Page 131 of The Knucker King

Margaret bobbed her head. “Of course, come in.”

The maid stepped back and beckoned Avice to enter.

“How is he doing?” the midwife asked, crossing the threshold.

“Fine, I suppose. Eating, drinking, and sleeping well. I have been giving him the medicine you left with Mister George, and it helps with the pain.”

“That is good to hear.”

Bramble followed her inside, in his way that only Avice could see. Margaret gestured for them to follow her, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

“Mister George is not in?” Avice asked, falling into step behind the maid.

The house was single-storied but sprawling. Her dirty boots rapped loudly on the highly polished wooden floor. Avice gawked at the ornate tapestries that tumbled down the stone walls, the woven threads depicting images of hunts and feasts.

Margaret shook her head, her coif and wimple rustling with the movement. “He is out. I believe at a meeting with Father Peter.”

Avice cringed inwardly at the mention of the priest. “Last time I saw you, you were in Father Peter’s employ?”

“Yes, but when the rectory was destroyed, so went my employment,” Margaret replied. “Luckily, Mister George needed help with his brother’s care and offered me the position.”

Avice curled her fingers into Bramble’s fur, guilt pricking at her. On the stormy night she had bargained with the Nightly Neighbours, she had only wanted to keep Trewoofe safe. She did not know that the Faeries would destroy the rectory and spill the oil into the streets, and with it end Goodwife Margaret’s employment.

“How do you like it here?” Avice questioned as they rounded a corner, hoping to ease her conscience.

The maid glanced back at her. “I like it well enough. There is a lot of work, but Mister George mostly leaves me to my duties, and Mister Benjamin is pleasant when I attend him.”

Avice dropped her shoulders, relieved that it had turned out alright for her. Margaret stopped at a door and knocked. A muffled affirmative came from within. The maid opened the door and beckoned her inside.

“Mister George,” Margaret said, “Midwife Avice has come to see how you are faring.”

Margaret stayed near the door as Avice entered. Bramble made his way into a corner so he could watch unseen. He was there if she needed him. The man in question was sat up in a plush bed. Pillows supported his back, and his bandaged stump was elevated on a cushion in his lap. He awkwardly lowered the book he had held up to his face and closed it beside him on the bed.

Avice could not tear her eyes from the object. She tried to ignore the envy coiling in her gut. Besides the texts that the priests read from in church, she had only seen a handful of books in her life. She felt it was its own kind of magic: that the words people spoke could be recorded with ink, and those chosen few who were taught could understand the etchings.

How she longed to learn and be able to read them for herself.

Focus. Avice chided herself, ripping her gaze from the book and to her patient’s face. The sooner you get this done, the sooner it will be tomorrow, and the sooner you will see Trewoofe.

She dipped her head and removed her hat. “Mister Benjamin, how are you feeling?”

The man arched an eyebrow at her uncovered head. “I am well enough. I hear I have you to thank for my survival.” He pushed himself up slightly, his eyes squinting from the sunshine that beamed in from the open shutters.

“That is correct,” Avice replied, making her way over to him and plonking her hat and satchel on the bed. “I will begin by assessing your general health and then the injury, if that is acceptable?”

“Do as you see fit,” he agreed.

Avice went through the motions: checking his gums, pulse, and skin colour. “You are still peaky, and there are dark circles beneath your eyes. Your gums are nice and pink, and your heart is strong.”

“It could be worse then,” Benjamin acknowledged.

“Most definitely. All in all, I would say you are healing well.” She gestured for the maid to come over. “I would focus on diet to get his colour back: hearty bone broth, plenty of meat, and the sunshine exposure is also very beneficial.” She smiled up at Margaret. “Was that your idea?”

She blushed from the praise. “Yes.”

“Well done.” Avice turned back to her patient. “I am going to check your wound now.”

Benjamin nodded his consent, and she began to unwind the bandage from his arm. She was glad to see the calendula in the layers. The dried flowers wafted down to the quilt as she pulled the final wrap away. The stump was pink, clean, and the parts she had sewn were scabbing around the threads. Avice counted the days on her fingers and rose her eyebrows. It was a quick recovery. The herbs and healing waters had proven their worth once again.