LITMIR.BIZ

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they never, ever discussed it.

      The lack of communication about the incident made it harder. Her parents, or more specifically her father, had decided from the outset it was better for everyone if they pretended it had never happened, as if blithely ignoring that dreadful night in Vauxhall Gardens would somehow erase it from existence. Yet how could it? Bella could still see his eyes boring down into hers. Still smell the fetid odour of the man’s filthy clothes and body. Still feel his hands groping her bare skin, pawing at her breasts and between her legs. Feel that part of him pressing against her flesh insistently. And all of it whilst pinned powerless beneath him in the dark bushes, unable to scream. Unable to run. All around her were the sounds of the laughing crowds and the fireworks and she was at the mercy of a monster.

      In that dreadful instant, she had learned that the world was not the safe, cossetted place she had always believed it to be. Darkness and evil lurked, waiting for the unsuspecting. The trusting. The good-hearted. She had stopped to give a poor beggar some coins and he had wanted something else entirely. He’d almost taken it...

      ‘Will you read to us again, Bella?’

      One of the three children currently in the cosy infirmary thrust a book into her hands. She stared down at the colourful picture book and grinned. ‘But I have already read you this one, not an hour ago.’

      ‘Yes, but we love that book, don’t we?’ Three pairs of angelic eyes pleaded with her. ‘Especially the way you read it. We love the way you do all of the voices.’

      ‘Very well.’ At least entertaining them gave her some purpose, even though she would much prefer to be doing something more...practical and, frankly, medicinal. Although a part of her enjoyed reading this particular Orange Blossom book, as a certain handsome doctor made an appearance in it, delivering a newborn foal to the horses on behalf of the stork and then a baby to Captain Galahad and Miss Freckles. As the book had been illustrated by Dr Warriner’s older brother Jamie, she was convinced Dr Sensible was based on the local physician. He certainly looked like him. Floppy dark hair, piercing blue eyes behind studious wire spectacles. Kind blue eyes. Eyes which she had noticed gazed longingly at her sister. Why did his obvious interest in Clarissa hurt, when every man had always preferred Clarissa and Bella no longer liked men? And whilst Dr Warriner was a brilliant scientist and she admired him for that, and whilst she might want to convince herself he was kind, trusting and noble, he was still a man. Another man who fancied her sister. No matter how many times she thought about it, it still stung. If it wasn’t so ridiculous a concept, she might even have described her initial reaction as jealousy. Which was impossible when one considered Bella now couldn’t bear the thought of being with a man. Any man. Even a brilliant and handsome doctor, with eyes as blue as the ocean. All in all, it was better to not think about it, despite her brain’s inability to stop.

      * * *

      Bella had read the book from cover to cover. Two of the children had drifted off to sleep by the time she quietly closed the book. The third, a usually boisterous lad by the name of Tom, stared listlessly at the ceiling. His cheeks were almost scarlet. Earlier, he had complained about a bit of a sore throat and had a slight cough. Now he was glassy eyed and still. Despite promising her father and the matron she would confine herself to the chair, something about the look of the boy did not sit right. She limped towards his cot and laid a hand on his brow. His skin was on fire.

      She hobbled across the ward to pour a bowl of cool water and dunked a clean square of linen into it. After placing it across Tom’s fevered brow, Bella quickly found a maid and told her to summon the physician. All her reading told her the rapid onset of a high temperature did not bode well and signalled something nasty.

      Back at his bedside, she sat and used the cold flannel to cool the boy’s skin. ‘The doctor is on his way, Tom. Are you in any pain?’

      ‘My throat.’ His voice was so hoarse he winced as he whispered and frightened tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

      ‘Let me see.’ His mouth was so swollen that seeing was impossible. Remembering the spare medical tools Dr Warriner kept in the cabinet, Bella rummaged through them and returned with the ivory tongue depressor she had seen him use before. ‘Say ah, Tom.’

      The boy did as instructed, with some difficulty, but Bella saw the swollen and infected tonsils. To her untrained eyes they appeared very infected indeed, which suggested quinsy. The high temperature and general malaise confirmed the diagnosis. The poor lad must be in agony and his rapid fever was a worry.

      ‘Dr Warriner is attending a birth, my lady.’ The matron, Mrs Giles, scurried in, looking flustered. ‘His housekeeper says he might be gone many hours, but she will send him with all haste as soon as he returns.’

      ‘Then send for Dr Bentley!’ Bella did not want to wait hours. Hours of high fever killed children.

      The matron shook her head. ‘Dr Bentley won’t come here.’

      ‘If it is a matter of money, Mrs Giles, tell him I will pay him personally.’

      ‘It’s not the money, my lady...it’s the family. Dr Bentley will not come here because it is owned by a Warriner.’

      Bella had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. ‘The man is a physician, is he not? As such, his first duty is to attend to those who need him. Send for him immediately.’ Petty feuds had no place in an emergency.

      Just a few short minutes later, word came that Dr Bentley would not be attending the foundling home, now or at any time in the future and no amount of money would sway him. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but the old prejudices still run deep in Retford. I’m sure Dr Warriner will be here presently.’

      Such an outrage beggared belief and at some point she fully intended to give the silly man a piece of her mind, but in the meantime Tom was burning up. ‘Can you brew some willow bark tea, Mrs Giles?’ That was known to help reduce a fever. ‘And some ice.’ Common sense told her cooling the boy’s skin might help, just as it had her hot, swollen ankle. Then Bella remembered her conversation with the doctor in his office. Honey fights infection... If it worked externally, then there was a chance it might work internally as well. She called at the woman’s retreating back. ‘And bring me a jar of honey, Mrs Giles!’

      A few minutes later, she helped the boy to sit and carefully spooned the warm, hastily mixed willow bark and honey concoction into his mouth. He really didn’t want to swallow, so she tilted his head back to allow the liquid to trickle over those inflamed tonsils and into his stomach.

      Mrs Giles moved the other boys to another room at Bella’s insistence and all the windows in the sunny infirmary were thrown open and the blankets stripped from the bed to allow the linen parcels of ice she had made to rest against his limbs, torso and head. Despite her best efforts, the boy’s temperature remained dangerously high. The willow bark alone was not going to be enough. What else could she use? Feverfew—wasn’t that known to have a calming effect on inflammation? And she had recently read a very enlightening paper on the benefits of echinacea flower...

      ‘Mrs Giles, send somebody immediately to Dr Warriner’s surgery and ask his housekeeper to send us the following things.’ Bella listed all the herbs she could think of which might be of use: yarrow root, black elder berries, chamomile, ginger, more white willow, much more honey. In the absence of a proper physician, Bella was all little Tom had.

      * * *

      It was almost midnight when Joe finally made it to the infirmary. The twins he had just delivered had been most uncooperative. The first had been breech and the second baby had the cord wrapped around his neck. It had been a difficult and dangerous birth and he was supremely grateful he had been called early enough to be able to save the mother and both of her babies. Now he was practically dead on his feet and had already called for a large pot of coffee to sharpen his wits ready for his next emergency. He only hoped the child’s fever was manageable and that the hours of delay had not been catastrophic. Dealing mostly with the many poor of the parish, Joe was often spread too thin and, because of his innate need to rescue, felt personally responsible for every failure—especially the children. Today, three of them had needed

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