Page 40 of The Summer Country

For a moment, she suspected him of mocking her. But there was no guile in his face. He meant it, she realized, and something twisted in her chest, something bittersweet and painful.

“You bear what you have to bear.” He looked at her, as though expecting something more. Jenny’s nails bit into her palms. “Your father did a good thing when he freed his daughter. When you think of him, think of that.”

She thought he might say something more, but instead he held out an arm. It took her a moment to realize he meant her to take it. “May I offer you a ride back to Beckles? I have my chariot.”

As if she were a lady. “It’s not a long walk.”

“The sun is hot and the road is rough.”

It was tempting, so tempting. It was a weary walk back, three hours on foot. But what if her father saw them? What then? She might be able to convince him that she was working in his interest, but one could never be sure with her father.

Reluctantly, Jenny shook her head. “It wouldn’t be seemly.”

Mr. Davenant dropped his arm as though struck. “I hadn’t thought. . . . I ought, oughtn’t I?”

He smiled at her, and it was a smile of such self-deprecating humor that Jenny began to think the greatest danger might not be her father; it might be Mr. Davenant himself.

“Godspeed, sir,” she said, and escaped while she could. He might seem kind, but he was still trouble. They were all trouble.

Best to remember that a serpent was still a serpent. No matter how it held its bite, bite it would, sooner or later.

Chapter Nine

Bridgetown, Barbados

March 1854

A serpent coiled around a staff on Dr. Braithwaite’s cravat pin. It was, Emily knew, the symbol of the Greek god of healing, but it looked remarkably unfriendly.

So, for that matter, did the doctor.

“I do hope I’m not disturbing,” said Emily brightly.

Coming to the hospital had seemed a good idea back at Miss Lee’s hotel, with Adam off engaged in unspecified business activities and Laura resting. But the reaction of the nurses and the staff when she appeared attended by only one of the maids from the inn had made her realize that the Barbados General Hospital might not be the Bristol Royal Infirmary. Truth be told, even the Bristol Royal Infirmary wasn’t the Bristol Royal Infirmary. Emily had been permitted on the wards only at specific times on specific days, and never ever during the admission of outpatients, an exercise that was viewed as unseemly for a young lady.

“Oh no,” said Dr. Braithwaite. “I only have fifty patients to see to.”

“Never mind that, Braithwaite,” called out one of his colleagues, who had been observing with unconcealed amusement. “I’ll see to your breakdowns for you. Ma’am,” he said to Emily.

“Thank you,” said Emily. “I was told your hospital was one of the sights of the town, but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so grand.”

A pillared portico led into the hospital, set into a building graced with Georgian symmetry, marred only by the additional wings splitting off from one side.

“It was once a gentleman’s residence,” said Dr. Braithwaite, leading her inside with the air of a man making the best of a bad job. “When it was purchased for a hospital, extra wings were built. It was easier, I am told, than building new. Just through here, mind your step. You might want this,” he added, digging out a handkerchief soaked in scent as they passed from the main block into one of the wards.

“No, no. I’m quite all . . . right.” Emily breathed in deeply through her mouth, concentrating on not gagging. “Is that . . . waste?”

“Of the human variety.” He didn’t look at her, but Emily suspected she was being tested all the same. “We employ an earth system, but there is too much liquid in the soil to eliminate the stench.”

On her mettle, Emily took another deep breath and said cheerfully, “Is that all? It’s nothing to the Frome on a summer’s day. In the winter, the cold blunts the smell, but as soon as there’s a thaw, it becomes nearly unbearable for those who aren’t accustomed to it.”

“I would think that those who could afford it would leave town.”

“Oh, they do,” said Emily. She well remembered the hustle and bustle as Aunt Millicent packed up her household, transferring children, linens, and servants to a hired house in the country. “Did you think I . . . ? Oh, I stayed in town. My father would never leave his flock. He’s a minister. He has a calling. Our Lord served the poor and so does he. As do I—as did I. Although I’m much better with bodies than souls. I clean sores and deliver beef tea. All the practical bits.”

“I see,” said Dr. Braithwaite, looking rather bemused. “A calling, is it?”

“I like to be useful. I’m not sure there’s anything the least bit holy about it. But I am rather inured to stench. See? It’s hardly noticeable now. You can put your handkerchief away,” she added kindly.