Chapter 4
Gabriel handed a small bottle of laudanum to Mrs Jackson. “Just a few drops, three times a day, should relieve his pain.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” The woman cleared her throat.
“I will come back tomorrow to check the splint.”
He ruffled Tommy Jackson’s blond hair. “No more climbing trees for a while.” Gabriel reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple. “Here.” He tossed it at the six-year-old, who caught it with his free hand.
The boy examined the red-skinned fruit.
“Do not remove the splint and keep that arm strapped to your body at all times, or it will not mend.”
“Yes, sir.” The little boy scampered off, munching the apple.
Gabriel would not be surprised if the splint had been removed by sundown. He packed his tools into his leather bag.
Mrs Jackson cleared her throat again, but could not hold back the rasping cough. She held out her hand to ward him off. “I am well, Doctor, ‘tis naught but a cough.”
“You have been coughing continuously for the last three weeks. Will you allow me to examine you?”
“I’m taking the syrup Mrs Sharpe recommended, and I’ve used a plaster or two. I’ll be well again soon, and besides, I can’t afford to pay you.”
“The parish keeps me on retainer to tend to your medical needs and will cover the costs.”
Well, it would if he logged it. The charity of the parish was limited, and the Jacksons had used his services frequently this past month.
“The harvest will be in soon, and I’ll be able to spare a few pennies.”
How often pride overcame common sense. “If you wait, your condition could worsen to something life-threatening. Please allow me to examine you before it is too late.”
A boy waddled around barefoot. Mrs Jackson may not have the money to afford a rag rug, but the bare stone flags almost gleamed.
Finally, she nodded.
He placed a hand on her forehead. Her skin blazed against his palm. “You have a fever. You should rest and—”
“I don’t have time to rest with five young uns. And Mrs Briggs’ laundry and mending needs finishing by this evening.”
Gabriel reached into his satchel and withdrew several small, brown paper packets. “Take one of these powders in a little hot water morning and night for as long as you feel feverish.”
“Doctor, I can’t take those.”
He held out the packets. “I insist.”
“You’re too good, Doctor Sharpe. You’ll never make any money if you keep treating people for free.”
“I have plenty of well-to-do patients who send for me whenever they have a slight ache, and I can charge them anything I wish.”
“Mr Jackson won’t like me taking charity.”
“It is not charity. When I return tomorrow, I will bring several shirts that need repairing and stockings that need darning.”
Relief flooded the woman’s face. “God bless you, Doctor Sharpe.”
“Good day, Mrs Jackson.”
Gabriel collected his bag and headed down the dusty path back to the centre of the village.
A group of women halted their conversation when he approached.
He nodded. “Good day, ladies.”
“Good day, Doctor Sharpe.” They sang in unison before bending their heads together once again.
The bell over the door of the apothecary shop tinkled when he entered. Another group of ladies gathered before the counter. Their chatter silenced before they faced him, all with pitying glances.
“Good day, how can I help you this morning?”
“We just came to see your mother about something.”
Mother stood behind the apothecary counter and offered him a weak smile. His wishes regarding gossiping in the shop clearly unheeded.
Mr Sykes rose from one of the spindle-legged chairs that lined the far wall.
The man fiddled with the felt cap in his hand. “I need a boil lancing, but I was hoping your father would be in today.”
“My father is working in the fields.”
“I’ll come back when he’s here.”
“I am a trained physician, Mr Sykes. I can lance a boil.”
“Aye, but I don’t want you examining me for anything else. I’m hale and hearty, I am.”
“Of course, Mr Sykes.” When would the villagers stop suspecting him of finding things wrong with them on purpose? “I will not treat you for anything else. Where is this boil?”
The man glanced towards the counter, then whispered, “I’d rather not discuss it in the presence of ladies.”
“Then come next door, and I will examine you.”
A woman mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. “You can examine me any time, Doctor.”
The door clicked shut, muffling the ensuing chuckles.
He would have words with Mother, again. Hopefully, they would be gone by the time he finished treating his patient. Unfortunately, when he opened the door to see Mr Sykes out, the women remained.
“If it’s her, she’s taken her time to visit.”
“Who else would it be?”
“She’d better not show her face ‘round ‘ere.”
Were they talking about…
“I’ll pay once I’ve got me wages at the end of the week, Doctor.” Mr Sykes’ voice drew his attention from the gossips. The man left, adjusting the fabric of his breeches around his buttocks.
Gabriel pulled out the ledger from beneath the counter and made a note of what his patient owed.
The ladies whispered, but not quietly enough. His ears pricked.
“It was the fanciest coach. I’ve never seen the likes of it afore. Much bigger than Baron Lipton’s chaise, I tell you.”
“Where was it going?”
“Where do you think? I sent my lad to chase after it.”
He glanced at Mother, who seemed to be fixated on arranging the bottles on the countertop.
For God’s sake, this was a surgery, not a gossip monger’s haven. “Ladies, can I help you with something?”
“I wish you could, Doctor Sharpe, but I’m fit as a fiddle right now,” Mrs Briggs said with a saucy smile.
The shop door flew open, almost knocking the bell off its hook. “Mam, it stopped at Silverdale!”
“I told you.” Mrs Briggs nodded.
Billy Briggs continued, “An’ some proper lady got out in a fine frock with a young lad and a girl.”
Gabriel’s throat tightened.
“Then Mrs Dixon took the boy and girl into the house. Right fancy, they were.”
Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat. All the ladies turned towards him. They all knew—Blythe Dixon had returned.