The Frost Fair (13 page)

Besides, she'd made the same preparations to catch his eye that she had the day before: the skirts of the green jaconet were spread out gracefully upon the bedclothes, her hair was brushed, her lashes were artfully darkened. She was quite ready for him again. Why didn't he come?

The ladies remained in Meg's bedroom almost two hours, during which time neither Meg nor Isabel uttered more than half-a-dozen sentences. As a result, Lady Habish, when rising to take her leave, declared loudly that she'd never in her life met
anyone
of such eloquence, charm and wit. “I shall hold a party in your honor two nights hence,” she announced, “so that all our neighbors will have the good fortune to make your acquaintances.”

Isabel looked at Meg dubiously. “Thank you, Lady Habish,” she said, “but it's unlikely that Meg's ankle will have mended sufficiently to—”

“That is not a problem of any consequence,” Lady Habish insisted, unwilling to brook a refusal. She regarded herself as the most important personage in the entire region and had long ago convinced herself that her parties were the most desirable of any of the entertainments the surrounding gentry enjoyed. It was inconceivable to her that anyone would refuse an invitation to her table by choice. “I shall see to it that her ladyship is carried to and from our carriage (which I shall send at seven to fetch you all) in the greatest comfort. I've no doubt you will both be refreshed by the change of scene.”

Lady Carrier was not in the least put out by what some hostesses might have considered a slur. “
Do
say yes, Lady Meg,” she urged. “It will do all of us good to get out a bit.”

A chorus of voices joined in pressing them to accept. Trixie, in particular, seemed breathlessly eager for Meg to agree. Meg immediately perceived the reason for her urgent look—her Mortimer would undoubtedly be invited. Unsure of what to do, Meg glanced at her aunt inquiringly. Isabel answered with an almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say that she was quite willing to do as Meg wished. With that feeble encouragement, Meg smiled good-naturedly at Lady Habish and gave a tentative assent.

After her visitors had all left her, Meg sighed in relief. She was convinced that she would truly enjoy some moments of solitude. But when that solitude extended to an hour, and then to two, she began to feel oppressed. Lying in bed in this helpless fashion was beginning to pall. She was restless and strangely dissatisfied. If only someone had been thoughtful enough to provide her with a book …

She began to wonder idly what sort of library a man like Sir Geoffrey might have assembled to keep himself content in this remote place. If the boor didn't bother to call on her soon, she would send for him and ask to be carried to the library to select some reading matter for herself. That would be a way to—

But a knock at the door interrupted her scheming thoughts. Giving a quick fluff to her hair (but without conviction that the action would have any purpose; the visitor was probably not he), she invited the caller to enter. Her heart leaped to her throat when she saw it was Geoffrey at last. For the first time in two long days, he'd made an appearance when she was completely ready for him. She looked up eagerly at his face to take note of his reaction to her improved appearance.

If he did show a reaction, however, she didn't see it. Her attention was distracted by the appearance of another man who followed Geoffrey into the room. “I've brought Dr. Fraser to see you, ma'am,” Geoffrey said without preamble. “I've been telling him that I expect him to put his best arts in your service … to make up with his skill for what my coachman did to you with his lack of it.”

Dr. Fraser said a brisk “Good day, ma'am,” and set his bag down on a chair. He was a wiry, compactly built man of indeterminate age who seemed to crackle with suppressed energy. There was a bounce in his stride and a bracing, no-nonsense air about him which gave Meg confidence. She was quite ready to believe that he knew what he was about.

The doctor peered at her briefly through narrowed eyes. Then he took a
pince-nez
from his coat pocket and snapped it on the bridge of his nose. He looked at her over it, under it and through it. He examined her eyes, the back of her head where the remains of the lump could still be felt and, finally, the ankle. With Geoffrey's assistance, he bent over her leg and began to unwrap the bandages. Before the task was completed—her tense posture made them realize how painful the handling was to her, and they proceeded very slowly—the door opened and Isabel came tiptoeing in. “May I come in to hear what the doctor has to say?” she asked timidly.

Dr. Fraser didn't lift his head, but Geoffrey smiled up at her. “Of course, Isabel,” he said, surprising Meg with the tone of familiarity in his voice. “I should have sent for you myself, if this impatient fellow here had not demanded my whole attention.”

Isabel took a place at the foot of the bed and watched with troubled eyes as the bandages were unwound. Before the task was quite completed, the door opened again. This time it was Lady Carrier, with Sybil in tow. “I want you to look at Sybil, Dr. Fraser,” she ordered, seating herself in the bedside chair, “when you've finished with her ladyship, of course. Sybil has not been at all well these last few days. We're very much afraid she's contracted an infection in her sinuses.”

“Yes, a putrid infection,” Sybil echoed dramatically.

Geoffrey and the doctor exchanged looks of mild vexation, though neither gentleman said a word. Ordinarily, Meg would have been irritated with the attitude of superciliousness that the look implied, but this time she could not help but sympathize with Geoffrey. His mother had shown a want of sensitivity to have intruded so familiarly upon Meg's examination. Meg was vexed with the woman herself.

The bandages removed, the doctor moved Meg's foot back and forth, causing her to gasp. He leaned down and examined the discoloration intently, grunted, and straightened. Then, without a word, he bounded over to Sybil, pushed her down so that she was seated on the bed and looked down her throat. He also looked carefully at her eyes and into each of her ears. Again he grunted and again said nothing.

While everyone in the room watched him with silent suspense, the doctor took a stance, with legs slightly apart and hands clasped behind his back, in the center of the room. Slowly with intent deliberation, he studied the faces of everyone present, peering at each one in turn over the top of—and then through—his
pince-nez
. Finally he grunted again, cleared his throat and began to speak in a voice which surprised Meg by its strong Scottish burr. “Verra well, then, I've goamed the hale jingbang of ye. You, Lady Margaret, are nae so badly off. Yer ankle's had an unco' terrible sprain, but it's na broke. I've a salve that'll soothe ye a thocht, an' I'll re-bandage it tightly afore I leave. Ye'll na put any weight on it fer a week or so, ye ken. Stay off yer feet an' keep the leg elevated.

“An' as fer
you
, Miss Sybil Carrier, yer sinuses are fair bonnie. Noo, harken t' me, lass. I'm nae fer hearin' anythin' more concernin' yer nose or throat, do ye ken? I'm a wee weary o' lookin' at 'em. May I suggest ye find
anither
part o' yer body in which t' lodge yer next complaint?

“But as fer
you
, ma'am,” and here the doctor wheeled about and bounded across the room to confront Isabel, “I cain't say I like the look o'
you
.”

Isabel gave a jump and a startled gasp. “What? Whatever do you mean?”

“Yer eyes, ma'am. I dinna like yer eyes.”

“Well! Of all the—!” Isabel drew herself up in offended dignity. “I can't say I like yours, either, if it comes to that!”

“Dr. Fraser means, Isabel,” Geoffrey interjected quickly, “that he thinks you may not be quite well.”

“Not well? Sick, you mean?” Isabel asked, bemused. “Is
that
why he doesn't like my eyes?”

Dr. Fraser clicked his tongue. “I've naught to say aboot yer eyes
personally
, woman. It's just the
look
of 'em, ye ken. They're too red an' watery. Ye've somethin' brewin' inside ye, if I know anythin' aboot m' business. Ha'e ye been feelin' as ye should?”

“I've been feeling perfectly fine,” Isabel said with asperity, frowning at the doctor with instant dislike, “and I'll thank you to keep your feelings about my eyes to yourself.”

“Wheesht, woman, hold yer clack and let me examine yer throat! Sit yersel' doon on the bed and open yer mouth.”

“I'll do nothing of the sort,” she responded angrily. “I am not your patient, and I haven't the slightest need of your services.”

The Scotsman glared at her for a moment and then shrugged. “Suit yersel', woman, suit yersel'. Ye'll be changin'yer tune afore lang.”

“I shouldn't count on that, doctor, if I were you. I wouldn't want your services even if I
were
sick. Don't like my eyes, indeed!”

“But, Aunt Bel, perhaps—” Meg said worriedly.

“Your aunt is quite right, Lady Meg,” Lady Carrier cut in, throwing a reproachful glance at the doctor. “The man's impossible! I don't care if he
is
a brilliant diagnostician, as Geoffrey claims, he has the manners of a stablehand. Really, Dr. Fraser, it's bad enough that you belittle my Sybil in that unkind way, but
she
, at least, is
accustomed
to your manners. But to have you come here and insult our
guests
is the outside of enough!”

“And I
don't believe,” Sybil muttered sullenly, “that he's at
all
a good diagnostician. There
is
something wrong with my sinuses.”

“Be quiet, Sybil,” Geoffrey ordered sharply. “And you, too, Mama, if you please. Dr. Fraser has come through the drifts on foot just to listen to what have turned out to be a series of petty complaints—”

“Well, really!” Meg gasped, affronted.

“They are
not
petty!” Sybil cried at the same time.

“Geoffrey, you go
too far
!” his mother said above the others.

“I repeat,
petty
complaints,” Geoffrey insisted in disgust, “and I won't have Fraser abused. As for you, Isabel, if you'll take the suggestion of a well-wisher, please permit the doctor to examine you. You mustn't be fooled by his manner; the pressure of time and the many demands on him have forced him to become somewhat brusque, but he knows—”

“Never!” Isabel said firmly. “I have the greatest respect for you, Geoffrey, but in this case I shall follow my own instincts. I'm quite well, whatever he chooses to think, and I don't wish to subject myself to his scrutiny.”

“Let the woman be, laddie,” the doctor muttered, already busily bandaging Meg's ankle. “She'll be biddable eno' in a day or two. Didna ye say ye'll ha'e a dram waitin' fer us afore I go?”

“By all means,” Geoffrey said heartily, packing the doctor's bag for him while the Scotsman finished his bandaging. “Keating will have brought your favorite drink to the library by this time. Shall we go?”

By the time the irate ladies had relieved their tempers by abusing the doctor behind his back and had gone off to their various bedrooms to rest and brood, the pain in Meg's ankle caused by the examination and treatment given her by Dr. Fraser had subsided. In fact, she had to admit that it felt better than it had since the accident. Perhaps the doctor was as knowing as Geoffrey claimed. In that case, her aunt should have permitted the man to examine her. Was Isabel really on the verge of illness? What was it that the Scotsman suspected?

The problem was so worrisome that she barely paid attention to the next tapping at her door. She muttered an absent “Come in,” her mind occupied with alarming suspicions of her aunt's condition. It was only when Sir Geoffrey opened the door that she realized she'd forgotten to brush her hair or check her appearance.

“Dr. Fraser told me to tell you that he'd return to change your bandages in a couple of days,” he said from the threshold, his hand on the knob of the door.

“Oh, good,” she said in some relief. “Perhaps by that time you can persuade my aunt to let him examine her.”

“
I
persuade her?” Geoffrey asked in some surprise. “Why not you yourself?”

Meg shrugged. “I shall try, of course, but she seems to hold you in high regard, though I cannot imagine why.”

“Can't you?” He flashed a sudden, completely disconcerting grin at her. “The reason, my dear, is that your aunt is a woman of extraordinary good sense and keen perception.”

“For a female?” Meg asked sourly.

“Yes. Extraordinary. That's why I can't understand why she took such an irrational dislike to Fraser. He's really a fine man and a fine doctor. You thought so, too, didn't you?”

“I suppose so. How can I be sure on such short acquaintance? But I admit that I'd feel much relieved to have him examine her and tell me that he was mistaken and that the red, watery eyes only mean that Isabel is overtired.
Will
you try to persuade her to consult him?”

“Certainly, ma'am. I shall do my best.”

He made a little bow and began to pull the door shut behind him. With her mind set somewhat at ease by his promise, her attention flew to her determination to make a mark on him. If she was to succeed, she couldn't afford to let this opportunity go by. “Sir Geoffrey?” she called quickly.

He opened the door again. “Yes, ma'am?”

“I was thinking … I say, you don't have to hang about on the threshold like that, do you? Please come in for a moment.”

He looked at her somewhat warily and then came in, stopping at the foot of the bed and looking at her with one eyebrow upraised. “What can I do for you, ma'am?”

“In the first place,” she said with some asperity, “you can stop calling me ma'am in that condescending way. My friends call me Meg.”