Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dorian walked along the main hall of St Justus, accompanied by Jonathan and several members of the board. He remembered walking down this very hall with his father, discussing solutions for various mental ills.

He missed him. Missed his wisdom, but more than that, the simple, companionable rambles in wood and field. Dorian’s memories of those rambles were part of what prompted plans for the strolling garden.

Dorian listened with one ear to Jonathan’s lecture on the need for added rooms, a still room, and a dispensary. “If we make our own medicines, we can be certain of their purity,” Jonathan expanded on the idea. “More than that, we can be sure of getting medicines to even the poorest patients. Can you imagine a populace where everyone goes about their duties cheerfully?”

Dorian tuned out most of the lecture until they started pacing off the dimensions of the planned addition.

“I think we should enlarge the wing that houses veterans,” he said. “It is proper that we should care for those who have served our country and now suffer as a result.”

“Can we afford such a thing?” one of the board members asked. “We are already looking at a great deal of money with these expansions.”

“I think that if we have to give up all the rest,” Dorian said, “that those who have served our country should come before all others. After all, they have stood as security for everyone.”

Jonathan nodded solemnly. “There is merit to what you say. But if we have the room to devote to research, we can help not only the veterans but all people.

The assembled board members nodded their heads. One old man with a long white beard said, “We will always have injured veterans, war being what it is. But new medicines, yes, we can help everyone.”

It seemed to Dorian that the fellow was simply parroting the words he had just heard. There was something wrong with the argument, but Dorian could not put his finger on it. He refrained from commenting further. He could take it up with Jonathan later.

The entourage returned to the inner hall and turned towards the classrooms that comprised the medical school. There, he encountered Emma. She was carrying a book and looked as if she was both angry and chagrined.

“What is it?” Dorian asked.

“I wanted to read to the littles in the children’s ward. I am sure they must be desperately bored, confined as they are to their beds. But Father will not hear of it. He says there is too much danger of contagion.”

“Contagion?” Dorian asked. “I was unaware that there was any in the children’s wing.”

“I didn’t know of any either,” Emma said. “But Father says it is some sort of strange new plague, and he will not risk me. He is not usually so overprotective.”

Dorian recalled how Jonathan had responded to his suggestion. “He does seem more than a little tense today.”

Emma sighed. “I hope he will relax once we are settled in and are keeping country hours. He really doesn’t do well with the pressures in London.”

“I thought he enjoyed London,” Dorian said.

“Oh, he enjoys it,” Emma said, giving him a thin-lipped smile. “Unfortunately, it does not agree with his constitution.”

“How interesting,” Dorian observed, trying to reconcile this view of Jonathan with the man he thought he knew. Still, discussing his uncle with Emma was not appropriate, either as a physician or as a gentleman, especially while they were in the hospital.

“Let me walk you down to the tea room,” he said. “I think the proprietress has a new tea blend that you might like to try. It would seem that both of us are de trop, or simply in the way, just now. We might even try a biscuit or two.”

“Thank you. That would be most welcome,” Emma said.

Once Dorian had Emma seated at one of the tables in the tea room, he asked, “How are you finding Bath?”

“A bit lonely,” Emma said. “I’d like to meet some other young ladies and make a friend or two. Perhaps we could host a party?”

“I’m sure we could,” Dorian said, happy to do something to please Emma. He felt guilty that he could not develop feelings for her. “But now I’d best get back. Jonathan should have completed the tour by now.

“I’ll walk back with you,” Emma said. “I’m sure Father is wondering where I have gone.

They returned to the tour group just as Jonathan was finishing up. Emma went to the gift shop to see if she could find some poppets or other comforting gifts since she was not allowed to visit the children.

Jonathan and Dorian would have gone with her, but the hospital administrator stuck his head out of a door opposite the gift shop and beckoned to them.

When they entered, he gestured them to his two guest chairs. “Tea?” he asked. “It’s cold, I’m afraid. But still quite good.”

Dorian held up his hand, palm out, indicating his lack of desire. Jonathan said, “None for me, thanks.”

“Very well,” the fellow said. “I’ll get right to the point. We’ve suddenly had an increase in deaths. At first it was gradual, only those cases that were already in danger. But this last week, nearly a third of our patients have died. I am worried that we have some sort of contagious disease rampant in the hospital. I would suggest you use both masks and herbs when you visit sick rooms.”

“That is dreadful,” Jonathan exclaimed. “Please ask your staff to keep careful records of all responses to medication or lack thereof. We need to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.”

“I am in complete agreement,” the administrator returned. “We do not want to get a reputation for being one of those places where people go to die.”

“Definitely not.” Dorian shuddered. “A hospital should be a place of healing.”

“Quite so,” Jonathan put in. “That is what I’ve been telling you. We need more research and better medicines. Have no fear,” he now addressed the administrator with hearty cheer, “we shall get to the bottom of this difficulty immediately.”

“Thank you,” the administrator said, relief showing on his face. “I’m glad to leave the search for a solution in your capable hands.”

“What was all that about?” Dorian asked Jonathan as they left the room.

“I have no idea,” Jonathan said. “I’ll look into it, of course. But I suspect the fellow is over-reacting.”

The two gentlemen found Emma in the gift shop, where she was just finishing up paying for a collection of trinkets and toys for the children confined to the sick ward.

“Poor little things,” she said. “I am sure they would all like something to amuse themselves with. I cannot imagine how perfectly dreary it must be confined to a bed for hours and hours on end.”

Dorian refrained from telling her that if someone were confined to their bed, they would usually be too ill to feel bored. But he didn’t want to dampen her kindly spirits. Some of the children might enjoy the toys.

“I’ll have them sent over to the children’s ward,” Johnathan said.

Once they were all outside in the open air, Jonathan remarked, “I would rather not have either of you inside any of the sick wards until I have this contagion isolated, just in case the administrator is not over-reacting. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I would rather stand double shifts than risk either of you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Dorian said, “but perhaps could you not use the help? I have been in and out of all the wards this week and have felt no ill effects.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jonathan replied. “Still, I would much rather not take a chance with your health. You can take on the clinics and help keep our stay-at-home patients in good trim.”

“If you are sure,” Dorian said. “I can certainly take all those shifts without a problem.”

“I would appreciate that a great deal,” Jonathan assured him. “It will relieve me so I can spend more time with our hospital guests.”

Dorian walked them to their doors, then turned to go on down the hall. “A garden party,” Emma called after him. “You won’t forget?”

“I will remember,” Dorian said. “I will probably have some idle hours at the clinic. I can spend that time writing out invitations.”

She clasped her hands together in rapture. “That will be so splendid. Let me know if I can help. I am told I write with a fair hand. I could help copy out the notes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dorian said and strode away to his own wing of Clare Court.

Once there, Dorian sat down at his desk and sighed. He had no love for parties. But Emma was lonely. And she was right. If he gave a party with her as the guest of honour, it would give her a chance to meet other young ladies who were staying in Bath for the season.

He thought over the ladies of his acquaintance. He would invite Lenora, of course, and Iris. He got out a sheet of foolscap, took a charcoal pencil in hand, and began to draft the invitation.

By the time his desk candle began to sputter, he had written out twelve invitations in ink on creamy linen paper and had what he hoped was a reasonable guest list.

One never knew for certain, of course, who was speaking with whom, or who of the local bevy of females were bosom pals or who were deadly enemies. Lenora would probably know, but it would scarcely be politic to ask her to vet a guest list for Emma. As far as he knew, the two were on good terms, but these things could change as quickly as the wind in spring.

He smiled a little, thinking of Lenora barging into the church at the wedding. How very like her to behave rashly, then to dress properly and hold civil conversations with the wedding guests.

Lenora was many things, but she was neither timid nor miss-ish. Such adventures as they had got up to as children! Now, she was embarking on her search for a suitable husband in the same bold way she did everything else.

It was both heart-warming and frightening to think of her setting her cap for Lord Whitchurch. The poor man would scarcely know what hit him!

Dorian pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Yet there was this niggling little imp that kept nibbling in his consciousness. It was telling him that Reuben Manners, Lord Whitchurch, was not the man for Lenora. He had a fine figure, a respectable fortune, and an excellent reputation. But Dorian could not help feeling that there was something off about him.

Dorian shrugged out of his coat and shirt, leaving them on the coat stand provided for this purpose. His valet would collect them, give them a good brushing, and probably exchange the shirt for a fresh one.

As he settled into bed, he wondered what Lenora was doing and whether she was even close to securing Reuben Manners’ attention.