Chapter Twenty-Eight
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Lucas.”
Dr. Nimmo, a neatly attired man with hair graying at the temples, a trimmed mustache, and the faintest of Scottish burrs, rose from his desk as Mia entered his study. She found her hand enveloped in a warm, welcoming handshake.
“I hadn’t expected to see you,” she said. “I understood from the hospital secretary that you delegate the vaccination work to junior staff.”
“That wouldn’t do, would it?” he said, gesturing to a seat.
“McIver told me to take particular care of you and to oversee the process personally. And I admit to curiosity. It’s not often I encounter a woman wishing to administer the procedure.
But, as I’ve always said to Mrs. Nimmo, not all women are delicate orchids wishing to be preserved in hothouses all their lives. ”
“Does Mrs. Nimmo agree with you, sir?” Mia asked as she sat.
He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. “Mrs. Nimmo says it herself. Now, I assume that, as a survivor of smallpox yourself, you’re not to be the first patient to receive the vaccine.”
“How did you…” Mia began, then trailed off. Her pockmarks may have faded, but they were visible enough to have not spared her from stares and whispers during the journey to Glasgow—the perpetrators being told, smartly, by Maisie, to “gawp at something worth gawping at or I’ll have yer arses.”
The doctor smiled. “Your face is testimony to your bravery, Miss Lucas. Now, have you brought the patient with you? Given the length of your journey back to the Highlands, I’d advise delaying the application until the moment before you depart, so as not to break the chain.”
“I have two patients with me to ensure the chain is not broken, sir.”
“And where are they?”
“One is outside—the other’s waiting in the carriage. I intend to leave as soon as I’ve administered the vaccine to the first patient, then, if necessary, administer the second during our journey home.”
The doctor steepled his fingers together, then leaned back in his chair.
“McIver was right about you.”
“What did he say?”
The doctor tilted his head to one side. “Come now, surely you don’t expect me to resort to flattery?”
Mia’s cheeks warmed and she lowered her gaze. “Forgive me, Dr. Nimmo. I meant no offense.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I fear it’s I who should beg forgiveness. Dr. McIver merely said that you were one of the most remarkable young women of his acquaintance, and that the world would be poorer if your skills were not put to proper use.”
“Dr. McIver is too kind.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, though I’ll admit that the praise of my good friend and colleague is enough to introduce a little prejudice in your favor. Now, you say the first patient is outside?”
“Yes, sir. Sh-she wouldn’t come in.”
“Why ever not?”
“She wasn’t sure whether you’d be willing to admit her. You see, she’s a…” Mia hesitated.
“A what? A servant? A milkmaid? I’m not discriminatory when it comes to my patients. And you’ll understand that, given the nature of the vaccine, most patients I use as a source are milkmaids.”
“Of course, sir,” Mia said. “I’ve read Dr. Jenner’s paper on the subject. But Maisie is a…”
She paused. Ought she be honest and risk expulsion, or tell a falsehood for the greater objective?
“Ah.”
One little word—not even a word, really, but it conveyed the doctor’s understanding. He regarded Mia with his frank gaze.
“You fear that I’d refuse to treat a woman whose profession renders her objectionable in the eyes of many—including those who purchase her services?” he said.
Mia nodded.
“An understandable assumption to make,” he continued, “but I take my oath of service in the spirit in which it was written. Every soul deserves to be treated, and I’d never refuse to admit a brave woman willing to help her kinsmen by taking the vaccine to them.”
He lifted a small brass bell from the desk and rang it. Shortly after, the clerk who’d ushered Mia in appeared.
“Ah, Jonas. Please send Miss…?”
“Maisie MacLennan,” Mia said.
“…Miss MacLennan in. Tell her that I particularly wish to see her. And send for young Ginny.”
“Aye, Dr. Nimmo, sir.”
The clerk bowed and disappeared, then returned shortly after with Maisie.
The doctor gazed at her, taking in, no doubt, the painted face, the too-bright but shabby attire, and Maisie’s evident discomfort at being a whore who’d passed through the front door of one of the finest medical establishments in the country.
But his expression showed none of the lust that glimmered in the eyes of almost every man who looked upon Maisie.
Instead, they showed appreciation and respect.
“Do come in, Miss MacLennan.”
“But sir, I’ve no right to—”
“You’re my guest, come to receive the vaccine, which gives you every right to be here.”
Maisie took the seat next to Mia.
“I applaud your bravery, Miss MacLennan,” Dr. Nimmo said.
“Thank ye, sir.”
“Shall we proceed, or do you wish me to explain the process first?”
“No thank ye, sir… I mean, yes, we may proceed,” Maisie said. “Mia has already explained the process.”
“And are you equipped, Miss Lucas?”
Mia opened her valise and took out a knife wrapped in a cloth, a small pouch containing her needles, and a candle.
“My dear,” the doctor said, “you come better prepared than most of my students, but a woman knows the benefits of preparation more than a man, as I always say.”
Or, Mia suspected, as Mrs. Nimmo always said.
“I have a candle,” he said. “Save yours for your journey in case you have need of it.”
He retrieved a candle from a drawer, set it in a candlestick, then handed it to Mia with a nod. She rose and lit it from the fireplace, then, as she returned to the desk, the door opened and a young woman entered.
“Ah, Ginny,” the doctor said. “Our benefactress. How are you today, child?”
“I’m well, thank ye, Dr. Nimmo, sir.”
“Though not completely recovered from cowpox, I trust?” he said, nodding to the girl’s arm. “Sit, please.”
The girl gave a shy smile, then took a seat and lifted her sleeve to expose a cluster of blisters on her forearm.
Maisie’s eyes widened, but she lifted her own sleeve.
“Are you certain, Maisie?” Mia said.
“Aye.”
Mia picked up her knife and held the blade in the candle flame for a heartbeat. She paused to let it cool, then held it against Maisie’s arm.
“Good—very good,” the doctor said. “Now, just a small incision.”
Mia drew the knife across Maisie’s skin. A droplet of red began to swell, but Maisie nodded to continue.
Mia set the knife aside and picked up her needle, again, holding it into the flame. She held it against Ginny’s arm and raised her eyebrows in inquiry.
“Go on, miss,” the girl said. “It won’t hurt. Ye’re the fourth doctor to see me today.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Not yet,” Dr. Nimmo said with a smile. “Go on. A small droplet is all you need.”
Holding her breath, Mia slid the tip of the needle into the blister, waited for a small bead of yellow liquid to form, then drew it out again. Slowly, she moved the needle toward Maisie’s wound, then placed the tip in the center.
“Excellent,” the doctor said. “Have you a bandage?”
Mia drew a strip of cloth from her valise and wound it around Maisie’s arm.
“Not too tight,” Dr. Nimmo said. “It’s just to stop any bleeding. You should be able to remove it in an hour or so. Brave lass, Miss MacLennan,” he added, nodding to Maisie. “And thank you, Ginny.” He fished a coin out of his pocket. “A shilling for your trouble, child.”
“Let me see to that,” Mia said, fishing out a coin from her valise and handing it to the young girl, whose eyes widened.
“Half a crown? Thank ye, miss.”
“It’s you whom I should be thanking,” Mia said. “For attending today and for subjecting yourself to the hands of a woman.”
“Och, ye were gentler than…” The girl blushed as she glanced at Dr. Nimmo. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.”
“You’re quite right, Ginny,” the doctor said, mirth in his voice.
“I fear that even my brightest student is not so deft as this young woman here. Well, my dear,” he added, rising and extending his hand to Mia, “if you are adamant about leaving as soon as possible, I’ll not keep you.
I trust we shall meet again when I might have the privilege of addressing you as Dr. Lucas. ”
Mia took his hand, then the clerk escorted her and Maisie out to where the carriage was waiting.
Brodie’s face appeared at the window. “Is it done, ma’am?”
Mia nodded as she helped Maisie into the carriage, then they set off.
“Did it hurt?” Brodie asked.
“Not at all,” Maisie said. “A slight sting when Mia made the… What was it called?”
“Incision,” Mia replied.
“And how do ye feel?” Brodie asked.
“I’m well. At least, for now.”
“You may have a slight fever later tonight,” Mia said, “or tomorrow. Let me know the moment you see blisters forming on your arm like Ginny’s.”
Maisie nodded, then relaxed into her seat.
Mia turned her attention to the view from the window, the gray stone buildings of the city set against the darkening sky.
When they thinned out to open countryside, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
But sleep eluded her as the memory of her last encounter with Hamish pushed to the forefront of her mind—the sensations that had torn through her body as he’d claimed her like a beast, followed by the cold, harsh reality of ruination at the hands of a man who could never love her.
At all costs, she must keep their encounter a secret—not only to the rest of the world, but to herself. Were she to recognize the delicious wickedness that she’d savored as her body had opened itself to pure pleasure…
No!
“Mia?”
She glanced up to see Maisie staring at her.
“What ails ye?”
“Nothing,” Mia said. “It’s you we should be concerned about.”
“Och, I’m well,” Maisie said. “But something ails ye. I can see it.”
“Nonsense.”
“Do ye think I’m a…” Maisie glanced toward Brodie, whose head lolled to one side as he slept, emitting tiny snores.
“Do ye think I’m a whore for nothing? I can tell when a person is deep in thought—or deep in sorrow.
” She folded her arms and tilted her head to one side.
“Does it have something to do with why ye had that doctor address ye as Miss Lucas, not Lady MacLennan?”
When Mia didn’t respond, Maisie took her hand.
“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” she said. “Ye were quiet on the journey here. Even young Brodie noticed it. Is it Master Hamish?”
Mia’s heart fluttered at the mention of his name.
“Aye.” Maisie nodded. “I knew it would be something to do with the master, seein’ as he didnae come to wave ye off. But I did see him.”
“Did you?” Mia asked.
Maisie gave a knowing smile. “Aye. At the window of his study, watching as ye climbed in. He continued to watch as we traveled along the drive, and when I looked out of the window before we turned the corner, he was still there.”
“Oh.”
Mia cursed herself. Was that all she could manage to say while feigning nonchalance?
“Ye’ve lain with him, haven’t ye?”
“Maisie!” Mia whispered, glancing at Brodie.
“Och, that lad will sleep through anything—if Glenblath castle were to crumble into dust, it wouldnae rouse him from a doze.”
Mia opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again.
“I saw a fire in yer eyes two or three days before we left,” Maisie said, “but it was dulled by something else. As if…” She sighed, then shook her head.
“As if what?” Mia said, unable to conquer her curiosity.
“As if yer body had been awoken to pleasure and had found its home—but yer soul had been crushed.”
“Sweet heaven! How can you—”
Maisie patted Mia’s hand. “It’s the skills of my trade—understanding the needs and desires of men and women. I saw it in his eyes, also.”
“Saw what?”
“A physical need met, but a soul unsatisfied,” Maisie said. “Master Hamish is afraid. I’ve never seen him afraid before.”
“I doubt if a man such as Hamish has been afraid of anything,” Mia said.
“Och, not of toil, or disease, or an opponent stronger than he,” Maisie replied, “but of his heart. And the stronger the man, the more potent the fear.”
Mia shook her head. “There is no fear in his heart. He made that perfectly clear after we…” Her cheeks flared with heat.
“It matters not. Both he and I have different paths to take to fulfil our dreams—mine of becoming a doctor, and his…” She hesitated, willing the tears pricking at her eyelids to remain confined.
“His ambition is to secure himself a prettier, wealthier bride as soon as our marriage is annulled.”
“And is that what ye want?”
No! Mia’s soul cried out with yearning. I want to be loved.
She glanced at her friend—a friend to whom she owed absolute honesty. But an admission of her heart would unlock the floodgates of despair that she might never be able to stem once opened.
“Yes,” Mia said quietly. “It’s what I want.”
The fact that she had lied thickened in the air. But rather than wrench a confession from her, Maisie lifted Mia’s hand to her lips. Then she drew her close and held her in the comforting embrace of a friend—a friend who recognized that her heart was broken.