Chapter Twenty-Four
The following week, Mia attended the school again and, with the teacher’s permission, described the process of the smallpox vaccination.
A letter had arrived from a Dr. Nimmo in Glasgow that morning, expressing his delight at being able to grant a favor to his friend and colleague Dr. McIver and administer the vaccine.
In fact, in his letter the doctor said that he would be more than willing to supervise while you administer it yourself, given Dr. McIver’s assurances that you’re a capable young woman with bright prospects of becoming a doctor.
Her pride at such praise of her abilities buoyed her joy, and she’d almost skipped to the school.
Joy had been absent since Hamish escorted her home a week ago. The glow of pleasure at his touch had lasted only moments after he’d left, dissolving into the ashes of shame.
On her return to Riverview Cottage, Mia paused as she caught sight of a flash of red hair between the trees.
Was it him?
Her cheeks warmed with a cocktail of desire and shame.
But what did she have to feel shame for?
She’d taken nothing but a small scrap of pleasure at the touch of his hand that had left her intact in body, if not in mind.
She was still a respectable woman—a maiden—with the prospect of becoming a doctor, facilitated by a true friend and his colleague.
Let him feel shame for having taken advantage of her need, and for the base act he’d committed outside her window…
She caught her breath at the memory—the grunts of pleasure that he’d taken at his own hand because he would not take pleasure from her. Then she chastised herself. Why would he take pleasure from the wife he didn’t want?
The path turned a corner, and Mia’s visitor came into view. But it wasn’t the man she called husband. Instead, she saw the pale face and vivid green eyes of Hamish’s sister.
Surely Iona hadn’t been responsible for ransacking the cottage before? But why else would she be here with such guilt in her eyes?
The young woman clasped her hands together and her gaze darted about as if, like a deer on the moor, she sensed a predator.
“Iona, how pleasant you’re come to visit,” Mia said with a smile. “Is there anything you need?”
The girl frowned and tilted her head to one side, as if she were trying to make Mia out.
“I’m not here to visit ye,” she said at last.
“Nevertheless, I find you near my door,” Mia replied. “Perhaps you wandered here by mistake. I’m always getting lost about the place, as it’s so expansive.”
“What a foolish thing to say!” Iona said. “I never get lost. I’ve lived here all my life. Ye keep getting lost because ye’re an outsider.”
“That I am,” Mia said. “But often when I’m deep in contemplation, my mind can drift into the unknown, and before I realize it, I’m no longer on the path I intended.
” She approached the front door, her back to the girl.
“You’re welcome to something to eat. I’ve some bread and cheese—enough to share. ”
“I dinnae want anything from ye.”
“You must suit yourself, of course. The cheese was a gift from Mrs. McBride—but the bread I baked myself, so you may wish to refuse that.”
Leaving the front door open, Mia entered the parlor and braced herself for evidence of tampering.
But the room was untouched, the shelves neatly stacked and her unfinished mending on the table in the same attitude she’d left it that morning.
She took her basket into the kitchen then inspected the rest of the cottage, but there were no signs of interference.
When she returned to the parlor, she saw Iona standing in the center of the room, her gaze wandering over the shelves and their contents.
Mia motioned to a chair, but the girl made no move to sit, so Mia took the tinderbox from the mantelshelf and set about lighting the fire she’d laid that morning.
When the first flames began to curl around the logs, she turned and saw that Iona had taken a chair and was rocking back and forth, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.
“Do ye think I did it?” she said, gesturing to the shelves.
Mia raised her eyebrows.
“B-breaking yer things,” Iona added. “Hamish threatened to beat me. But not out of any liking for ye.”
Mia exited the parlor to fill a pot with water, then returned and suspended it over the fire, aware of the girl’s gaze on her. Then she set about preparing her luncheon, placing the food on the table together with two plates and two cups.
Iona watched as Mia settled herself in the chair at the other side of the fireplace and waited. After a pause, she spoke again.
“He’s very strict.”
“His duty as laird is to be strict,” Mia replied.
“Aye, but I cannae—” Iona broke off and sighed.
“Your brother has to maintain the safety and order of the household to protect those who are dependent on him,” Mia said. “He rarely has the luxury of indulgence.”
“Is that how it must be?”
“It’s how it is,” Mia said. “It doesn’t mean that he’s incapable of love—only that he cannot show it in a manner that gives immediate comfort.
Brothers, fathers, and…husbands don’t love any less merely because they cannot show it.
So the responsibility of giving comfort and counsel often falls to mothers and sisters. ”
“I have no sisters, and I cannae tell Ma what…” Iona shook her head and the sneer returned to her lips. “Ye’re talking nonsense,” she said. “Sassenach nonsense.”
Mia let out a laugh. “I suspect I am, seeing as I have no father or mother living, nor have ever had siblings. As to a husband”—she paused to maintain her composure—“in every sense that matters, I don’t have a husband either.
Now, how’s that water coming along?” She leaned over the pot.
“Only a few minutes more, then we can have tea.”
“I dinnae want tea.”
“Well, I do,” Mia said crisply. “I might as well make two cups as one.”
Iona said nothing to that. As the first hiss of steam rose from the pot, she rose and approached the shelves, her gaze wandering over every jar, every pot, as if searching for something.
“In answer to your question,” Mia said, “no. I don’t.”
“Ye dinnae what?”
“I don’t think you were the one who broke my things.”
“Why not?”
“You may be an angry young woman—even unhappy…” Mia began.
“I’m not unhappy.”
“But you’re not cruel, or unkind.”
“I’ve called ye a pockmarked hure.”
“Excepting your mother and a handful of others, who in the whole of Glenblath can say they’ve not called me such?” Mia replied. “Does that mean every soul here is cruel? There’s a difference between saying something unkind and being unkind. You’re clever enough to understand that.”
“Are ye trying to flatter me?” Iona asked.
“What would be the point of that? An advantage of having a face like mine is that I’m not bound by the need to flatter others. An ogre has the freedom to speak the truth without fear of being judged, given that she’s already judged by all she meets.”
“Ye’re not an ogre.”
Iona’s words were so soft, Mia could have believed she’d imagined them.
Then Iona gestured to the jars and bottles. “Are ye as clever as ye say in treating ailments?”
“I know a little about the healing properties of different herbs.”
The curiosity in the girl’s expression intensified. Was she perhaps suffering from something that might explain the unhappiness that always sat in the depths of her eyes?
Mia indicated the calendula salve. “This helps to prevent putrefaction of wounds. I used it on Brodie after he cut his arm. And”—she pointed to the jar containing the strips of willow bark—“this was to ease his pain.”
Iona’s eyes widened. “B-Brodie? Was he hurt?”
“He was in a lot of pain when he came to me, but I’ve never known a young man to be so brave when I tended to him.”
“How brave?”
“As brave as any soldier,” Mia said. “I once assisted Dr. McIver in the removal of a soldier’s leg after he’d fought at Waterloo. Captain Broom, his name was. The bravest man I’d met—until Brodie.”
“Was Brodie in danger of…”
Iona’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Mia placed a hand on the young woman’s arm, but Iona jerked free.
“Brodie’s injury was severe because it had been left to fester,” Mia said. “But it’s cured now. I’ve used the salve for smaller injuries also, such as Evie MacLennan when she grazed her arm, and Rory when he cut his hand.”
“Do ye have anything to prevent sickness or injury?”
“To prevent injury, no, other than counsel to take care,” Mia said. “But sickness—if you’re referring to the vaccination scheme, I’ll be able to prevent the onset of smallpox.”
“And…other ailments?”
“Such as?”
“Och, I dinnae ken.” Iona shrugged. “Maisie comes here a lot, and everyone knows a hure needs medicine to prevent her from getting”—she brushed a hand over her belly—“f-from getting caught.”
Her blush deepened as Mia met her gaze.
“Some doctors claim to have medicines to prevent a pregnancy,” Mia said, “but I’m not aware of anything that’s been proven by credible research.”
“A-and”—Iona lowered her gaze and clasped her hands together—“if it’s too…too…”
“Too late to prevent, for it has already occurred?”
Iona nodded.
“Some doctors claim to have medicines to put an end to…” Mia paused, unwilling to voice such a claim. “But the danger is such that I wouldn’t recommend their usage. I could never advocate such suffering.”
The girl whimpered. “S-suffering?”
Mia nodded. “More often than not, taking such medicines results in death. I’ve seen young women, desperate to save themselves from falling into ruin, suffer agonizing deaths while the men who brought about that ruination live their lives unencumbered.
I wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone—not a friend, a sister, nor even a young girl who professes hatred for me. ”
Iona placed both hands on her belly, but Mia focused her attention on the jars in front of her.
“There are medicines to give a woman comfort in her confinement,” she said. “I hadn’t expected to remain at Glenblath long enough to necessitate their use, but I can prepare some and leave them behind for when I’m gone.”
“Ye wouldnae take them with ye?”
“Not if anyone here was in need of it.”
Mia plucked a jar from the shelf, formed of clear glass, containing the remnants of a knobbly root covered in silvery skin.
“Do you know what this is?”
Iona shook her head.
“It’s ginger root,” Mia said. “You’ll not find it growing hereabouts. I was sent this.”
“What do ye use it for?”
“When crushed, the root can be used to make a salve that warms the skin and eases pain—I use it on your mother. But it has other uses. For example, when a slice is steeped in water to make a tea, it can soothe the sickness that women experience in pregnancy.” Iona frowned, and Mia continued.
“Of course, anyone can drink it—the taste is not unpleasant. I can use it for our tea today if you’d like to try it—purely for the taste, of course. ”
“For the taste only?” Iona said.
Mia nodded and, when the girl made no objection, cut two slices from the root, placed one in each cup, then poured hot water over them.
“If you like the taste, I’ll give you some to take back to the castle.” She cut several more slices and placed them on the table.
“Och, no!” Iona cried, eyeing the small pile. “I cannae have anyone finding out—especially not Hamish.”
Mia began to reach for Iona’s hand, then withdrew. Behind the veneer of resolve in the girl’s eyes, Mia saw a lost soul. But Iona would never trust her if she forced apart that resolve. Instead, Mia relaxed back in her chair and sipped her tea.
“Perhaps you should speak to your brother.”
“Och, no, he’d be so angry. I fear he’d give me a beating, and—” Iona broke off, closing her eyes. When they opened again, the resolve had once more settled in place.
“I meant about the vaccination program,” Mia said. “I’ll be very busy when it takes place, even with Maisie’s help, and would welcome another pair of hands. Hamish might like it if you—”
“No, he wouldnae,” Iona said. “He disnae think I can do anything. Besides”—she lifted her lip in the familiar sneer—“I’m a laird’s daughter and shouldn’t be expected to do work best suited to servants.”
“I understand,” Mia said. “But I’d still counsel you to talk to him. Tell him how you’re…how unwell you’re feeling. He’s a kind man and would want to help you.”
“He’s not kind,” Iona replied. “How can ye say so when he cannae wait to send ye away so that he can take a richer and prettier bride?”
A tear splashed onto Iona’s cheek.
“I-I must be going,” she said. “He’ll be angry if I’m not back soon.”
“Of course,” Mia said. “Thank you for visiting me. It’s been a pleasure.”
Iona opened her mouth to reply and Mia braced herself for another insult, but she merely mumbled her thanks, then fled.
Mia watched the girl’s thin frame toil along the path, then she returned to the parlor and cut herself a slice of bread.
As she cast her gaze over the table, she noticed that the slices of ginger had gone.