Page 3 of Bernadette’s Dashing Doctor (The Bookshop Belles #4)

CHAPTER 3

Escapades

B ernadette had actually been rather enjoying provoking the new doctor, who was far too stiff-necked for such a young man. Dr Williams was clearly trying to restrain his temper, and equally failing and deciding to leave before he said something regrettable.

Unfortunately, he stood in the doorway holding the door open while making a tight-lipped nod to politeness, and Crafty took her opportunity to escape. It was springtime, and Crafty had been in heat for the last two days, yowling and generally making a nuisance of herself.

And while Bernadette’s herbs might work on humans, she’d found nothing yet that could help with a cat.

Bernadette was just too slow to catch the cat as Crafty made her dash for freedom, and Dr Williams stood gaping like a fool as Bernadette almost fell flat on her face right at his feet.

And then, oh horrors! There was a squeal from a startled horse, a great clatter of hooves, then crashing and shouting just outside.

There was a veritable stampede to get out of the door as Louise, Bernadette, Mr Jackson and the doctor all rushed out at once, to be greeted by a dreadful scene. Crafty had apparently run right in front of a carriage coming along the street drawn by two horses; at least one of the horses had spooked and pulled the carriage across the street straight into the path of a rider coming in the other direction, who had then fallen off his horse.

Mr Jackson, former soldier that he was, jumped into action straight away, catching the now-loose horse. The driver of the carriage had his horses back under control, and Mr Thomas the ostler came hurrying out of the Red Lion to take their heads.

Dr Williams wasted no time running straight to the fallen rider, and Bernadette was right on his heels. The man was evidently injured, bright blood spilling onto the cobblestones from his head and one leg bent at a dreadful angle mid-shin.

“Easy there, don’t try to move,” Dr Williams said crisply, kneeling down right in the middle of the street. He dragged his coat off and rolled it up, shoving it under the injured man’s head. “I’m a doctor.”

Mrs Bell came out of her house just a couple of steps away, obviously summoned by the commotion, took one look and disappeared back inside. Bernadette knew the sensible midwife would return in moments with bandages, but moments could be too late, considering the amount of blood she could see flowing. She snatched off her apron, wadded it up and pressed firmly on the man’s head wound.

Dr Williams spared her a glance, then nodded. “Keep pressure on that,” he ordered. “Can you tell me your name, man?”

“Ned,” the man mumbled, blinking vaguely. “Ned Fellowes.”

“You’ve broken your leg, Ned, and your head is bleeding. Don’t try to move and we’ll take care of you.” Dr Williams looked down at Ned’s leg, pursing his lips. “I don’t like the look of this. Mr Jackson, we need a large board. An old door? We’ll have to move him.”

“He’s in no condition, surely…” Bernadette began, horrified.

“If I don’t perform surgery on this leg, and quickly, he’ll lose it. And this is no place for surgery.” Dr Williams flicked a quick glance around, at the crowd of bystanders who had gathered.

Ned cried out in horror, trying to move away from them.

“Hold him still,” Dr Williams said firmly, and willing hands came down to help.

Mrs Bell arrived, going to her knees by Bernadette. “Get him inside my house,” she suggested. “There’s a big flat table in the front room.”

“This is Mrs Bell, the midwife, Dr Williams,” Bernadette introduced hastily.

“Can you stitch?” Dr Williams didn’t look up.

“Yes,” Bernadette said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Miss Baxter.”

Well, that was just rude! She gaped at him, quite shocked.

“Miss Bernadette sews a much finer stitch than I do,” Mrs Bell said reprovingly.

Bernadette saw the doctor’s jaw clench, but he nodded without speaking. Mr Jackson re-appeared carrying an old door by himself, and Dr Williams directed how Ned should be moved onto the door and then carried inside Mrs Bell’s house.

Ned fainted while they moved him, which meant he wouldn’t try to fight them at least.

The poor man lay pale and still as the door was put atop Mrs Bell’s table.

“Now, everyone move away,” Dr Williams ordered, “except Mrs Bell, Miss Baxter, and you, if you’d stay, Jackson? Might need someone to hold Ned down if he comes around.”

Annoyed with him though she was, Bernadette couldn’t help but admire his calm, commanding air. He seemed utterly competent as well as confident in his abilities. She just hoped he really did know what he was doing. Ned’s leg looked ghastly.

“Can you get hot water, Mrs Bell?” Dr Williams was rolling up his shirt sleeves and opening the valise he’d been carrying, pulling out a rolled-up piece of leather. He opened it to reveal a number of surgical instruments.

“What are you going to do?” Bernadette asked, horrified at the sight of the blades and saws.

“The broken end of the bone is poking out of his leg, and may be splintered. I’ll shave off any shattered pieces and then realign and splint the whole thing, but likely I’ll have to make an incision in the leg muscle to get things back into place.” He paused, looked at her, and then came to Ned’s head. “Let’s have a quick look at this head wound.”

A warm hand came down on Bernadette’s, to where she’d been holding the wadded-up apron against poor Ned’s head the whole time, and she jumped slightly and let go. Dr Williams removed the apron and nodded.

“As I thought; that’s not too bad at all. A simple cut, but head wounds do bleed a lot. A suture or two would be best, after cleaning it with some alcohol. Can you handle that while I tend to the leg?”

His eyes were very dark, Bernadette noticed as he looked directly into hers, so dark a brown it was hard to see where the pupil ended and the iris began. He seemed incredibly calm, much more so than she felt after seeing the awful angle of Ned’s leg. She nodded.

“Have you done surgery like this before?” she asked as he took an already-threaded needle out of a case and handed it to her.

“More times than I care to count.” A rueful little smile crossed his face. “My father was a surgeon with the army. I went with him as his apprentice when I was twelve, was performing surgery myself by sixteen.”

“Oh! But… you are a doctor ?” Most doctors considered surgeons to be little more than butchers, Bernadette knew.

“Indeed. Quite by chance, one of my patients in Spain turned out to be… well, I shan’t name him, but someone extremely wealthy and influential. He was quite determined that I had saved his life, and equally determined to give me his patronage. Sponsored me to return to London and study medicine.”

Bernadette was right to assume he’d enlisted straight out of the school room, as he’d more or less confirmed that, but there was no more time to think about his qualifications or his experience as she set to cleaning the worst of Ned’s head wound and stitching the thin pieces of skin together. She made three stitches, not to show off, but to make sure they were evenly spaced and under the same amount of pressure.

Keeping her eyes on this small wound meant she would not be distracted by what was happening at the other end of poor Ned.

As predicted, he did come around, and Mr Jackson spoke to him in reassuring tones while holding him down. Mrs Bell came over with some whiskey for the pain, and Bernadette poured some onto a clean rag and wiped it over the stitched head wound.

When it was mercifully over, and Ned’s leg was patched and splinted tightly, Doctor Williams’ white shirt was covered in blood.

“We’ll need to get you some crutches,” he told Ned, “and don’t put any weight on the leg at all. Mrs Bell, is it all right if Ned remains here for the night so he doesn’t move? I’m just across at the Red Lion. I’ll make a quick change and will come back to clean the room.”

“I can watch him,” Mr Jackson volunteered, “my room is only upstairs.”

Light poured in through the windows and Bernadette thought this room would be perfect for the Doctor to see his patients. She’d ask Mrs Bell when they had a quiet moment.

“We have a pump in the courtyard behind the bookshop,” she said, taking in the hideous sight of the doctor’s clothes. “I can give you one of my father’s old shirts if you need one.”

He looked down at himself and made a face, obviously recognising what a sight he looked. “Much appreciated. I think perhaps I’d best not go back into the inn looking like this.”

“Cold water is excellent for getting rid of blood,” she added, trying very hard not to smile at just how cold the water might be from the pump.

Bernadette spotted the crowd gathering outside and quickly grabbed Mr Jackson’s coat to put on the doctor to cover the blood.

“What’s this for?”

“To cover you up so that they don’t faint,” Bernadette said, pointing to the window.

“Oh! Good thinking.” He shrugged himself into the dark coat, which mercifully covered all the blood on his shirt.

“Thank you, for your quick actions,” he addressed the crowd as they walked away from Mrs Bell’s.

As Bernadette thought, the bystanders walked away from the house and appeared to follow them. Good, that would leave Ned in some peace and quiet.

“Ned’s leg is badly broken, but his head injury isn’t serious, and he should be fine,” Dr Williams said, his voice calm and steady. He did have a very good manner with patients, Bernadette thought; a shame he had apparently decided to be obnoxious to her!

There were audible gasps of relief at that. People began to thank him even as he tried to walk away, but he held up his hands to stop them. “You will understand, I need to write this up in my medical record, and I should do that while the event is fresh in my head.”

With that, they both slipped into Baxter’s Fine Books and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Let’s clean you up. I’ll get soap to get the stains out,” Bernadette said as she walked him through to the courtyard. Louise sat up behind the counter and gave a nod, the understanding between them that Bernadette would fill her in on the details later. Or perhaps Shaun would, if he came back earlier.

Bernadette’s hands were none too clean either, and she must have left her apron behind at Mrs Bell’s. There were blood stains on the front of her dress.

She left Dr Williams to care for himself and hurried up to the kitchen, where she washed her hands. Then in her room she found a fresh dress and changed into that, with a little help from Rosie.

“I’ll clean this as good as new, Miss Bernadette,” Rosie declared as she bundled up the stained one.

“Thank you,” she said, then headed to her father’s room where she grabbed one of his shirts. A few moments later, she stepped into the courtyard, completely forgetting that a doctor washing bloodstains from a shirt he’d been wearing, would most likely remove that shirt to do so.

He stood there scrubbing at the fabric, naked from the waist up, quite taking her breath away.

She had seen shirtless men before. Countless numbers of them, far more than any unmarried woman would expect to, because she’d spent so much time treating them for various ailments and injuries, but somehow none of them had ever caused her eyes to almost pop out of her head in the way they were doing right now.

Dr Williams wasn’t a particularly tall man, only a little over average height, nor was he especially broad, but he did appear to be exceptionally fit and strong, his torso all lean, wiry muscle. His biceps bunched and flexed as he scrubbed at the bloodstained shirt, and Bernadette could not look away.

“Oh, thank you.” He saw her standing there and came to accept the shirt from her, apparently quite unconcerned about his state of undress.

“Uh, if you would like to leave your shirt, our maid Rosie is very good at getting out bloodstains. She can launder it and return it to you,” Bernadette gabbled, hastily averting her eyes as the doctor shrugged into the clean shirt, causing his chest muscles to move in ways that were exceptionally dangerous to her peace of mind.

This is just stupid. I don’t even like this man. Why can’t I stop staring at him?

Turning on her heel, she marched hastily away before he realised she was discomposed.

The next morning, Crafty cried at the front door to be let back in. Bernadette rolled her eyes at the thought the family mouser would be pregnant with another litter. Opening the door to the High Street, she cursed to herself as Crafty rubbed against her leg. “It’s just as well you’re a good mouser,” she grumbled under her breath.

There were no mouse entrails to clean this morning, as whatever Crafty had caught in the night - aside from a tomcat’s lustful gaze - remained somewhere out there.

Rosie arrived only moments later, her smiling face appearing as the door tinkled open.

Bernadette knew the maid’s cheeky expression could only mean one thing - exciting gossip awaited! They headed to the kitchen, where Bernadette could sort and pack herbs, while Rosie tackled the week’s washing.

Mrs Poole pretended to ignore their chatter, but when the subject veered onto Phoebe Baxter wanting to get on the hospital committee, she quickly joined in.

“Not happening,” Mrs Poole said very firmly. “She pushed her way on to the gardens committee and is giving us all megrims already, after only one meeting!”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Rosie said. “But she’s sending cakes and pork pies to everyone on the committee to sweeten them up.”

“I’ll wager she didn’t make them,” Mrs Poole said, “nor did her housekeeper. That must be why Mrs Langford was asking for the best place to get pork pies last week.”

“Alloms,” Rosie and Bernadette said at the same time.

Mrs Poole chuckled and said, “She can try all she likes, but there’s no way Miss Yates or I will let Phoebe Baxter on the hospital committee. I can’t imagine why she wants to be, that woman hasn’t the slightest hint of compassion.”

Bernadette was satisfied with the finality in that sentiment.

Rosie pulled out a man’s shirt from the dirty basket, some weakened bloodstains still showing on the white fabric. “I’m sure this has a story behind it!”

“Yesterday’s accident,” Bernadette said, feeling horribly guilty that their cat was the cause of it. Crafty had a particular enmity with horses.

“I heard Ned was recovering well at Mrs Bell’s,” Rosie said as she pushed the fabric into the cold water.

Rosie knew more than she! “I’m very glad to hear it. I should head over and check on Ned myself, and see if Mrs Bell needs anything.”

“This is Doctor Williams’s shirt, I take it?”

“Yes, he ah, cleaned himself up in the courtyard and I gave him one of Father’s shirts.” All the while her head was full of complaints about the town’s newest resident. The man has no manners at all. He is completely dismissive of the work I do. He may be a doctor, but he is certainly no gentleman. At least not to me… but still, she couldn’t keep from thinking about how calm and competent he’d been, or how cleverly he’d performed the surgery on Ned’s leg.

Louise called up from the bookshop below.

She headed down and saw Mr Allom himself waiting at the counter, with his arm secured tightly to his body. “Mr Allom, how are you faring today? It looks as if Dr Williams has been to see you?”

“Aye, he has. Set it to rights. Erm,” he looked a little embarrassed so Bernadette walked him over to a quiet spot in the bookshop. “Was celebrating my good fortune last night and now have a shocking head. Saw the doc having breakfast at the Red Lion and he told me to sleep it off. But there’s too much work to catch up on.”

“You’re not using your bad arm, are you?” She frowned sternly at him.

“The missus would skin me alive if I dared. But have you got anything for my head?”

“Wait here,” she said, suppressing a laugh as she turned to go back upstairs. She returned with a stoppered bottle and said, “Drink this when you get home. It’s disgusting and you may wish to be outdoors in case you can’t keep it down.”

“Much obliged,” he said as he put his hat back on. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew two pork pies wrapped in a square of linen as payment.

“Very much appreciated,” she said with a warm smile. They really were the best pies in Hatfield.

Mr Allom made his way out, and Bernadette went over to the counter to see what Louise was doing. “Do you need me to check the figures?” she asked, seeing the accounts ledger lying open in front of her sister.

“No, Shaun was just here.” Louise looked a little dreamy, and Bernadette smiled. It was quite lovely to see Louise in love! And Shaun Jackson was a good man who seemed to feel the same way about her; Bernadette just hoped he wouldn’t wait too long to propose and make Louise a happy woman.

The bell tinkled, and both sisters winced as their cousin Joshua marched into the shop, his wife Phoebe behind him, their youngest son Barnaby in her arms. Barnaby was really getting too old to be carried, but Phoebe spoiled him absolutely rotten. Bernadette’s eyes narrowed as she saw the telltale signs of jam around Barnaby’s mouth. She was quite sure Phoebe deliberately gave him sticky foods before bringing him into the bookshop and letting him loose to put sticky hands all over the books.

“Hello, dear boy!” She intercepted Barnaby as Phoebe put him down. “Dear me, what have you been eating, you’re all over sticky!” She sacrificed another clean apron to clean him up, already mentally making an apology to poor Rosie who would have to wash it, but better a dirty apron than sticky books.

Phoebe scowled, thwarted. Bernadette smiled at her, thinking happily of Mrs Poole’s insistence that Phoebe was not going to get her way about the hospital committee.

“And what are you looking so happy about?” Joshua snapped at her. “You girls should be in mourning!”

“If you are yet again going to claim that our father is dead without the slightest shred of evidence to prove it, you can turn yourself around and get out of our shop,” Louise said, not even making the slightest pretence at politeness.

Louise had always been the bold one, but being courted by Mr Jackson made her absolutely fearless. She no longer seemed to care a whit what Joshua said or did. Bernadette admired her for it.

“Well!” Joshua puffed up with outrage, his eyes glittering. “Mark my words, girl, you’ll regret it when word of your father’s death does arrive. Remind me again; when did you last receive a crate from him?”

Louise made no answer, just marched over to the door and opened it with a pointed glare. Joshua and Phoebe perforce had no real option but to collect Barnaby and leave again.

Once they were gone, Bernadette said in a small voice, “It was January. The beginning of January.”

Crates had arrived from their father on a fairly regular basis before that; every two weeks or so, though he had rarely included so much as a note inside, to their intense frustration. But now they were well into March, almost Easter, and Louise and Bernadette were beginning to fear that Joshua’s doom-laden predictions that their father would never come home might come true after all.

“Don’t!” Louise said quickly, but Bernadette could see the fear in her eyes too. “He’s coming home,” Louise added. “Soon. That’s why we haven’t heard; why there’s no more books. He’s travelling, and he’ll be home soon.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Bernadette said under her breath as Louise marched away and began unnecessarily rearranging the lending library shelf.

Well. Wherever their father was, there was work to be done here, and it wasn’t getting done while she stood about in the shop. She wanted to go over and visit Ned and check that he was showing no signs of fever or infection. She had some salve to go on his stitches.

Taking off her sticky apron, Bernadette made her way back upstairs again to fetch another clean apron and collect her basket.