Chapter Twenty-One
Emily
Emily had entered that practical mode again, but it didn’t trouble her. It was of such obvious comfort to Jo that it spurred her on with a purposeful righteousness she hadn’t felt since the first days she’d spent shadowing her father through his appointments. In those days, she’d handed him instruments and medicines with a sense that even the most mundane actions she took mattered. She couldn’t put her finger on when that feeling had fled, but when she went to fetch her suffering lover a healthful cup of tea, it was with the same sense of pride she’d had the first few times she’d fetched the bandages that might save a life.
She put her hand on the rail and peered up an even more treacherous stair than the one she’d encountered at Jo’s home and nearly screamed when she saw a shadowy figure moving at the top of it. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized she knew the specter.
“Miss Garcia?” said Emily.
The woman seemed just as startled by the words as Emily had been of the sight. Miss Garcia stood up fast but unbalanced, like the new distribution of her own body weight had surprised her. She put one hand on her belly and the other on the rail to steady herself, even as Emily reached out in a panicked and unthinking notion of catching her in a fall.
Miss Garcia’s painted smile seemed to spread in spite of herself as her balance was restored.
“I thank you for the generous impulse to catch me,” she said in her clear voice. “Though I confess, I’m glad we didn’t have to find out how effective it would have been.”
“I could not agree with you more.”
“Would you like to come upstairs?” Miss Garcia asked, clutching again at the roundness that disrupted the fall of her skirts.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” said Emily. “I’m in pursuit of tea for Jo. This morning has been a shock to her, as I’m sure it’s been to you, as well. Were you there? When the police came?”
Miss Garcia shrugged dramatically with one of her hands drifting toward the ceiling, sending the silk fringe and rattling beads of her shawl into a tizzy.
“I was. But I’m trying to think of the whole thing as an adventure. A bit of insight into the deep range of emotions and experiences we can have as humans,” she insisted. “You told me that lowered anxiety and a positive outlook would make all the difference for my little one, so here I am, doing my best.”
While Emily appreciated how seriously her patient had taken the advice, she thought reframing a literal police raid as an adventure was taking things above and beyond.
She followed Miss Garcia up the stairs and into a small apartment. It was not especially modern, probably boasting nothing so nice as a tap nor possibly even a gas line. Still, it was well-kept for what it was, filled with worn but sturdy furniture, accented here and there with things like flouncy curtains, flowery china figures, and organized bookcases. Emily had a sense that she was not the only one occupied with keeping ghosts at bay; the place had the distinct air of somewhere that had once been haunted.
The other woman, the shopkeep Miss Merriweather, sat in a chair by the fireplace with some exceptionally lumpy knitting on her lap. The wrapper she wore was much finer than the rest of her home, and the way her face instantly shifted from a smile for Miss Garcia into a more polite and dignified nod of curiosity when she spotted a stranger gave the impression of a very different history than the performers and tradespeople she was in the midst of.
“Dr. Clarke!” the woman said, setting her knitting down so carelessly that one of the stitches slipped unnoticed from the end of a needle. She stood with both her hands outstretched for an enthusiastic shake. “It’s so lovely to meet you at last! Goodness, you are beautiful, aren’t you?”
Emily was shocked by such a strange, nearly schoolgirlish greeting. “Excuse me?”
“It is you Joey’s been writing, isn’t it?”
A blush crept across Emily’s cheeks. “Did she tell you that?”
“Of course not, she never tells anyone anything.” Miss Merriweather waved a hand. “But she’s not as sneaky as she thinks she is. I figured it out ages ago.”
“Dr. Clarke is seeking a cup of tea for our favorite sneak,” said Miss Garcia, putting her hands on Emily’s shoulders, a decided sign that whatever she’d overheard of Jo’s new introduction had elevated Emily out of the mere doctor role. “Might we fix one?”
“Oh, let’s make a whole bloody pot, shall we?” said Miss Merriweather, heading to her cupboards. “Let’s make two, in fact. We could all use some fortification after the morning we’ve had.”
As Miss Merriweather bustled about, busy with tea, Miss Garcia sat heavily in one of the chairs. She seemed to attempt her usual regal posture, but she looked a bit slumped and glassy-eyed again, the recently renewed color in her cheeks having fled once more.
“Are you alright, Miss Garcia?”
“Oh, I’m just a bit tired,” she whispered to the floor. “Adventures do take a lot out of you sometimes, don’t they?”
If everyone hadn’t been so welcoming, Emily might have felt like an interloper in this near-miss with disaster. As it was, though, she felt comfortable taking the other seat, the part of her mind that was Dr. Clarke assessing Miss Garcia’s pallor while the part that was Jo Smith’s lover creased her brow with concern over a dear friend.
“Are you eating alright today?” she asked Miss Garcia gently. “Even with the...adventurous insights that filled your morning?”
Miss Garcia nodded and looked up to spare half a smile. “Admittedly, I became a bit queasy again, but I went back to the lemon water and ginger like you suggested, and managed to have a bit of breakfast. A soup Jo recommended.”
“And I, of course, am taking impeccable care of her too!” Miss Merriweather chirped merrily as she stoked the coals beneath her kettle.
“She is,” Miss Garcia agreed. “Between the three of you, I must be the best-tended actress in London.”
And you need it, don’t you?Emily thought. All the makeup and artistic excuses in the world could not hide how this woman had been rattled to the core. Given the fact that her health—while improving—was still precarious, it made Emily very nervous.
“And is the little one feeling as well-tended today?” she asked as lightly as she could. The last thing she wanted to do was induce more panic, but... “Moving about as usual?”
“I think he’s been in hiding since the adventure.” Miss Garcia put a hand to her belly without nearly as much concern as her words spurred in Emily. “It was a bit loud.”
All that professional calmness Emily had cultivated over her years in the hospital threatened to run off into the streets of London, never to be seen again. She hardly dared speak, terrified that her sudden fear would show up as a quiver in her voice. In fact, she considered saying nothing at all. It was probably fine. Probably her own imagination running away with her as she envisioned the various chains of disaster that could cascade from a babe who wasn’t moving as usual. No sense panicking everyone else over her own madness...
As she attempted to get her worries under control, the kettle began to boil in earnest. Miss Merriweather, humming to herself, gathered it up and went to pour water over the leaves in the pot.
Mere moments ago, that silly old cup of tea she was brewing had instilled Emily with an old confidence she’d lost. But satisfying as those helpful, comforting tasks had been, if they were everything Emily wanted, she could have much more easily become a nurse.
It was easy to forget, addled as she was by the unequal treatment she received. But she liked to use her very specialized skills to be of help in dire circumstances. It was only when caring for someone felt meaningless and unappreciated that she wondered why she bothered. But when there was conviction or...or love, she supposed...behind it, that was something different.
That was everything.
Jo cared about this woman. By extension, so did Emily.
She could handle this case. Not just because she was professionally equipped, but because she bloody cared.
“Miss Garcia—may...may I call you Vanessa, actually?”
The woman’s sly eyes lit up. “Oh, of course! I love that. But only if I may call you Dr. Emily.”
“That...yes, I think that would be alright,” Emily agreed. “Vanessa, may I take a quick assessment? After such an adventure, I simply wouldn’t feel right without checking on things.”
She remained impressively calm, though Vanessa—ever aware of people’s attitudes and energies—seemed to sense her nerves. She nodded quietly and said very little as Emily checked her pulse and the color of her nailbeds, palpating her abdomen gently in hopes of waking the babe up, if indeed it was just napping.
“Is everything alright?” Vanessa asked.
“Let’s have a bit of that tea,” Emily said. “Miss Merriweather? Could you—”
“Got it!” said Miss Merriweather, pouring generously.
“Add a good heap of sugar,” Emily instructed.
“I thought I was to take less sugar and more lemon,” said Vanessa.
Emily felt bad about the suggestion now that she’d become a bit more accepting of the positives of pleasure. “That’s true most of the time, but I have to admit that even sugar has its uses. A good lump of it can sometimes give a sleepy babe a wake-up call,” she said. “And... I suppose a bit here and there is alright. Might even give him a sweeter disposition.”
Vanessa, to her credit, seemed to get the joke immediately, in spite of the dryness of Emily’s delivery. Jo was not, it seemed, the only person in the world who could spot her humor, and there was something very nice about that.
The tea was sweetened. Vanessa drank it all with her feet up and a cool cloth over her forehead while Miss Merriweather brushed her hair and Emily tried not to stare too worriedly for too long a stretch.
Just when Emily thought she couldn’t take another moment, Vanessa sat bolt upright so fast the cloth fell into her teacup.
“Oh, there he is!” she laughed, hand back to her belly. “Yes, rolling all round now. Goodness.”
Emily and Miss Merriweather let out matching held breaths and smiled, each taking a turn to feel the proof of nothing-to-worry-about.
Yet.
The thought of leaving this woman here, where she was about to be displaced from yet another home, possibly at risk for more devastating shocks like the one this morning, struck Emily suddenly as untenable. What if there was another scare like this? And Emily at least an hour away, even once word reached Farncombe? She’d planned to stay with Noah for the last six weeks of the confinement, but that didn’t sound like enough under these circumstances.
They needed to be close.
And Miss Garcia needed to be somewhere safe. Secure. A place with plenty of fresh air and healthful food and room to move about.
“Vanessa,” said Emily, righteous purpose building high in her again. “How would you like to spend the rest of your confinement with me in Surrey? You saw that there is more than enough room for you to move about quite comfortably. And as for sleeping... Well, my brother’s old room is unoccupied nearly all the time, and as it happens, I’ve just cleaned it out and made it suitable for company. Having someone in it would keep the dust balls from collecting so quickly.”
“Goodness, Dr. Emily!” Vanessa exclaimed, clutching her chest. “That is almost absurdly generous. I couldn’t impose like that.”
“Don’t think of it as an imposition,” Emily reasoned. “I’m your doctor. If I recommend a cleaner, less-stressful atmosphere than your own corner of London, then wouldn’t it be reasonable for me to provide what I have recommended?”
“Opening your own home is beyond the scope of a doctor’s responsibility.”
“What if I didn’t offer as your doctor, then?” she said in a rush, thinking so fondly of the woman downstairs still waiting on that cuppa that her voice nearly broke with affection. “What if I offered as a friend of the family who just so happens to have extra space for a guest in need?”
“Of the family?”
“Yes. I’m Jo’s friend,” she said, feeling assured in it now. “And she’s something of a family member to you, isn’t she? Not a namable one, or a proper one, but something?”
Emily stood up, smoothing her skirts and wondering how she could possibly feel so calm, inviting a woman to have her baby in the same home that had witnessed her own mother’s tragic end. But she did. More than calm, she felt convicted. She felt love. She felt it was right in a way she could not quite explain to herself just yet.
“Do think about it,” she said. “Talk it over with Mr. Smith. With Jo. With whoever else you have in your life that you talk things over with. And send word as to whether I ought to prepare you a room of your own.”
Emily finally managed to get that cup of tea for Jo, then went back downstairs to let her and Smithy know that they ought to encourage Vanessa to take the offer, if she ended up asking their opinion.
“Her staying with you?” Jo clarified over her steaming cup. She seemed improved after some further talk with Smithy, and even more so upon seeing Emily.
“Yes,” said Emily.
“Instead of you coming here?”
“Given the circumstances, I think it’s the best option,” Emily said in the most authority-laced doctor voice she could manage while watching Jo warm her lovely hands on the hot cup. “I know you will both miss her, but I shudder to think what might happen if she finds herself in the thick of another fright. It’s my professional opinion that she should leave the city until the child is born and she’s through the first few weeks of lying in.” She let her voice soften as she looked at Jo. “And it is my personal opinion that if I had room enough to offer you shelter a mere half-hour ago, then I have room enough for one of your friends. Admittedly, she takes up a bit more space than you at this time, but it’s not enough to make the difference.”
Jo chuckled a little, but then locked eyes with Smithy. They were both wincing slightly, like they had something on their minds.
“What is it?” Emily said. “I hope you don’t think to argue with me.”
“Quite the contrary, Doctor,” said Smithy with that ironic, sun-in-your-eyes brightness he seemed to enjoy exuding. “We’d come to a similar conclusion in your absence.”
“Oh, really? Well, that’s lovely then, isn’t it!”
Jo turned back to Emily, still wincing. “He said similar.”
“Alright,” said Emily slowly. “What’s dissimilar about it, then?”
“I was wondering, um.” Jo looked into her tea, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at Emily. “You see, it looks like, at least temporarily, a bit of a new life is necessary again for me. We’ve lost the home already, but we might be able to avoid the same fate with the shop if we’re careful. I’m going to stay away until we’re in the clear, just to make very sure they don’t find a wanted man’s wife running the place. Alma and some of our friends are more than capable of running it—and running it clean—while I’m away. So... I suppose I’m doing something different for a while. Not forever, hopefully, but...a while.”
“Oh no!” Emily was hardly one for a show of affection in front of another person, even a person who wouldn’t mind, but she could not resist extending Jo the comfort of a hand on her shoulder. “That’s quite the opposite of what you wanted.”
“It is. But...it wouldn’t be so bad if, I think, if that new start included...well...you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Vanessa and her babe come first,” Jo said carefully. “But if there’s room enough for me, I might like to take you up on your original offer after all.”
Emily’s gentle strokes turned into a squeeze. The circumstances of it were such a shame that she hated to be thrilled, but there was no other word to describe her response. “Of course there’s room!” she said, a smile spreading across her face and right on down the path to Jo’s as well. “Plenty of room.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Jo. She looked happy, but that half-a-wince was still there. “In that case I have one more question.”
“Anything.”
“Is there room enough for this git?”
She nodded toward Paul Smith.
The question shocked her enough that she didn’t answer right away, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one surprised. Smithy himself looked at Jo like she’d grown about six heads.
“Joey,” he hissed, like he was trying to be subtle even as the sound bounced off every spine in the bookshop. “You can’t just ask her that.”
“Seems I did.”
“Why?”
“So I can reset my status as a wanker, Paul!” she all-but-shouted, the silly verbiage eaten up by a genuine note of regret. “I have been a complete shit, while you go on smiling and joking and giving me more chances than I have ever deserved. I owe you back for the way you’ve waited for me to come to my senses. And so I will ask her, even though it is inappropriate and awkward and far too much to ask of a person.” She turned her perfect, impassioned face back toward Emily. “Can you give him a place too, just for a bit?”
“If you say no,” said Smithy very politely, “I will not hold it against you. And I will talk Jo out of holding it against you as well.”
But Emily was nodding before the decision had even been fully made, as if her body, her very bones, knew the answer before her mind could catch up.
“Of course I’ll make room,” Emily said. “If you are that important to Jo, you are that important to me.”