate attention. She found bandages in a drawer and bound the stump as best she could before sending him in next. Others she felt were malingering, but she was not sure enough to send them away. Only the doctor could do that.

She worked steadily all morning, filling in cards, showing in patients, smiling cheerfully though some of the sights she saw appalled her. It was the tiny children who concerned her most. She was almost reduced to tears by the condition of some of them: thin as rakes, poorly clad, listless, without any of the bubbling energy of her nephew. In spite of the sores and the dirt, she took some of them in her arms and tried to comfort them before handing them back to the adults who had brought them in.

And then suddenly the last patient had gone and the waiting room was empty. She sank into a chair utterly exhausted, kicking off her shoes.

Justin found her with her head nodding on her chest, and smiled. Some of her lustrous hair had escaped from its pins and was curling about her soft cheeks, there was a spot of blood on her forehead where she had wiped it with a bloodstained hand, and more blood and grime on the overlarge apron she wore. She had worked like a Trojan and lightened his load considerably, but he could not allow her to continue. She had seen and done things today that no gently nurtured young lady should ever have to see and do and he had been a cur to subject her to it.

It was all because of Sophie, because of her reaction to his suggestion she should work. He had not meant it,
knew she would not agree, but his annoyance with her had somehow transferred itself to Miss Hemingford and she had been the one to be punished. But, oh, how magnificently she had coped! If it were possible to love her more, he did at that moment.

‘You poor dear,' he said softly.

‘Oh.' Startled, she sat up to find him looking down at her, smiling a little. ‘I am sorry…' She struggled to her feet, only to find one leg had gone dead, making her stumble. He reached out to catch her and the next minute she was being held in his arms.

She did not move, did not want to move. His arms were warm and comforting and she could hear his heartbeat against her ear, beating a little fast as hers was. Slowly she looked up into his face. He was gazing at her with an expression she could not fathom. There was a glimmer of hope there, along with sorrow, as if one were cancelling out the other. His dark eyes were no longer cold and empty, but soft pools that mirrored emotion so deep she felt herself drowning in it.

‘What is there to be sorry for?' His voice was softly sensuous.

‘For falling asleep at my post.' She gave a crooked smile. He had not released her; their two bodies were still entwined, so close they might almost have been one entity. ‘That's punishable by a flogging in the service, is it not?'

‘You think I should flog you?'

She laughed softly. ‘Do you think I deserve it?'

‘You deserve a medal.'

‘Fustian!'

‘I mean it. You have worked wonders, done more than I could ever have expected of you.' He held her at arm's length and looked down at her, smiling. ‘A nurse in the making, but I cannot send you home looking like that.'

‘I don't intend to go home yet. There might be more patients later…'

‘Perhaps, but you have done enough. You are exhausted. I will show you where you can wash and do something with your hair.' He put out a hand to touch it, making the last of the pins fall out. It cascaded round her shoulders in a shining curtain of chestnut. ‘Oh, dear, I seem to have released it all.'

‘It was beyond repair anyway.' She flung her head back, making her heavy tresses swing about her face.

He was entranced and put his hand behind her neck to lift it, looking into her face. Her amber eyes were shining and her cheeks were glowing a warm pink, but it was her lips that were the centre of his gaze; slightly apart, they were rosy and inviting. Did she know what she was doing to him? Was she being deliberately provocative? Or was she simply an innocent, unaware of the havoc she was creating in his breast? With a low moan he lowered his face to hers, touching his lips to hers with gentle tenderness. It was all he intended, if it could be said he had any prior thought at all. He certainly took no time to consider how she might react.

If she was startled, it did not last. It seemed such a natural thing for him to do. She made no protest, did not draw away, and when the kiss deepened and his mouth crushed hers and forced her lips apart she experienced sensations that were entirely new and delightful; instead of pulling away in horror, she actively clung to him, wanting more.

They drew apart at last and stood looking at each other, as if weighing up what they had done to their fragile relationship. It could never be the same again and both knew it. How could they work together on the fund-raising committee, he the recipient of charity and she the benefactor, when there was that kiss drawing them close and at the same time forcing them apart? She was sure the effects of it were emblazoned on her face for all to see. And then she remembered another kiss, one he had given to his sister-in-law, one that had disgusted her. And now she was disgusted with herself.

‘I must go,' she said, reaching for her pelisse and bonnet, quite forgetting she had offered to continue working.

‘Not like that. You must tidy yourself first.'

She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Or I will have the whole place talking, you mean.'

‘They already gossip about me and I care little for that, but you must think of your own reputation. It is easy to misconstrue appearances.'

‘Oh.' Did he mean when he kissed Mrs Tremayne? But he had no idea she had seen that, so he probably meant nothing. But had she misunderstood it? Had it been no more than an innocent show of affection? Oh, how she would have liked to believe that!

‘Come,' he said, offering her his hand. ‘I will show you where you can see to your toilette and afterwards I will fetch a cab to take you home.'

Because there was nowhere else, he took her up to his bedroom. It was surprisingly tidy, but then he was a naval man and she supposed sailors had to learn to be tidy in the crowded confines of a ship. He fetched a kettle of hot
water that had been left to simmer on the hob in the kitchen, poured it into a bowl and found her a towel; then he left her.

He went down to the office to complete his notes. But today his attention wandered to the young lady who was even now stripping off and washing in his bedroom. He imagined her every move, the removing of her garments one by one, the soft flesh slowly revealed, a little at a time, and ached with the need of her. Something had passed between them that first day when she had brought Tildy to him, something immeasurable, something eternal. Had she felt it too? But why would she look at a doctor with no pretensions to do anything but serve those who needed his skills and could not afford to pay for them? He could tell her otherwise, but he had too much pride to do that. He had been a fool and he must never let it happen again.

He was still sitting disconsolately at his desk, his pen idle in his hand, when she returned. Unable to restore her coiffure, she had brushed her hair and tied it back with one of his cravats. ‘I hope you don't mind,' she said.

‘No, I do not mind. It is more becoming where it is than round my neck.'

‘Thank you.' She paused, tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Will you not let me help again?'

‘No. I am grateful for your assistance, but you have done more than enough. Your aunt will think I have kidnapped you.'

For the first time Anne thought of Aunt Bartrum. She would indeed be worrying what had become of her. What she would tell the dear soul, she had no idea. ‘Then if you would be kind enough to fetch a cab for me, I will go.'

‘Certainly.' He rose, came round the desk towards her, then carefully skirted round her to reach the door. It was almost laughable, but she was not laughing. She wanted to cry. They had been so close, but now they were as distant as ever, just as if nothing had happened. Going into the waiting room, she retrieved her coat and slipped her arms into it in a kind of stupor. She stood dry-eyed and aching, though whether that was caused by disappointment, a feeling of being unfulfilled, or sheer physical tiredness she did not know. She had come to no conclusion when she heard voices and footsteps. Thinking it was Justin returning with the cabdriver, she turned towards the door, a bright smile fixed on her face.

‘Look who has been sent by your aunt to fetch you,' he said.

She looked past him to see a tall gangly man with pale gold hair and clear blue eyes standing in the doorway. It was a moment or two before she recognised him and then her face broke into a genuine smile. ‘Doctor Harrison!'

He bowed. ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient.'

‘I beg your pardon. I should have said Professor Harrison. May I present Dr Tremayne.' She turned to Justin. ‘This is Professor Harrison.' To which they responded by laughing aloud.