Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 3

“W ill his leg mend?” asked Johnny as his father finally drifted into unconsciousness.

As Miss Templeton continued to clean his hands, Arthur studied the man on the ground. “I’ve done my best to clean the wound, but I cannot promise anything other than I’ve given him his best chance.”

With her job done, Miss Templeton turned away, drawing Arthur’s attention as she cast her gaze about. Spying an overturned basket on the side of the road, she knelt beside it and pulled out a reticule before scooping the rest into the container. Arthur didn’t know what she was about, but he couldn’t help watching whilst trying to answer young Mr. Evans’ questions.

“The bandages will need to be changed every three days or whenever they are sullied. I suggest having another set of bandages on hand so you can rotate washing them whilst always keeping the wound covered,” said Arthur as he unrolled his sleeves. “Pay close attention to the coloring of the skin when you do so. If it is swollen and red, you ought to have it examined again. Keep your home free of any foul odors and do not leave the wound uncovered, as he is in a fragile state and exposure to any miasmas would be dangerous. Keep a wary eye for fever… ”

Returning to Arthur’s side, Miss Templeton pulled out a small brass notebook and pencil, scribbling notes as he detailed the steps for recovery, including a few herbs that might be of use. Cupping would be quite useful in this situation, but he didn’t know if the Evans had the funds for such a procedure—but surely, they could purchase or forage a few plants for a tisane.

“Here, Johnny,” she said, pulling the paper free. “I’ve written it all down, so you needn’t remember it on your own.”

“My thanks, Miss Templeton—”

“And I have a lotion that might help as well,” she added, pulling a pot from her reticule. “It’s taken some experimentation, but I’ve found that this mixture does wonders for wounds. When you change the bandages, rub it carefully onto the stitches. It may sting a bit, but it will help to stave off infection.”

Arthur’s brows rose at that. “What is in it?”

Miss Templeton’s dark eyes turned to him. “The base is beeswax with several astringents mixed in—dried meadowsweet, marshmallow plant, and a pinch of zinc sulfate.”

Before Arthur could comment on that (though he wasn’t certain if his first question would be concerning that intriguing combination, that she’d fashioned it herself, or that the prepared lady carried around a pot of it in her reticule), the crowd set to work moving the wreckage away and directing the cart to transport Mr. Evans home.

Again, Miss Templeton waded into the thick of things, helping guide and organize the helpers with ease. Several men sent him questioning looks as though expecting him to step forward, but Arthur drifted into the background, pleased to let the capable lady take control.

With his work done, his limbs felt weak and shaky, giving witness to just how anxious he’d been about his patient. Having performed numerous surgeries in his career, Arthur would’ve thought that such nerves would no longer plague him, but each time he took hold of his scalpel, the chances of success were far too questionable to ever be at ease .

Arthur had told Miss Templeton the truth—he’d studied amongst the best doctors in London, and he knew too well how uncertain the fellow’s future was. Surviving the procedure was naught but the first hurdle to overcome. The number of patients that succumbed to infection during recovery was so high that Mr. Evans had only an even chance that he would heal. Now, it was up to time and his family’s ministrations to see him through the rest.

Seeing them lifting Mr. Evans, Arthur hurried back into the fray and helped to guide the patient into a bed of straw Miss Templeton had requested for him.

“My deepest thanks, Dr. Vaughn,” said Johnny, the first in a string of people all eager to shake his hand and offer their congratulations.

“I am glad to be of service,” he replied, his gaze drifting to his makeshift operating theater. Miss Templeton scooped her ruined cloak from the ground and draped it over her arm as she readied her basket. The others paid her little mind, though Arthur couldn’t help his eyes as they turned to her again and again.

Finally, the wagon moved on its way, taking Mr. Evans home to recover as the others drifted away, eager to be off now that the afternoon’s entertainment was over. Yet Arthur found himself standing in place, watching Miss Templeton.

He ought to say something to her. Needed to. Longed to, in all actuality. There were so many words in the English language, and any number of them would do for just such a conversation. Yet Arthur was stuck in place, staring at her like a simpleton.

“I am grateful you did not exaggerate your skills, Dr. Vaughn,” she said, glancing in his direction. “You do fine work.”

“As do you. I can say with all honesty you are an excellent dresser. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a better assistant,” he managed to say in return, though there was far more he wished to say. A few small words were hardly sufficient to express his gratitude .

But it was an honest declaration and no mere kindness. During his years of study at St. Thomas’ and Guy’s Hospital, he’d served both as a dresser and as the surgeon whom the dressers assisted, and there were plenty of his classmates who excelled at the position—yet Miss Templeton had done far better, having anticipated his needs before Arthur had time to give them a thought, let alone a voice.

“I would’ve made do, but I am glad we had a surgeon on hand to manage it,” added Miss Templeton.

“I am certain you would’ve made more than simply ‘do,’ Miss Templeton. You are more capable than many of the men I studied with,” he replied. “Where did you learn so much about medicine?”

“My father was the local physician and surgeon, and a lifetime around such things inspired me to make a study of it.” Miss Templeton gave him a rueful smile before adding, “Watching you work was easy enough, but I do not know if I could’ve laid the stitches myself without growing ill.”

“I am certain you do yourself a disservice, Miss Templeton. You have nerves of steel—”

“Come, Dr. Vaughn!” called the coachman, drawing their attention to him. “We need to be on our way.”

Though the carriage was tucked into a passing place, giving the others ample room to get by, the stagecoach had been delayed far too long already. Yet Arthur’s feet didn’t move.

“There is space for one more, Miss Templeton,” he said, turning his gaze to her once more. “After the service you performed, a ride into town is the least we can do.”

“That is kind of you, sir, but it is not far—”

“I would gladly pay the fare.”

“You are so generous, but I assure you, I prefer to walk. Cutting across the fields will be faster than going by carriage.” Glancing at herself, she winced. “And I am certain to make quite a mess of the other passengers. I wouldn’t wish to ruin Miss Bacon’s gown. There is no need for us both to be in such an unfit state. ”

Then, with another broad grin, Miss Templeton reached out and squeezed his forearm. “But my thanks for your kindness, Dr. Vaughn. I am so very grateful you arrived when you did. We are lucky such a talented surgeon was passing through Oakham when we needed him.”

Arthur was all too aware of her hand touching him. With his jacket still abandoned on the ground and her gloves nowhere to be seen, there was naught but the linen of his sleeve between his skin and hers. It ought to have sent a flush of embarrassment to be in such a state of dishabille, but the happy pitter-patter of his pulse overshadowed it.

And he rather wished he hadn’t been so dutiful in unrolling his sleeves after he’d finished.

Clearing his throat, Arthur managed to say, “In truth, I am not passing through. This is to be my new home.”

“It is?” asked Miss Templeton, her eyes widening in a manner that made Arthur’s heart stutter. It was too much to hope that there was eagerness in her expression, but his pulse refused to see logic.

His tongue felt as though it were made of stone, refusing to work. But he had to ask, “Do you live in the neighborhood as well?” Miss Templeton’s silence made Arthur’s throat tighten, and he hurried to add, “It is good to know that such a capable dresser is in town, should I ever require more assistance.”

“Yes, I live in Oakham, sir, but I fear I must be on my way,” she said, taking a few steps away. “I have an appointment, and I am already tardy.”

“Of course, Miss Templeton,” he said with a nod, bending down to snatch his jacket and hat from the ground. “But as we are to be neighbors, I do hope our paths will cross again in the future.”

“Oakham is a small village. It is inevitable,” she replied as she gripped her basket and turned down the road, her footsteps moving quickly away—leaving Arthur staring after her.

Ducking through an opening in the hedgerows, she slipped into a nearby field, and for all that she looked like she’d been dragged behind a carriage, Miss Templeton bore herself with the confidence of a queen.

“Come now, Dr. Vaughn!” called the coachman, jerking Arthur from his thoughts.

With cheeks blazing as he realized just how long he’d been standing about gathering wool whilst leering at a lady, Arthur turned on his heel and pulled on his jacket as he climbed into the waiting carriage. Miss Bacon smiled, though her eyes lingered on his hairline, and Arthur’s face flamed as he settled his hat firmly upon his head once more.

“Well, that was certainly quite exciting,” said Mr. Bacon, dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief as his ashen complexion regained a little color.

“Oh, indeed, Papa,” said Miss Bacon with a nod that set her ringlets bobbing. “Dr. Vaughn, you were so very heroic. Heaven knows what would’ve happened had you not arrived.”

“Miss Templeton was quite capable, and I am certain she could’ve managed,” replied Arthur as he watched the very person he spoke of through the window. Her back was to him as she drifted into the distance, and he couldn’t take his eyes from her.

“Yes, our Mr. Templeton is quite certain of herself,” mumbled Miss Bacon, and her father cleared his throat, giving her a narrowed look before turning his attention back to Arthur.

“We are happy to have a proper doctor in town,” he said. “We’ve been without one for far too long.”

“And I am happy to be here,” said Arthur with a faint smile.

Yes, Oakham was just the place for him.