Page 2 of The Gentleman Physician

Nathaniel decided to experiment with the idea in other cases of illness, to determine its veracity for himself. He came to his conclusion quickly.

A family who washed well, with sickness in their midst, did not pass the illness between themselves as often. Nathaniel and his patients enjoyed better health than his colleagues who did not take the time to wash.

“Something soothing. I imagine you have a headache, my lord?” Nathaniel asked. The baron nodded, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced by the paleness of his face. “Willow-bark, then, with copious amounts of honey.”

Lady Heatherton nodded and left the room, after washing her hands at the same basin the doctor had used. Her dedication to her husband was such that she would fetch the tea herself, rather than send for a maid. This meant Nathaniel could have a few private minutes with the baron.

“Doctor Hastings,” the man said at last, his voice hoarse. “I fear you will soon lose me as a patient.”

Nathaniel came forward and took a chair placed near the sick man’s couch. “It is possible. But the Lord might call me home in the next instant. One never knows for certain.” He reached out to check the man’s pulse, finding the artery in the neck. He observed the dilated pupils of Lord Heatherton, took note of the thinning hair and bags under the man’s eyes. “You are not sleeping well?”

“Not with this cough.” The baron sat back and closed his eyes. “I have made Virginia move across the house instead of in the adjoining chamber, so I do not disturb her at night. If she insists on tending to me all day, she must have her rest. She is exhausted, spending time with the children. She moves between the nursery and my sickroom so often it is a wonder she has not worn her tracks into the floors.”

Nathaniel’s shoulders tensed. “She is continuing to wash, as I advised?”

“Always. I make certain she never forgets, though I do not think it necessary. She would do anything to ensure the children remain healthy.” Another fit of coughing seized him and Nathaniel reached for the water glass again, insisting the man drink a few sips.

“Have you experienced any fever?” he asked, his heart heavy. Losing a patient always felt like losing a piece of himself. When a man as honorable and good as the baron succumbed, it was worse. For weeks, Nathaniel had sent letters to colleagues all across the country to try and find any new treatments for consumption, but nothing came that he had not already tried.

“It comes and goes,” the baron answered. “But it is all as you told us to expect. I think the worst of it is that Virginia is angry with me.”

“Angry with you?” Nathaniel shook his head, disbelieving the remark. “I have rarely seen a wife as devoted to caring for her husband.”

The baron winced. “I convinced her to come to Bath with a lie. I told her I would get better here, that it wasn’t consumption, but weak lungs. She wanted to stay in the country. But I knew if she was out there alone, far from people, she would not do well. My passing will already be difficult enough, but Virginia cannot be alone in that old pile of stone.”

“Has she friends?” Nathaniel asked. “Or will your family come to aid her?”

“My only family is my brother. He will be of little use.” The man shook his head dismissively. “And my wife’s family are ridiculous people. I cannot fathom how she could’ve come from those lines. But I know she has a cousin, a friend from her youth, who will help with the children.”

The door opened and Lady Heatherton entered, balancing a tray with a small teapot and a single cup upon it.

“I have the tea,” she announced, her cheer forced, as she went directly to her husband. “And I asked Mrs. Fairchild to see that the washing water be changed.” A maid came in with a new basin of water and fresh towels, efficiently replacing the old and disappearing out the door again.

“You see, Doctor?” The baron attempted a more pleasant expression. “My lady remembers all your recommendations.”

“What on earth would we want a doctor for if not to heed his advice?” She poured her husband’s tea and shared a smile with the doctor in question.

Nathaniel passed a few more minutes in their company, prescribing small doses of laudanum to help the baron sleep. The man protested, not wanting to deal with the effects of the drink, but his wife insisted they listen to the doctor, to allow her husband the rest his body desperately needed.

When Nathaniel took his leave, he swallowed his frustration with the case. Perhaps if the family had sought medical care earlier, something may have been done. There were cases, after all, of consumptive patients living for many years. But too often his patients, especially the wealthy, put off seeing a doctor. They would ignore symptoms as an ordinary ailment until they could no longer do so, denying for as long as possible what their bodies would succumb to. That had been the case with the baron.

He attended the remainder of his appointments with little trouble and fewer concerns for treatments. Winter brought chills and sore throats to many of Bath’s residents. Nathaniel left his patients with recommendations for better care in light of the weather.

As he walked home later that evening, Nathaniel’s mind returned to the baron’s case. The man would leave behind a wife and two children, materially cared for, but without someone who meant the world to them. Shaking his head, Nathaniel reminded himself there was nothing he could do.

Nathaniel entered his office, a set of rooms which served as his home and place of business, thinking on the disease. At times, being a doctor felt akin to being a fraud. How could he, a man of medicine, stand to watch a patient die? Why did he not know how to cure Lord Heatherton?

He recorded his observations in his journal, as always, and tried to tuck away the guilt that came with knowing he had done all in his power, and it was not enough.

He stood and went to the window, surveying the street below, and his body stilled. A carriage sat across the way, a young woman with dark hair sitting inside, peering out at Bath with wide eyes and a hopeful smile.

Nathaniel’s heart lurched inside his chest, beating an unsteady rhythm, before the girl in the carriage looked up and broke the spell. It was not her. Of course, it could not be her. The equipage moved down the street and out of sight.

After nearly five years, Nathaniel’s memory continued to disconcert him. He knew the chances of seeing the woman he had loved here, in Bath, were slim. He knew even if he did see her it would not be like the first time.

The first time, he glimpsed her in a carriage in London, studying all and sundry along the street with wonder. She had captured his attention from across the crowded lane, her pleasure genuine and her face absolutely breathtaking in its fresh beauty. He’d moved without thinking to lessen the distance between them, realizing at the last moment he intended to speak to her.

When he gave her the flower he’d tucked in his pocket, having found the lovely little bud on the ground minutes before, he was also giving Julia Devon his heart.