Page 5 of The Ones Left Behind
“Help is a very generous term. I fear I was never possessed of her skill.”
The housekeeper rose and went to the small room situated down one of the passages near the kitchen, where the herbs and medicinal powders were kept. Kitty had fond memories of the Countess, of how she had attended the smaller garden and lovingly prepared tinctures and poultices when needed. It had been her hobby as well as one of the time-honoured duties of the mistress of the house.
Kitty inhaled deeply. The stone-walled room had not lost the familiar earthy and medicinal scent.
“Her book is still here,” Mrs. Harlow said as she reached for a leather-bound journal lying on a shelf. “Sadly, I have no skill in herbalism. Jenkins keeps the weeds from the garden, of course, but that is the extent of it.”
Kitty took the book. “I helped to tend the wounded and sick on occasion, when necessary. Many of the wives did; but I am no doctor.”
“Of course not, but housekeepers need some knowledge of the still-room.”
“Of course,” Kitty agreed as the housekeeper neatly left her alone with the task. Kitty had little doubt that the herb garden was in pristine condition, but if caring for its produce kept her employed and with a roof over her head until Matthias returned, then so be it.
As she had suspected, everything was neat and orderly in the room—jars arranged tidily on the shelves, pestles and mortars stacked together on the work bench and the cabinets well stocked with the phials and other paraphernalia of the herbalist’s art. Many more of the herbs made sense to her now, though. She fingered a jar of willow bark tea and knew it was used to keep fevers down after infections. Many soldiers died of infections, she recalled. At least Peter had not suffered. He had been shot from his horse and had died instantly. She put the jar back in its place and decided to go and look at the garden. It was hard not to think of Peter and Matthias here, with all their vivacity now gone. She could only hope and pray that Matthias would return again, unharmed, although no one who had any part of war was ever the same again.
It was a warm July day, and the bees were buzzing about their business as she strolled through the garden. A large hedge of hawthorn made a wall of protection around the cherished herbs and plants her ladyship had cultivated. The lavender immediately caught Kitty’s eye, still fragrant and abundant as it had been before. It had always been her favourite, with its bright purple colours and unique scent.
She sat on the bench in the centre of the garden and opened the Countess’ book across her lap to learn what she could. Perhaps Mrs. Harlow would give her this task only for now, but she would do it well and hopefully be entrusted with more soon.
As she read about each plant and its medicinal properties, she found it in the garden and learned what she could about it. If something was in low supply, then she would harvest it and prepare it as written. She started at the first row, and looked up the plants by their neatly labelled placards.
The Chamomile flower is used in tea for sleep or as a compress to reduce dropsy. It is also beneficial for all types of agues. It takes away weariness and eases pains.
Kitty looked with some scepticism at the small white and yellow flower that resembled a daisy. “You sound like a miracle for such a plain little flower,” she said dryly before moving on.
Feverfew also comes from the daisy family and a syrup may be made up for the winter months. The mixture is good for the stuffiness of the chest and for cough. It is also useful for cleansing of the wound after childbirth, vertigo, taking away freckles…
“Again, it sounds like a miracle.”
St John’s wort is a pretty yellow flowering bush. Its properties are singularly useful for wounds and bruising on the inside and out. The seed is useful for sciatica and palsy.
Had the sawbones on the Peninsula known of St. John’s wort, she wondered as she closed the book. Three herbs were enough to learn for now. Who even knew if this new-found knowledge was to be needed?
Kitty sat back and lifted her face to the warm sun. She could use some of the feverfew on her new freckles later, she thought devilishly. Not that she had given her looks any thought for quite some time. Poor people had little time for vanity. She had not felt as free as this in years. There were still many obstacles to overcome, such as convincing Mrs. Harlow and Matthias, but at least for now she had a reprieve.
It was hard not to think of Peter, now that she was back here where they had all grown up together. How would he feel about her being here again now?
She owned to a definite ache of longing and remembrance for him as a result of returning to where she had so many memories: memories of him and of Matthias, memories she had thrust to the back of her mind and locked tightly away.
Kitty registered carriage wheels coming up the drive, but as it would hardly be anyone to call upon her, she paid it little mind. Since no family was in residence, she mused, it was probably only a delivery.
She enjoyed the sunshine for another half an hour before gathering her bonnet and book and returning to the house.
To her surprise, the upper servants were scurrying about carrying pails of water, blankets and towels. Mrs. Harlow was giving orders to others and two footmen were carrying trunks up the stairs.
What was happening? Kitty wondered at the activity but stayed near the wall where she was out of the way. She would know soon enough.
She could hear voices; cultured male accents speaking with Hayes in the main doorway, clearly before their owners’ departure. To her chagrin, she was unable to catch a glimpse of who they were from her vantage point behind the stairs.
Just then, Mrs. Harlow began walking towards her across the entrance hall and Kitty finally stepped forward to ask.
“Has someone arrived?” she asked.
“Oh, Miss Kitty, ’tis the master! He has come home and he’s in a very bad way.”
“What do you mean?” Kitty whispered, but from the look on Mrs. Harlow’s face, she knew the answer.
“The Duke of Waverley has brought him here but could not stay. The master was shot at that battle of Waterloo by the French and he’s unconscious with a fever. There was a nurse here with him as well and she did not know if he would live.” Her last word caught on a sob. “Forgive me. I am only just now taking a moment to catch my breath.”
