The Irish Healer

Chapter 5





Don’ think it’s the best news, sir,” said Joe, standing in the doorway of James’s office.

The tension in James’s neck, which had pinched like a vise since Sophia’s visit earlier that day, had no apparent chance of easing. He kneaded the knot with his fingertips. “No help from Dr. Harris, then?”

“Dunno for certain, sir. Can’t right read,” he answered with only the faintest hint of apology for his lack of education and handed over the message.

“I keep forgetting, Joe.”

“S’all right, sir. No need for me to read an’ all, I s’pose.”

James opened the note and held it up to the light of the desk lamp. Not good news. Dr. Harris had no attendant to recommend and certainly couldn’t spare his wife to assist. James crushed the letter in his hand. He had heard the same from every colleague he’d queried. He wasn’t surprised by their responses, though. It had taken him months to find Miss Guimond, with her special training, and she had come all the way from France.

“You don’t happen to know anything about tending to patients, do you?” James asked Joe. “It would only be for a short while.”

“Me tendin’ patients, sir?” Joe blinked. “No, sir. I mean, I can’t even stand the sight of me own blood! One time I was passin’ a bloke on the street who’d cu’ his foot on a broken bit of pavemen’ and I nearly lost me breakfas’ right . . . I mean, no sir.”

A colorful description that requires no further embellishment, James thought. Frankly, he might be able to do without a medical attendant. Already the number of patients he saw was diminishing. So long as there wasn’t some sort of outbreak in town, he could handle the load on his own. It would still be best, though, to have someone to greet those patients who came to the house for consultations, someone with more refinement than Joe. Someone with courage and a calm manner.

Should I do this, Lord?

It seemed imprudent to entrust Miss Dunne with more responsibilities, especially with the welfare of his patients. She might turn out, as Sophia had uncharitably suggested, to be a liar. Or worse. But Miss Harwood had assured him she was well educated, and he could tell by her speech that was true. She also carried herself with a certain grace his patients would find reassuring, enough perhaps to overlook her obvious Irish heritage. Maybe it was time to take a risk or two. After all, she was already here, the proverbial bird in the hand . . .

Joe cleared his throat, reminding James of his presence.

“Joe, tell Miss Dunne I would like to see her in the dining room. In about fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, sir,” Joe replied, tugging the wayward shock of hair hanging across his forehead before hurrying off.

Rising from his chair, James swept the crumpled letter into the top desk drawer and closed it tight. He needed to dress for dinner. Miss Dunne would be there.





The kitchen was three times larger than the one in Rachel’s home, so daunting it stopped her in her tracks. Mouthwatering smells assaulted—thyme and mustard and sizzling meat. Copper pots and pans, polished colanders and shiny utensils shimmered in the light from the massive fireplace. And silence, thick as cold porridge, filled every single corner. Seated at the oak table centered on the flags, Molly’s face flared the red of a rowan berry The gangly armed maidservant at her side—most likely Peg—dropped her fork onto her pewter plate with a clink. Her face, awkwardly narrow, turned just as pink as Molly’s.

The lions had lost their roar. Rachel felt only a moment’s fleeting victory She knew she would pay for embarrassing them by barging in like this, catching them at their gossipy worst.

A stout woman bustled around the table when it became obvious no one else would budge. She took Rachel’s hands in her own. They were rough but cool and strong. Thick, slate-colored hair was scraped away from her round face and held tight beneath a cap. Her eyes were warmly brown as a spaniel’s and just as observant.

“Welcome, Miss Dunne. I am Mrs. Mainprice, the housekeeper and cook.” She was the woman with the deep, rich voice. She smiled sincerely as she held onto Rachel’s hands.

Rachel liked her immediately. “I am most pleased to meet you,” she said to Mrs. Mainprice. “I am sorry if I am late for dinner. I hurried down as quickly as I could.”

“You’re not late at all. Who could expect you to be any earlier when you’ve just arrived all the way from Ireland this very afternoon?”

Rachel imagined Molly and Peg expected exactly such a thing.

Mrs. Mainprice patted her hand and guided her to a bench pulled up at the table. “Just sit here across from the girls. You already know Molly. And this is Peg. She helps me in the kitchen and the scullery. Molly is responsible for the rest of the house, though this isn’t a grand household and we all do what jobs as are needed.”

Rachel greeted the maids. Molly and Peg were forced to politely bob their heads in return.

“You’re just in time for prayer.” Satisfied that some sort of peace had been achieved, Mrs. Mainprice took a seat at the foot of the table, picked up a Bible, and began to read. “O give thanks unto the LORD, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever. Let the redeemed of the LORD say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy; and gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south. They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them. Then they cried unto the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them out of their distresses.”

Rachel stared at her hands, clutched in her lap, while enmity rose off Molly and Peg like waves of heat from simmering coals. Just because Rachel was Irish. Or could they read the trials of her past like printed words on a pamphlet? Clearly, the Lord had not delivered her from her distress.

Mrs. Mainprice set the Bible away. “Eat now, everyone, before the meat gets cold. I didn’t spend all afternoon roasting that beef to have you gawp at it. And I have a sauce to prepare for the master’s dinner, so no dawdling.”

Rachel was certain the roast and the beans and the dense bread were wonderful. It may have been water, for all she could taste any of the food.

“Must ’ave been awful difficult comin’ all the way to England and leavin’ your family and friends,” said Peg between mouthfuls. “Miss Dunne,” she added as an afterthought.

Rachel decided she was not trying to be friendly Nosy, was more like it. “It was.”

“Just like it was hard for you to leave Shropshire, Peg,” said Mrs. Mainprice.

“That waren’t so ’ard, Mrs. M! My pa was a mean one, ’e was. I’m ’appy as a lark to be away from ’im!” She turned her eyes to Rachel. “Was that ’ow it was for you? Runnin’ away from yer pa?”

“No. Just in need of work. My family has encountered difficult times, and employment is not easy to come by in Ireland,” Rachel replied, holding Peg’s gaze, trying not to let the worry for her family show in her eyes. Had Mother’s customers begun to return, now that Rachel was gone from Carlow? Would there be meat in the stew pot for the twins and Nathaniel? “There are five of us to feed and clothe, and we hoped I could make more money in England to support everyone.”

“So that’s how it is, eh?” Peg asked, overbold.

“That’s precisely how it is if that’s what Miss Dunne says, Peg,” scolded Mrs. Mainprice. “Now finish your dinner. We’ve work yet to do and precious little time for impolite chitchat.”

The talking ended, and the dinner ground to an eventual halt with all the grace of a costermonger’s wagon bogging down in deep mud. Dishes were hastily cleared and Mrs. Mainprice turned to the task of finishing the preparation of Dr. Edmunds’s meal.

“Might I help?” Rachel asked. Peg and Molly’s eyebrows lifted in unison, and they set to whispering.

“There’s no need, Miss Dunne,” said Mrs. Mainprice. “You’re not to do servant’s work.”

“But I wish to help.”

“This is not right, Miss Dunne.”

Rachel saw she was making the housekeeper fidget with agitation, but she wanted to prove herself willing and able. “I insist.”

Mrs. Mainprice nodded. “Peg, Molly, what are you two doing? Get to your chores.”

As instructed by the older woman, Rachel brought out from the pantry the serving ware made of fine china decorated with maroon roses. Her fingers traced the intertwining stems and flowers. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

What a world she’d found herself in, as though she had become a thistle among heather. Although she wouldn’t have been comfortable in this house before life had tossed her from her secure place. In Carlow, she had once known where she belonged, what was expected of her, what her future held. Now . . . her finger curled over the smooth edge of the platter. Now she was adrift and scrambling for a toehold.

Rachel felt Peg’s gaze on her. Was the girl wondering if Rachel was planning on pinching a saucer or teacup to sell on a street corner somewhere?

“Peg, if you don’t mind the gravy, it’ll boil and curdle quick as you can say ‘Jack Robinson,’” Mrs. Mainprice reprimanded. “Back at it now.”

Onto the good china went the food—a duckling, stewed cucumbers in the gravy Peg had prepared, asparagus soup, currant pudding. It was enough food to serve several people, certainly enough to feed Rachel’s family back at home, used to so much less and so much simpler, some fish or stew being their usual fare. Nathaniel would laugh at the cucumbers, limp green discs floating in a sea of caramel-brown. Right before her brother gobbled them down.

Molly balanced the tray and headed for the staircase. “Hey, watch it now, Joe,” she called out as the lad bounded into the kitchen.

“Sorry there, Moll. Miss Dunne, the master’s asked to see ya.”

Peg shot Rachel a quick, knowing look.

After the confusion at the dock and the questions about her age, had Dr. Edmunds already decided to dismiss her? “Where is he?” Rachel asked Joe.

“In the dinin’ room. Where else would ’e be at this hour?”

Rachel followed Joe out of the kitchen. “What sort of mood is Dr. Edmunds in?”

Eyes brown like burnt toast turned to stare at her. “’is typical mood.”

Whatever mood that was, though it didn’t sound promising. Rachel chewed her lip and searched for conversation. “What do you do for the doctor, Joe?”

“I’m the boy.”

“What does ‘the boy’ do?”

Joe looked at her as if she were teasing. A few seconds passed as they ascended the stairs before he appeared to realize her question was genuine. “I do all the stuff the maids don’t like to do, like fill the coal scuttles. Take care o’ the doctor’s ’orse and gig. Sometimes I take ’is physics to ’is patients. Stuff like that.”

“What do you think of your master? Do you like him?”

They turned the corner of the ground-floor landing. “Dr. Edmunds? ’e’s an all right bloke. A bit ’ard sometimes because of losin’ his wife an’ all. That were three years ago, I’ve done been told.”

“But he is a fair man.”

“D’pends on what yer plannin’ on doin’.” Joe eyed her. “Though if yer worried about ’im likin’ you, you should claim you know everythin’ to be known about tendin’patients and whatnot. ’e’d like to hear that, ’e would.”

“I know nothing about tending patients.” Did she shout that?

“Didn’ think ya did. Jus’ sayin’ it might come in ’andy an’ all to pretend you did. Door at the far end,” Joe said when they reached their destination, then scampered off.

Rachel entered the dining room. It shimmered golden in the candlelight. The walls were covered in sumptuous yellow silk, coordinating saffron draperies hung at the windows looking out at the street, and the marble fireplace gleamed creamy white. Crystal pendants suspended from the candelabra refracted rainbow light. A corner cabinet displayed chinaware even more delicately lovely than what she had seen in the kitchen.

Molly was laying out the last of the dishes, and at the head of the polished table sat Dr. Edmunds, alone yet dressed for company in evening kit—indigo coat, gray waistcoat, white neckerchief. The master of an empty dining room.

It was utterly, indescribably sad.

He looked over as Rachel approached the table. His expression was impossible to read.

“There you are, Miss Dunne,” he said, “Molly, there’s no need for you to stay. You may go. I wish a word with Miss Dunne in private.”

Molly hustled out of the dining room, a tiny smile on her lips, and shut the door behind her.

“You wished to see me, Dr. Edmunds?” Rachel asked.

“I do, and you’re welcome to sit, Miss Dunne.” He waited until she pulled out a chair, heavy and beautifully carved. The cushion was thick and extraordinarily comfortable. Or would have been comfortable, if she could relax.

“I trust I did not disturb your dinner,” he said.

“I have already taken my meal in the kitchen.”

“You’re not a servant, Miss Dunne, and don’t need to eat in the kitchen. In future, you can ask to have a tray sent up to your room. Or use the Blue Room on the second floor, if you would like.”

‘In future’ meant she had one. “So you’ve not changed your mind about keeping me on here after the mishap at the dock, the misunderstanding about my age?”

His eyes searched her face. “You assured me there was no intentional deception. That is still the case, correct?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then the fault must be mine. Your cousin told me you were highly experienced, and I must have equated that with age.”

“I apologize again,” she said, relief rushing her words, “for that and for causing you to come down to the docks to search for me. I do not mean to be difficult.”

“Good, because I don’t have time for difficulties.” He steepled his fingers and watched her over their tips. “I called you up here for another reason. I have a proposition for you that I’m hoping you’ll accept.”

There was no “hoping” in the firm tone of his voice. Dr. Edmunds expected her to accept, and based on what Joe had said, she feared she already knew what he was about to ask. “Yes?”

“My medical attendant, Miss Guimond, was recently forced to return to her home country of France. Some of the tasks she used to perform for me still need to be done until my practice is completely closed. I know you’ve come to England looking for a better situation . . .” His gaze sharpened, making her skin prickle from its intensity. “But as you’re already here in my employ, I thought you could take over her tasks in addition to the other work you’ll be doing for me.”

“I am afraid, Dr. Edmunds, I would not make a good attendant,” Rachel replied, cold dancing down her spine. God let innocents die under her care. “I know nothing of use about medicine. In fact, I’ve had a very bad experience.”

“Did it involve a man who cut his foot on a piece of pavement?” A smile flitted across his lips. Fleeting as it was, the smile transformed him like the wink of candlelight on a gloomy night.

“Pardon me?” she asked, confused. Both by the question and her reaction to his smile.

“Just something Joe said.” He shook his head as if apologizing for the question. Or the smile. “Of course, I’m not asking you to diagnose ills or treat any cases. I need someone to wait with patients when they come into the office during my open hours, gather information from them, and comfort them while they wait, if needed. The skills you would acquire would be impressive to any future employer.”

“I intend on teaching children, Dr. Edmunds, and such work will not require me to serve as their nurse.”

“One never knows about that.” He lifted his brows to emphasize his belief. “I’m sure after a good night’s sleep, you’ll see the sense in my request and realize the benefits behind the opportunity I’m presenting you.”

If you knew I was accused of murder, you would retract the offer in a heartbeat. But Rachel could not tell him about the accusation and destroy her prospects. She could only bow her head and agree. “Yes, Dr. Edmunds.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Seven sharp,” he said, indicating she could leave.

Rachel rose and bade him good night.

Seven sharp.

It sounded like an appointment with the executioner.