Healing the Soldier's Heart. Lily George

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СКАЧАТЬ I wanted to ask you a question. If a man is in battle and later has trouble speaking, could you cure him?”

      Dr. Phillips turned from the doorway and looked over at Louisa, his brows beetled in confusion.

      Lucy gasped. “Louisa—surely the doctor has no time—” Oh, the doctor would think them most assuredly too forward. And if James ever knew they’d spoken of him...oh, dear. He was such a proud man. He would not like it in the least.

      “Nonsense. It would be an interesting case for him, wouldn’t it, Dr. Phillips?” Louisa replied in her most wheedling tone.

      Dr. Phillips cocked his head to one side, as though considering the matter. “A soldier? Not one of your beaus, I should think, Miss Louisa?” His expression was both kindly and skeptical. “How do you know of such a young man?”

      “Oh, he’s not my beau. He’s Lucy’s beau.” Louisa beamed up at the doctor, ignoring Lucy’s pained gasp.

      “He’s not—” Lucy began. Oh, this was dreadful. A governess with a beau was as good as sacked in Lord Bradbury’s home. She shot a look that was half pleading, half threatening in Louisa’s direction. Her charge merely widened her already large brown eyes and gave a small, noncommittal shrug at her governess’s distress.

      Dr. Phillips turned to Lucy, overriding her small protest and ignoring their obvious—if silent—disagreement. “Well, Miss Williams, what do you know of his injury? Was his throat injured, or did he sustain any kind of head wound?”

      Lucy sighed. She’d deal with Louisa’s brazen behavior later. As for now—well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Dr. Phillips’s opinion could actually be quite helpful, given how highly regarded he was in Bath. And as his fee was so expensive, neither she nor James could consult him on their own. “No. As far as I know, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to speak. He can, in fact, speak to some people. His brothers in arms, for example. He’s spoken to me a bit—small phrases, you understand, and with a noted stammer.”

      “Hmm.” The doctor drummed his fingers on his worn leather bag. “I imagine, then, that his injury has less to do with the physical and more to do with the mental distress he underwent in battle.” He straightened and fetched his bag from a nearby mahogany chair. “I’d have to see him, though, to make any kind of informed diagnosis.”

      “Well, could you?” Louisa flicked her long braid over one shoulder. “When you come back to see me later this week. Lucy could bring him here.”

      “Absolutely not,” Lucy broke in, her mouth agape. “Forgive us, Dr. Phillips. We’ve intruded too long on your good nature.” She gestured toward the bedroom door, fixing Louisa with her best governess-in-charge look.

      “Well, why not?” Louisa wailed, her tone belying how very feverish and miserable she must be feeling. “After all, I am sure Dr. Phillips can help more than all those dreadful books in Papa’s library.”

      Dr. Phillips held up one hand, silencing them both. “Miss Louisa, I understand your desire to help. But you must realize that the young man may be offended or hurt if Miss Williams dragged him here—to his lordship’s home—for me to poke and prod at him. But—” he turned to Lucy, a kind expression lighting his eyes “—you can let the young man know that I would be happy to see him. He’s part of the veterans’ group, is he not?”

      Lucy nodded. The feeling that she had somehow betrayed Rowland welled in her throat, making speech impossible.

      “Well, then, I would be delighted to see him at no charge. I do quite a bit of work for the veterans’ group, as Lieutenant Cantrill will attest. You may tell him I said so, or you might find it easier to have the lieutenant reassure him. I don’t want the lad to think I am seeing him out of charity. Rather, it’s my way of thanking those lads for all they’ve done for our country.” He nodded at them both and wagged a warning finger at Louisa. “Now, listen to what Miss Williams says. I expect to see you hale and hearty when I return later.”

      Lucy walked with him to the bedroom door and ushered him out. Then she turned to Louisa, who sat, sniffling, her eyes red, her pallor dull.

      “Don’t be mad, Lucy,” Louisa pleaded. “I want to help, and Dr. Phillips will be of assistance—I hope.” She plucked uncertainly at the coverlet, her flushed cheeks and sweaty brow betraying her illness.

      Lucy sighed, sinking onto the foot of the bed. She could never stay mad at Louisa long, especially when she obviously felt so poorly. “I’m not angry with you, Louisa. And you’re right—Dr. Phillips can help a good deal more than any old Latin text we’ll find in your father’s library. But—the ensign is very proud. He might not like that we’ve spoken about him to Dr. Phillips without his consent. I shall have to handle this matter very carefully if I am not to offend him.”

      Louisa gave a mighty sneeze, wiping her reddened nose on her embroidered handkerchief. “Oh, I’m sure you can find a way, Lucy. You’re so clever.”

      Clever? Hardly. She gave a rueful inward chuckle. The only way she had managed her life thus far was to move into unfamiliar situations with wariness and crouch there until she became entirely comfortable. But this—this was different than trying to do well at the orphanage, or seeking a position as a governess. This meant meddling in another man’s life.

      There was no guarantee that Ensign James Rowland would like or appreciate her interference, however good her intentions might be. He might be ashamed of her for discussing his impediment without his permission. Or he might be offended that Dr. Phillips was offering his services free of charge. The doctor’s offer might smack of charity to the ensign. And as a proud man, he might not be willing to accept it.

      Or he could be angry on both counts.

      She twirled a lock of her dark hair, staring out the window. Only one thing was certain. She must proceed with infinite caution.

      * * *

      “What ho, Rowland, it’s good to see you,” Cantrill said in a hearty tone of voice as he opened the door to his flat. “Come in, come in. My place is in a bit of uproar, pardon the mess. Mrs. Pierce is tidying up for my mother’s impending visit.”

      Rowland stepped over the threshold, his hat in hand. Indeed, Cantrill’s flat—normally as neat and spare as a soldier would have it—was a welter of dusters, brooms, and carpet-beaters. Rowland shrugged and allowed Cantrill to lead him, zigzagging through the mess to the relative peace of the little parlor.

      “What can I bring you? Tea? We’ll have to make it ourselves—Mrs. Pierce is far too busy at the moment to bother with refreshments, I’m afraid.” Cantrill motioned Rowland to a small chair near the hearth.

      “Nothing...for me.” James cleared his throat and took a deep breath. He could speak to the lieutenant, it was true—but that didn’t mean his speech was free-flowing and unfettered. He must get to the heart of the matter. There was always the lurking fear that speech would elude him entirely if he took too long to come to the point.

      Cantrill sat across from James, his normally pleasant face reflecting, perhaps, some of the confusion and exhaustion that his mother’s impending visit was causing in his flat. Funny, mothers could cause such mixed emotions. After all, James loved his mother and wanted to support her. But what if she were on her way to Bath right now to see him? He shuddered at the mere thought. No. He had definite sympathy for Cantrill today.

      “I’ve come...about СКАЧАТЬ