Chapter 30 - Vera
The following day, Stephen wouldn’t hear of Vera leaving her bed.
She had a sudden, new appreciation for how their patients felt when put on bedrest. It didn’t help that her bedroom was too crowded for comfort.
Edna sat near the fire, working on mending.
Stephen had installed himself across the room at Vera’s own writing desk as if to monitor whether she followed his directives.
It was only early afternoon and Vera already had to stifle the urge to scream.
Not that she could navigate the stairs by herself anytime soon—her ankle was a lurid purple and red.
Edna regularly changed out the cold compress that rested upon it.
Otherwise, the maid draped a light linen towel over Vera’s bare foot as if it were a cooling loaf of bread she was protecting from flies.
Vera huffed in indignation and checked the clock once more.
From the small writing desk across the room, Stephen arched an eyebrow in question.
She said, “I cannot believe you’re guarding me so I don’t get up.”
“On the contrary. I’m simply here to entertain you while you rest.”
Vera crossed her arms. “I hardly think you sitting in silence, scratching your pen on parchment across the room is entertaining.”
“Very well,” he said cheerfully and pushed his ledger aside. “You may help me with my correspondence.”
Vera slumped against the mountain of pillows that held her in a seated position. “I’m not sure that would be any better than silence.”
He ignored her grumblings and sliced open the first wax seal. “Ah, a letter from Dr. Halveston.”
Stephen proceeded to read. Somewhere in the midst of the long letter, Vera forgot her irritation, instead entranced by the new medical procedure the man described. She was completely engrossed by the fourth page, where the man detailed one of his most recent cases at the hospital in London.
“But don’t you think that individuals in clean houses are less likely to become ill than people in dirty houses?” Vera argued, an hour later.
“I don’t think that you can isolate illness to cleanliness alone.
Certainly in some cases such as infections from louse bites or pustulent wounds that are never properly cleaned, it’s a large factor.
However, I’ve seen the lords in the wealthiest houses brought low by fevers, the same as any coal stoker. ”
“Fine, but the rate of incidence is less. Isn’t it?”
“True, but that might also be because close proximity can contribute to the spread of disease. People in grand houses have more room; therefore, they are less likely to become infected.”
“You’re playing the other side on purpose.” Vera folded her arms.
“I’m pointing out other factors that may be just as important.
That’s the tricky thing with scientific endeavors—one must form a theory and then test it, all while keeping your mind open that your theory might be incorrect.
You must believe what you’re testing with all your heart, while remaining humble enough to remember that you might be wrong.
Certainty is not the same as being right. ”
“Fair enough, but I still think that cleanliness plays a role in disease. If not in the initial catching of it, then certainly in how quickly the patients recover.”
He nodded. “It very well might. It certainly cannot hurt things, though I would point out that Mrs. Edgar’s house was spotless, and she remained ill for a full week.”
“Because her husband was feeding her spicy foods while she had a stomach complaint!”
“There.” He jabbed a finger into the air, grinning. “You see? Even you admit that there are numerous factors in play when it comes to infection and healing.”
She rolled her eyes, even as a smile feathered her lips. “I never said there weren’t. I only posited that cleanliness is one of them.”
“Cleanliness, diet, the general health of the individual before they became ill, age…they all affect how well a patient will recover.”
“Exactly.” She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “But we can only control some of those factors once the illness has set in. So shouldn’t we focus on what we can control—with utter intensity—in order to give our patients the best chance?”
Vera flushed. She hoped Stephen wouldn’t notice that she’d used collectives to describe them, as if she and Stephen were a unit, a pair.
If only, she thought before chasing the idea away.
“You make an excellent point.” Stephen grinned. “It’s nearly time for tea. I suppose my correspondence was entertaining enough. I’ll go let Roland know we’re ready for service.”
“Enjoy your walk,” she called to his back. “Enjoy your change of scenery.”
His answering chuckle trailed down the hall.
The next day, Stephen allowed his patient to navigate the upstairs, as long as she elevated her wrapped ankle upon a pillow whenever she sat down.
This was a far superior arrangement to being cloistered within her rooms. Vera spent the majority of the day in the upstairs library with Benjamin, Stephen, and Miss Beets.
Benjamin acted as her personal librarian, bringing her books he thought she might like—mostly books on warfare and diagrams of ships, but she thanked him all the same. Roland set a lovely tea service in the upstairs parlor, and afterward, Hortense brought Anne to the library for a visit.
“Hurt?” Anne said, patting Vera’s leg. “Miss Vera hurt?”
“Yes, but I’ll be better soon.”
The little girl seemed to take her words at face value, and soon scrambled down to join Benjamin and Miss Beets before the grated fireplace.
“How is she?” Vera asked Hortense in a low tone. “She certainly looks well enough.”
Anne did—it couldn’t be overstated how large a difference cleanliness and proper clothes made.
The little girl looked every inch the daughter of nobility in her starched white dress and velvet pelisse.
Her hair had been combed, and though there wasn’t enough to braid, Hortense had tied a bow in the ribbon around it.
Hortense murmured, “She’s acclimating nicely. We’re getting along very well. She’s quickly learning how things are done here.”
Vera nodded. “I’m sorry I’m not more available at the moment.”
But perhaps it was for the best that Anne didn’t get too attached or used to Vera’s presence, for who knew how long she would be there? The thought sent a spasm through Vera’s heart and an answering flinch across her features.
Hortense raised an eyebrow.
“My ankle.” Vera nodded. “It’s still quite painful.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t catch a fever out in that mess.” Hortense shook her head. “I should have gone with you—if I had known…”
“Don’t be silly. I’m fine, for one thing. And you have your own household to return to in the evenings.”
Anne squawked; Hortense stood and crossed the room to investigate.
“How is your ankle feeling?” Stephen asked, taking the chair next to Vera’s perch on the sofa.
“Just the same as it was when you asked me an hour ago,” she teased.
“You must forgive me—it’s impossible not to fall into the physician’s role when a patient is in the room.”
“I’m far more than a patient,” she said lightly. “I’m your friend.”
Just a friend, Vera reminded herself. Just friends.
Stephen levied a glance at her that carried an expression she couldn’t quite read. It made her nervous, that look. She smiled reflexively so it wouldn’t show.
“Indeed,” he finally said. “Friends.”