Page 35 of The Ones Left Behind
One benefit of working your fingers to the bone was you were too tired to dwell on your grief and misery. Everyone in the workhouses and shops had seemed to have problems worse than hers, so she had numbed herself to all feeling and survived as best she could. It was better not to think about how she had been cast from her childhood home, how her husband and best friend had died, and now, how the only person she had left did not want her in the house.
Still, she was determined to see him improved, and to that end set out that morning to visit Mr. Satterlee again.
“Good morning, Miss Kitty. What may I do for you?” he greeted her.
“The herbs are not working fast enough, I am afraid,” she said as she approached the counter.
He wore an sympathetic look on his face as he pulled his glasses off. “Even if they work, it will take time—weeks, months even. There is never a guarantee, and we do not know precisely what is wrong. Perhaps the bone is not broken and there is some other damage to the tissues which is causing his lordship’s problems.”
Kitty’s heart sank. “So it is best to continue with what we are doing? I prepared the herb as you prescribed, in addition to the poultice. I also found one of lady Thackeray’s receipts for an oil preparation to be rubbed into the tissues.”
“It certainly cannot do any harm. I imagine the immobility, and the forming of adhesions in the tissues, would benefit from the emulsion’s properties and movement.”
Kitty exhaled a deep breath.
“You are doing all you can, my dear,” he said in a kind, fatherly way.
“I am afraid I made a mistake in coming back here.” She swallowed hard and wondered why she was opening her heart to this man, but he was one of the few who was still showing her kindness. “Nevertheless, I cannot leave until I know I have tried.”
“Lady Thackeray would be very proud of you.”
Kitty was not so certain, but what else could she say? “Thank you. Good day, Mr. Satterlee.”
She stepped back outside, remembering that the last time she left the shop she had chanced upon Sir Nigel. Although she had expected further interference from them, nothing had been forthcoming. Had Fanny not said the rector would call? Perhaps her own earlier visit to Mrs. Henderson had helped, at least to some degree, but would Kitty be welcomed at church? Even servants were allowed to go to services.
Unfortunately, she was not certain she was brave enough to make the attempt on her own, but avoiding church would only give the tabbies more reason to talk. There were a few people out on the street, going about their business. Was it too much to hope no one would recognize her?
Kitty stopped in the middle of the street. “This is ridiculous,” she said aloud, not caring who heard her. She made an about face and walked to the end of the street, towards the church and rectory.
She held her hand up to knock, then stepped back and waited. As before, Mrs. Jones answered the door and dropped into a curtsy fit for a lady.
“Are Mr. or Mrs. Henderson at home?” Kitty inquired.
“Who’s there, Jones?” Mrs. Henderson called from the sitting room to the side of the front entrance. “Is that Miss Kitty?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid returned and held open the door with a smile and a guiding hand.
At least the door had not been closed in her face, Kitty thought in relief. Slightly encouraged, she walked into the room. “Good day, Mrs. Henderson,” she said, walking over to take the lady’s hands, knowing she could not see her.
“Jones, please bring some tea. Do you be seated,” she said to Kitty with old-fashioned formality.
“Thank you. Forgive my calling unannounced, Mrs. Henderson. I was in the village and thought I would look in on you.”
“I am glad you did. How is his lordship?”
“He is well enough but his leg is not healing fast enough to suit him.” Kitty hoped no one offered to call in the next few days. She could hardly tell them he had run away from her, could she?
“He always was an active lad. He and Mr. Peter were both spirited boys,” she said fondly. “And you, such a scrawny mite when you arrived.”
“I did my best to keep up.” Kitty chuckled. Oh, to have those carefree days back again. It was another lifetime entirely.
“We pray daily that his leg will heal.”
The maid brought in the tea and set it on the table between them. “Would you pour, my dear?”
“Of course, ma’am.” Kitty poured the tea and remembered the milk and spoonful of sugar that Mrs. Henderson took. She placed the cup in the lady’s hands, then made her own and resumed her seat. She took the first sip, which was always her favourite, then steeled herself to speak of the dreadful topic on everybody’s lips. “Mrs. Henderson, you must know what is being said about me in the village. It is worse than I expected. My brother-in-law has turned against me and is convinced I am living in sin at Thackeray Close.”
“He said this to you?”
