When Dr. Jones finished with the cloth, Jane said, “My husband was caught by Napoleon’s soldiers. He had certain information that they wanted, and he would not give it to them. They had him for two weeks.”
“That explains why the scars sound so impressive.” She turned to her satchel and searched through it. “Out of appalling curiosity, I would like to see them. I have only seen raised scars on dark flesh. The pigmentation differences intrigue me.”
“I will … I will see what I can do.” Privately, Jane could not imagine Vincent willingly removing his shirt in front of a lady.
Dr. Jones laughed, clearly perceiving Jane’s doubt on the subject. She pulled out a jar and, removing the top, turned back to their patient. “When are you going back to work on the glamural for the charity ball?”
“I had not thought to, under the circumstances.”
“May I counsel against that?” She smeared a liniment with a sweet, almost honeyed character across the seeping wounds. “Having some activity will help those who lost family.”
The number of dead had risen to nine, when they lost Bodelia, Smart Martin, and Jos. Sukey still hung in the balance, but her mother tended her diligently. Having something to do had seemed to help Nkiruka, and Jane knew the value of activity in staving off melancholy. “I suppose … I suppose I am simply too Anglican to feel entirely comfortable with the idea. At home, we strip the glamour from houses during the mourning period. But … but this is not England.” She sighed, a bit annoyed with herself for being even a little surprised that there were differences in customs. “Do you really think it would help?”
Dr. Jones wiped her hands off on a cloth, still looking at the young man’s wounds. “All I can tell you is that several of the women have asked when they could go back. So … yes. I think it will help.” She took the roll of linen from Jane. “And how is your own situation? Seven months now, yes?”
“Well, he or she kicks with astonishing vehemence at times. Is there … is there a way to tell the sex?”
“Ha! I can tell you a hundred different ways, and none of them reliable. Lift his arm for me? Like that … good.”
For a few moments, they were occupied with wrapping the bandage around his chest and shoulder. Doing so, it was difficult to avoid noticing how many times Julian had been whipped. Jane ground her teeth together as they worked. This was not England, but England was still responsible. “I will speak to Nkiruka about setting a new plan for the glamural.”
*
Three days later, with only nine days remaining to finish the glamural, Jane and Nkiruka needed to alter their plans significantly. Vincent could no longer devote his time to working on it, and the last of the ceiling panels remained to be woven. After staring at it for a while, Jane decided to call the opening in the ceiling “intentional” and move on.
Without Louisa to run errands for her, Jane felt every month of her expectant state. She sat at the table going over lists and pressed the fingers of her left hand to her temple. She rubbed a small circle, trying to ease the dull ache. Sometimes it seemed that when she was seated, all of the discomforts of her condition made themselves known with renewed clamour.
Beside her, Nkiruka sighed with sympathy. “Where that Louisa girl?”
“Working on other things, I am afraid.” Frank had seen Louisa and Zachary safely on board the ship, so they should be five days at sea by now. “Frank needed her, and after the accident at the distillery, his needs took precedence.” That was true, if one omitted what those needs were.
“Mm. Need someone fu care of you.” Nkiruka tapped the sheet of paper with a wrinkled finger. “After dis done, you want—you ask me once. Stay in de great house. You still want that?”
Jane lifted her head from the paper and regarded Nkiruka. If she were to interview lady’s maids in England, the elderly woman would hardly have merited a single meeting. Here, what Jane wanted—no, what Jane needed—was not someone who could do her hair to match the latest fashion plate from Ackermann’s Repository but someone that she could trust. In a just world, Nkiruka would spend her declining years spoiling grandchildren and being coddled with possets, not chasing after slippers for Jane. “You could simply stay in the house, you know. You would be welcome. We could just work on the book.” Jane had set it aside to work on the glamural, but a return to the project would not be unwelcome.
“Not all day. It get dull.” She shook her finger towards Jane’s middle. “Besides. You go start get big soon.”
“That is alarming, that this is not yet considered large.”
Nkiruka laughed. “No! You shoulda min see…” Her voice trailed away and she frowned down at the paper. “Let me know. All right?”
On an impulse, Jane reached over and took her hand. “Yes. I would like you at the great house, very much.”
Twenty-seven