Page 45 of Doing No Harm (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances #5)
Dear Owen Brackett ,
Cross your fingers I have time to finish this letter before some crisis or another demands my attention .
I can’t believe it’s been six months since I wrote last. If I had suspected that a quiet country practice would be anything but, I might have taken Sir David Care-Less’s advice and accepted that assistant superintendency at Stonehouse when he offered it to me.
That’s a fib of vast proportions, because Edgar suits me right down to the ground .
Olive and I send our congratulations to you on the birth of your third child. Owen, you’ve been a busy surgeon, indeed. I hope your life in Kent continues to satisfy both you and Aggie. We’re a long way from the Royal Navy, eh?
It’s finally here: the yacht will be christened today.
Homer Bennett (I know you remember him) and his crew have taken longer than usual, but this pretty little ship was done with such care, since it has been the training vessel for new but willing Highland ship builders.
Almost without exception, they have proved to be apt pupils.
All anyone needs is a chance, and they have succeeded.
There is a fishing boat being built now in the other graving dock, and orders for two more.
I don’t doubt that once this yacht goes down the ways and sets sail, other orders will pour in .
We owe such a debt to Lord Crenshaw. Olive and I were so certain that nothing good had come of our efforts in that infamous audience hall that I wrote you about, and we are happy to be proved wrong.
Lord Crenshaw was in attendance and heard us.
He sent a letter to Homer and arrived in Edgar a week later to look at more detailed plans, visit the Telford Boat Works, chat with our Highland crew, and make an offer .
He had wanted Olive herself to christen the yacht.
After all, he insisted it be named Fiery Miss Grant, but she begged off.
With blushes a-plenty, she told him she felt too self-conscious about christening anything, not in her interesting condition.
On Olive’s suggestion, Lord Crenshaw chose Flora MacLeod instead. She is over the moon with joy .
Flora and her own crew have become quite the entrepreneurs.
Nancy Fillion (I know you remember the redoubtable Mrs. Fillion) has commissioned Flora to make Seven Seas Fancies to sell at the Drake.
Nancy has visited us several times this year.
She claims it is to make certain that I am treating my darling Olive well and drop off more shells, but she has her own pleasure in watching “her girls” make the fancies. The Dougalls are parenting Flora well .
On a less sanguine note, Patrick Sellar was acquitted of all charges involving the murder of Mary MacKay.
We were not surprised at the outcome. Money and titles have a way of talking so loud that no one can hear the truth.
He did have the grace to retire, but I hear that the Countess of Sutherland has advanced James Loch, a lowland Scot, who is as cruel as, if not more cruel than, his predecessor.
You’re a man of the world, same as I. You won’t be surprised to learn that Patrick Sellar is now a large landowner and runs sheep in the Countess of Sutherland’s domain .
The Highlands continue to suffer. More of its poor uprooted citizens are taking ship for Canada and the United States. Those nations will someday reap the benefits of Highland courage and strength, mark my words .
On to better subjects. In your last letter, you inquired about the outcome with Mrs. Aintree’s digitus annularis and digitus minimus mani.
I am pleased to report that she has nearly full use of both fingers.
I give the credit to looping sutures, rather than tight ones.
And credit must also go to her housekeeper (more of a confidante) Rhona Tavish, who exerted firm control and made Mrs. Aintree obey my instructions.
In her gentle way, my kind lady is nagging me to write a “wee paper” on hand surgery for the medical society. What do you advise?
Tommy Tavish walks with a slight limp, but since he is usually running, who notices? Only his surgeon .
Joe Tavish has just recently stopped apologizing for thrashing me.
He claims he has not drunk a drop (“nary a bare dram” as he puts it) since he beat me to a pulp.
I believe him. He is sober and Homer Bennett’s prize draughtsman.
And Joe is also to become a father again, so he told me only last week. All is well in the Tavish household .
Oh, and this: Lady Telford invited Olive and me to tea last week.
She weakens daily, and there is nothing I can do.
But you know the feeling all too well. At any rate, she showed us her latest will (I say latest, because she is a changeable old sort).
Currently, Olive and I are to be the recipients of her manor when she passes.
She wants us to live in it, of course, and we will appreciate the space, but she also wishes a portion of the house to become a hospital.
She is supplying sufficient funds for such alterations as will be required.
The rest of her fortune goes to Telford Boat Works .
I am a happy man, Owen. I have fewer nightmares, which is a relief. Olive just holds me close until they go away. Was ever a man more blessed than I? Yes, blessed. Olive has convinced me to go to church with her. There might be something to religion, after all .
Edgar is the best place to practice medicine.
There is always something (or someone) here to heal, or plaster, or set, or bleed.
I’m thinking about looking for another surgeon because Edgar is growing.
The shipyard flourishes, and it has been the means of increasing all other businesses in town.
We even have a solicitor of our own. Whether that proves to be a blessing or not, who knows?
At any rate, another surgeon would permit me to sleep in my bed for a whole night.
(Again, you know the feeling.) A two-man practice would come as a relief .
Must stop. Olive is standing in the doorway, looking down at a little puddle. It’s her time. I believe we’ll both miss the yacht christening. Let’s see if my delivery skills are good enough to take her mind off the pain, considering that her surgeon got her this way in the first place!
(Evening now) A boy! He is red-haired and heterochromatic like his mother, although eye color might change. My only contribution appears to be his plumbing. Olive is fine. Our best to you and Aggie .
Yrs with affection ,
Douglas Bowden—husband, father now, and Edgar’s surgeon