Page 9 of Doing No Harm (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances #5)

O live Grant learned of Mr. Bowden’s slow and painful walk from one end of the High Street to the other from one of her pensioners who often dropped by early to pay for his luncheon with fuel for the kitchen stove.

The man didn’t mention the small bundle the surgeon carried, but he was old, and his eyesight cloudy.

Olive wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door. She took the four steps in two steps and ran to the surgeon, who just stared at her with tears in his eyes and held out the bundle, beseeching her.

She gulped and took the baby, tucking it in her arm as though the child lived. She touched Mr. Bowden’s face, wincing when he winced. “I can send Mr. McCullough here for the constable,” she said.

“No need. Tavish will just say I struck him first, and I did.” He gave his side a gentle pat. “Don’t think my ribs broke, but I need to lie down.”

“Mr. Bowden, I have no patience with brawlers,” she told him, which made the surgeon smile.

“I haven’t heard such a tone since my own mother caught me smoking. ”

“That’s a bad habit,” she said, matching him for calm. “I trust you gave it up.”

“From that day on.”

A gesture summoned two diners, who put a hand on either side of Mr. Bowden and helped him into the tearoom. Olive considered the matter for a small moment and pointed to the stairs. “Across the hall from Tommy Tavish,” she said.

“I don’t mean to turn your home into a hospital ward,” Mr. Bowden said.

To Olive’s ears, at least he sounded apologetic. He also sounded deep in pain. She sat him down and unbuckled his shoes, then carefully swung his legs onto the mattress. The others left the Spartan little room, but Olive wanted an explanation. She didn’t have to wait long.

“I’m no brawler,” he began. “I’m not good at it.”

“That is patently obvious.”

He sighed, which made him wince. “I doubt Mrs. Tavish’s baby even drew a breath,” he said.

“Tiny little malnourished thing. I made some remark to Mrs. Cameron that she should have summoned me, and I got the tongue-lashing I deserved.” He sighed again.

“No physician or surgeon would have made a difference, even had they been able to afford one.”

“And that fired your anger,” Olive told him.

“Oh, aye. I wanted to pound Tavish into the soil.” Mr. Bowden managed a little laugh, which made him press his hand against his ribs.

“Alas, he was sober this time, and I couldn’t compete.

” Even the head shake that followed such a statement made him clench his teeth in pain.

“He even robbed me. Turned my pockets inside out, and what did I do but groan?”

“I will definitely summon the constable,” Olive said and turned toward the door.

He grasped her hand and raised up on one elbow, while sweat popped up on his forehead. “No, no. Don’t do that. I have a strong suspicion that Mr. Tavish has already left for greener pastures. Good riddance to him.” He lay down and crossed his hands on his chest, which made Olive laugh.

She stopped laughing when he told her what he had promised Mrs. Tavish.

“I’ll send two of my pensioners to dig a wee hole beside my flower garden,” she promised.

“I can find a small box. I even have a shawl that will make a good lining.” She thought of the Highlanders and one lady too proud to come in for food.

The woman could sew anything on short notice, and Olive could stretch out her project to include three meals a day for many days. “I know a seamstress for that lining.”

“Excellent. Is Tommy awake?”

Olive went to the door and stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of the little boy’s chest. “No, thank goodness.”

He motioned her back to the bed, and she looked down on a pair of single-colored eyes filled with masterful resolve. Just a glance at his eyes told her all she ever needed to know about Mr. Bowden’s determination. She doubted that any man he could even remotely save would dare die.

“I think I did a foolish thing,” he began.

“Even more foolish than thinking you could brawl with a man taller than you and maybe a bit younger?”

“It remains to be seen,” he said, then closed his eyes in sleep, falling back on that refuge from pain used by all of the Almighty’s creatures, from garden gopher to the king of England probably. She watched, her curiosity aroused, and then left unsatisfied as his breathing became regular.

The noon meal brought out more people than usual because Edgar was not a village prone to much excitement. When something out of the everyday happened, the event became a matter of prime importance. Twice she had to add more potatoes to the soup to make it stretch .

“Joe Tavish is gone!” the constable declared, over soup and oat bread. “We owe the good man upstairs on his bed of pain a rousing three cheers!”

The huzzahs resounded, shivering the very window glass. Olive bit her lip to keep from laughing, as she wondered if the sleeping surgeon had suddenly been jerked awake.

“What good thing can we do for the surgeon?” one of Olive’s regular dishwashers asked.

Perhaps let him sleep in peace , Olive thought and stifled her laughter with her apron. “I don’t think he’s staying in Edgar much beyond seeing Tommy on the mend,” Olive said. She was never one to gild any lilies, a silly expression, indeed.

“We could take him our ailments and appeal to his better nature,” a woman announced.

“And pay him with what?” a one-legged fisherman asked.

Silence. As everyone looked at her, Olive Grant wondered when she had become Edgar’s chief magistrate (ex officio, of course).

“I’ll have to think about this,” she told her friends, touched to her heart because they already relied on her for at least one good meal a day. She made an open-handed gesture. “I really will ponder the matter.”

Think she did, once she had sent round a note to the seamstress, along with her mother’s shawl and the box. She stood a long time at the window, wishing for summer. She felt old and tired, wondering what she could do to convince the surgeon to stay in Edgar. Nothing came to mind.

Douglas woke later with his rib cage aching and pounding like a drunkard’s head.

With no small effort, he pulled up his shirt and probed his own ribs, happy to feel no more give than usual.

He took a shallow breath, and then a deeper one, and then another until he reached the limit of his endurance.

He wouldn’t be running any races soon, but at least he could breathe well enough.

He hadn’t the courage to ask Miss Grant to tape his ribs. He had imposed enough.

He heard a whine and looked toward the door to see scrawny little Duke eyeing him, then retreating to Tommy’s room, then returning to cock his head and wag his tail.

“You’re obviously smarter than I am,” he told Duke. “Go tell Tommy I will be there in a moment.” When the dog immediately returned to the room across the hall, Douglas couldn’t help smiling.

He made a face when he sat up, but at least he didn’t cry out. The footboard of the bed was tall enough to lean on, so he made it to his feet, where he stood, blinking for a moment, trying to remember where he was.

The memory of the humiliating beating administered by Tommy’s father made him frown and then regret even the movement of his eyebrows.

He touched the eye that throbbed and understood why his vision was faulty.

Good thing I swallowed the anchor and left the Fleet , he thought.

I could never live this down in the officers’ wardroom .

Walking was easy enough, if he moved slowly. He leaned against the doorframe to Tommy’s room. “What’ll it be, lad?” he asked. “The pisspot? Some luncheon?”

Tommy gaped at him, his mouth open. “Sir, your eye!” he exclaimed. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Oh, no. I’m on my feet after some effort, and I shall remain upright. First things first.”

The matter of easing Tommy was quickly accomplished, with the boy alert enough now to manage the earthenware jug himself. By the time Tommy was tidy, Miss Grant came up the stairs with a tray holding two bowls and bread. She looked at both of them and pointed to the chair.

“Sit, Mr. Bowden,” she ordered.

He did as she commanded, knowing enough about women to be certain his life would run smoother if he obeyed. To his amusement, he noticed that Duke sat too.

She handed Douglas a bowl of lamb stew and a spoon, then dipped a slice of bread in it. She did the same for Tommy, after helping him into a sitting position. There was even a smaller bowl for Duke, the smart dog.

As she helped Tommy, Douglas watched his patient, pleased to see that his color had returned and his eyes were alert. More alert than mine , he thought, and wondered, What must you think of me, Miss Grant?

Miss Grant quickly proved herself kinder than he deserved. “Don’t berate yourself, sir. All day people have been stopping by to ask me to thank you for ridding Edgar of a bad egg.”

She colored and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I …”

Tommy proved to be brighter than all three of them. “Did my da give you the black eye?” he asked Douglas.

Douglas nodded. “We had a bit of a brangle. He won.”

“Me da is the bad egg?”

“Aye, laddie. I can’t deny it,” Olive said quietly.

Tommy frowned and returned his attention to Douglas. “Sir, you would only try such a thing if he made you very angry, think on.”

Just tell him , Douglas thought. Let’s get it over with . “He did make me angry. In the first place, I suspect he was the cause of your accident and not what your mother said.”

“Aye,” Tommy said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didna move fast enough for him, and he has this stick. Did he … did he do something to me mam?”

Suddenly there was no tough boy, but a child with tear-filled eyes .

“Not as such, Tommy, but I must tell you: your mother was confined last night and your little sister did not live.”