Chapter 4
The next day, Dr. Marsland returned to Yew Cottage to escort Anne to Painswick Court and introduce her to Lady Celia.
The imminent meeting filled Anne with trepidation.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed, especially after her failure with her mother, but it was too late now.
She hoped her printed cotton day dress and mulberry spencer and bonnet were suited to the occasion.
They crossed the street and walked through the churchyard, keeping to the paths where possible.
As they neared the wooden door in the wall that separated the churchyard from Painswick Court, Anne’s pulse accelerated.
The physician, however, displayed none of her hesitation as he pushed open the door.
They passed through an avenue of trees. At its end, they were met by a granite statue of a lion, teeth bared in perpetual snarl, warning them away. Anne drew up short at the menacing sight.
Only then did Dr. Marsland hesitate. Anne took advantage of the moment to look up at the house—two stories and attics, constructed of limestone blocks and mullioned windows. Gabled wings projected from either side of a recessed center hall.
“We’ll enter through here,” he said, pointing and changing course. “Since this is a formal call.” Together they crossed the gravel drive and approached the house’s front entrance, flanked by shaped privet bushes.
Reaching the door, he applied the knocker, and soon an elderly butler opened it.
“Good day, Buxton. I’ve brought Miss Loveday to meet Lady Celia, as a potential new nurse.”
“Very good, sir. As it’s you, Doctor, I’ll take you straight up.”
“Thank you.”
The old man slowly led them across the paneled hall and along a dim corridor to a stairway at its end.
As they started up, Anne felt someone watching her.
She glanced over and locked gazes with King Charles I.
In the large painting, the ill-fated monarch wore a wide white lace collar over a dark robe.
His deep-set eyes seemed to follow Anne’s progress, expression knowing, until she climbed from view.
At the top of the stairs, the butler knocked on the second door on the left.
A feminine voice from within replied, “Come.”
He opened the door and gestured the two inside, announcing, “Dr. Marsland and Miss Loveday.” Then he backed from the room, pulling the door closed as he went.
Dr. Marsland stepped forward, partially blocking Anne’s view of a silver-haired woman seated at a desk, cane propped against her chair. She looked up, expression begrudging, as they entered.
Dr. Marsland tucked his chin. “Lady Celia, you should be resting.”
He gestured to the large canopied bed. The room also held two armchairs and a low tea table near the fireplace.
Imperiously, the woman said, “Whatever for? Rumors of my near-demise have been greatly exaggerated, as you see. I suppose you instructed that young Dr. Finch to second your prescription for bed rest? It’s tiresome! If I spend too much time in that bed, I doubt I shall ever rise again.”
Her sharp gaze landed on Anne. “And who is this, pray?”
He swept an arm toward her. “This is Miss Anne Loveday. She is here visiting Miss Charlotte Newland.”
“How nice for them both,” she dryly replied.
Anne waited, expecting for the woman to scowl at her any moment and say something like “I know who you are, and I don’t want you here any more than I wanted your sister to marry my nephew.”
But she did not.
Instead she waved a dismissive hand in Anne’s direction. “I don’t know this person. Why is she in my bedchamber?”
“You may not have met her but you were some acquainted with her grandparents. Thomas and Sarah Spring? Their daughter was Deborah Spring.”
“Vaguely. All dead now, I believe.”
“Yes, sadly. And her father is a surgeon-apothecary. He spent some time in Painswick but has now practiced near Gloucester for many years.”
She frowned. “What is that to me? Is Humpage retiring? Is that what you’re telling me? You’re referring me to some stranger all the way in Gloucester?”
“No, my lady. I only meant to suggest that Miss Loveday has experience and has agreed to serve as your chamber nurse until a replacement might be found.”
“I don’t need another nurse.”
“Nurse and . . . companion, then, if you prefer? I believe you are getting by without a lady’s maid at present, so her company might be welcome.”
“You are misinformed there. I have a lady’s maid.”
“Oh. I . . .”
“Where is Dr. Finch?” the woman demanded.
Displeasure tightened the skin around the physician’s eyes. Whether from the younger man’s absence or the woman’s preference for him, Anne did not know.
He replied, “I did not think two physicians were required to make a simple introduction.”
“Humph.”
“But I assure you Dr. Finch is in favor of Miss Loveday staying here. He expressed his strong relief that she should be with you to oversee your care when we are not able to do so. And, of course, should anything arise between our calls, Miss Loveday will let us know straightaway.”
“Very well. We shall see how we go on.”
“Oh. Well . . . good.” He seemed rather surprised at her quick agreement. Anne was as well.
He continued, “Shall I ask Buxton to appoint a room for her somewhere?”
“No need. Sir Herbert’s dressing room is right through there.” She lifted her cane toward a door across the room. “This bedchamber has adjoining his and hers dressing rooms. Mine is just there.” She pointed to a door on the opposite side of the room, nearer her bed.
Dr. Marsland hesitated. “Oh, I . . . did not think you would want someone else to sleep in your late husband’s rooms.”
“It is not a mausoleum. Besides, his valet slept there. I don’t suggest she sleep in Sir Herbert’s actual bed.”
“I see. Well. As you wish.”
“When Mrs. Horlick was my nurse, she slept in a chair here in my room. Snored terribly. I’d prefer this nurse to sleep in the next room.”
It was on the tip of Anne’s tongue to insist she did not snore but she refrained. She would prefer to have a bit of privacy and a bed.
“Very well.” Dr. Marsland gestured for Anne to follow him to a dresser where a few bottles and a measure stood. He explained, “I have prescribed digitalis in syrup form to control her dropsy. Take care with it.”
“I shall.”
“Give her four spoonfuls in the morning, three spoonfuls in the afternoon, and the same again at night. Along with one spoonful of laudanum to help her sleep. Here, I’ve written it down for you.” He handed her a slip.
Sounds easy enough, Anne thought. Surely she could manage that—she hoped. “Very well.”
Then he pulled a slender volume from his coat pocket and laid it on the dresser. “And here is a new nursing guide you might find helpful in caring for the patient.”
“Oh. I am sure I shall. Thank you.”
“I am right here, you know,” Lady Celia said. “No need to talk about me as if I were not present.”
“Forgive me, my lady. That was not my intention.”
Lady Celia rose and, leaning heavily on a cane, gingerly made her way toward the bed, to a cord hung between door and bedpost.
Belatedly, Anne hurried over to assist her, but the woman waved her away. “I am not an invalid yet.” She tugged the cord. “I will send Jane for fresh sheets and towels for you.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Marsland said, “Miss Loveday, if you might walk me out? I will give you a few more instructions on the way.”
“Of course. I’ll need to gather my things from Yew Cottage, but I will return soon, Lady Celia.”
The older woman smirked. “I shall try not to die until you do.”
On their way downstairs, Dr. Marsland recommended keeping Lady Celia on a simple, plain diet, explaining that the cook and kitchen maid already knew what to do, and asking Anne to alert him to any significant changes in the patient’s appetite.
“And as much as it is in your power, strive to remain in her good graces.”
“How do I do that?”
“Humor her whims if not harmful to her health, avoid disagreeing with her, and endeavor to keep any . . . critical thoughts to yourself. At least—” here he sent her a self-effacing grin—“that is what I do.”
Anne grinned back. “And has it been effective?”
“Only moderately, I’m afraid.”
As they walked back along the corridor, he stopped and knocked on the doorframe of what was clearly the library.
Inside sat a dark-haired woman, well dressed, though not in the most fashionable of gowns.
She looked up from a book when he entered.
“Ah, good, Miss Fitzjohn. Please pardon the interruption, but I would like to introduce you to your mother’s new nurse.”
“Oh?” One dark brow rose. “I thought you told me no one else was available?”
“Miss Loveday has only recently arrived in town, a family friend of Miss Newland’s come to stay.”
Anne tentatively entered the room after him, and he turned to include her.
“Miss Fitzjohn, allow me to introduce Miss Anne Loveday. One of Thomas and Sarah Spring’s granddaughters. Her father is a surgeon-apothecary, so she has assisted in sickrooms before.”
“Ah yes, she does look vaguely familiar.” Miss Fitzjohn gave Anne a slight nod before turning back to the physician. “And you think Mamma needs someone to look after her day and night?”
“Well, Miss Loveday must sleep sometime. And I have promised her time on Sundays to spend with Miss Newland, but yes. Your mother must have the best of care. We none of us should wish to be thought negligent.”
“Of course not. Doctor knows best. I would offer to nurse her myself, if she would allow me. But she has always insisted my own health is too indifferent.” Miss Fitzjohn glanced at Anne. “She can be a bit . . . peevish, as you will discover.”
When Anne said nothing, Dr. Marsland replied, “She has that reputation.”
Miss Fitzjohn tilted her head, studying Anne. Not shifting her gaze to the physician, she said, “Thank you for arranging for Miss Loveday to be here. Now, I should like to have a private word with her. I am sure you have other patients to see?”
“Oh, I . . . Of course.” He bowed. “Ladies.”