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Chapter 14
Amelia was acting odd, but Charles had no idea why.
When Dr. Mason entered Mrs. Halpert’s room, he had come alone, Nick likely having returned to his wife after their visit to Mrs. Fowler. Amelia had immediately retreated to the window when her brother entered the room, watching and listening from a distance.
But what caused her sudden need for distance was entirely a mystery. Charles had felt like they were making progress in their friendship, like she was beginning to confide in him, and they were holding more meaningful conversations. She would never love him—he was not fooling himself into imagining otherwise—but the more time they spent together, the more it felt like they were gaining depth in their relationship.
That she was maybe growing to appreciate him, just a little.
But now, judging by the way she hovered near the wall, pretending to look out the dark window though her ear was cocked in an obvious effort to hear every word her brother said, it was clear Charles had absolutely misread the situation. He suppressed a sigh.
He’d been so close to reaching for her in the corridor. He’d yearned to take her hand, but it was a good thing his insecurities had stopped him. She clearly would not have welcomed such a thing.
“Does that not go against everything you believe?” Amelia asked suddenly, proof that she was listening to Andrew explain the Cunning Woman’s advice.
“I’ve been instructed to bloodlet in cases such as these, so yes, a lowering diet is somewhat contrary to what I’ve been taught. Mrs. Fowler mentioned ginger tea, and I do think that is worth trying. But a lowering diet?” He glanced at his sleeping patient, softening his voice. “The diet seems irrelevant when she fails to keep anything in her stomach for long.”
Charles grimaced. “That is a valid point.” And quite a bleak one, at that.
“But what choice do I have?” Andrew asked, raking a hand through his bright copper hair. It had grown longer over recent weeks and flopped back over his forehead. “It is at least worth trying this woman’s advice.”
“What about bread?” Amelia’s voice, calm and quiet, reached them from the other side of the room. She crossed to be closer to the men but kept a good deal of space between herself and Charles.
Andrew frowned at his sister. “Lowering diets typically consist of fruits and vegetables. Things that are lighter in nature—”
“Bread can be light. I am only recalling the last time I was ill.” Her cheeks pinked, and she kept her gaze fastened on Mrs. Halpert, but her quiet voice reached the men well enough. “I couldn’t keep anything down, either. I know it wasn’t a baby causing me to feel that way, but as I was healing, the only things I could stomach were small pieces of bread.”
“We could try that,” Andrew said, shrugging. “At this point, I would try nearly anything.”
“Even bloodletting?” Charles asked. He had never been fond of the idea, and he’d been under the impression that Andrew felt the same way. But now he didn’t know what to think. The man was clearly desperate.
Andrew’s lips turned up in a tired smile. “No, everything except that. I’ve never known it to help a patient yet.”
“I will go down and speak to Cook about the diet changes,” Amelia said, clasping her hands lightly before her. “Ginger tea, you said?”
“Yes.” Andrew nodded. “And request the bread. It certainly cannot hurt. Thank you, Amelia.”
She dipped her head and left the room, her shoulders tight as she stiffly made her way out. If only Charles could discover what he’d done to make her uncomfortable, then he could possibly rectify the unease between them. He ran his mind over the events of the afternoon, but nothing jumped out at him.
“I have no idea what to do,” Andrew said, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve written to every man I can think of and they all gave me the same response.” His eyes widened as he ran another exasperated hand through his hair. At this rate, he was going to bald himself by the end of the night. “Mrs. Fowler, too, said the same things. None of it was helpful.”
“What did they all have to say?”
Andrew looked up, stricken. “That there isn’t anything left to do. I’ve exhausted my breadth of knowledge on the subject.”
Mrs. Halpert shifted on the bed, and Andrew closed his mouth, his attention stolen by the woman lying ill, though she remained asleep.
“And if she has the babe soon?” Charles asked, fearing the answer. George had charged him with ensuring Mrs. Halpert was not destitute, that she would not be left wanting after his death. The man had been on his deathbed and begged his landlord in a frenzied plea to watch over his wife. Of course, George hadn’t expected more of Charles than to simply ensure he would not evict Mrs. Halpert from the cottage, but Charles could not know that this woman was alone in the world without feeling more responsibility than what had been expected of him initially. She had no one else with her husband gone.
If she were to lose the baby now, too? Charles was unsure if he could cope with that prospect.
Andrew’s eyes were troubled. “We must hope she can regain some of her strength before it comes time for that.”
Charles nodded, understanding. Mrs. Halpert was probably not in a position to birth a baby in her state. He glanced at her rounded belly discernible even through the blankets.
“We ought to pray that the ginger tea or Amelia’s bread will cause some alteration in Mrs. Halpert’s situation,” Charles muttered.
Andrew clapped a hand on his friend’s back and gestured toward the door. “Indeed, we shall. Now, it’s getting late. Can I persuade you to stay for dinner?”
