Chapter 9 #2
Miss Bainesworth stared at her hands and seemed disinclined to answer. The older physician turned to him.
“Mr. Fletcher, what do you say? Do you have any guesses as to what might cause our patient to stop taking her meals?” He patted the young woman’s arm. “That is the reason for your ceased menstruation. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The pronouncement had no visible effect on Miss Bainesworth, as though she must have known it, and she fingered the counterpane on the bed beside her, darting a glance at James. It was as though she were waiting for him to answer Mr. Vroomen’s question on her behalf.
He furrowed his brows and willed his sleepy brain to work.
An instant later, a different question occurred to him.
“Why does your mother not attend your visits with Mr. Vroomen and myself?” He stopped short, now accusing his drowsiness of taking captive his intelligence.
Such a thing must not be his business, for she was of age.
However, one had to own that it was unusual for a young, unmarried lady to be attended by physicians without a female chaperone other than a maid.
“She does not know of them.” Miss Bainesworth flushed and looked down. “I have the servants arrange the visits when my mother is out and my father is resting. They do not need to know of them, and I have taken Mr. Prexley in dislike.”
This did not entirely surprise James, since Mr. Prexley displayed an arrogance that must overwhelm a shy lady such as Miss Bainesworth.
Mr. Vroomen moved to stand at the far end of the room, a signal for James to continue the consultation on his own.
He took the vacated chair across from her and studied her more fully from a clinical angle.
Although an otherwise handsome woman, Miss Bainesworth’s skin and hair were dull, her collarbones painfully visible above her bodice.
“I would like to remind you that any confidences you share in this room will not go further than Mr. Vroomen and myself,” he began.
“Will you tell me more about your relationship with your parents?” When she looked confused, he added, “This is pertinent, I believe, to your diagnosis. When women suffer from vapors or fainting spells, familial relationships are sometimes a contributing factor.”
“I do not suffer from the vapors,” she said with a dignified tilt to her chin.
He closed his eyes briefly, thinking he had some work to do on improving his eloquence. “I do not think you do,” he replied, liking her all the better for her show of spirit. “I merely meant to say that not all ailments have a purely physical cause.”
The room was silent for a full minute as he and Mr. Vroomen waited for her to speak. She continued to knot her fingers together before lifting her head.
“My father is truly ill, which is why we are in Spa. He is a good father. Well, he is the best one he is able to be, I suppose.” The corner of her mouth lifted wryly. “Men are not able to enter into the feelings of women.”
In the ensuing pause, her last words rang in James’s mind.
Was that true? He thought he could understand what women felt.
Did he not experience his own feelings? Certain things that made him sad or angry, things that made him happy.
Perhaps it was not in the same way women felt things, but he could sympathize with anyone who trusted him with their heart—even a woman.
It was true that Isabel seemed a bit of a foreign creature.
But in his youth, his friendship with Amy had been pure and uncomplicated.
They had known each other’s minds. Surely Amy would not agree with Miss Bainesworth’s conclusion about men.
“My mother has many friends,” she went on cautiously. “This is why she is not always home and why I am able to consult a physician without her knowledge.”
His mind caught on to her cynical tone when she said “many friends.”
Oh. Understanding dawned. He supposed he had observed Lady Spencer more than he realized, for he could immediately call to mind several instances that proved her daughter’s words true.
Lady Spencer was discreet, for any infidelity she engaged in was not immediately obvious.
The front she showed to the world at the assemblies and on the promenade was one full of vitality, drawing the attention of men and women alike.
He supposed if anything resembled a flirtation with one gentleman, she would draw it to a close before it might be remarked upon.
Then she would move over to exchange words with her daughter, who was languishing on a chair in the corner, before joining a group of women and taking over the conversation there.
She seemed to possess a powerful character.
Any daughter of a reserved nature must have a difficult time thriving under the care of such a woman.
“Is it . . . the absence of your parents that gives you cause for concern? Is there someone who imposes upon you when they are not present?” James struggled to pinpoint what might be wrong.
He did not know why Mr. Vroomen had handed him the lead in her case.
Perhaps his mentor was no more enlightened than he was.
When she didn’t answer, he took another stab.
“Are you being encouraged to entertain a suit that is distasteful to you?”
“No . . .” She regarded him for a long moment, then drew a breath as though to force out reluctant words.
“I would like to remain with my father in Spa at the end of the season. He is truly not well and needs someone at his side, but my mother has plans to go to Paris. She wishes for me to accompany her there.”
James tried to understand what she was not saying outright. “Are you hoping that we can recommend a medical reason why you must stay?”
“Yes.”
He looked back at Mr. Vroomen, who returned a subtle nod. “You will need to tell your parents about your consultations if you wish for such a thing, but I am certain we can think of a suitable recommendation. Whether they will heed it is another matter.”
“My father might, and if he does, it will serve.” The first smile came to her face. “Thank you.”
He returned it. “Miss Bainesworth, whether we succeed or not, may I suggest taking your health concerns in hand? It is still within your control, even when other things like complicated family relationships might not be.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and the brief show of relief had disappeared. “This supposes, of course, that I desire good health. If I were to waste away into nothingness, I should hardly think anyone would miss me apart from my father.”
The words chilled, and James glanced behind him at Mr. Vroomen.
His mentor’s face gave him no clue for how to respond, so he turned back.
“I am a man soon to be married, so kindly take this in the spirit in which it is meant, but—I would. Anyone who values a human life would. Anyone who has the privilege of knowing you would.” He stood.
“Begin with something light, like a bowl of broth and some bread. And begin today.”
They recommended that Miss Bainesworth change her ideas by going for a walk—after she had had something warming to eat.
“What do you think?” Mr. Vroomen inquired once they were outdoors.
“She suffers from a nervous consumption,” James said. “There is no sign of standard consumption, as she is not affected in the lungs.”
“Precisely,” Mr. Vroomen replied. “The best thing that can be done is for her to surround herself with cheerful company, food that tempts the appetite, and exercise in the fresh air. And convince her father to allow her to remain in Spa.”
James nodded. “If only he might heed the advice.”