Intolerable Civility

Chapter Nine: The Shameful Truth

It was well past midnight when Demery returned. By then, Luke was merely warm and fitfully sleeping. The doctor was a fat middle-aged man with a thick beard and scowling eyes. He poked and prodded Luke, who woke up with a cry, listened to his heart with a stethoscope, and stuck a stubby finger in his mouth to look at his tongue. Cate watched, her own heart hammering.

"A febrile episode," the doctor declared. "And almost over. Calm yourself, Mrs Demery. There was nothing to be concerned about."

After everything that had happened, it was the 'calm yourself' that sent Cate over the edge. She dropped onto the sofa and began to cry helplessly. The doctor muttered something about new mothers and mother hens.

"Of course, new mothers are naturally anxious about their babies," Demery said. "And greater knowledge will help allay that anxiety. Why is he sick? What should we do?"

"Why? Sometimes babies get fevers. Cold compresses and boiled Peruvian bark are all that should be given. But this child's fever has broken and he can be put to bed and left alone. There is certainly nothing for me to do here." The doctor clicked his tongue. "All that way through the snow to get here, and all for nothing!"

"But not for nothing," Demery said. "We now know it is not out of the usual. We know what to do next time. Let us leave the women to the baby. I have some very good brandy downstairs if you would like something to ward off the chill..."

The doctor and Demery left the room. Cate stayed weeping on the sofa while Luke wriggled and cried softly in his bed — perhaps in response to her tears.

Miss Skinner had never been the maternal sort. She sat gingerly next to Cate and patted her on the knee. "There. You see. Nothing to worry about. I knew it wouldn't be."

She had known nothing of the sort. She had fretted and worried all night.

"And what did I tell you," she added. "The doctor did not have anything of any sense to tell us. They never do. Now stop crying, Catherine. It does no one any good."

Cate rubbed at her eyes and tried to stop weeping, but the tears kept coming. She felt even worse to know that the doctor and Demery had gone out through the cold and dark to no real effect, and that Demery was right and the apothecary would have been a faster, wiser choice. The apothecary would have had Peruvian bark. That made her cry harder.

"We must buy Peruvian bark tomorrow." Cate spoke through tears. "We must always have some ready."

"It is wise to have a well-stocked medicine box," Miss Skinner said. "Though I do not know that Peruvian bark is any more powerful than other remedies."

"We must buy other medicines as well. I should have thought of the matter before now."

"Better late than never," Miss Skinner said. "Though, of course, a stitch in time saves nine. I suppose we'll save our stitches next time. Ah. Captain Demery."

Cate looked up. Demery's dark figure loomed in the doorway, blurred through her tears. She blinked at him. For the first time, she noticed that he still wore the threadbare maroon banyan, and he had not had time to change. He could not have done more than put on his greatcoat and boots before leaving the house.

"I'm sorry I made you go through the snow," she said.

"You did not make me. You asked and I agreed. Here. I have some wine. I think you should drink it."

He came closer and pressed a glass into her hand. She sipped it slowly. Some of her tears mixed in with it and it was too strong for her taste anyway, but somehow the alcohol did calm the ache of guilt in her belly.