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Nan glanced round. ‘Good evening, Doctor Andrew,’ she said coolly.
Ah, he was here at last.
Cornelia closed her eyes, sinking back upon her pillows. She heard the spit of the rain on the coals and Andrew’s quiet footsteps across the room.
Her heart thudded against her ribs …
CHAPTER THREE
‘Well, now,’ said Andrew’s quiet voice. ‘How do you feel?’
She turned her head slowly. His thin, tired face broke into one of his rare smiles.
Andrew Belgrave was just past thirty, the only son of a well-to-do butcher from East Cheap who had educated his son with the intention of putting him to the profession of the law. Andrew had gone up to Cambridge to study, but while he was there his mother, whom he had loved deeply, had died, and Andrew had determined to become a doctor of medicine, that he might help to save the lives of women, like his mother, who fell sick. His father had been disappointed. He was, Andrew had told her, eager to have a lawyer in the family, and did all he could to persuade his son to change his mind. When his persuasion failed, however, he had resigned himself, and generously kept Andrew during the long course of his studies.
A tall, stooped man, with gentle blue eyes, hair the colour of melted honey, Andrew carried around with him a sense of peace which transferred itself to those whom he met It was one of the things which made him much in demand as a doctor. He was not the sort of man who surrounds his profession with a mystery. He used common sense rather than astrology like other doctors, although, if he felt it might help, he was capable of drawing up a horoscope to calm a nervous, superstitious patient.
Cornelia had known him for most of her life, since his father had been as involved in city politics as her own.
Looking now at his weary mouth, the lines around his eyes, she forgot the shame and anxiety with which she had waited for him. The hot impulse which had been born when Rendel kissed her seemed a mere momentary delusion. She sighed in relief. Her love for Andrew remained unchanged.
She put out her hand, and he took it between both his own, his long fingers discreetly feeling for her pulse. Cornelia laughed. ‘Mother and Father are given to alarms, as you know, Andrew. I am perfectly well.’
He laid her hand down upon the quilt and smiled at her, his brow clearing. ‘Yes, I think you are. You have had a shock, though. You must get some sleep.’ He glanced at Nan, his blue eyes a little teasing. ‘I know Nan will have made you comfortable.’
Nan tossed her head without reply. Her hostility to all men extended even to him, although he had been unfailingly kind and gentle with her since she first met him.
‘Could you ease your patient’s pain in the end?’ Cornelia asked.
He looked at her in surprise, raising one eyebrow.
‘We were walking past earlier, when you were called out to a patient in pain,’ she explained, smiling.
‘Oh yes, poor Mistress Smeath. I did what I could for her. No physic can cure what ails her, I am afraid. Too many years of sleeping in a damp hovel, too little food and too little care—they are taking their toll now. I shall be surprised if she lives to see another spring.’
‘May I take her some food?’ Cornelia asked hesitantly.
Sometimes Andrew allowed her to visit his poor patients with such food and clothing as they lacked, but she knew how important he felt it to be that their pride should not be wounded, and she always asked him first.
He shook his head now, although he smiled at her. ‘I doubt she would mind, but her husband is another matter. He will not even allow me to help them.’
‘How does he pay you? The man looked destitute.’
‘He works as a scavenger. Whenever he finds something of any value he sells it to pay me.’ Andrew grimaced. ‘I once used to argue with him. It would make me happier, and be more sensible, if he kept the money to buy food for his wife, but he is a stubborn man. If I will not accept payment, he’ll not call me when she falls sick, and that I cannot have.’
‘It cannot be healthy for him to do such work, either,’ Cornelia said, shuddering. She hated to see the scavengers with their carts shovelling up the filthy refuse from the streets. They were merry, noisy men, and seemed quite happy at their task, but the odours and grime in which they lived could not be good for their health.
Andrew nodded. ‘So one would think. Yet, oddly, they seem to live as long as other men. It may be that they are protected in some way. I have often thought about it.’
Nan made a resentful, meaning noise, glaring at him, and’ he turned his head to smile at her. ‘Am I keeping her awake? I beg your pardon, Nan. I am a poor doctor, am I not? I must remember not to bring my problems to my patients.’
‘But I like to hear you talk of them,’ Cornelia said quickly.
She di
d not want Andrew to go. It was peaceful, sitting there, listening to him talking so earnestly, his tired face beginning to relax.
His blue eyes lit up. ‘Do you? I believe you do. It is a pity you were not a boy. You have all the makings of a good doctor. I meant to ask if you would visit Ellen Killigrew.’
