Like Stars by Selina Kray

Author:Selina Kray [Kray, Selina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MLR Press LLC
Published: 2014-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The man who purported to be Nathaniel Thredgold was shocked to find a virtual cemetery of carriages and motors in the courtyard of Blythe Cottage. As he wove his horse around the empty, tombstone-like vehicles, blacks and grays befitting the somber November day, a portly man came crashing out the front door.

“My apologies, sir, on behalf of Dr. Douglas,” he huffed, as he blocked the alley between two carriages, “but the casualty is full up. If it is a matter of great urgency, then you may wait, but otherwise you’d best delay or ride to—”

“What has occurred?”

“I regret, sir, that Dr. Douglas wishes for me to convey—”

“Yes, yes.” Nathaniel veered his horse down the alley so that the man was forced to let him pass. “I am Mr. Thredgold, a friend and neighbor. Now, what is the trouble?”

“S-Sir, please, I’m under strict orders—”

Nathaniel showed him what he thought of such orders by dismounting and handing him the reins. “You’d do best not to shoo away anyone who aims to be of assistance. Tie her up wherever there’s space, only be assured that there’s adequate shelter. It looks to rain. The good doctor is in surgery, I presume?”

“I cannot say. I was made sentry.”

“And a splendid job you’re doing.” Nathaniel slapped him on the back before making his way inside.

The scene within was not unfamiliar to anyone who had spent time in an army hospital. Nathaniel surveyed the chaos around him. Both the door to the consultation room and the rear door to the infirmary were clogged with patients in various states of disarray. They held torn scraps of cloth to various superficial wounds—a hand here, a leg there, the occasional cheek or forehead. Some had oily faces, where they had made a vain attempt at wiping off the soot that blackened their clothes. Most broke into a fit of coughing every few minutes or so, which played in discordant counterpoint to the hacking and whining that resounded from the sitting room.

There, fine ladies and their gentleman companions sat like coal-dusted sculptures upon the white sheets that had been spread over every piece of furniture, bemoaning whatever twist of fate had caused them to be both sullied and waylaid in a country doctor’s cottage. A strawberry blond-haired girl—who was by no means a maid of any skill—flounced about serving them cups of medicinal tea. The stairs had been cordoned off by what looked like a curtain sash, to which was pinned a sign that read: “Only the severely injured patients will be provided with accommodation for the night. If you care to make arrangements for yourself, there is a telephone in the kitchen.”

Nathaniel at once recognized the opportunity this provided him, though that is not what urged him to push through the line of sufferers into the consultation room, allowing the weight of his presumed station to intimidate those who would not give way. He did not expect to find Georgiana Braithwaite holding court by the examination table, armed with a stethoscope and a tongue depressor.

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