Ruth Axtell Morren - The Healing Season

As she sat in her carriage and resumed her ride home, she told herself to forget about Betsy’s problems for the moment. She herself needed to get her beauty sleep. Tomorrow she would be having dinner with the Duke d’Alvergny. He had been very attentive at the theater for several weeks, and she had fobbed him off.

But she’d made some inquiries and discovered him to be extremely wealthy and influential.

She had spoken the truth to Betsy. Romantic attachments were dangerous, but a gentleman with the right connections and a generous pocket was always worth a second look. Perhaps it was time to see what the duke had to offer.

“Come watch Punch and Judy! Watch Punch knock out Judy! Tuppence a show.” The hawker’s voice carried above the crowd. A young boy tugged on Ian’s hand.

“Oh, may we watch?” The other children took up the chorus.

Ian turned to Jem as the children shouted their glee. “I guess Punch and Judy will be next.” The two men shepherded the children they’d brought from the dispensary neighborhood toward the puppet theater.

Ian fished out his change and gave the money collector the fee.

As the hunchbacked Punch whacked his wife, Ian’s attention wandered. His glance strayed to Jem. The youth seemed as entranced by the small puppet show as the children they’d brought to the street fair.

Leaving Jem laughing heartily at the high-pitched voice of Punch screaming at Baby, Ian looked over the crowd. The streets were packed with people for the annual Southwark Fair. It would be the last one until the winter carnivals.

His gaze was arrested by a small commotion about half a block down. As a few people shifted, providing an opening, he saw what held their attention.

Mrs. Eleanor Neville was holding court. There was no better way to describe the scene before him. Those around her fawned over her, as she graciously bestowed her favor to all and sundry. She smiled, offering her hand to men, women and children alike.

As if on cue, she moved on, ready to greet those farther on. The crowd parted, men doffing their high-crowned hats, women fluttering their handkerchiefs, children clamoring for a last-blown kiss.

She was with another young woman. As they came closer, her attention was drawn to the noise of the Punch and Judy show. Her face lit up and she turned to her companion. At that moment her glance crossed Ian’s.

He thought she wouldn’t recognize him in that crowd, but she raised an eyebrow and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. She said something to her companion and to his surprise, the two started walking toward him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Russell. I’m surprised to see you at such an entertainment. Who is minding the dispensary?”

He smiled sheepishly, aware of the people around them eyeing him curiously. “My partner.”

She smiled. “I confess I find myself perplexed. You have no liking for the theater, yet here I find you at a fair.” Her lips formed a pretty pout. Ian struggled to shift his focus away from them.

He nodded at the young children around him. “I’ve brought some of the children who usually spend their time in the streets around the dispensary.” At that moment Jem turned around and his eyes grew wide at the sight of Mrs. Neville. He made his way to her side.

“Mrs. Neville! What a pl-pleasure,” he said, holding out his hand, then drawing it back again as if unsure that was the proper thing to do.

Mrs. Neville laughed charmingly and held out her own hand. “The pleasure is mutual. It is good to see you again, Mr. Beverly, under more cheerful circumstances.” She introduced them to her companion, a chorus member from the Royal Circus.

Ian, impatient with the curiosity of the crowd around them, said, “I think Punch is becoming angry with our drawing attention away from his show.”

Mrs. Neville turned to the puppet stage. “I love Punch and Judy. I started out playing at street fairs, you know.” She stood at his elbow, so close the sleeve of her dress brushed his arm, and it became even harder to keep his attention on the show than before.

When the show ended, somehow he found himself part of Mrs. Neville’s entourage. She charmed the children, and their group moved along slowly through the jammed streets, stopping at the various stands.

She ended up walking at his side as Jem and the other actress moved in front of them with the children.

“What do you have there?” Mrs. Neville gestured to the bag in his hand.

“Cardamom seeds,” he answered. He held out the bag to her, wondering if she would find the gesture unrefined.

Instead she removed her glove and took one. She chewed on it and smiled. “It’s spicy.”

He felt captivated by that smile, revealing such purity and sweetness. “I got in the habit of chewing on them when I was first apprenticed to my uncle. His apothecary was a treasure of spices and sweet-tasting lozenges for a kid. He told me to eat these instead of the sweets. Better for my teeth and breath, he advised.

“During the war, they helped alleviate the boredom on long marches across the plains of Spain and fooled the stomach into thinking it had been fed.”

“You were with the army?”

“As surgeon.”

Jem stopped in front of a booth with a dartboard. The hawker immediately challenged them to try for the prizes. The children clamored for Jem and Ian to win them one.

Jem was unsuccessful after three attempts. Ian paid the man in charge and took his three darts. Like Jem’s, his darts landed far from the bull’s-eye. He turned to the children with a shrug. “Sorry, no prizes today.”

Mrs. Neville gave him a coy smile. “I hope your stitches in surgery are better than your aim.”

Her silvery-gray eyes were looking up at him in teasing challenge, and it occurred to him she was flirting with him.

He was accustomed to receiving unwanted attention from the many street women he attended in his practice, but they were derelict and only incited his pity. The heartfelt gratitude he received from other female patients or mothers of children he’d treated humbled him and made him all the more aware of the sacred trust between physician and patient. The only other women he dealt with were at the mission or chapel, modest and respectful in their comportment toward him.

Mrs. Neville’s behavior was different. It was direct and demure at the same time, elegant and playful in one.

“Mr. Russell is the finest surgeon.” Jem defended him immediately. “You wouldn’t want anyone else if you were going under the knife.”

She chuckled, a sound rich and charming like warm caramel. “I’ll try to remember that when I need someone to cut me open and stitch me up. Now, I’ll show you how to win a prize.” She turned to the children. “Let’s see, how many are there of you?” she asked the children as if she hadn’t seen already. “Three only? That means one prize for each.”

They yelled in excitement. Calmly, she turned to the man at the booth. “I shall need three darts, if you please.” She gave him a coin and received her three darts.

The children began hopping up and down, pointing to the things they wanted to win.

“Now, you must hush.” She put her finger to her lips and bent toward them. “Be very, very still so I can concentrate and win your prizes for you.” Wide-eyed in wonder, they promptly fell silent. Ian couldn’t help smiling at the immediate obedience Mrs. Neville’s words invoked in the children. At the same time he wondered if it was wise getting their hopes up.

She turned to the dartboard and hefted the three darts in her hand, as if determining their weight. She chose one and brought it up level to her face, pointing it toward the round board. The crowds behind were forgotten as the attention of their party was focused on the black center of the dartboard.