Chapter 5
That evening, after administering the nighttime medicines and making sure her patient needed nothing else, Anne sat down at the desk—with Lady Celia’s permission—to write two letters.
Anne wrote first to her father, as Miss Lotty had suggested, to let him know she would be serving as sickroom nurse to Lady Celia Fitzjohn for a few weeks. She asked him to write back with any advice for caring for a patient suffering from dropsy of the chest.
As Anne folded the letter, she thought of Nancy and once again regretted their less-than-amicable parting.
Then she took a deep breath and wrote to her sister.
Dear Fanny,
I am sending a brief note to tell you of a change of plans.
If Papa happens to write or call on you, he may mention it, so I thought I should let you know myself.
I have been asked to step in as nurse to Lady Celia Fitzjohn, who has become ill, as her former nurse recently retired.
Therefore I am as surprised as you no doubt are to find myself living temporarily at Painswick Court.
I want to be clear that I did not seek out this situation, nor did I accept it out of any motive except a desire to be useful.
I promise you I have no interest in interacting with any of her family members, except perhaps our old friend Jasper Paine, should he happen to visit while I’m here.
Her other nephew lives elsewhere, so it is unlikely we shall see much of each other, except in passing. I trust you understand.
Miss Lotty sends her love. That’s all the news for now.
Yours,
Anne
Anne did not mention that the nephew’s wife had died—not in the same letter announcing she was living in his former home. Perhaps the next time she wrote.
The following morning, while Rosa helped Lady Celia dress, Anne walked quickly over to the half-timbered post office to mail her letters.
The interior had a low ceiling with shelves on the right offering sealing wax, string, paper, and ink.
And on the left stretched a long counter with a brass grille.
Lotty’s neighbor, Ursula Birt, stood at the counter, clearly enjoying a friendly chat with the postmistress. She looked over as Anne entered.
“Ah! Ann Loveday, meet Anne Loveday.”
Anne walked over and smiled at the woman behind the counter, her work area lit by a lamp. “How do you do.”
“A pleasure to meet you, miss.”
Ursula said, “I was just telling Ann here how you so bravely stepped in to fill Mrs. Horlick’s place at Painswick Court.
You’ll have your work cut out for you there, to hear her tell it.
She’s staying with her brother over in Slad now and enjoying a well-deserved rest. How are things going for you?
I suppose Lady Celia can be difficult to please? ”
Both women watched Anne with bright eyes, clearly anticipating, or at least hoping for, some juicy gossip. Anne decided she must disappoint them.
“I would not say difficult, no,” she pleasantly replied. “Everything is going well so far.”
“Is it? That is good news.” Ursula stepped aside. “You go ahead and post your letters. I’m through here. We’ve already solved all the parish problems between us, haven’t we, Ann? Now I’m off to call on Miss Lotty. Shall I tell her you are well?”
“Yes, please do.”
Over the next few days, Anne learned her way around Painswick Court, growing accustomed to its wings of varying ages, confusing passageways, low doorways, and uneven, sloping floors.
In the oldest section, set back from the rest, she found the former courtroom paneled floor to ceiling in dark wood except for a magnificent stone fireplace with an overmantel carved with strange figures.
Toby, the young footman, told her the room now served as a second parlour, though rarely used by the family.
During her explorations, she also met the kitchen and scullery maids and spoke in passing to Buxton, the elderly butler.
With Mrs. Pratt, she discussed the current menu of plain, wholesome food for Lady Celia and requested the additions of beef broth and barley water to help strengthen her.
Anne daily brought up the patient’s meals and encouraged her to eat. She counted her pulse rate with the aid of the pendulum clock, and when Dr. Marsland or Dr. Finch came by in an informal rotation, she shared her readings with them.
Dr. Marsland listened to Lady Celia’s heart in the traditional way, by laying his ear directly on his patient’s chest. Dr. Finch, however, used a wooden tube.
He also had a physician’s pulse watch with a second hand and a stop mechanism to more accurately track the pulse.
A gift, he said, from his father. Both men chatted with Lady Celia during their calls, and for all her vinegary ways, the older woman clearly relished their visits and attentions.
When Anne sat by her patient, she often read aloud from the brown leather book of sermons Lady Celia kept on her bedside table. And while the woman slept, Anne read silently from the slim volume Dr. Marsland had given her, filled with advice on the management of the sick chamber, such as:
The simple contrivance of a feather plucked from the wing of a goose being placed through the keyhole may be used as a signal the room is not to be entered, to prevent the patient’s sleep from being disturbed, lest any of the family incautiously enter. . . .
Anne quickly began employing that trick, inserting a goose feather into the keyhole of Lady Celia’s door to signal for quiet and request no visitors while the woman rested.
At night, Anne slept with the dressing room door ajar to be able to hear if her patient called or needed something.
During the day, Anne administered medicines, assisted Rosa in helping the woman to the commode or into the bath, and delivered meals. She also rubbed and stretched Lady Celia’s extremities to alleviate the buildup of fluid and improve circulation as her father had taught her. So far, so good.
One warm afternoon, Anne asked if they might open the balcony door or one of the windows to let in some fresh air, but Lady Celia said she preferred to keep them closed. Anne acquiesced, silently wishing she had thought to bring along one of her folding fans.
Anne took her meals separately, either in her own room or in a charming alcove she’d discovered down the passage from the water closet.
Its two doors opened into a tiny room containing little more than a window seat, the glass panes overlooking the lawn and garden below.
The strange little space was likely the product of one of the many improvements and additions built over the centuries.
To Anne, it felt like a secret hideaway.
Sometimes she sipped tea there while Rosa tended to Lady Celia, brushing and arranging her hair or helping her dress.
Or when Lady Celia received a caller, like the curate come to pray for her or a lady friend come to visit.
From the small room’s windows, Anne occasionally saw Miss Fitzjohn in wide bonnet and gloves, working in the flower garden. At other times, she practiced archery with a target set up on the lawn. Not a pastime Anne would have expected for a “delicate female.”
Anne often took a stroll on the grounds or walked to the druggist’s for this or that, stopping to chat with Mr. Greaves. She knew that if Lady Celia’s strength declined, her own liberty would decline as well, so Anne enjoyed these respites and fresh air while she could.
On her fifth day at Painswick Court, Anne asked permission to use the stillroom adjacent to the kitchen to prepare a few simple remedies to soothe Lady Celia.
These would not be medicines, per se, as prescribed by a physician, but common home remedies familiar to and often prepared by the lady of the house or her stillroom maid.
The Fitzjohns did not currently employ a stillroom maid, so the cook-housekeeper said Anne was welcome to use the small workroom with its utensils, pans, and cooking range.
Anne retrieved the case her father had given her with its small drawers containing dried herbs as well as narrow shelves holding labeled jars, vials, and graduated measuring glasses, funnel, spatula and spoon, small mortar and pestle, et cetera.
Carrying it downstairs, she noticed Dr. Finch talking quietly with Rosa near the side door.
She wondered what they were discussing but continued past without making her presence known.
She planned to prepare powdered root of Turkey rhubarb, or Rheum palmatum, as a gentle laxative, a diuretic infusion of juniper and dandelion, and a liniment rub made of camphor, rosemary oil, and spirit of ammonia for her patient’s restless leg muscles.
Not long after she began, Dr. Finch came down and joined her. “Miss Stark told me I might find you here.” He glanced around at the mortar and pestle, vials, and bubbling pot and added, “I must say, I am impressed. Looks like a laboratory in here.”
She smiled in reply and continued her task.
He gestured toward the open case. “Is that the family’s medicine chest?”
“Mine, actually. A gift from my father.”
“This book too?”
“Yes.”
He picked it up and read aloud, “Cox’s Companion to the Family Medicine Chest and Compendium of Domestic Medicine; Particularly Adapted for Heads of Families, Ship-Captains, Missionaries, and Colonists, With Plain Rules for Taking the Medicines, to Which Are Added a Plain Description of the Treatment of Fractures and Dislocations, and a Concise Account of Asiatic or Spasmodic Cholera. Goodness, that’s quite a title.”
“Comprehensive, certainly.”
“And you brought this with you to Painswick because . . . ?”
“I like to be prepared.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate there are not more opportunities for formal training for sickroom and monthly nurses. Although you seem quite adept already. In fact, you could instruct others. Have you always been drawn to the vocation?”
She shook her head. “As a girl, I had no great desire to be a nurse.”
“No? What, then?”