Page 21 of The Ones Left Behind
After waving her on her way, Kitty hurried down to the servants’ hall for breakfast. She had to start as she meant to go on. The others were already seated and at once there was an almost deafening sound of chairs being pushed back as everyone rose to their feet.
“Good morning, Mr. Hayes, everyone. As you know, I will be taking over Mrs. Harlow’s duties. I will have a hard task to follow in her footsteps, and her retirement is well earned. Everything is running very smoothly, thanks to your hard work, and I do not see any reason to make changes when things are working. Please attend to your duties as before and if I can be of help, please ask.”
She saw looks of wariness exchanged among some of the older servants, while some of the younger ones nodded their heads.
Kitty continued, “I am sure we all want the same things—a pleasant place to work and live, and to see his lordship recover. I intend to spend a good deal of my time working in the herb garden and still-room, not hovering over you. You all know what to do.” She prayed they would be receptive to her approach. She knew she was taking a risk.
Hornsby moved to stand before her and raised his cup of tea. “Welcome, Mrs. Gordon.” The others followed suit whether they approved of her or not.
“Thank you,” she said as she took her seat at the foot of the table. It was clear they were uncomfortable with her presence in the hall, as they were quiet and averted eye contact, but she picked up her fork and ate as though she had been a servant all her life. Certainly she was eating better than she had much of her time as a lady on her own. When the meal ended, she excused herself and set off to the village, the grooms still not allowing her to take the trap herself. One battle at a time, she told herself.
Her first stop was at Mr. Bailey’s joinery workshop, and then she made her way to the village apothecary. Despite having been resident at the Close for a couple of months, now, she still felt some stares and noticed whispers wherever she walked about. In the beginning, she had expected people would wonder who she was and then speculate about why she had returned, but by now, she mused, her presence should have been accepted. As the old Earl’s ward, she had always been treated as a lady, but when she saw the squire’s wife, Mrs. Gillespie, pointedly turn and cross the street rather than greet her, Kitty knew something was wrong.
As she turned into the apothecary’s small shop, she hoped Mr. Satterlee would be either unaware of the gossip or not care. He had been on friendly terms with Lady Thackeray due to their shared passion for herbalism.
“How may I help you?” he asked with a friendly smile. He had aged a great deal. “Is that you, Miss Kitty?”
“It is I, Mr. Satterlee. I did not know if you would remember me.” Being in the shop, filled with the scents of plants, and shelves and shelves of medicinal jars, brought back a flood of memories.
“Oh, yes, you used always to be by her ladyship’s side,” he said, with fondness and a hint of sadness. “How may I be of help?”
“You may have heard that his lordship was wounded in battle.”
“Yes, I had heard he was shot. How is he?”
“Well… but not. He took a bullet into the bone, and while he has recovered from the infection, he still cannot bear weight. I came to ask what you would recommend for the knitting of bone, and also pain. He will not take laudanum.”
“I cannot blame him for that, though sometimes it is necessary.” He scratched his head and adjusted his spectacles.
“Yes, but he chooses spirits instead. So far, he has had only a little, but I fear if there is not an alternative, he might drown himself in them.”
He nodded, understanding. “There are a few things you may try. I suspect, unless the garden is overrun, that the Close should have a supply of most.”
He turned to sort through his jars and drawers before facing her again. He spread some of the leaves on the table. “This is Comfrey, known as boneset, and this is what it should look like after you harvest it and dry it. Ointment can be made from the roots, but fresh leaves can be bruised and put directly on the wound and then gently bandaged. For a poultice, boil a good handful of chopped leaves wrapped in cotton, cool and wring out the excess water and apply. Care must be taken when plants are not in flower though, as the leaves are similar to those of foxgloves, which can be lethal.” Then he took a key and opened a small chest very carefully, gently pulling a sachet from inside.
“This, however, you will not find in any garden in England.”
“What is it?” she asked, burning with curiosity.
“It is a herb grown in India. Its healing properties are reported to be miraculous.” He chuckled, as if he strongly doubted such a thing existed.
“His lordship could certainly benefit from a miracle at the moment.”
“I have a friend who works for the East India Company and is able to procure it for me. It is commonly known as Asthisamhari and is a succulent of the familyVitaceae.”
That was far beyond Kitty’s limited knowledge of herbs. “How does it work?”
“As to that, I could not say. Unfortunately, some parts of medicine are still in their infancy. However, you can make a paste and apply topically. It can also be taken internally, though it is very bitter. It is said to help with knitting of the bone.”
“I hope his lordship will agree to it. If not, I will have to be devious.”
The old man chuckled. “If only all of my patients had a champion such as you.”
Kitty opened her purse, suspecting this herb would be very dear. But it would be worth it. She paid Mr. Satterlee and then wrapped up her purchases in her reticule. As she exited his shop, she almost ran into someone who was walking past the doorway.
“I beg your pardon,” she said quickly before looking up—and finding she was face to face with Sir Nigel Gordon, Peter’s elder brother. The dark eyes that had been full of laughter and mischief in the younger brother were sanctimonious and judgemental in the elder one.
He sucked in his breath when he recognized her.
