Chapter 10
Blythe dabbed at James Farrer’s forehead with a damp cloth. After two days of constant sweating, small red spots had formed on his tongue, but he remained in a fevered sleep.
She rinsed out the cloth, washed her hands, and stood before the window of the small outbuilding behind the Farrer’s home.
A rhythmic hammering of metal rang out from the smithy.
The orange glow in the west darkened to an inky blue above.
Mrs Farrer bustled back and forth, bringing in the laundry and feeding the chickens.
Gabriel sauntered around the corner with a basket in one hand and his black coat hung over his shoulder from a hooked finger.
She opened the door.
“Good evening.” Gabriel’s smile lit up his face. He held up the wicker basket. “I come bearing gifts.”
She stepped aside.
Musky sweat from a day of labouring in the fields and the sweet hint of grain clung to him.
“How is our patient this evening?”
“The fever is abating, but you should inspect his mouth and tongue.”
Gabriel nodded. “May I have some hot water?”
Blythe emptied the porcelain bowl into the slop bucket and set it on the small table. She retrieved the kettle from over the brazier and filled the bowl with steaming water.
Gabriel rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the small ball of soap and lathered his hands. The sweet, floral aroma of lavender drifted through the room. “Are you continuing to wash your hands regularly? Especially after you have touched him?”
Blythe replaced the kettle, then handed him a dry cloth. “I remember what you said about Doctor Buchan’s work and the connection between cleanliness and good health.”
Gabriel leaned over their patient, pulling back his lips and inspecting the inside of his mouth.
“Is it smallpox?” she asked.
“I believe so.”
“Thank goodness you isolated him. Is there a chance he passed this to his family?”
“Studies suggest contact with individuals once the rash has broken out until the scabs fall off is most dangerous. No doubt the village will be in uproar, regardless.”
“What shall I do?”
“Continue bathing him to keep the fever under control. It should break once the rash has spread. Spots will appear on his face, then down his torso and limbs over the next day, and he may feel better.”
Blythe stirred the coals in the brazier.
“The sores will fill with fluid and crust over, and he may succumb to a second fever. If he survives, in the next ten days or so the scabs will fall off, and he must remain isolated until then.” Gabriel’s dark gaze met hers. “Are you certain you wish to continue to nurse him?”
“Who else is going to do so?”
Gabriel re-washed his hands.
Blythe replaced the cloth on the boy’s forehead. “I hope the scarring will be minimal. He is a handsome young man.”
Gabriel hummed.
“I am old enough to be his mother!” Was Gabriel jealous? She brushed the ridiculous notion aside and washed her hands again.
Gabriel removed half a dozen small bottles and brown paper packets from the basket. “My mother has sent some things you may need to help fight the fever.” He set them on the table. “And I bring scones from Mrs Worthing.”
“The vicar’s wife sent me scones.” The woman had barely spoken to Blythe since her return.
“Mrs Worthing also provided some lavender water to help refresh you while you are here.”
She tilted a single brow in question.
He withdrew a brownware jar covered with wax paper and tied with string. “Marmalade.”
“Your mother’s marmalade?”
“Yes, the oranges arrived from Kingston-Upon-Hull a few days ago.”
“Oh.” What on earth was going on?
“You still like marmalade, do you not?”
She cradled the jar to her chest. “Indeed. I have tasted none as fine as your mother’s. How kind of her to send it.”
“She wishes to thank you for taking on the role of nurse while she has so much to prepare at this time of year.”
She suppressed the urge to rip open the wax paper and dip her finger straight into the orange preserve. “I suppose she will be drying herbs and making medicines and salves for the shop.”
An uncomfortable silence settled between them.
“You are still good at this.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks.
“You enjoy taking care of people.” He nodded to their sleeping patient.
She set the jar on the table. “Fate had other plans.”
“If you stay, you could resume your apprenticeship. My mother—”
“Your mother would not take me under her wing again.” She re-filled the kettle from the pewter jug of cold water. It would do no good to get her hopes up. “I am no longer interested in becoming a healer.”
Gabriel pointed at the book atop her small cot in the corner. “Then why are you reading Culpepper’s Herbal?”
She tucked the book between the sheets. “I simply wished to remind myself of the best herbs to help manage a fever.” She glanced out the window. “It is dark. You should be on your way.”
“I shall return tomorrow to see how our patient fares.”
She held the door open. “Good evening, Doctor Sharpe.”
“Good evening, Blythe.” His lips twisted before he ducked beneath the doorframe.