Read Online A Radical Arrangement by Jane Ashford - Free Book Online Page B

Reckon he’ll be drowned, like so many of ’em are.”
    “Don’t say that.”
    Mrs. Dowling peered up at her from under her bushy white brows. “Do you fear bad luck? Nay, I know better than that. But the sea takes most of our men hereabouts.”
    Margaret stole a look over her shoulder. The water below was calm, but she could not restrain a small shiver of apprehension. Why did Jem Appleby want to join the fishing fleets? A job in his father’s inn seemed much pleasanter to her.
    Mrs. Appleby met them at the door of the Red Lion. “Doctor’s upstairs with him now,” she said. “I told him you’d be right along, miss.”
    “Thank you. I… Did you notice if my brother was…”
    “He’s gone off again.” The woman smiled a little. “I suppose your quarrel tired him out.” When Margaret looked stricken, she added, “Brothers and sisters always quarrel, miss. It can’t have hurt him any.” She exchanged a look with Mrs. Dowling that Margaret probably would have found comforting if she had been paying any heed, but she was already at the foot of the stairs and starting up.
    “There.” Mrs. Appleby addressed Mrs. Dowling when Margaret had disappeared. “I told you they were all right. If you could have heard them going at it this morning.”
    “Over what?”
    “I couldn’t tell that. I don’t listen at keyholes. But they were scrapping like they’d done it all their lives.”
    “Humph,” answered Mrs. Dowling, starting slowly up the stairs.
    The doctor was not what Margaret had expected. Her own family practitioner was a jovial, white-haired gentleman she had known as long as she could remember, but the Falmouth doctor was a young man, dressed very fashionably, with a haughty manner.
    “Are you the sister?” he asked when Margaret came in.
    She nodded. “How is he?” She could see that Keighley had lapsed into unconsciousness again since their talk, and from the look of him, the exchange had exhausted all his meager resources.
    “Not good,” replied the doctor. “The wound is not serious in itself, but he is very weak. He must have lost quite a bit of blood.”
    His tone was so critical that Margaret started to apologize, but she was forestalled by Mrs. Dowling’s voice from the door. “Aye, that he did,” she agreed. “They had a time getting him down here from the road.”
    “Who are you?” inquired the man coldly, looking Mrs. Dowling up and down.
    “Th-this is Mrs. Dowling,” stammered Margaret. “She was kind enough to treat my brother. She took out the bullet. Mrs. Dowling, this is Dr.…”
    “Brice,” he finished. “You removed the ball from his shoulder?”
    Mrs. Dowling nodded, a wicked grin on her wrinkled face.
    Dr. Brice closed his black bag with a snap. “I don’t see what there is for me to do in that case,” he added.
    “B-but can you not look at him?” asked Margaret. “Tell me if I am doing the right things? I am very worried.”
    Slightly mollified, the doctor turned a shoulder to Mrs. Dowling and answered, “I have examined him. He is weak, as I said. He needs rest and, as soon as possible, sustaining soups and whatever food he can take. If there is no infection, he should recover in a few weeks. He seems a strong specimen.”
    “How can I keep off infection?” asked Margaret.
    He shrugged. “Keep the wound clean. Do not allow him to strain it in any way.” Mrs. Dowling chuckled, and he stiffened alarmingly. “I must go. It is a very long ride to Falmouth.” His tone implied that he had made it for nothing.
    “But…” began Margaret.
    “I have many calls on my time,” he added.
    Meeting his rather hard brown eyes, she nodded. “I see. What do we owe you?”
    “One guinea.”
    “ What? ” screeched Mrs. Dowling. “For what? You didn’t do nothing.”
    The doctor fixed her with an icy gaze. “I am a London-trained physician…madam. And I rode more than an hour to get here. The fee is moderate, considering.”
    “It’s barefaced