Chapter 12
The next morning, Anne strolled through town with Louie. She waved to the postmistress and stopped to chat with Mrs. Baylis over the low garden wall. Then she called on the druggist, Mr. Greaves, for the milkweed syrup, Louie’s nose twitching at all the spicy, exotic smells.
As they were leaving the shop, a muscular bull terrier came charging toward them, not on a lead nor with its owner. Anne reached down and picked up the smaller Louie.
A nearby cottage door opened and someone called, “Nelson, here, boy!” and the dog trotted off.
Relieved, Anne set Louie down again and the two continued on.
As they neared the butcher’s, Louie’s nostrils flared again at smells that were clearly tantalizing to him, although somewhat repugnant to Anne.
She wrinkled her nose and began to walk on, but Louie surprised her by yanking the lead from her hand and running into the narrow alley beside the shop.
He darted straight to a tipped-over rubbish bin and began rooting through the refuse.
“Louie, no!”
Heaven knew what vile things he might find in there.
Hurrying to retrieve the dog, Anne reached him just as he wolfed something down.
“Drop it, Louie! Drop it!”
But the dog did not—or could not—drop whatever it was.
He began to choke.
Panic gripped her. What should she do? Squatting down, she held the dog with one arm and attempted to pry open his mouth, but it was no use. She couldn’t do it alone.
She picked him up and ran to the butcher shop door, calling out, “Can someone help me?”
And suddenly Dr. Finch was there before her, medical bag in hand, an answer to prayer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Louie is choking on something. He broke away and got into the rubbish. Perhaps some gristle, or a bone? Hopefully nothing deadly to dogs.”
The butcher waved them away. “Get that cur away from here,” he demanded. “Bad for business.”
Dr. Finch paid the man no heed and turned his focus to Louie struggling in her arms. Setting his bag down just outside the door, he took hold of the dog’s jaws and gently but firmly opened them.
“I can see it. Barely.” He released the dog and retrieved an instrument from his case.
She recognized it as a probang, an instrument used for removing obstacles from the throat or gullet of people—and apparently animals as well.
“Hold him as still as you can.”
He inserted the flexible instrument with a small hook into the dog’s mouth and partway down his esophagus. The dog began to gag and wheeze. “Steady, steady. Almost have it . . . There!”
He removed the offending bone fragment and tossed it toward the bin.
Louie instantly began to calm and breathe more easily.
Dr. Finch rubbed his ears. “All right now, boy?”
Anne wilted in relief. “You saved him. And me. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
Anne glanced up at the clock on the church tower. “I should head back.”
“I will walk with you part of the way, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
He picked up his bag. “Shall I carry Louie for you?”
“No need. He isn’t heavy.”
They started across the churchyard, their path leading them right past the wedding tree. Anne could not help but pause there, gazing around in fond reminiscence as she always did. She said, “Of the ninety-nine yew trees here, this one is my favorite.”
“And why is that?”
“My grandfather proposed to my grandmother here, and later, my father proposed to my mother in the same spot.”
“Why here?”
Anne shrugged. “I’m not sure why, exactly, but this tree has earned the nickname the wedding tree. Probably has to do with the way its branches twine with the tree on the other side of the path.”
He looked up. “Ah yes, like two people joining hands to form an archway.”
She chuckled thoughtfully. “I had not thought of it in those terms, but an apt description.”
Louie began to grow restless in Anne’s arms, so she set him down, making sure his lead was secure. “I’d better get this boy home.”
Dr. Finch nodded. “I am on my way to visit a patient, but I’d planned to call on you later. I have something for you.”
“Oh?”
“In fact, why don’t I give it to you now.” He opened his bag again, then hesitated. “Though I suppose you won’t appreciate the dog saliva on my hands.”
She laughed. “I don’t care about that. I have grown quite used to this boy’s drool.”
He gave her a crooked grin at that and pulled something from his bag. “This is for you.”
He handed her a paper-wrapped parcel. By its shape and heft, she guessed it was a book.
She gingerly peeled back the paper, and her heart gave a little flip. It was the volume of Northanger Abbey she had been admiring in the circulating library.
“I’m not sure I should accept it,” she said, knowing how expensive books were.
“I guessed you might say that. Don’t worry, it’s not a gift, per se. I simply put it on my account for you at the library and paid the usual fees.”
“Still a generous gesture.”
He shrugged. “I thought it might help you pass the long hours at Lady Celia’s bedside. When you finish, I’ll request the next volume for you too.”
“How very considerate. Thank you. I shall take care not to spoil it.”
“I am sure you will. And whatever you do, don’t let Louie drool on it.” He winked. “Or worse.”
Anne smiled and then returned to the house, heart light.
She had not been back long when Dr. Marsland arrived to pay a call on their patient.
When he entered Lady Celia’s bedchamber, he handed each of them a small waxed-paper parcel. “From Miss Lotty. Despite her ankle, she managed to make sugared almonds. She remembered how much Anne likes them and asked me to bring along a packet for each of you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Marsland,” Anne said, accepting hers. So he has paid another call on our mutual friend, she thought with interest.
Lady Celia seemed to take an interest as well, regarding him with a wry twist to her lips. “Miss Lotty, is it? Turned your attentions in that direction, have you?”
“I don’t know what you mean, my lady. Miss Newland and I are simply . . . good friends.”
“Mm-hm.” Lady Celia set her packet on the bedside table. “I shall save these for later.”
Changing the subject, Dr. Marsland said, “There’s a bit of news I believe I ought to relay before you hear it from another source, as you are, of course, our most important patient.”
“Most important? I’ve seen little evidence of that. What news?”
“There are rumors circulating about my young partner. I wish to contradict any unsavory reports you might hear. Allow me to repeat what he told me when I confronted him about the matter. The fact is, he has a child living with him in Valley View Lodge, and him not a married man. Yet I assure you nothing untoward is going on. Dr. Finch is caring for the young son of his sister and brother-in-law, who have undertaken the long voyage to India and left their child under his guardianship.”
Lady Celia frowned in thought. “If that’s true, then why the need for secrecy and rumors? Why not make known that fact to begin with?”
“I suppose he worried that if I knew about the child from the onset I might not have offered him a partnership, believing it would interfere with his rounds and responsibilities. Thankfully, his housekeeper and her daughter take care of the child when he is out on calls.”
“Very well.” The older woman waved a dismissive hand. “Now, enough of that. Let’s talk about me, your most important patient.”
Lady Celia went on to ask him if he could give her anything to ease her nightmares. He considered and decided to increase her nightly dose of laudanum to see if that helped.
Laudanum was a potent mixture of opium and alcohol that could be dangerous in large amounts.
Anne wondered if it might be making the bad dreams worse and thought the chamomile tea and lavender Dr. Finch suggested would be more effective.
Yet she doubted Dr. Marsland would appreciate her interference.
She decided she would mention the increased dosage to Dr. Finch and let the two physicians debate the merits and drawbacks between them.
That evening, Anne returned Lady Celia’s dinner tray to the kitchen, noting with satisfaction that she had eaten more than usual, her appetite somewhat improved.
On her way back upstairs, she heard voices coming from the parlour. Mr. Dalby, Colonel Paine, and Katherine were seated inside, dressed for dinner and talking among themselves.
Noticing her pass, Jasper Paine hailed her. “Anne, do come in and join us a minute, if you would.”
“Yes, anything new with Mamma?” Katherine added.
Anne reluctantly crossed the threshold. The colonel rose when she entered, but Mr. Dalby remained slouched in an armchair, glass of amber liquid in hand.
Even so, the man was undeniably attractive in evening clothes.
She reminded herself he was also a rake and turned her attention to Colonel Paine, who was rather handsome in formal attire as well.
“Tell us, what would you say Aunt Celia’s prognosis is?” Jasper asked. “Marsland and Finch are rather vague when pressed.”
“Dr. Marsland was here earlier and mentioned he increased her laudanum dosage,” Katherine said. “She sleeps so much as it is. Is there nothing else we can do for her?”
Anne answered their questions as best she could, though she could give no definitive prognosis either. She was about to excuse herself and go upstairs when the knocker sounded.
A moment later, Buxton showed in Albert Palling, who entered, hat in hand. The butler tried to take it, but the mill owner held on to it. “I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind. Won’t be staying long.”
“Mr. Palling, how good to see you,” Katherine said warmly. “Won’t you join us for dinner?”
“Thank you, no. Had mine an hour ago.”
“We dine later here, as fashionable people do,” Mr. Dalby said to his former brother-in-law. “Never could get used to the early mealtimes at Brook House.”
“Well, most of us keep early hours. Rise with the sun, if not before, and set to work. You wouldn’t know about that. Perhaps that’s why the mills are struggling.”