Chapter 9
Gabriel tried to heed Reverend Worthing’s words, but they merged into a monotonous murmur.
In her family box pew, a few rows ahead, Blythe sat between her two children. Her feathered, pale-blue silk bonnet matched her spencer and probably made her eyes sparkle.
She had slipped back into life here as though she had never left. She’s slipping back into your heart too. No! The Blythe he had loved was gone, and she would never return.
A rough jab in his shoulder drew his attention to Mother, who shook her head. He was a fool.
Across the aisle, Miss Foster sat with her family, wearing a plain straw bonnet. She offered him a timid smile.
He returned his attention to the pulpit. It was wrong to imply they could be anything other than acquaintances.
“Let us pray,” Reverend Worthing said, and the congregation dipped their heads.
“Dear Lord, we give thanks for the continued fine weather, allowing the harvest to proceed. We ask you to bless the industrious hands that gather your bounty.”
“Bless our brave soldiers fighting against tyranny on the continent. May they stand against the invasion of our isle and ensure justice comes to the papist dictator who wishes to destroy the freedoms for which our country stands.”
“We pray for the sick of our parish, including Mr Heywood, Mrs Thatcher and Master James Farrer. May you bless them and keep them, and in your divine wisdom, ensure their recovery.”
A murmur spread through the nave.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
“Thanks be to God,” the congregation mumbled.
Reverend Worthing headed down the aisle, and his flock filed out. The bells in the tower rang out a joyful peal.
Once beyond the studded oak doors, Gabriel squinted in the bright sunshine when Mrs Harrison approached. “Doctor, I hear James has smallpox. Is it true?”
“Mrs Harrison, you know I am disinclined to discuss the private matters of my patients.”
“But this cannot remain a private matter. If he has smallpox, we should be told. It could spread through the village. How are we to protect our children?”
“James has been isolated as a precaution, but I need someone to nurse him. My mother and I are too busy to devote the time needed for his care.”
Before he could reach the lychgate, he was surrounded by concerned faces.
Mr Sykes said, “This is distressing news, Doctor. Is there nowt else that can be done to protect us?”
Yes, but you always refuse. “You and your children should be inoculated.”
Mrs Harrison shook her head. “You’re not cutting me open. Inoculation kills more than it cures. I read so in the newspaper.”
Gabriel sighed inwardly. “Jenner’s improvements to smallpox inoculation have increased survival rates.”
Mr Sykes crossed his arms. “I don’t trust these modern medical ideas.”
“Then you must face the risks of catching smallpox and pray that you recover with minimal scarring.”
Finally, the crowd dispersed. Damn the villagers and their ignorance.
“I will attend to him.” Blythe approached. “You said you need a nurse to tend to James. I will do so.”
“Bly—Mrs Simmonds—”
“If it is smallpox, I should be safe. I have had cowpox, as you know. If my reading about smallpox inoculation is correct, that is the basis for Jenner’s theory.
Patients are exposed to a small amount of cowpox matter.
They may become unwell for several days, but then they have lifelong protection against smallpox. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” Had she continued reading medical pamphlets while in York?
“Then it will be safe for me to be his nurse. I have nursed people with smallpox before. Your mother trained me.”
“I thought you were going to take on Jane’s work at the farm.”
“Mama will have to find someone else to do it for a few days.” Blythe raised her chin.
“I am the best choice, Doctor Sharpe, seeing as no one else will do so, and you and your mother are otherwise engaged.” She pressed on.
“We cannot have the disease spread through the village and the hired hands at harvest time, and the children must be protected.”
He met her clear gaze; her blue irises indeed sparkled in the bright sunshine. “They would be, if their parents allowed them to be inoculated. The villagers are fixated on old news about infant deaths following inoculation.”
“Then let us show it is safe. Inoculate my children, and they will witness the impact of modern medicine.”
“You will let me inoculate your children.” His chest puffed with pride at her faith in him.
She nodded at her children waiting in the gig on the other side of the lychgate. “Elijah is old enough to decide for himself, but I suspect he will be a willing subject and keen to learn about how inoculation works.”
“He is an intelligent young man.”
Her lips tilted at the corners. “Thank you. It will need to be done soon, before he returns to school.”
“Very well. Tend to James, and hopefully he is strong enough to survive. Then we will inoculate your children.”
“I must change my clothes.”
“Meet me at the Farrer’s in an hour.”
Blythe nodded, then climbed into her gig.