Because Mrs Bartrum and Captain Gosforth entered wholeheartedly into the fund-raising, Major Mancroft felt obliged to join in too, and a working committee was set up that also included Mrs Bartrum, Lady Mancroft, Anne and Dr Tremayne. They met in a room in Tuppen’s library on Marine Parade and thrashed out ways and means of raising money as quickly as possible. This included proposals for a concert at the Old Ship, a rout at Lady Mancroft’s home, and horse racing and sport on the fields to the west of the town, for which there would be an entrance fee that would go to the fund. Lord Mancroft, prompted by his wife, had promised to donate prizes for the winners. And capping it all would be a grand charity ball at the Castle. It was all looking very promising.
Anne was never alone with Justin, Aunt Bartrum saw to that. Not that Anne minded; in a way she was relieved because she would not have known what to say to him. Even seeing him sitting across the library table brought back that scene outside his house when he had kissed his sister-in-law. She had felt hurt, as a rejected lover might feel, but it had not entered her head at the time that it was anything more than a husband kissing his wife. Since she discovered the truth, the memory had continued to haunt her. Whenever she thought about it, she was overwhelmed with feelings of disgust and could not meet his eyes. Whatever had made her imagine she was in love? She had had a lucky escape.
But instead of feeling fortunate she was immersed in misery. Something wonderful, something that could have raised her to heights of ecstasy, something for which she longed with all her being, had been snatched from her before it had had time to develop. She felt old, older than her twenty-seven years, old as time itself, and weary beyond imagining. But that was inside. Outside she was bright and cheerful, full of plans, offering her services in whatever capacity they were needed and accompanying her aunt on social outings. She wore herself out so that when she finally fell into bed, she was too exhausted to stay awake. But even her dreams were haunted by the man who had won her heart and disdained it.
And to make matters worse, Mrs Tremayne seemed to be everywhere. Wherever Anne and Aunt Bartrum went, be it to someone’s soirée or for a stroll along the seafront, she was there. Sometimes she had only her maid for company and then there was nothing they could do but invite her to join them. Sometimes she was in the middle of a gaggle of noisy young people of both sexes, prominent among them a certain Captain Smollett, who looked vaguely familiar to Anne, though she could not place him. In no time at all the gossiping tongues were wagging over her. Why was she in Brighton? Where was her husband? What was he thinking of to allow his wife to stay at an hotel with only a maid for company?
Had she really come to support her brother-in-law in his efforts to open a hospital? She said that was the reason, but she had arrived before that project had been anything more than a dream and she was rarely in his company. That could have been because he was too busy, but the tattlemongers were adept at inventing stories if they could not get to the truth of the matter. Mrs Tremayne was becoming the talk of Brighton. As far as Justin was concerned, there had been gossip enough over that broken engagement three years before and he did not want it to resurface, especially here, where he had hoped none of it was known.
He wished with all his heart she would leave the town, but she showed no sign of granting his wish. ‘You must do something before she ruins your plans, old friend,’ Walter Gosforth told him one day when they met at the library where Justin had gone to consult a reference book. ‘No one will support a man who is surrounded by gossip and innuendo.’
Not wishing to meet her, Justin wrote to her, suggesting she should lose no time in returning to her husband who must surely be missing her, but that only served to bring her to his door. She swept in as she had done before, ignoring the waiting patients and the protests of Mrs Armistead. Sighing, he took off his stained apron, washed his hands and led her to his drawing room.
She had no sooner sat down than she was up again in a rustle of taffeta, waving his letter under his nose. ‘Justin, how could you be so insensible of my feelings as to write in such cold terms? Anyone would think I had come to Brighton expressly to upset you. How can you be so cruel? I am not your enemy.’ She stopped ranting and her voice took on a wheedling tone. ‘You loved me…’
‘More fool I.’
‘You cannot mean that. We were everything to each other once…’
‘Once.’
‘You are still everything to me, Justin. Living with Andrew is hell, but…’ She managed a sob. ‘I would try to be a good wife to him if only you would come home. If I knew I had your support, I could endure his cruelty…’
‘Cruelty, Sophie? Surely not.’
‘Oh, he is not violent, but he has a cruel tongue. I had to get away, just for a few days, just to see you, to remember what it was like before…’
Andrew could be sharp-tongued, as Justin very well knew, but he found it difficult to believe that amounted to cruelty. Even if it were true, there was little he could do about it. He had no intention of going home and being on the receiving end of his brother’s sharp riposte and his father’s disapproval of his way of life.
‘It is all in the past,’ he said. ‘You are married to Andrew and should be at home with him, not being escorted around Brighton by rakes like Captain Smollett.’
‘The remedy is in your hands, Justin. Escort me yourself. There is the day of the races and the Charity Ball at the Castle. If you escort me, then no one will say a thing against it. You are, after all, my brother-in-law and can stand in for Andrew.’
‘I may not go.’
‘Of course you will. Both events are meant to raise money to fund your hospital and you are duty-bound to put in an appearance.’ She paused, her eyes brimming with false tears. ‘Please, Justin, Captain Smollett cannot keep his hands to himself. I did not know he was like that, he was so charming at first. Now I am afraid. I need your protection.’
He knew Smollett’s reputation and she could well have bitten off more than she could chew and really he did need to silence the gossips. ‘If I escort you to the ball, will you go home afterwards?’
‘Very well.’ She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of handkerchief. ‘I am not insensible of my duty, though it will break my heart.’
He could see nothing for it but to agree and she flung her arms about his neck to kiss him. He was trying to disentangle himself when there was a knock at the door and Mrs Armistead put her head round it. ‘Doctor, I beg your pardon, but I must speak to you.’
Grateful for the interruption, he turned to smile at her. ‘What is it, Mrs Armistead?’
She looked from him to the lady and then back again. ‘My nephew is here, sir. He has come to fetch me. My sister has been taken very ill with a fever and she needs nursing and her husband and children need looking after. There is no one but me…’
‘Then of course you must go to her. Do not worry. I can manage.’
‘Thank you. There are three people in the waiting room. There’s Mrs Maskell, who looks as if she is about to drop her infant any minute, a man with a mangled arm, dripping blood everywhere…’ she paused to smile when she saw Mrs Tremayne give a visible shiver of revulsion ‘…and Mrs Smith has brought Tildy. She’s scratched the scar on her head because it itched and made it bleed again.’
‘I’ll see to them. Off you go.’
As soon as she had disappeared Justin turned back to Sophie. ‘I am afraid this changes everything. Without Mrs Armistead, I shall doubtless be too busy to attend social engagements…’
‘Surely you can find a replacement.’
‘At short notice, it will be next to impossible. Mrs Armistead was—is—an excellent nurse as well as a housekeeper and she was prepared to work for next to nothing. She will be hard to replace.’
‘One more good reason to put an end to this nonsense. You are not a dogsbody, you are a gentleman. But look at you, grubbing around in the dirt like a labourer, advertising your poverty as if you were proud of it. It quite makes me shudder.’
‘Then go away where you will not have to witness it.’ He held the door for her and reluctantly she preceded him down the corridor. He paused outside the door of the waiting room from which a low rumble of conversation could be heard and he knew his patients were becoming impatient. He smiled suddenly. ‘If you must stay, then you can make yourself useful. Take off that bonnet and pelisse and put on an apron. You can fill in the patients’ cards. Names and directions, age, symptoms. It is easy enough. And then you can show them in when I ring for them.’
She gave a little shriek of laughter. ‘Oh, Justin, as if I would stoop to such a thing.’
‘It is what I do.’
‘Not for much longer. I will lay whatever odds you choose that you will be persuaded to give up this strange life of yours.’
‘Never. I am a doctor and a doctor I will always be, certainly while I have the strength to do the work.’
‘So you say, but you have not accepted my wager.’
‘Very well, I accept. A large donation to the new hospital if I am still here six months from now. I am sure Andrew can afford that.’
She laughed, sure of herself, and stretched to kiss his cheek, before letting herself out of the street door, leaving him to cope with his patients alone.
Having stayed out late at a whist party the night before, Anne and her aunt were sitting in the morning room over a late breakfast bemoaning the fact that neither had won. ‘I had the most useless hands all evening long,’ Aunt Bartrum said, buttering toast. ‘Hardly a trump in them and then only low ones. The Major seemed to have them all.’
‘Well, you know what they say, Aunt, unlucky at cards, lucky in love.’
‘Well, I was that, of course. Dear Bartrum was a man in a million.’
‘I was not referring to the past, but the future. Have you had no offers?’
‘Anne, you are being perverse. I do not expect, nor even wish, to remarry. We came to Brighton on your account, not mine.’
‘Ah, but if someone should capture your heart, you would not gainsay it, would you?’
‘Stuff!’ But her cheeks had gone quite pink and Anne smiled; her aunt was not as immune as she liked to pretend.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door and the maid came to tell them there was ‘a person’ at the door, asking for Miss Hemingford.
‘What do you mean, “person”, Betty? Did she not give her name?’
‘She said it was Smith, Miss Hemingford.’
‘Oh, not that fish woman,’ Mrs Bartrum said, shuddering at the memory of that claustrophobic tent and the smell of the so-called monster. ‘Anne, I do not think you should encourage her…’
‘But I must see her, Aunt. I do not think she would call if it were not important. Perhaps she has a message from Dr Tremayne about the fund-raising. Or perhaps Tildy has had a relapse and I can help in some way.’ The thought of anything happening to that lively child distressed her more than she could say. She turned to the maid, still waiting by the door. ‘Show her into the downstairs parlour, Betty. I will be there directly.’
The girl disappeared and Anne hurriedly finished her breakfast and went to greet her visitor. ‘Mrs Smith, I hope nothing is wrong. It isn’t Tildy, is it?’
‘No, no, Miss, Tildy’s fine. It’s Mrs Armistead. She’s had to go to her sister who’s been took bad and her with seven little ones. The poor doctor is all alone and the waiting room’s that full, he don’t rightly know which way to turn. I tried to ’elp, but he needs someone who can read ’n’ write and ’sides, my family hatta come first. Mr Smith and the children need reg’lar meals and if I was to neglect me job…’
‘I understand. Did Dr Tremayne send you to me?’
‘No, but I reckoned you’d know how to find him some ’elp.’
If she was disappointed that the doctor had not thought of her himself, she quickly stifled it. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Thank you for telling me.’
Mrs Smith, her duty done, departed, leaving Anne with a problem. Could she do anything to help the doctor and would he welcome the interference if she did? But if Mrs Smith told him of her visit and she did nothing, what would he think of her?
She turned as Mrs Bartrum entered the room. ‘Well, what did she want?’
‘Nothing for herself, she was concerned for Dr Tremayne. Mrs Armistead has had to take leave and he is without help and inundated with patients.’
‘What did she suppose you could do about it?’
‘Go to the agency and hire help for him, I suppose.’
‘Surely he could do that himself. After all, he knows what his requirements are.’
‘I think he is too busy.’
‘Anne, I do hope you are not going to become involved with any more of the doctor’s problems. There is enough gossip about him already. You do not want to be tarred with the same brush.’
‘Aunt Bartrum,’ she said firmly. ‘He is not the subject of gossip, his sister-in-law is and he cannot help that. And I am part of the fund-raising committee, part of the whole project—I must help where I can.’
‘It will all end in tears.’
There had been tears in plenty already, but she was not going to admit that. Besides, they had all been shed now and she had dried her eyes and resolved to be sensible. ‘No, Aunt. I had a silly moment, but it has passed now. I am thinking only of the doctor’s patients.’
Her aunt sighed. ‘You will do as you please, I know, you always have. Shall I come with you?’
‘No, dearest, there is no need and I recollect you were going to visit Lady Mancroft this morning to help her with the arrangements for her rout. You may offer my excuses. I may join you later.’
The agency could find her no one suitable at such short notice. There was a young girl, a housemaid who had been part of a large household, but Anne knew she would not be suitable. The need, she explained, was for someone who could manage ill and injured people, some of them dirty and some possibly deranged or violent. ‘We do not deal with that kind of person at all,’ the woman who ran the agency told her in a voice that left Anne in no doubt such requests were far beneath her. ‘Try the infirmary, they might know of some poor woman glad to earn a few coppers.’
Anne thanked her and left, starting towards the infirmary and then changing her mind when she remembered Mrs Smith saying people came out of there worse than when they went in. And this had been borne out by Dr Tremayne. ‘They know nothing of cleanliness,’ she recalled him saying at the meeting round the library table. ‘They perform operations and treat wounds with the same unwashed hands they use to prepare food or empty slops. Dirt is the biggest killer of all. That is why I want this hospital, so that we can lead by example.’
She could picture him, sleeves rolled up, dark hair awry, surrounded by patients, all clamouring to be seen, and it filled her with an urge to be there, to share his burden. She tried to remind herself that she was disgusted with him for kissing his sister-in-law in that intimate manner, but the image of him at work, as she had seen him work on Tildy, quite dispelled that. She set her feet firmly in the direction of his house.
Her imagination, if anything, had underestimated the pandemonium there. The waiting room was bursting and there was a long line of people patiently waiting at the door. She pushed her way in, amid angry protests that she should take her turn and being a nob didn’t give her the right to be seen first.
Justin, hearing the commotion from the adjoining room, went to calm everyone down. His heart gave a lurch when he saw the cause of it, but then he steadied himself and smiled at her. ‘As you see, Miss Hemingford, I am not in a position to receive visitors.’
‘I am not a visitor. I am here to help.’
‘You?’ He only just managed to stop himself from laughing.
‘Yes. Why not? I promised to find you an assistant and here I am. Tell me what to do.’
‘You cannot mean that.’
‘Indeed I do.’
‘You must be mad.’
‘No madder than you.’
They stood three feet apart and glared at each other, until he gave a grunt that could have been a laugh, and said. ‘Have it your own way. I haven’t time to argue. See if you can organise these people. I need to look at the most urgent cases first. And I need records kept.’ He nodded towards a chest of drawers. ‘You’ll find cards in there.’ And with that he returned to the patient on the couch, leaving her to try and carry out his instructions.
She peeled off her lace gloves and stuffed them in her pocket before removing her coat and bonnet. She hung them on a hook behind the door where she found Mrs Armistead’s discarded apron. It was much too big, but she wrapped it round herself, tying it tightly into her waist and turned to the queue. ‘Now, let’s see if we can have some order, shall we?’
Justin heard the commotion die down and then the soft murmur of her voice as she spoke to each patient in turn. He did not believe for a moment that she would last out an hour, let alone a day, but at least she was willing, more willing than Sophie had been. He had asked for her help only to goad her, knowing how appalled she would be. Miss Hemingford was not appalled, apparently not afraid, but she had not experienced the worst of it yet. She could have no idea what the work entailed and, for someone who had obviously never done a hand’s turn in her life, it would come hard. He didn’t know whether to be angry that she had the effrontery to think she could make a difference or bemused by her naïveté.
But it was wonderful to have her so near. He had only to call out and she would be there, her bright eyes meeting his, her smile setting his heart thudding. But he would not call her. It was a kind of test, a test of himself to see if he could work efficiently with her so close and a test of her to see if she had the stamina for it. If she lasted a couple of hours, he would relieve her, tell her she had proved her worth and send her home to her tea parties and fundraising. He was very grateful to her for that. But as for acting as his assistant… She was mad and so was he to allow it.
He finished examining the patient on the couch, told him to rest at home and gave him a bottle of restorative, though nothing he could think of would restore the man’s damaged heart. Then he picked up the bell and rang for his next patient.
He looked up as the door opened and Anne ushered in a woman carrying a baby who was so thin and weak, she wondered that the child was still drawing breath. She was filled with compassion and aware of her own inadequacy. ‘Mrs Bristow, Doctor.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘You seem to have quietened them down.’
‘Yes. I told them they would not be seen any quicker by making a fuss.’ She paused as the mother sat down and began pulling the ragged shawl from her infant, who was too weak even to cry. ‘Some of them admit they are not ill. They say you give them money to buy food for their children…’
‘Food is the medicine they most need, Miss Hemingford. You will find a tin containing coins in the top drawer of the chest. Sixpence each usually suffices.’
She retreated, found the money and halved the queue in a matter of a few minutes, though some who had come only for the money undoubtedly needed medical attention as well and she told them to come back later when the doctor was less busy. There was one man who had cut the top of his thumb off at his work who needed immediate attention. She found bandages in a drawer and bound the stump as best she could before sending him in next. Others she felt were malingering, but she was not sure enough to send them away. Only the doctor could do that.
She worked steadily all morning, filling in cards, showing in patients, smiling cheerfully though some of the sights she saw appalled her. It was the tiny children who concerned her most. She was almost reduced to tears by the condition of some of them: thin as rakes, poorly clad, listless, without any of the bubbling energy of her nephew. In spite of the sores and the dirt, she took some of them in her arms and tried to comfort them before handing them back to the adults who had brought them in.
And then suddenly the last patient had gone and the waiting room was empty. She sank into a chair utterly exhausted, kicking off her shoes.
Justin found her with her head nodding on her chest, and smiled. Some of her lustrous hair had escaped from its pins and was curling about her soft cheeks, there was a spot of blood on her forehead where she had wiped it with a bloodstained hand, and more blood and grime on the overlarge apron she wore. She had worked like a Trojan and lightened his load considerably, but he could not allow her to continue. She had seen and done things today that no gently nurtured young lady should ever have to see and do and he had been a cur to subject her to it.
It was all because of Sophie, because of her reaction to his suggestion she should work. He had not meant it, knew she would not agree, but his annoyance with her had somehow transferred itself to Miss Hemingford and she had been the one to be punished. But, oh, how magnificently she had coped! If it were possible to love her more, he did at that moment.
‘You poor dear,’ he said softly.
‘Oh.’ Startled, she sat up to find him looking down at her, smiling a little. ‘I am sorry…’ She struggled to her feet, only to find one leg had gone dead, making her stumble. He reached out to catch her and the next minute she was being held in his arms.
She did not move, did not want to move. His arms were warm and comforting and she could hear his heartbeat against her ear, beating a little fast as hers was. Slowly she looked up into his face. He was gazing at her with an expression she could not fathom. There was a glimmer of hope there, along with sorrow, as if one were cancelling out the other. His dark eyes were no longer cold and empty, but soft pools that mirrored emotion so deep she felt herself drowning in it.
‘What is there to be sorry for?’ His voice was softly sensuous.
‘For falling asleep at my post.’ She gave a crooked smile. He had not released her; their two bodies were still entwined, so close they might almost have been one entity. ‘That’s punishable by a flogging in the service, is it not?’
‘You think I should flog you?’
She laughed softly. ‘Do you think I deserve it?’
‘You deserve a medal.’
‘Fustian!’
‘I mean it. You have worked wonders, done more than I could ever have expected of you.’ He held her at arm’s length and looked down at her, smiling. ‘A nurse in the making, but I cannot send you home looking like that.’
‘I don’t intend to go home yet. There might be more patients later…’
‘Perhaps, but you have done enough. You are exhausted. I will show you where you can wash and do something with your hair.’ He put out a hand to touch it, making the last of the pins fall out. It cascaded round her shoulders in a shining curtain of chestnut. ‘Oh, dear, I seem to have released it all.’
‘It was beyond repair anyway.’ She flung her head back, making her heavy tresses swing about her face.
He was entranced and put his hand behind her neck to lift it, looking into her face. Her amber eyes were shining and her cheeks were glowing a warm pink, but it was her lips that were the centre of his gaze; slightly apart, they were rosy and inviting. Did she know what she was doing to him? Was she being deliberately provocative? Or was she simply an innocent, unaware of the havoc she was creating in his breast? With a low moan he lowered his face to hers, touching his lips to hers with gentle tenderness. It was all he intended, if it could be said he had any prior thought at all. He certainly took no time to consider how she might react.
If she was startled, it did not last. It seemed such a natural thing for him to do. She made no protest, did not draw away, and when the kiss deepened and his mouth crushed hers and forced her lips apart she experienced sensations that were entirely new and delightful; instead of pulling away in horror, she actively clung to him, wanting more.
They drew apart at last and stood looking at each other, as if weighing up what they had done to their fragile relationship. It could never be the same again and both knew it. How could they work together on the fund-raising committee, he the recipient of charity and she the benefactor, when there was that kiss drawing them close and at the same time forcing them apart? She was sure the effects of it were emblazoned on her face for all to see. And then she remembered another kiss, one he had given to his sister-in-law, one that had disgusted her. And now she was disgusted with herself.
‘I must go,’ she said, reaching for her pelisse and bonnet, quite forgetting she had offered to continue working.
‘Not like that. You must tidy yourself first.’
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Or I will have the whole place talking, you mean.’
‘They already gossip about me and I care little for that, but you must think of your own reputation. It is easy to misconstrue appearances.’
‘Oh.’ Did he mean when he kissed Mrs Tremayne? But he had no idea she had seen that, so he probably meant nothing. But had she misunderstood it? Had it been no more than an innocent show of affection? Oh, how she would have liked to believe that!
‘Come,’ he said, offering her his hand. ‘I will show you where you can see to your toilette and afterwards I will fetch a cab to take you home.’
Because there was nowhere else, he took her up to his bedroom. It was surprisingly tidy, but then he was a naval man and she supposed sailors had to learn to be tidy in the crowded confines of a ship. He fetched a kettle of hot water that had been left to simmer on the hob in the kitchen, poured it into a bowl and found her a towel; then he left her.
He went down to the office to complete his notes. But today his attention wandered to the young lady who was even now stripping off and washing in his bedroom. He imagined her every move, the removing of her garments one by one, the soft flesh slowly revealed, a little at a time, and ached with the need of her. Something had passed between them that first day when she had brought Tildy to him, something immeasurable, something eternal. Had she felt it too? But why would she look at a doctor with no pretensions to do anything but serve those who needed his skills and could not afford to pay for them? He could tell her otherwise, but he had too much pride to do that. He had been a fool and he must never let it happen again.
He was still sitting disconsolately at his desk, his pen idle in his hand, when she returned. Unable to restore her coiffure, she had brushed her hair and tied it back with one of his cravats. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said.
‘No, I do not mind. It is more becoming where it is than round my neck.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused, tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Will you not let me help again?’
‘No. I am grateful for your assistance, but you have done more than enough. Your aunt will think I have kidnapped you.’
For the first time Anne thought of Aunt Bartrum. She would indeed be worrying what had become of her. What she would tell the dear soul, she had no idea. ‘Then if you would be kind enough to fetch a cab for me, I will go.’
‘Certainly.’ He rose, came round the desk towards her, then carefully skirted round her to reach the door. It was almost laughable, but she was not laughing. She wanted to cry. They had been so close, but now they were as distant as ever, just as if nothing had happened. Going into the waiting room, she retrieved her coat and slipped her arms into it in a kind of stupor. She stood dry-eyed and aching, though whether that was caused by disappointment, a feeling of being unfulfilled, or sheer physical tiredness she did not know. She had come to no conclusion when she heard voices and footsteps. Thinking it was Justin returning with the cabdriver, she turned towards the door, a bright smile fixed on her face.
‘Look who has been sent by your aunt to fetch you,’ he said.
She looked past him to see a tall gangly man with pale gold hair and clear blue eyes standing in the doorway. It was a moment or two before she recognised him and then her face broke into a genuine smile. ‘Doctor Harrison!’
He bowed. ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient.’
‘I beg your pardon. I should have said Professor Harrison. May I present Dr Tremayne.’ She turned to Justin. ‘This is Professor Harrison.’ To which they responded by laughing aloud.
‘We are acquainted,’ Justin told her. ‘George and I were at medical school together.’
‘Oh, what a coincidence. I wrote to the Professor because I thought he might advise me on how to find you an assistant…’
‘And when I read the name of your protégé,’ he told her, ‘I simply had to come and see for myself what he was up to.’
‘Having a well-earned break, though it will not last,’ Justin put in drily. ‘I have lost my usual nurse and Miss Hemingford has been standing in for her.’
Professor Harrison smiled. ‘Yes, Mrs Bartrum guessed as much. I went there first, of course, expecting to see Miss Hemingford. The good lady explained what had happened.’ He turned to Anne. ‘She told me she was concerned that you would do something foolish.’
Unable to prevent herself, she looked across at Justin and found him looking back at her with a half-amused, half-wry expression on his face. She felt the warmth flood into her cheeks and quickly turned away. She had certainly done something foolish, though she did not think that was what her aunt had meant. Before she could think of a suitable reply, Justin answered for her.
‘She has certainly done that,’ he said, his face a mask of gravity. ‘She insisted on working here all morning and has exhausted herself. I was about to find a cab to send her home when you arrived.’
‘I came in Mrs Bartrum’s carriage,’ George put in. ‘Her driver is with it, so if you would like to take it, Miss Hemingford, I will stay here and talk to my old friend. Perhaps I may call on you later?’
‘We are expected at Lady Mancroft’s rout,’ she said. ‘It is in aid of the fund…’ She paused, wondering if the Professor would be welcome in her ladyship’s drawing room, but then she told herself he was a step above an ordinary physician and, as Dr Tremayne was expected, she could not see there would be any objection. ‘Why not come too? You could come as our guest.’
‘I shall be honoured.’ He gave her another polite bow.
She extended her hand, which he took and held an inch or two from his lips before releasing it. Justin, when he was offered the same courtesy, actually kissed the back of her hand. His lips were warm and dry and sent shivers up her arm and down through her whole body, churning her stomach all over again, making her feel wanton. But she was not a wanton; she was a respectable spinster. She snatched her hand away. ‘Good day, gentlemen. I hope your discussion is fruitful.’ She pulled on her gloves, retrieved her reticule, now without the few coins it had contained when she arrived—she had put it all in the waiting-room cash box—and allowed the Professor to escort her from the house to the carriage, which he had left at the end of the street.
‘When I wrote, it was advice I needed,’ she told him. ‘I did not expect you to drop everything and come in person.’
‘I know, but by coincidence I found myself with time to spare and was thinking of taking a holiday when your letter arrived. Curiosity overcame me. I simply had to come and see what was going on.’
‘Nothing is going on. You can see the doctor is completely dedicated to his work and all I want to do is help him.’
He made no comment to what had seemed a defensive remark and opened the door of the carriage to hand her in. ‘I shall enjoy mulling it over with him. Please offer my respects to your aunt. We will meet again this evening.’
He stood back to watch as Daniels flicked the reins and the carriage carried her away, then he returned to his friend, who conducted him to the drawing room and poured wine for them both.
‘A remarkable woman,’ George said, taking a glass and folding his long form into one of the battered armchairs.
‘Indeed she is.’
‘How did you meet her?’
Justin explained about Tildy and the curricle. ‘From then on, things just happened,’ he said. ‘She seemed to want to take over my life.’ He paused and laughed. ‘In my own best interests, of course.’
‘That sounds like the Miss Hemingford I know. She once involved me in a scheme to bring together her noddycock of a brother and her second cousin, a sweet little thing but without Miss Hemingford’s strength of character.’
‘No doubt she succeeded.’
‘Oh, yes. I was obliged to explain to Miss Jane’s father that the two young ladies needed a recuperative holiday and she arranged for her brother to escort them. Very neat.’
‘And the outcome?’
‘Why, a marriage, of course. The brother and cousin married and since then he has inherited.’
‘Inherited what?’
‘Why, the title and the estate. Did you not know the old man was dead?’
‘What old man?’
‘The Earl of Bostock. Do you mean to say you did not know Hemingford is the Bostock family name?’
Justin was taken aback. Why had he not rumbled it? Bostock was one of the oldest earldoms in the country and the estate was vast. He had guessed she was high in the instep, but it had never entered his head who she really was, a member of one of the richest families in the kingdom. And he had had the temerity to kiss her and make her work in gore and filth! His guts curled in embarrassment at the thought of it. ‘I do not live in society, turned my back on it, so to speak, and it slipped my memory.’
George laughed. ‘And now she has a new crusade. What is she planning for you, my friend?’
‘A new hospital.’
‘Then you will almost certainly have it. Once Miss Anne Hemingford goes on the march, there is no stopping her.’
‘So I have discovered, but as it is meant to help me in my work, I have no objection.’
‘Just what is this work? I assume this will be no ordinary hospital.’
‘No, it won’t.’ He paused as his stomach rumbled. ‘But I’m gut-foundered. I’ve had nothing to eat since a hasty breakfast. If you do not mind, I’ll tell you about it over a meal. My housekeeper has had to go and visit a sick sister, so we had better go out and sample the fare at a local hostelry.’
‘Better still, we will stroll back to my hotel. The food there is excellent and you can tell me everything while we walk. I do not suppose you have a carriage.’
Justin laughed. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He looked at his friend’s fashionable frockcoat, brocade waistcoat and intricately tied cravat and smiled wryly. George had come up in the world and left him behind. ‘I need to change my clothes, if you will excuse me.’
He collected a jug of water from the kitchen and rushed up to his bedroom. The water he had poured for Anne was still there, gone cold now, and the towel she had used was draped over the end of the bedstead to dry, still smelling faintly of her perfume. He had had old Bostock’s granddaughter in his bedroom; they had been together without a sniff of a chaperon. His face burned at the memory of his erotic fantasy.
For the first time since leaving home, he half regretted turning his back on his family, which would have made him acceptable in society’s eyes. But, no, he had made his decision to take the road he had and there was no going back. Pulling himself together, he poured the water out of the bowl and replaced it with fresh, then washed and searched in his chest for something suitable to wear, something that would take him to Lady Mancroft’s rout after their meal.
The clothes he worked in were too shabby and his dress uniform too grand for the occasion, but under both he found a dark blue superfine tailcoat he had bought when he first returned home from the war. Although it was two years out of date, it was hardly worn and there were pale blue pantaloons and a blue-and-white-striped waistcoat in some shiny material. He found a shirt and a newly starched cravat, for which he murmured thanks to the absent Mrs Armistead, and quickly dressed. A brush through his hair and he was ready.
‘Oh, I see you are civilised,’ George commented on seeing him.
He grinned. ‘When occasion demands it.’
‘Not very often by the look of that coat.’ It was said with an indulgent smile. ‘When did you buy it?’
‘Eighteen-twelve, I think, or it might have been thirteen. There’s nothing wrong with it, is there?’
‘Nothing at all, my friend,’ he said, watching Justin attach a note to his door telling prospective patients that the consulting rooms would be open at eight the following morning and where he could be contacted in case of an emergency. ‘Will they dare come knocking on Lady Mancroft’s door, do you think?’
‘Not unless the emergency is dire. They are usually considerate.’ He picked up his hat. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Now,’ George said as they walked among the promenaders on the sea front. ‘Tell me how you came to be scraping a living in a slum in Brighton.’
It was a long story and Justin did not feel inclined to reveal the whole of it, but he did go into more detail when it came to his mission among the poor people of the town and his theories about cleanliness. By the time they entered the portals of the best hotel in town his friend had all the salient facts with none of the emotional turmoil that still assailed him. ‘I believe there are virulent organisms at work for which soap alone is not enough,’ he concluded. ‘And that has led to a study of why some diseases affect the poor more than the rich, how much of it is hereditary and how much a result of the conditions under which people live.’
‘All very commendable,’ George said, as they made their way to the dining room.. ‘I have been working on something similar myself, doing tests in the laboratory, involving my pupils, though the evidence is circumstantial and we have yet to find proof.’
‘I do not intend to wait around for the old fogies to come round to my way of thinking. I mean to show I am right in the real world, the one of poverty, disease and sickness. Rates of recovery from wounds and surgery will be proof enough for me.’
They paused in their discussion to order a capon, pork chops and vegetables, and then continued tossing ideas about the hospital back and forth while they ate until George was as enthusiastic as he was. ‘Have you found premises or do you mean to build?’ he asked.
‘I have been given notice to quit my present premises and have no time to build. Besides, it will be far too dear. I am looking for a large house to convert, one that will also give me and my staff a home. The problem is that places like that are being converted into boarding houses, which is a far more lucrative proposition for the owners.’
‘Considering that the Regent has made Brighton the place to be seen after the London Season, I am hardly surprised. I wonder at you choosing it.’
‘It chose me. You may see only the glitter of the beau monde, but behind that there is a community of fisher folk and artisans being pushed out of their traditional way of life.’
‘And you have made them your own?’
‘It happened.’
‘Why? How?’
Justin paused, wondering how to tell him without divulging all the hurt and misery that had preceded it. In the end he gave George the same explanation he had given Walter Gosforth, that the lady he had hoped to marry had chosen his brother instead. He said nothing of a broken engagement or the gossip that followed it. He had hoped that was dead and buried. ‘I could not settle at home when I left the navy,’ he told him. ‘It was too painful for everyone concerned. I was staying a few days in Brighton when my skill as a doctor was called upon to treat a child bitten by a dog. And then his parents needed help and before I knew what was happening I found myself inundated with patients.’
‘And that is fulfilling?’
His mind travelled fleetingly to Anne, but he would not allow it to linger there. ‘Yes, except for a conviction that I could, and should, do more.’
‘And so the idea of a hospital was born?’
‘Yes. But I do not have the resources to fund it and that is why we have formed an association to raise the necessary finance, not only to find and equip the hospital, but maintain it as well. The patients themselves will pay only if they can afford to.’
‘And Miss Hemingford?’
‘What about her?’
‘Come, my dear fellow. I am not blind. I saw how it was.’
‘I told you she had been working, getting her hands dirty…’ He paused and smiled wryly. ‘More than her hands, her face too.’
‘She is very beautiful, even more when she is dishevelled, I think,’ George said. ‘It is a wonder she has never married. After all, her dowry must be a great incentive to set against the fact that she is perhaps too forthright…’
‘She may be forthright, as you say.’ Justin felt bound to defend her, though he felt ill at ease talking about her. ‘But she is full of compassion and not at all top-lofty.’
‘Oh, I know that. There was a time…’ He stopped suddenly and laughed. ‘Wishful thinking on my part, of course, but she did show me more than mere courtesy…’
Justin was seized with something he would not admit was jealousy that his friend could speak so lightly of the woman who had won his heart. He pulled himself together. ‘What happened?’
‘Why, nothing. Nothing could, I was flying too high.’
‘She is not like that!’
‘No, but her family are.’
Justin had to admit he was probably right if Mrs Bartrum was an example. ‘I believe her aunt has set herself the task of finding a husband for her.’
‘Are you among those being considered?’
‘No, of course not, but if you come to the rout, you will see them for yourself.’
George drained his glass. ‘Then let us be off. It promises to be a very interesting evening.’