JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY by Lesley-Anne McLeod www.lesleyannemcleod.homestead.com |
The journey to Nottingham had seemed interminable until she had joined the number of passengers, although he had been on the road from Edinburgh only a day and a half. The stage coach had taken her up near Penrith; she had been waved off by half a dozen children and an older woman who might have been her sister. She was of medium-height, with rich brown hair banded within the confines of a modest bonnet, a pair of charming hazel eyes, and a voice that he had thus far compared, privately of course, to a flute, a viola and --with excessive sensibility -- to the charming harmonies of a harpsicord. Dr. Secord Cardew was well aware that he was rhapsodizing uncharacteristically about the young lady. He was not of a romantical nature and he was unaccustomed, since he had attained his majority, to being unduly susceptible to the charms of young women. Nevertheless Miss Emilina Brook had, in the vulgar phrase, bowled him over. He had sternly reminded himself that he was an Edinburgh trained doctor, that he had spent several years in training for his first post, which he was traveling to take up. He cautioned himself to recall that he had no time for distraction from his purpose of setting up a successful practice. And to recall that he was not a youth to be distracted by the silken curve of a cheek, the discreet swell of a bosom, or even the interesting opinions of a well-informed female mind. As people will, when immured together for a long journey, the five occupants of the stage coach had already become acquainted. Miss Brook was a music teacher traveling to an establishment for young ladies near Nottingham to take up a position. She was the daughter of a vicar, and the possessor of four or five siblings, a cheerful outlook upon life, and a touchingly optimistic view of her future. The doctor knew almost as much about the other passengers of the rumbling coach. There was a pregnant mother and her child traveling to St. Helen's, an elderly solicitor from Carlisle bound on business to Manchester, and a stout farmer's wife going to care for her mother in her last days. But no other of the passengers could claim Dr. Cardew's attention as could Miss Brook. "How many students does your establishment teach, Miss Brook?" he asked the young lady, more in an effort to hear her charming voice than for a real interest in the answer. "More than fifty, I believe, Dr. Cardew. Have you opinions, sir, on how many young ladies may be comfortably accommodated while boarding? It will not be my concern of course, but I have heard that some establishments are poorly provisioned for their boarders, and I should wish to be in a position to offer advice if it should be the case in Miss Haverly's school. What do you think to be the most important requirements of, say, a dormitory for children of middle years?" It was not the first time on this journey that Miss Brook's incisive, thoughtful questions had given Dr. Cardew to think. He could only rejoice that she had such an excellent mind, to add to her delightful appearance. And he could only hope that her insights would be appreciated by her employer. This was at least the third time that she had prodded him to comment on matters that had caught her interest. He bent his professional mind to her question, while worrying that she saw in him only his profession, not the man that he was, behind his learning. "Cleanliness and warmth are most important for their physical well-being, Miss Brook," he said. "But what of their mental state, their moods and feelings?" she queried. Cardew found himself at a loss. While excellent in their field, the medical colleges of Edinburgh did not concern themselves with patients' emotions. That was for each person to deal with themselves. He cast his mind upon the bedrooms he had experienced in his life; his childhood nursery, his school chambers, the hospitals' wards and the patients' bedchambers that he had visited. Certainly those which were bright and airy and lightened with pleasant touches such as flowers or comfortable furnishings were the ones that lingered in his mind. He could even, to his current displeasure, recall the very pleasant chamber of a lady of easy virtue he had once encountered... He expunged that from his thoughts with ferocity. That he could even think of such a woman while in the presence of an innocent beauty of person and spirit such as Emilina Brook appalled him. "I think an aspect with plenty of light, and those agreeable touches of colour and texture as may be available would assist in cheering the spirits of any resident." She nodded. "I have thought so myself. The children should be encouraged to surround themselves with possessions that hold a special delight for them, and for little girls their rooms should be pretty." "We might between us design the perfect dormitory in fact, Miss Brook," he said. "A southerly aspect I think." "Large windows," she agreed, "Lightly curtained with pink or primrose muslin." "Several fireplaces, or better yet closed stoves, for safety and even distribution of warmth." "Pretty bedcovers and handsome pictures, to stimulate their minds." "No fitted carpets; they are difficult to clean and may harbour all kinds of pests." "But a mat for each small pair of feet when they rise!" They exchanged an understanding smile. "And several night-lights for comfort," she added. "And safety so that no one may take a tumble in the dark," he agreed. "Sounds more like a paradise than a school," the young mother commented, for no conversation could be considered private upon the public coach. "My home cannot provide such comfort." "Nor should it," exclaimed the elderly solicitor. "Spoil the children and you'll rue the day. My school had thirty boys to a dormitory, no night lights, no curtains, and no niffy-naffy carpets and coverings. Builds character!" Miss Brook smiled across the coach at the doctor. "Ah, but what kind of character," he heard the merest breath of a whisper. *** Emilina Brook was finding her journey to her teaching post at Nottingham to be much more interesting than she had supposed it might be. She had traveled before by stagecoach and had found it a monotonous, uncomfortable procedure. It was without doubt still uncomfortable, but the presence of the young doctor, Secord Cardew, had eliminated the boredom from this journey. He had attracted her attention from the moment she set foot within the carriage, for he had ensured her comfort by stowing his case more carefully, and taking upon his own knee the child accompanying a young woman who looked both weary and ill. That he was a fine-looking young man had not been lost upon her; he had a head of lively sandy curls and a pair of quizzical blue eyes that seemed to regard the world and all its inhabitants with interest. She concealed her gratification that he, too, was bound for Nottingham, and despite the patent disapproval of the elderly solicitor on her left, she and the doctor enjoyed many stimulating conversations. She could only regret that they were now within a day's journey of their destination. The peaks of the Pennines had all day provided picturesque views and the road had begun to turn east for its final stages toward Nottingham. They were somewhere between Crewe and Ashbourne when the accident happened a little after midday. They rounded a curve, and there in the middle of the road lay a sizable boulder tumbled, apparently, down a hillside. The horses, upon spying the obstruction, attempted to go each in a separate direction. The coachman, hauling upon the reins, slowed and swung them to the right. All might have been well had not the left front wheel run up upon a flat portion of the rock. When it reached the summit of the boulder, it slid off, twisting the carriage near the edge of a slight rise whence it tilted ever so slowly and landed upon its side. The coachman and guard were flung violently from their seats. Within, the passengers were tumbled in a heap, though the young woman directly across from Emilina and she herself clung to the straps hanging by the left-hand door. Dr. Cardew, Emilina was horrified to discover, had disappeared beneath the child, the solicitor, and the stout farmwife. She looked for him to emerge, having no doubt that his services would be required. In the flurry of exclamations, epithets and shouts that followed however, his Lowland accent was not to be heard. The coach door which looked toward the sky was flung open. The guard, with blood dripping down his cheek from a cut on his forehead peered in. "Grab holt of me hand, miss and we'll have ye all out." It was not as easy to extract the passengers as the guard led Emilina to think. She had no difficulty herself in scrambling up and out into the autumn chill, but he was required to lower himself into the coach to boost out the less agile passengers while Emilina hauled them up with a stout will. The child was not difficult; his pregnant mother, apparently unhurt was more difficult. The farmwife aided herself without grace but with some agility. The elderly solicitor required all the strength of Emilina, the farmwife and the guard. "Here's the doctor," the guard shouted up. "Bottom of the heap, and the worse for it. Knocked cold, he is; must've banged his head on the doorpost. Well we dasn't leave him here; can't get the coach upright with him a burden in it. I shall hold him up ma'am as best I can, but everyone had best grab what they can of him and heave. He's a dead weight right enough." It took several minutes, but they managed at last to heave the young doctor to the upside of the coach and at last to the ground. They were a sorry collection, but Emilina set to work with a will. The coachman had a broken leg. The setting of it would have to wait until the doctor regained consciousness, but Emilina made him as comfortable as possible, immobile on the laprug that usually covered his knees. She cleaned and bound the guard's cut with a strip of linen the farmwife produced. She found the farmwife's spectacles and restored them, with one glass sadly cracked, to that lady. The child, who was roaring lustily, had only minor scrapes. He was soothed by a peppermint drop that Emilina produced from her reticule, providentially still attached to her wrist. The pregnant young woman though pale seemed unhurt, one hand clutched protectively to her rounded belly. The elderly gentleman was the most difficult of them all, cursing and vowing retribution on the coachman, the road builder (whoever he might be), and the doctor for having the nerve to be rendered unconscious when he was most needed. Emilina, after dipping her handkerchief in a nearby burn, knelt by the doctor's side. She removed the muffler he wore and tucked it under his sandy head She loosened his plain, impeccable neckcloth, not without difficulty. With the strong column of his neck revealed, he looked younger and somewhat vulnerable. She stroked the cool damp of the linen handkerchief across his broad brow, and smoothed his tumbled sandy hair. She found it soft and not at all coarse to her fingers. His lashes curled sedately, in the same manner as his hair. She was admiring the fine line of his straight nose when his eyes suddenly opened. There was momentarily contained in them a complete lack of recognition or understanding. And then, abruptly she could see that he knew very well where he was, why and what just had occurred. "An accident," he exclaimed. "Is anyone hurt? Where is my bag -- I may surely be of assistance?" He sat up, brushing away Emilina's supporting arm. She made no haste to explain their circumstances, but watched his gaze travel over the other passengers, and her efforts at aid. *** His head ached like the devil, but Secord Cardew knew where his duty lay. Even as the carriage had tilted he had reckoned there would be injuries, and loath though he was to admit it, he had welcomed the opportunity to display his prowess in his field to Miss Brook. It appeared his ignoble hubris had met with just reward. He had been rendered useless by a blow to the head. Now, his expertise was not needed. The guard, sporting a tidy bandage, was unhitching the trembling horses. The pregnant woman was comfortably wrapped in a rug. Her child, with competently cleaned scratches, was asleep at her side. The farmwife was wearing damaged spectacles, and appeared to be comforting the coachman who was prostrate beside the road. The elderly gentleman was grumpily assisting the guard, and they were both refreshed by a bottle of homemade wine that someone had produced. "It was a shocking thing that you were injured, Dr. Cardew," Miss Brook said, standing as he did. "We should have much benefited from your professional expertise." "Nonsense, Miss Brook." The doctor was nothing if not honest, and his disclaimer was brisk. "You have done all that these people required with commendable competence and my 'expertise' as you are kind enough to phrase it is not at all needed." He smiled at her with disarming candour, and explored the lump on his head with careful fingers. Her answering smile suggested she might be aware of his contemptible desire to impress her. But it also assured him that she did not regard the wish with disdain. "I have three brothers, sir. I am accustomed to deal with all sorts of alarums. But, Dr. Cardew, I could do little for the coachman. He has, I think, broken his leg. If you will tell me how I may assist you, he needs your attention." Happy to be of some use, Secord hurried to the driver's side and with Emilina's calm and competent assistance worked to set and splint the broken leg. When the guard had ridden off astride one of the coach horses for assistance, and the passengers sat at their ease in the late summer sun, more or less comfortable according to their hurts, the doctor ushered Miss Brook to a convenient fallen tree. He sat at her feet, feeling himself -- despite his aching head and wounded vanity -- favoured by fate. "Miss Brook, are you irrevocably devoted to a life of teaching the young?" he asked. She was silent for a moment, apparently giving his question serious consideration. "I could not care for any of the suitors that presented themselves to my father, sir. And I did not wish to be a burden upon my parents for, in addition to my brothers, I have two younger sisters. So I decided to take up a career, and teaching seemed the best choice." Dr. Cardew, hoping that his next question might be construed in a very particular way, chose his words carefully. "Would your school look kindly upon its mistresses having friends visit them?" Her answer was quick and discouraging. "I think not, sir. I know that I was told followers would not be condoned, and I should think 'friends' would be considered with the same disfavour." Secord frowned as he stared up at the fair face beside him. "However, Dr. Cardew, I think a doctor must frequently be required in any establishment of more than fifty children. And Nottingham must not have so very many physicians and surgeons." Surely he was not mistaken in the expression in those wide brown eyes, shy hope and demure encouragement. He straightened and his frown faded. "And, Dr. Cardew..." A rosy blush stained Miss Brook's smooth cheek, as she continued, "I am on trial until Michaelmas term ends. I am free to leave without penalty at Christmas." THE END |
