Once Dishonored Read online

  Amused, Lucas asked, “Was he able to find a capable female estate manager who was willing to marry him?”

  “He did, and she has become another passion for him. She’s a most satisfactory sister-in-law,” his companion replied with a smile. “Not only is Daniel able to continue his doctoring, but he’s established cottage hospitals in towns near where he and his wife live and he hopes to start more.”

  Intrigued, Lucas said, “It sounds as if you’re creating an empire of good works! How did you begin?”

  “Daniel and I started a free infirmary in Bristol where we lived,” she explained. “It wasn’t long before I realized that abused women and their children needed a shelter to escape violent partners, so we established Zion House. Now there are Zion Houses in several cities, and each one has at least a small infirmary.”

  “Impressive! Where do you get your funding?”

  The countess’s eyes gleamed. “I importune wealthy people. My husband says I have a genius for cornering prospects and convincing them to open their wallets.”

  Lucas grinned. “No doubt you got your start by practicing on him, Lady Kirkland?”

  She chuckled. “Of course. But please, call me Laurel. Since I have high hopes of enlisting you as part of our medical team, I want to be on friendly terms with you.”

  “Call me Lucas then.” He shook his head admiringly. “You’re a dangerous woman, Laurel.”

  “My husband says that, too,” she said mischievously. With her determination and charm, it was easy to see how she’d built a large charitable institution. She continued, “Tell me about your own medical background. Suzanne and Simon speak highly of you, but I’d like to know more about your experiences.”

  “You know that bonesetters aren’t trained like surgeons and physicians,” he replied. “We serve apprenticeships.”

  She nodded. “My brother has wanted to be a doctor since he was in the nursery. Were you the same?”

  “No, I wanted to captain a ship in the Royal Navy, like my father,” he said. “But I did seem to be drawn to fixing people up. After sea battles, I often helped the ship’s surgeon clean and bandage wounds when he needed help. Later when I was a prisoner of the French, that experience came in handy since prisoners received little medical treatment. I did the work since I was willing to do it. I liked helping people feel better.”

  “It’s a very good feeling,” she agreed. “I understand that after you escaped, you worked with a Franciscan friar who was a bonesetter and traveled with him through Belgium and northern France?”

  “Yes. Frère Emmanuel saved my life after I was wounded in my escape from the French prison.” Lucas swallowed hard as he thought of the gentle old man who had become his teacher and friend. “Since he was frail, I slipped into the role of servant and apprentice. We traveled an irregular circuit through the countryside, going where we were needed and staying in farms and villages. Bonesetters were often the only medical people available, so we did what we could no matter what the problem.”

  “Versatility is useful in a place like our infirmary,” she said with approval. “Broken bones and dislocated joints are common. We have surgeons who do such work, but we could use a really skilled specialist.” She gave him a slanting glance.

  “Frère Emmanuel trained me well,” he said, thinking this was no time for false modesty. “He came from a family of skilled bonesetters who over the years had developed special techniques for challenging problems, and he developed some himself. I learned those as well as the more usual methods.”

  “Our infirmary will give you ample scope to practice your skills, if you choose to volunteer with us.”

  “I’d like that,” he said. “Tell me more about how it’s organized.”

  “Zion House and the infirmary are run by a combination of paid employees and volunteers,” she explained. “Many of our employees were originally clients of Zion House or patients at the infirmary. Several physicians and surgeons are paid to work half time, and there are also volunteer physicians and surgeons who work when they can. We have several training programs for our clients, including ones for nursing, cooking, and being a lady’s maid. We also have guards who were soldiers or sailors and had nowhere to go after they left the military.”

  His brows arched. “Are guards needed often?”

  “Not often, but sometimes violent husbands come seeking their wives. The thieves and drunks usually avoid us because we are valued here and our neighbors don’t want us to be troubled.”

  For the rest of the drive to London’s East End, they discussed the kinds of patients and resources the infirmary had. When the carriage halted in front of a long building on a quiet street, Laurel announced, “Welcome to our empire! We recently acquired this old warehouse which has given us more space. The infirmary is on the ground floor and the two upper levels have been turned into housing for clients of Zion House. We have several smaller buildings on this street, too.”

  Though the structures were old, they were in good repair and the street was well swept. They climbed from the carriage, and Laurel escorted Lucas inside. There was a reception room with people waiting in chairs around the edge and a calm older woman at the desk taking notes as she spoke with patients. A broad, capable-looking man with a wooden leg and the bearing of a soldier sat by the door, keeping a watchful eye on everyone else.

  “Patients are sorted here depending on what ails them and how severe the problem is,” Laurel said as she led Lucas through the reception area to the treatment rooms behind. “I’d like you to meet our apothecary. Mrs. Simmons learned the trade from her husband. After his death, their landlord put her and her children out on the street and they ended up at Zion House. She’s an excellent apothecary, so we put her in charge of our medications. Now she’s training her daughter in the trade.”

  Laurel led the way to a stairwell that took them up to the top floor. The spacious corner room had large windows for light—and bars on the windows in case opium addicts were willing to climb up two floors to break in. The room was lined with shelves holding bottles and jars as well as tables for compounding medications.

  Mrs. Simmons, a plump, no-nonsense woman with silver in her hair, glanced up from the mortar and pestle she was using to grind some white substance. “Good day, Lady Kirkland!” she said in a strong Cockney accent. “Did you bring me a patient?”

  “Not this time! I’m giving Lord Foxton the grand tour. He’s a bonesetter who has worked in Belgium and France.”

  Mrs. Simmons’s brows arched as she surveyed Lucas. Bonesetters were traditionally from the lower orders, not aristocrats, but she refrained from commenting on the anomaly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Foxton, and even more pleased to learn that you’ve worked on the Continent. As her ladyship knows, I have an interest in collecting traditional remedies that work, and you might know some I’ve never heard of.”

  “We could have a long and interesting conversation about that!” he replied. “Joints and bones can be such sources of pain. I have recipes for some good soothing salves, as I’m sure you do also. Perhaps we can compare them?”

  “Have you found any that are particularly effective?”

  Before Lucas could answer, Laurel said with a chuckle, “I’ll leave you two to discuss your remedies while I take care of some accounts. I’ll come back to collect you, Lucas. If you finish your discussion sooner, feel free to explore the building.”

  “Her ladyship knows when to leave others to it,” Mrs. Simmons said with amusement. “Would you like to look at the recipes for my salves?”

  “I would. I’ve also just realized that I should write down recipes for compounds that Frère Emmanuel and I used before I forget them,” Lucas said as the apothecary produced a large notebook with carefully written recipes on occasionally stained pages. “Of course, for fever and general pain there is nothing better than willow bark tea, but that’s well known in England.”

  “I dispense a great deal of it,” Mrs. Simmons agreed. “Now take
a seat and we’ll look over the ingredients in my various salves.”

  The two of them pulled up chairs and studied the recipes, discussing various ingredients. Lucas recognized that he and Mrs. Simmons could hardly have been more different, or enjoyed discussing their shared interests more avidly.

  When they came to the end of Mrs. Simmons’s salve recipes, she closed the notebook. “I do hope you choose to work here regularly. I think you’d fit in well.”

  “If Lady Kirkland will have me, I’ll be happy to volunteer here,” Lucas said, realizing how much he wanted to work with these dedicated people.

  “Have you ever found anything that works well with arthritis? It’s so common, especially with old folks, and it can be crippling.” Mrs. Simmons flexed her right hand, where some of the joints were visibly enlarged. “There are days when I need my daughter to do the grinding and measuring, I have such trouble doing it.”

  Lucas hesitated. “Frère Emmanuel had a traditional remedy that often seemed to help with the pain, but if you haven’t heard of it, you’ll laugh.”

  The apothecary’s brows arched. “I don’t laugh at anything until I’ve at least tested it enough to decide it doesn’t work.”

  “Soak raisins made from white grapes in gin for a fortnight,” Lucas said. “Use good strong gin with juniper. The raisins will plump up with the gin. After a fortnight or so, eat nine raisins a day. I’m not sure the exact number matters, but that was what Frère Emmanuel recommended. The drunken raisins were surprisingly effective for a number of our patients.”

  Mrs. Simmons leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That may not be as strange as you think. My husband liked studying the history of different medicines. Gin is derived from genever, which was a tonic and medication used in the Low Countries for centuries. It was said to be good for fever and digestion, among other things. The drink we call gin comes from that and the ingredients are similar.”

  “I didn’t know that, but it makes a great deal of sense. Will you try it?”

  “I most certainly will!” She flexed her fingers thoughtfully. “And I’ll try it on some of my arthritic regulars. If it works, I’ll be buying a good bit of gin!”

  Laurel entered the room. “Lucas, a young man has just been brought in with a serious knee injury. Are you willing to take a look at him?”

  “Of course.” Lucas rose. “I look forward to hearing your results, Mrs. Simmons.”

  She grinned. “If drunken raisins work, I’ll tell all of London!”

  “I think you’ve made a friend,” Laurel said after they left the apothecary’s room.

  “I hope so. You’re very lucky to have her.”

  “I know. Zion House and the infirmary are blessed in our people.” Laurel led the way downstairs to one of the treatment rooms behind the reception area. She opened the door, saying, “Here’s the young man with the injured knee, Alfred Roberts, and his brother Martin.”

  The patient lay on an examination table, his face white with pain as his brother hovered worriedly over him. “Can you help Alf?” Martin asked worriedly. “Our pa owns a tavern not far from here. We were loadin’ casks of beer when one slipped and fell on Alf and busted his knee.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lucas said in a soothing voice.

  “It bloody hurts!” Alf hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Of course it does, but you’ve come to the right place to get fixed,” Lucas said as he rolled Alf’s loose trouser leg above the swollen knee. “I have to examine the injury and that will hurt more, I’m afraid.”

  He closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer for healing Alf’s injury. He didn’t know if the prayer helped, but he was sure it didn’t hinder.

  He’d found that talking helped distract a patient, so as he carefully probed the lower leg from knee to foot, he asked, “Is there numbness anywhere?”

  “N . . . no. I wish it was numb!”

  “In this case, pain is good. Numbness would mean worse damage.” He examined the area around the kneecap to learn whether the bones were broken or merely misaligned. “What’s the name of your family tavern?”

  Alf gave a sharp bark of pain, then said raggedly, “The Three . . . Sails.”

  “Is the beer good?”

  “The best in London!” Alf said.

  “Aye, it is,” Martin agreed.

  “I’ll have to come by for a drink.” Lucas checked the pulse in Alf’s foot. It was steady, if a little fast, which meant there wasn’t serious damage to the blood vessels.

  After he finished his examination, he said, “Your knee has been partially dislocated, which is not wonderful, but it’s better than a complete dislocation. Next time, try to drop the barrel on your shoulder. Dislocations are more common there and more easily fixed. Though they still hurt like merry Hades.”

  Alf tried to smile. “The shoulder it is next time.”

  Lucas rested both hands around the knee and visualized the healing energy that sometimes blessed his treatments. Pure white light that flowed through him from some higher place, entering his hands and passing into the mangled knee.

  “Your hands are warm,” Alf choked out.

  “All the better for fixing your knee. Martin, could you stand at the head of the table and hold both of Alf’s hands? This next part will be quick but very painful.”

  “Worse than now?” Alf asked in a shaky voice.

  “Yes, the dislocated bone needs to be moved back into place as soon as possible. It took a lot of pressure to displace that bone, and it will take a lot of pressure to return it to its proper position. But it will be over in a few moments.”

  Once Martin had a firm grasp on his brother’s hands, Lucas applied the necessary force to reposition the bone. It took strength to be a bonesetter, and as Frère Emmanuel had become increasingly frail, Lucas eventually did all of this sort of work.

  Pressure, white light . . .

  Alf screamed in agony, his body jerking up from the table, but between them, Martin and Lucas kept him from falling off. The scream diminished into anguished panting as Lucas continued to rest his hands on the knee. “It should feel better now.”

  Alf exhaled roughly. “It does. A lot better. Still hurts, though!”

  “That’s because the ligaments that bind the leg bones together have been wrenched about. The knee will have to be splinted for a time so you can’t move it. After the splint comes off, you should use a wrap around the knee to reduce the strain, and you should carefully exercise the joint to help it regain strength and stability. If you do that and all goes well, you should make a good recovery.”

  Laurel’s soft voice said, “We have a couple of nurses who have developed exercises to help a damaged limb regain function as it heals.”

  Lucas hadn’t realized she was still in the room, but he imagined she had wanted to see him work. She moved forward, her hands full. “I sent for opium to ease the pain and materials to splint the knee.”

  “Thank you.” He gave Alf a dose of laudanum, then splinted the knee. By the time he was done, a male nurse had come in to further discuss Alf’s follow-up treatment and recovery.

  After wishing Alf well, Lucas withdrew with Laurel at his side, feeling the fatigue that always followed serious energy healing. When they were back in the reception area, he said, “Did I pass?”

  “Indeed you did. Were you pleased with this day’s work?”

  “I haven’t felt this good in . . .” He tried to remember and couldn’t. “A very long time. A very, very long time.”

  Laurel gave him a warm smile. “Doing good for others has that effect. Do you want to become a regular volunteer?”

  “Very much so. I’m leaving town tomorrow for several days, but when I return to London, I’ll pay a call on you and we can decide where I’ll be of most use.”

  “I already have ideas about that!”

  So did Lucas.

  CHAPTER 13

  Kendra would rather have scrubbed floors on her knees
than have lunch with half a dozen powerful wives who would know the public version of her disgrace, but she trusted Suzanne. Even so, her hands were clenched as they waited for the luncheon to begin.

  “Relax,” her friend said soothingly. “These are all women who know something of the world and will listen with open minds.”

  “I know you think that, but you seem to believe the best of people,” Kendra said.

  “And I’m usually right.” Suzanne chuckled. “These women were all open-minded about me, and my past is even more lurid than yours.”

  Remembering what Suzanne had endured, Kendra smiled wryly. “You were considered a victim, I am considered a slut. I’m not sure which is worse!”

  “I wouldn’t have chosen either. But it’s our trials that make us strong and interesting.”

  “I would rather be less interesting!”

  Their banter was interrupted when the doorknocker sounded. As the butler responded, Suzanne peered out the drawing-room window. “Our first guests are arriving. Lady Julia Randall and Lady Masterson. They’re half sisters, though you might not notice the resemblance immediately because Athena Masterson is half a head taller.”

  Warned in advance, Kendra observed that the first arrivals did indeed have similar dark hair and features. Lady Julia was petite and reserved in her demeanor while her sister was very tall and more outgoing, but they both regarded her with interest rather than scorn when Suzanne introduced them.

  The same was true of Lady Kingston, Lady Wyndham, Lady Romayne, and the Duchess of Ashton, who had the most elevated title but turned out to be a petite and smiling golden blonde. The guests were all punctual, so soon the drawing room was filled with friendly women greeting one another and exchanging hugs.

  After the initial chat and distribution of drinks, Suzanne said in a carrying voice, “I’d like to call this meeting to order, please!”