No Cure for Love (14 page)

‘Thank you for your time, Doctor Munroe, but I have stayed too long. You have things to do,’ she said, thinking how much the moss-green tone of his waistcoat softened the brown of his eyes.

She should have headed for the door, but her feet were rooted to the spot. They stood staring at each other, the space between them seeming to shrink as the seconds passed. The orderly cleared his throat softly and looked towards the windows.

‘Would you like me to inform Mr Chafford you’ll be late for afternoon surgery, sir?’ he asked.

Doctor Munroe half-turned his head, but kept his eyes on her. ‘No, I’ll be there presently, Bulmer.’

‘I’m singing in the Angel on Thursday, so maybe I’ll see you then,’ Ellen told him.

A look of regret passed over his face. ‘I am afraid it will not be this week. My mother is in London on her yearly visit from Edinburgh.’

‘She is coming all that way alone?’

‘She travels with her maid, but this year she is bringing Miss Sinclair, an acquaintance of mine, with her.’

Ellen’s stomach lurched.
Miss Sinclair? An acquaintance? Bloody fool yer are, Ellen O’Casey. Why wouldn’t he have a respectable young woman ready to marry him?

She gathered herself together and started to leave. Robert moved a second after her and was beside the door when she reached it. He held the brass handle but didn’t open it.

‘Please give my regards to your mother and Josie,’ he said in a low voice. He was so close to her that she could smell the faint lingering scent of bay rum from his morning shave.

Unable to force out any words, she inclined her head and he opened the door. She hastened into the echoing corridor and, taking a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the heavy doors that led to the Whitechapel Road.

 

As the hotel butler opened the door to admit Robert, Mrs Munroe pulled her shoulders back and fixed a smile on her face. After four days in the coach to London every bone in her body screamed. Robert sent her a fleeting smile as he entered and she adjusted her position to ease the stabbing pain running down her left leg.

‘Robert,’ she said, as he reached her. Casting her eyes over him she conceded that he looked none the worse for moving to London. If anything, he looked jaunty and more relaxed than she had seen him for a long time. She caught her breath: he so resembled her brother, his namesake. The same broad stature, the mop of unruly brown hair. Even his eyes had that same intense dark colour. The years had not lessened the sorrow she felt at the loss of her much loved older brother, crushed under the hooves of a cavalry charge. Wellington might have won a decisive victory but she could never hear the word
Waterloo
without coming close to tears. Robert, her son, in a red military coat, would look just like dear Rob.

She offered him a cheek, which he kissed lightly. ‘Mama, you look well.’

‘So do you. I want to hear all about your work, but let us wait until Caroline joins us.’

She indicated that he should sit opposite her. The buttoned leather chair sighed as it took his weight.

‘How long will she be?’

Her shoulders relaxed, thankful that it had been worth suffering Caroline’s wearisome chatter on the long journey. ‘I am glad to find you enthusiastic about seeing her,’ she said as the butler brought in tea.

‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?’

There was something in his tone that made her pause. She sent her son a sharp look, but he seemed relaxed, an untroubled smile on his face. She opened the tea caddy and measured out several spoonfuls and added them to the pot.

‘She’s gone to Bond Street with Mrs Manners,’ she told him. She picked up a smaller caddy and spooned two teaspoons of the black leaves into the teapot.

‘To buy a French ball gown to knock out the eyes of Edinburgh society,’ he said, as she scalded the leaves then rattled the spoon around.

‘Girls today have too much freedom,’ she said, as she offered him a dish of tea. She caught the hint of an amused smile.

‘I know I’ve said it before, but in my day we were grateful for one new gown to start the season. And it was white, or at least a demure pastel shade. But now.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Red! Can you believe it? A red ball gown for a girl not yet twenty-two. I ask you.’ She shook her head as if the ball gown had been fashioned in hell itself. ‘I don’t blame dear Caroline, she is a sweet girl, but a young woman’s reputation is so easily tarnished by a thoughtless action or an unsuitable acquaintance that a mother should always be vigilant and ready with a loving hand.’

Her own daughters, Hermione and Margot, sprang to mind. A loving hand was not always easy to apply and caused no end of nervy tears and hysterical tantrums. There was barely a day in the Munroe household without the smelling salts being called for, but it was her duty to raise them godly, dutiful and unblemished.

‘I am surprised you offered to bring her to London with you, Mama,’ Robert said, finishing his tea and offering his cup for more.

She sighed loudly. ‘My dear Robert, I brought her to London because you are almost thirty and she has been the only woman you have ever raised your eyes from your studies long enough to notice.’

‘Of course I noticed her. It would be hard not to, she’s very pretty,’ Robert said. Mrs Munroe caught the same tight tone as before.

‘I am glad you think so. She is the right age and social status, and she is the apple of her father’s eye. He will not stint at spending whatever is necessary to keep her happy. She is a fine young woman and would make you the perfect wife. Don’t you think?’

For all her religious scruples, Mrs Munroe was not blind to the advantages of having Caroline Sinclair as a daughter-in-law. It was not only her father’s largesse that would benefit Robert, but a pretty wife to care for might persuade him to reside in a more suitable neighbourhood. Goodness knows there wasn’t anyone with more of a heart for the poor than herself, but that didn’t mean challenging God’s ordering of society and making them your neighbours.

Robert didn’t answer. He just stared at a point above her head. ‘Robert!’

‘Mama?’

‘I was saying that Caroline would make a perfect wife for you.’

‘I agree.’

He didn’t sound as if he did and she had her reservations. Caroline Sinclair was pretty enough, with the charm of youth, but she was rather flighty. Before Robert began paying attention to Caroline, she had tried to steer him towards the Smyth sisters, both of whom were accomplished, if a little plain. But she couldn’t blame him for being attracted to Caroline. After all, even the most serious and scholarly man is still a man.

‘She will be a great help to you in London society. Her mother might not have taught her much, but she has imparted to her the rudiments of being a hostess. She would be quite capable of holding soirées and the like and inviting men of influence.’

‘I think you are forgetting that I practise in East London,’ he told her. ‘There are very few men of influence there.’

Just like Robert to look for obstacles,
thought Mrs Munroe. She gave him the same look she had given him at twelve years old when she found him dissecting rats in the summer house.

‘You will, however, need to show her a masterful hand because of her tender age. Your father agrees with me wholeheartedly that you should get on with matters. You know how he hates indecisiveness.’ She pursed her lips together. ‘In short, Robert, if you don’t make her an offer soon some other man with his wits about him will.’ She fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘I am sure your outgoings are considerable in London.’

‘I live modestly in my two rooms at the hospital, and have been appointed the chairman of the Parish Emergency Committee,’ he replied. ‘There is no need for me to rush into marriage. Besides, Caroline has already told me in her letters that she has no desire to settle in London,’ he said, stretching out his arm across the back of the chair.

Irritation started to bubble within her. What on earth was the matter with him? Any man in his position, with a limited income, would run Caroline down the aisle. She was not going to leave London without ensuring that Robert secured the young woman - and her father’s fortune. She drew in a deep breath.

‘Even so, marriage to Caroline would allow—’she stopped mid-sentence as the door opened and the subject of their conversation glided into the room, followed by a hotel porter struggling with a variety of boxes. She spotted Robert and made her way towards him. ‘Doctor Munroe,’ she said, executing a perfectly balanced curtsy.

Robert bowed and Mrs Munroe was gratified to see his expression soften. ‘Miss Sinclair. What a pleasure to see you.’

Mrs Munroe patted the seat next to her. ‘Come and sit by me, Caroline. I am sure you are eager to hear all about Robert’s important work amongst the poor. He is well thought of even in government circles.’

Caroline did as she was bid and sat on the edge of the sofa. Carefully she arranged her skirt around her legs and assumed a polite expression of interest.

Robert started to tell them about the hospital and his work there. His mother listened avidly, but it all seemed very familiar. She had heard much the same from the ministers working among the dregs of humanity in Edinburgh’s Old Town. Of course, as a doctor, Robert wasn’t as much concerned with the moral wellbeing of the poor as she was and was apt to make excuses for their idleness. Caroline was evidently less engrossed by Robert’s tale. Several times Mrs Munroe caught the young woman out of the corner of her eye stifling a yawn. Each time she blinked to stop the stretching of her face and gave Robert the sweetest smile, but thankfully he didn’t seem to notice.

She sent Caroline a stern look, but the girl didn’t see it because she was gazing out of the window.

‘Is that not interesting, Caroline?’ Caroline gracefully turned her head and her face grew attentive again. ‘What do you think of Robert’s ideas on illness?’

Robert looked at the young woman sitting beside his mother. Studying him for a few moments while Caroline collected her thoughts, Mrs Munroe noticed a tension in him. She had the impression that he was doing what was expected, but that his attention was elsewhere. Then it occurred to her that he had been much the same since he had arrived. There was something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Caroline’s finely arched eyebrows drew together just enough to indicate thoughtfulness but not so much as to wrinkle her forehead. ‘Robert knows I am always amazed at his understanding of such complex things. But’ - she sighed, and smiled adoringly at him - ‘you expect too much of our sex if you think us able to understand such things.’

Mrs Munroe snorted. ‘What nonsense. Women are perfectly able to understand such things, if they put their minds to it,’ she said. ‘Don’t you agree, Robert?’

‘I do.’

Caroline gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh really, you do tease. I doubt you could find one woman who could understand all the things you find so fascinating.’

‘I already have, a Mrs O’Casey,’ Robert replied. ‘I explained all my experiments in detail and she understood perfectly.’

There was that tone again, but even stronger this time. Several questions fired themselves into Mrs Munroe’s mind, but Caroline asked the most pressing one.

‘Who is Mrs O’Casey?’ Caroline’s voice was conversational but Mrs Munroe heard an underlying sharpness. Caroline was suddenly taking a keener interest in Robert’s work.

‘Just a widow who came to the hospital a few days ago to thank me,’ he said casually, but there was a new alertness in his expression. Mrs Munroe scrutinised her son more closely.

‘Thank you?’ Caroline asked. ‘For what?’

‘For caring for her daughter and a close friend. She took an interest in the laboratory and I showed her around,’ he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. Caroline was appeased, Mrs Munroe was not. Robert hadn’t lied but there was more to be said, and it occurred to her that it might not be something that Caroline needed to hear.

‘Caroline has joined the Society for the Moral Improvement of Distressed Women,’ she said, steering the conversation into safer waters. Whoever Mrs O’Casey was, she warranted no further consideration.

Robert’s eyebrows shot upwards. He might well look surprised. It had taken her a month of cajoling to get Caroline to agree. She hoped that socialising with women whose thoughts weren’t only about lace and silk would help her improve her mind.

‘I have.’ Caroline lowered her eyes, then swept them up flirtatiously at Robert. A dimple appeared on her left cheek. ‘I am going to the next meeting, aren’t I?’ She looked to Mrs Munroe, who nodded, keeping her eyes on her son. Caroline started to pluck absent-mindedly at the fabric of her dress. ‘I must confess, I don’t know much about it all.’ Her face grew very serious. ‘But I think that if we had a subscription ball we could raise money to help the poor.’

At that moment Mrs Munroe knew that, whatever she did, her quest to develop Caroline’s social sensibilities was doomed. Although she might have wished that Robert had entered a more lucrative and prestigious occupation than medicine, he was a gifted doctor and the right wife could make him a rich one.

There was no denying that on all counts Caroline had the right attributes that Robert needed in a wife - but!

There was a knock on the door and the hotel valet entered. Moving silently over the carpet he handed her a note on a silver tray, bowed and left the room. She opened it, looked at the lines she had scribbled that morning and frowned. She rose to her feet.

‘It’s from Lord Effingham,’ she said, sending up a silent prayer for forgiveness. ‘I will have to answer it immediately.’ Robert rose to his feet, but she waved at him. ‘Sit, Robert, and keep Caroline company. Manners will chaperone.’

She caught her maid’s eye, and Manners picked up a book and settled herself in the far corner of the room.