Read Online Lady of the Butterflies by Fiona Mountain - Free Book Online
Authors: Fiona Mountain
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either, not for sure. I didn’t know which I feared the most: the plague, that most dreaded disease, or ague, which had already killed the rest of my family.
Shivering, aching muscles, nausea. The same symptoms for both diseases.
Plague.
Ague.
They both sounded the same to me.
They both sounded like death.
I WASN’T ALLOWED NEAR my father until Dr. Duckett had made his diagnosis.
I should have been relieved to see the Tickenham surgeon and yet I wasn’t, not at all. He was a tall, thin man, not unlike a heron in his gaunt, gray watchfulness, and I could not help but shiver at the mere sight of him. In my mind his presence on our land, in our lives, was so closely connected to sickness and loss that I could only view him as a prophet of doom. I so wanted to put my trust in him, to believe he had the power to heal the sick, but so far, in my experience, he had always failed. Even with all the hope in Heaven, I could not summon any confidence in him at all.
We didn’t have to wait long for him to deliver his verdict. Soon, too soon, we heard his ponderous footsteps descending the stone stairs to the great hall, where Mary was waiting with me, her arm around me as I clutched the worn poppet doll I had discarded as a babyish plaything years ago but had resurrected, finding I had a sudden need of it again.
Dr. Duckett spoke. “I am pleased to be able to tell you that there are no signs of swellings under the arm or in the groin, no marks upon the skin. Which means . . .”
“He doesn’t have the plague.”
Dr. Duckett looked both very startled and intensely annoyed at my interruption. “That is my considered opinion,” he admitted tersely.
“So it is ague that sickens him.” My voice was a cracked whisper.
His look of grudging surprise widened, so I knew my deduction was correct. “I believe so,” he said through pursed lips.
I was small for my age, had a small child’s wide eyes, and I was wearing a little lace cap and clutching a poppet, so I could not blame him for taking me for several years younger than I was, but did he not remember that I had been here before? Twice? Did he think me a fool not to remember the symptoms that had preceded the deaths of Margaret and our mother as if they were yesterday?
“I have made a thorough examination of Major Goodricke’s urine,” he said. “It is of good color and taste, but his body is filled with noxious matter which must be released. I have lanced his leg and the cut must be kept open with a seton. If that doesn’t work, I will try a cantharide and pierce the blisters to let more matter out.”
I remembered the agony my mother had suffered from the cantharides and the blisters they had caused, needless agony, since they had not saved her.
“I have consulted the stars,” Dr. Duckett added. “Jupiter is in the ascendant, which is not at all good. Its qualities are hot and moist, which leads me to predict fever and sweats.”
“Forgive me, sir, but if my father has tertian ague, you don’t need the charts to predict fever and sweats,” I said evenly. “There is always a cycle of shaking and heat and sweats.”
“Eleanor,” Mary chided gently. “Dr. Duckett is only trying to help.”
I had not meant to be rude, it was just that I was not used to being treated as a child, or a fool, and I did not take very kindly to it. I was going to lose my father. My father was going to die, and there was nobody to help him.
“I wonder that you sent for me at all,” the surgeon said snidely. “When you have such a knowledgeable young physician already in situ. Perhaps the little lady would like to prescribe an appropriate treatment?”
Mary laid a restraining hand on my arm, as if she was worried I might actually put forward a suggestion. If I had done, it would only be to say that I would be sure not to give my father anything that would cause him more distress. “Please tell us what we must give Major Goodricke to help speed his
Shivering, aching muscles, nausea. The same symptoms for both diseases.
Plague.
Ague.
They both sounded the same to me.
They both sounded like death.
I WASN’T ALLOWED NEAR my father until Dr. Duckett had made his diagnosis.
I should have been relieved to see the Tickenham surgeon and yet I wasn’t, not at all. He was a tall, thin man, not unlike a heron in his gaunt, gray watchfulness, and I could not help but shiver at the mere sight of him. In my mind his presence on our land, in our lives, was so closely connected to sickness and loss that I could only view him as a prophet of doom. I so wanted to put my trust in him, to believe he had the power to heal the sick, but so far, in my experience, he had always failed. Even with all the hope in Heaven, I could not summon any confidence in him at all.
We didn’t have to wait long for him to deliver his verdict. Soon, too soon, we heard his ponderous footsteps descending the stone stairs to the great hall, where Mary was waiting with me, her arm around me as I clutched the worn poppet doll I had discarded as a babyish plaything years ago but had resurrected, finding I had a sudden need of it again.
Dr. Duckett spoke. “I am pleased to be able to tell you that there are no signs of swellings under the arm or in the groin, no marks upon the skin. Which means . . .”
“He doesn’t have the plague.”
Dr. Duckett looked both very startled and intensely annoyed at my interruption. “That is my considered opinion,” he admitted tersely.
“So it is ague that sickens him.” My voice was a cracked whisper.
His look of grudging surprise widened, so I knew my deduction was correct. “I believe so,” he said through pursed lips.
I was small for my age, had a small child’s wide eyes, and I was wearing a little lace cap and clutching a poppet, so I could not blame him for taking me for several years younger than I was, but did he not remember that I had been here before? Twice? Did he think me a fool not to remember the symptoms that had preceded the deaths of Margaret and our mother as if they were yesterday?
“I have made a thorough examination of Major Goodricke’s urine,” he said. “It is of good color and taste, but his body is filled with noxious matter which must be released. I have lanced his leg and the cut must be kept open with a seton. If that doesn’t work, I will try a cantharide and pierce the blisters to let more matter out.”
I remembered the agony my mother had suffered from the cantharides and the blisters they had caused, needless agony, since they had not saved her.
“I have consulted the stars,” Dr. Duckett added. “Jupiter is in the ascendant, which is not at all good. Its qualities are hot and moist, which leads me to predict fever and sweats.”
“Forgive me, sir, but if my father has tertian ague, you don’t need the charts to predict fever and sweats,” I said evenly. “There is always a cycle of shaking and heat and sweats.”
“Eleanor,” Mary chided gently. “Dr. Duckett is only trying to help.”
I had not meant to be rude, it was just that I was not used to being treated as a child, or a fool, and I did not take very kindly to it. I was going to lose my father. My father was going to die, and there was nobody to help him.
“I wonder that you sent for me at all,” the surgeon said snidely. “When you have such a knowledgeable young physician already in situ. Perhaps the little lady would like to prescribe an appropriate treatment?”
Mary laid a restraining hand on my arm, as if she was worried I might actually put forward a suggestion. If I had done, it would only be to say that I would be sure not to give my father anything that would cause him more distress. “Please tell us what we must give Major Goodricke to help speed his
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