Page 1 of Bernadette’s Dashing Doctor (The Bookshop Belles #4)

CHAPTER 1

Stirring up Trouble

Early March, 1815

Hatfield, Hertfordshire

B ernadette Baxter, the youngest and definitely the most helpful of the four Baxter daughters of Baxter’s Fine Books in Hatfield, Hertfordshire, kept a close eye on the pot of bubbling honey and lemon mixture on the stove. She added a dozen whole cloves into the mix, careful to avoid getting her hand too close to the simmering liquid. Experience had taught her that the ensuing burn would hurt agonisingly if she made a mistake. The syrup smelled deliciously sweet as she stirred it three times one way, then three the reverse, breathing in the fragrant steam. The cloves would impart their pungent healing oils, but remain intact for her to tweezer out of the lozenges before they set.

The doorbell to the bookshop tinkled, and she heard her sister Louise give whoever had arrived directions to go to the kitchen.

Light footsteps pattered up the stairs, followed by a slim boy with a shock of scruffy brown hair.

“Oh good, Brutus, you’re here!” Bernadette was delighted to see her young cousin - her favourite, but then there really was no competition in that regard - had arrived to assist.

“It smells much better than the binding glue Louise cooks up!” he said, face full of cheer.

“It’s almost ready to pour. Would you like to do the honours?” She lifted the pot off the stove carefully and placed it on the iron trivet on the kitchen table.

“Yes please!” he said, coming forward eagerly.

He was a fast learner and eager to please, always ready to lend a hand no matter how dirty or smelly a task they might assign him. More than that, Bernadette had become grateful to have Brutus accompanying her around town. He was young enough not to be threatening to the women she helped. He stayed out of the way, but most importantly, he helped her carry the produce home that her customers provided as payment. Sometimes her basket was so full of fruit, honey, meat or other items given to her by grateful patients she could barely lift it by herself.

Brutus was a meticulous sort of boy, and soon became adept at pouring the cooling mixture onto the wax paper under her directions. One by one he dolloped a teaspoon-sized amount onto each paper, then moved on as Bernadette followed along behind him with her tweezers, carefully picking out the whole cloves. Moments later, they had a bench full of individual sweets.

Bernadette gently waved one of her hand fans to keep them cooling. Once they set, it required only a quick twist to close the wax paper and the lozenges would be ready to take to Mr Lennox the apothecary.

“May I have one?” Brutus asked, opening his mouth and pointing to the back of it. “I think there’s a tooth coming through at the back.”

Bernadette brought him over to the window for better light and peered into his mouth. “The gum does look red. I’ll make some clove tea.”

He winced.

“Yes, I know it tastes awful,” she agreed. “But it’s the best thing to remove the pain.”

“Can’t I just have a lozzy?”

She tried not to roll her eyes. Young people took such liberties with language! She ignored the fact that she had barely seven years on Brutus, but then she had been raised in a well-educated household, whereas Brutus could not honestly be said to have been raised at all, considering he was ignored by his parents and bullied by his ghastly older brother. It was truly a surprise that Brutus was turning out as well as he was; she could overlook some casual informalities in his speech.

“Yes, for now.” She glanced over the bench and picked up the most oddly-shaped one, handing it over to him. “I’ll get the clove tea brewing and by the time we get back it will be nice and strong.”

His shoulders slumped even as he popped the lozenge into his mouth. “Thanks,” he mumbled around the sweet, and Bernadette smiled. Brutus had sweet manners, even if she suspected he wouldn’t thank her after she made him gargle the pungent clove tea. He willingly helped her load up her basket and hefted in manfully, shaking his head when she checked if it was too heavy. She packed up a second, slightly lighter, basket for herself and they made their way downstairs.

They waved goodbye to Louise as they passed her at the counter and then the two of them made their way through Hatfield to Mr Lennox’s business.

“Ahh, the Baxters! How wonderful to see you!” The apothecary always greeted them with a smile. He did not get to his feet, however, and remained sitting behind his counter. Try as she might, Bernadette had not been able to make any kind of medication that might help the dear man. He’d lost a leg below the knee during valiant service with the Navy years before, and now walked with a peg leg. He suffered constant pain in his lower back if he stood for more than a few moments, but flatly refused to take laudanum, saying with a dark look on his face, “that road leads nowhere I care to go,” on more than one occasion when Bernadette suggested it might help.

They greeted his assistant, who everybody called “Young Devon,” with a smile and a wave, but didn’t interrupt as he dealt with several customers.

Mr Lennox’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the basket, and he quickly reconciled the herbal sachets, lozenges and salves Bernadette laid out on the counter, and paid her.

Bernadette thanked him and said, “While I’m sad we lost Dr Rasley, I must confess, I’ve never been so busy.”

“I concur,” Mr Lennox said, reflecting a suitably sad expression. “Terrible loss for the town. But now I’m so busy, I need Young Devon here every day.”

Bernadette leaned in and mentioned, quietly, “I set a broken wrist last week.” She was quite proud of herself. The young boy who’d been tree climbing had fainted, but she was quite sure she had done a good job and he would heal with no troubles.

Mr Lennox chuckled. “Good for you. We never stop learning, do we?”

“That we do not!” She readily agreed. “It’s a shame the nearest doctor is in St Albans - there are some people in town with ailments that truly do require a proper doctor’s skills and they aren’t able to travel to him.”

“Dr Edmonds isn’t fond of coming this far,” Mr Lennox agreed. “We’ll get a new one soon, I’m sure.”

Dr Rasley had tragically perished in a suspicious fire just a few weeks earlier. A new doctor had been hired in London, supposedly, but hadn’t arrived yet… perhaps he was waiting until the doctor’s cottage had been rebuilt, Bernadette thought. And in the meantime, she, Mr Lennox and Hatfield’s three midwives were very nearly run off their feet.

They parted on excellent terms and waved to Young Devon on the way out.

The rest of the morning Bernadette and Brutus were kept busy, walking from house to house to visit the women who needed help.

She kept track of each one in her notebook, but used her own special code for their names, just in case the book ever fell into the wrong hands. Like her Cousin Joshua’s, or Reverend Millings’. They’d get a sermon to curl their ears if he ever found out the full scope of her activities.

The women paid Bernadette with produce or herbs they grew in their gardens. Sometimes eggs from their chickens, or best of all, honey from a nearby hive. The coming spring would bring out the meadow flowers and bees, once the weather warmed a little more.

Returning to the bookshop after several hours, Bernadette and Brutus deposited their baskets on the counter with a sigh of relief. The baskets were even heavier now than when they’d gone out!

Brutus said, “What a morning!”

“The clove tea will be well-steeped by now,” Bernadette said with a grin.

“It doesn’t hurt any more,” he said quickly.

Louise chuckled and said, “Welcome home, both of you. Mrs Poole has made soup for lunch.”

There was a fresh cob loaf of bread in one of their baskets. It was delicious spread with freshly churned butter and eaten with Mrs Poole’s thick parsnip-and-carrot soup. Bernadette ate hungrily, knowing she’d be busy again all afternoon. She had several more patients to visit.

The new doctor couldn’t arrive soon enough, though she certainly hoped he’d be a little younger and have more up-to-date training than old Doctor Rasley, Lord rest his soul.

Wednesday was Bernadette’s regular day to visit Lord Ferndale and Miss Yates at Ferndale Hall, which was almost ten miles from Hatfield. Although the visit took most of her day, she wouldn’t miss it for anything, being extremely fond of the elderly brother and sister, who had been friends of her family for many years and were now relatives-by-marriage. The carriage arrived soon after breakfast to collect her. She waved to Mrs Bell as she climbed into it, just coming out of her house directly across the street from the bookshop. Mrs Bell was one of three midwives in Hatfield, who were all exceptionally busy at this time of year, what with it being about nine months after the various midsummer festivities.

She could call back in to see Mrs Bell on the way home and check if any of the women needed assistance, perhaps with herbs to help to bring in the mother’s milk, treat mastitis or childbed infections.

It was lovely to see Lord Ferndale, who insisted that she must now call him ‘grandfather’ since her sister Estelle had married his grandson Felix, and Lord Ferndale’s sister Miss Yates looking so well. Bernadette couldn’t stop fretting about them during the cold winter months, but they’d come through the worst of it well. Ferndale Hall’s butler Mr Thorne and the housekeeper Mrs Sykes were grateful for the jar of clove tea, which Brutus hadn’t used in the end.

In the glass house, the gardeners were happy to see her and helped with harvesting a few tubers of ginger that Bernadette had planted there a few months earlier. It was a temperamental plant and needed lots of warmth, which made it expensive and difficult to buy. But it was so good for expectant mothers in the early months for keeping their retching at bay.

“Grandfather, I can’t thank you and the gardeners enough for growing the ginger. You’re making people’s lives so much better.” She looked happily at the small basket of ginger root the gardener handed her. “It would cost a fortune to buy this much, and I would have to charge far more than most people could afford. Growing our own means I can help so many more people.”

“I was thinking,” Lord Ferndale said, “I know you usually make a tea or cordial with it, but what if you added the ginger to a lozenge? Would that make it easier for people who can’t keep fluids down?”

Bernadette’s eyes sprang wide. “That’s brilliant! I should have thought of that! Oooh, I think I might call it ‘Ferndale’s Ginger Relief’.”

“An excellent notion, my dear. Now do come inside, Florence will be waiting for us!” He patted her hand kindly and they went indoors for nuncheon.

Back in town later in the afternoon, Bernadette crossed the street to Mrs Bell’s house before going back into the bookshop. The midwife looked weary, resting her feet on a footstool as she sipped on a cup of herbal tea. No doubt she’d been getting little sleep of late, with all the births in town. Babies always did seem to come at the most inconvenient times.

“Is there anything I can help with, Mrs Bell?” Bernadette asked.

“Aye, I saw Mrs Pennyrigg today.” Mrs Bell sipped her tea and shook her head. “Mr Pennyrigg won’t leave her alone, I’m afraid.”

“But she has nine children already, and the eldest is barely ten!” Bernadette said, horrified.

“Aye.” Mrs Bell eyed her over the rim of her teacup. “She’s only just missed her courses, though.”

“I’ll call in and see her tomorrow,” Bernadette said immediately. While it was not an infallible remedy, she had learned of a very particular combination of herbs from her mother, which when steeped into a strong tea and drunk at the correct early stage of one’s first missed course, could prevent the pregnancy from progressing any further. Poor Mrs Pennyrigg needed a rest from being pregnant… and Bernadette would take a moment to tell Mr Pennyrigg to leave his wife be for a while too!

Every woman of marriageable age in Hatfield knew what Bernadette’s herbs were capable of, and not one of them, not even her ghastly cousin Phoebe, would ever breathe a word about it in the hearing of a man. It was women’s business and none of men’s, and a woman who betrayed that code would likely find there was suddenly no midwife available if she should happen to need one.

“I’ve a tonic for you,” Bernadette said then, digging in her satchel and handing Mrs Bell a bottle.

“For me?” The midwife looked surprised. “What ever for?”

“For when you get called out in the wee hours and are struggling to find the energy to get out of your warm bed.” Bernadette smiled at her. “Might put a hop in your step.”

Mrs Bell laughed, but she tucked the bottle away and thanked Bernadette. “You’re a good lass, and no mistake.”

Making her way back across the street, Bernadette turned her face up to the sky, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. It had been a miserable winter and a wet early spring; today’s sunny sky was a pleasant change.

She re-entered the bookshop at the same time as the maid Rosie, who held the door open for her with a friendly smile. Rosie was shy around some people, but could be positively garrulous if she liked someone. She talked a good deal to Bernadette, who had found that Rosie was very well-informed in what people around town were getting up to. Between their housekeeper Mrs Poole, the midwives and Rosie, there wasn’t much that happened in Hatfield that Bernadette didn’t hear about sooner rather than later.

“Got some news for you, Miss Bernadette.” Rosie beamed at her. “New doctor’s here.”

“In town?” Bernadette stooped to prevent Crafty, the bookshop cat, from dashing out through the open door.

“Arrived this morning, like. Took a room at the Red Lion, on Lord Ferndale’s account, since his cottage ain’t ready yet.” Rosie nodded importantly, obviously pleased to have imparted interesting news.

“Well done, Rosie,” Bernadette beamed with the fresh information. A doctor in town at last was so very welcome. There was Farmer Allom, whose shoulder was still not sitting properly after falling from a barn roof. Bernadette had studied diagrams in a medical text and knew the theory of what she attempted, but when she tried it in reality, she lacked the brute strength required to reset the shoulder properly in its socket.

She hoped the new doctor would not be too old and frail for the heavy work that would be required in a town as large as Hatfield.

She marched upstairs and bundled her fresh herbs to hang, then put away the ginger grown at Ferndale Hall, as well as several little treats Miss Yates had insisted she bring home. The lemon biscuits had been particularly excellent; Bernadette considered another one, but she’d had three earlier. She’d leave these for Louise, Brutus and Mrs Poole to enjoy, it was only fair.

Now, where was that list she’d nearly completed? A little more rummaging and she found it.

No time to waste, she skipped down the stairs, waving to Louise and Mr Jackson writing in the ledger behind the counter and headed to the Red Lion.

The landlord, Mr Haye, was delighted to see her and asked what she might need.

“I heard the new doctor has arrived. Which is his room?”

Mr Haye smiled broadly and said, “Aye, you’re right! Top of the stairs, last on the right.”

Just as she was about to take herself up the stairs she paused to quickly ask, “What’s his name?

“He goes by Williams,” Mr Haye said.

With that knowledge, Bernadette took to the stairs and arrived only slightly out of breath. What with rushing from house to house to help people, she was used to putting on the pace.

She knocked on the door and called out, “Doctor Williams? Are you there?”

There were footsteps, then the door opened a little. She had been hoping for a doctor younger than Rasley, but the face she saw appeared far too young to be a doctor at all. Perhaps this was the doctor’s son. He might have brought him along?

“Hello?” The man was a little over middle height with dark hair and eyes, and skin that appeared to have a tan far too early in the year. As if he’d lately returned from sunnier climes, like Portugal or Spain.

“I’m looking for Dr Williams,” she said. “I’m Bernadette Baxter from Baxter’s Fine Books, which is just next door.”

“I am Doctor Williams,” the man said.

“But you can’t be. You’re only four and twenty if you’re a day!”

“I can be, and I am. You’re right about my age, though. Good guess.” He opened the door a little wider and she could see past him into a comfortable room and a badly damaged open travelling cabinet with different sized drawers.

“Gosh, what a beautiful cabinet, but why is it so scuffed?”

He turned and looked back at it. Some sections were polished to a high gleam, but there were large chips of timber missing from the sides and two buckled belts held the whole cabinet together. “It got me through the war.”

“Can’t imagine you were in service very long?”

“Three years,” he replied with a slow blink of those dark eyes that seemed to see through her. Then he added, “Three very long years.”

Bernadette nodded and still couldn’t quite fathom how he could look so young. People who returned from war looked haggard and older than their years, in her experience! He must have signed up fresh out of the school room.

Still looking at that intriguing cabinet, she said, “We have a good number of skilled tradesmen in Hatfield, but they are busy with repairs after the ah…” she stopped herself. Dr Williams would know why. “Anyway, I brought a list of patients who I think you should see first.”

She handed it over with a flourish, walking just over the threshold of his room, but standing near the open doorway.

Dr Williams looked at her in a slightly puzzled way and shook. “That’s all very well, but I’m here under the auspices of Baron Ferndale, so I only take orders from him.”

Bernadette puffed herself up to her full height, which really wasn’t much, and said, “I’m Lord Ferndale’s granddaughter, he asked me to provide you with this list.”

Dr Williams tilted his head with suspicion. His voice was accusatory. “I understood he had only one grandson, who is currently in Ireland with his new bride.”

Bernadette beamed at that. “Correct. The bride is my sister, Estelle Baxter, and now Lord Ferndale insists we all call him ‘Grandfather’.”

His confidence dimmed, shoulders slumping slightly.

She inwardly cheered her success. “The list. See to it.”

“Now see here,” he said.

“No, you see to the list.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at him.

Really, this was a dreadful beginning! If the new doctor wasn’t going to listen to her, how would he ever learn what the people of Hatfield needed?