Free The Surgeon's Lady by Carla Kelly Page B

thought about it in a different light. “No, sir, it was not,” she said finally, “not by a long chalk.”
    She was telling the truth. He didn’t say anything, but something seemed to snap within her. Maybe it was the sympathy in his eyes.
    “It wasn’t when my husband died. I shall be honest. I was grateful when that happened.” The words seemed to spill out of her. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, what you must think,” she murmured.
    “Go on,” he coaxed.
    “He had suffered, and I was glad that ended. I will not leave the ill untended.”
    “I know,” he interjected, but quietly, so she would not be too distracted to continue.
    “All my husband wanted was a son. He reckoned it was his late wife’s fault that he was not a father. He was determined to get a child off me.”
    How can I be saying this? she thought in horror, but could not make herself stop. “After months and months, he gave up. There never was a woman more relieved than I.”
    “Understandable,” was the surgeon’s only comment.
    She was looking into his eyes now, for some reason beyond her knowledge, not afraid to speak to this kind man of her trouble. Do they teach that in Edinburgh? She asked herself. I think not.
    “Those were not my worst days.” To continue required a deep breath, and she took several. I am gulping like a goldfish, she thought. She was hardly aware of the surgeon holding her hand now. She didn’t even know when he first touched her, but there she was, clinging to him.
    “It was the day my father…” She couldn’t help herself; she practically spat out the word. “My Father told me what I had to do to repay him for my education. Nana has probably told your mother, so perhaps you know already.”
    “She only mentioned her own circumstances.”
    “Then you know Nana left Bath because she would not let our father sell her to the highest bidder to pay off his creditors.”
    Lt. Brittle nodded.
    “I was the older sister who succumbed. I was almost eighteen and I didn’t know what to do.”
    Her words seemed to hang in the air like a noxious fog. “That was my worst day, sir. I had no advocate and no resources of my own.” She sighed. “Nana is five years younger than I. At the time, I had no idea she was my sister. If I had known, I would have told her.” Her voice broke. “I could have warned her!”
    He continued the thought. “And she would have sent you straight through to Plymouth and Gran.”
    Laura nodded. “If I had known…” she repeated, when she could speak. She couldn’t look at him now. She released his hand. “But I did not, and there the matter will ever remain. I should never have told you.”
    “It will go nowhere,” he replied, and took her hand again. “You really have had worse days than Davey Dabney. If you consider the matter, I doubt you are afraid of anything now.”
    She had never thought of it in that light. “As to that, I am not so brave. It took me three months to get up the courage to respond to Nana’s invitation to visit.”
    “But you did.”
    “I did, didn’t I?”
    She sat back, exhausted, and Lt. Brittle released her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but the doorbell jangled. He rose quickly, and was gone a long time. Not sure if she was exhausted more from the events of the day, or her avalanche of words, Laura felt her eyelids begin to droop. I should get up and walk around, she told herself, but that suddenly sounded like too much exertion. She heard Aunt Walters in the kitchen. I should help, she thought, as she moved aside her plate. I will do that after I rest my arms just a moment. Just five minutes.
    She woke hours later in a dark bedroom, with only the vaguest recollection of someone carrying her upstairs and depositing her on this bed, which was comfortable beyond belief. She was dressed only in her shift, and someone had taken the trouble to put a towel under her head and spread her damp hair across the pillow. She hoped it was Mrs.