Page 23 of Ghost of the Ton

“Before I fell ill, I was studying under the tutelage of…of Dr. McIver. Though, of course, I wasn’t able to—” Mia shook her head. “It matters not now.”

“I fancy it matters a great deal,” Eilidh said. “That’s the first time I’ve seen yer eyes light up. Which is a shame, as they’re such pretty eyes. Was Dr. McIver a friend of yer father’s? My son said ye were a doctor’s daughter. I’m an advocate for education in women—I was never granted that luxury myself, but when I was a lass, things were very different. Yer father is to be commended for furthering yer education.”

“Actually he didn’t—” Mia broke off again and sighed. Whatever her father had granted—or denied—her, she had no right to disrespect his memory now he was in his grave.

“I see,” Eilidh said. “Well, this Dr. McIver is to be commended.”

“I owe much to him,” Mia said. “He lent me the funds to pay for my passage here.”

Eilidh nodded, compassion in her eyes. “I’m sorry that ye were left destitute on account of my son. I’ll make arrangements for him to reimburse Dr. McIver. And ye’ll be wanting to write to him, let him know ye arrived safely. He’ll be concerned for yer welfare.”

Another tear splashed onto Mia’s hand and she nodded.

“Excellent!” Eilidh said brightly. “That’s settled.” She reached for her cup and let out a groan as she curled her hand into a fist.

“May I?” Mia said.

Eilidh nodded, and Mia took the older woman’s hand in hers and gently uncurled it. Then she ran her fingertips along the hand, pausing as she reached each swollen knuckle where the skin was reddened. Though the bones were sound, they seemed roughened in places, the texture resembling the bark of an oak tree. Eilidh’s eyes narrowed and Mia caught a low hiss of breath.

“Are you in much pain?” Mia said.

“Nothing more than I should expect at my age, lass.”

“Does your physician recommend any treatment?”

“Dr. Chisholm advised me not to take milk in my tea. When he used to visit, he did a little bloodletting where it pained me. I’m not fond of leeches, but my late husband thought highly of Dr. Chisholm.”

Sweet Lord! What barbarism was this? Doubtless this Dr. Chisholm charged a pretty packet for sticking a leech on his patient’s finger. Most likely, he understood that it did nothing to serve as a cure, but provided him with an income.

“Ye disapprove?”

Mia glanced up to see a stern expression in the older woman’s eyes. “Forgive me, Lady MacLennan,” she said, “but for ailments such as yours, Dr. McIver was never an advocate for leeches.”

“And this Dr. McIver is to be thought more highly of than Dr. Chisholm? Dr. Chisholm came all the way from Edinburgh.”

Doubtless he had—at Eilidh’s expense.

Mia released her hand. “I meant no offense, ma’am. And, if you’ll take no offense at my question, may I ask whether Dr. Chisholm’s treatments gave any relief from your pain?”

“A little.”

“Such as a slight loss of sensation where the leech had been placed, after which the pain returned once it was removed?”

Eilidh’s eyes widened. “How did ye know that?”

“Because I understand the effect a leech has on the body,” Mia said. “They’re beneficial in some cases, but with ailments such as yours, they only provide temporary relief. The loss of blood numbs the skin where the leech has been placed, but in most cases it does nothing to treat the underlying ailment.”

“Dr. Chisholm was very expensive. Is that not a sign of accomplishment?”

“It’s a sign of his ability to earn a good income,” Mia said. “My father adopted a similar practice, whereas Dr. McIver was willing to treat many of his patients for no fee at all, other than a small contribution to reflect what they could afford. Dr. McIver was such an advocate of the smallpox vaccine that he treated several of his patients without charge. Whereas my father…”

My father dismissed the vaccine as the work of a charlatan and died for his troubles.

Mia returned to her seat. “Forgive me, Lady MacLennan. I’ve no right to interfere when I’m nothing to you.”

The older woman took Mia’s hand. “Perhaps ’tis I who should beg forgiveness, lass. Ye’re not nothing to me—ye’re my daughter-in-law. Ye speak with such passion and conviction. It is only fair, then, that I listen. What would ye advise?”

“It doesn’t—”