Chapter Text
The sores had worsened to a state of irritation, an observation that Doctor Kensley merely seconded when he saw the leg for himself. It was an assessment that caused Lady Davers as much irritability as she surely felt on her legs, the rash and its open wounds spreading its way to her knees. With nobody to blame, she blamed the doctor and he appeared nervous at the accusation of her worsened condition, assuring her that there was not much more he could possibly do.
“I will have Mrs Dern come this Thursday, ma’am, and she will have five leeches put to your leg.” He hoped that this would appease her, mistaken for thinking that anything could. “They will be an additional treatment to the herbs that I have prescribed you. For now, I will continue to monitor your condition, although there is not much to be done. They are not vanishing nor are they becoming worse, merely spreading across your leg.”
“Useless,” the baroness was heard muttering.
It was unclear who she directed the insult to, though the doctor assumed it was for him, being the most probable source, his hands quivering in the face of her wrath. He glanced to his side, hoping that Yvonne may aid him, yet she was aloof, watching him with as much irritability as her mother. Arms crossed, she felt obliged to be present, mainly in the understanding that Lady Davers needed a chaperone whilst the doctor examined her. Noting the way he glanced at her, cowering, she took advantage of his attention by asking-
“Have you seen Sutton recently?”
“Yes, I have, ma’am,” he affirmed, wrapping fresh bandages around the baroness’ shins and ankles. “It is unfortunate for me to report that he has a matter of days left.”
Yvonne had believed as much, the information more distressing now she knew the full truth of it. She had hoped that Sutton would live longer, though that was mere selfishness on her part, for the man suffered and it would be a relief for him to relinquish the agony he was in. On the subject of afflictions, she inquired into Elijah Bell, aware she had promised a visit to his home. Besides the brief report from his father, Yvonne had received no updates on his condition; as for Penny, she had kept unusually quiet on the subject after they had spoken the day of her arrival.
“He is doing well, as well as he can. From all accounts, he will live a full life, despite his forced undertaking as an invalid.” The doctor was silent for a moment before he continued. “Speaking of the accident, I visited Colworth House this week and from what I observed, it seems to me that Miss Donoghue is not quite recovered.”
The subject caught Lady Davers’ attention, who peered up at him from her bed, mistrusting of his report. “Miss Donoghue was not injured in the accident; she left here in perfect condition. There was no account of an injury.”
“Not physically speaking.” Noting their silence, he mistook it for interest, standing once he had finished with the bandages. “She suffers with nerves, you see, and they have become worse since she has arrived here. The only companion she has is that of her old governess, Miss Ainsley. With little distraction from her lethargy, and her sole companion being that of an elderly woman, she is left with no diversion from her mundane routine.” Blathering, he did not notice that Lady Davers neglected to listen to him. As to Yvonne, she did not believe that such a detailed account was needed for a woman they were unfamiliar with, her arms crossing tighter in her offence. Heedless, the doctor continued. “The best remedy in aiding her recovery, I believe, is for her to work for a living and in being forced to do so, she will recover quite rapidly. She has too much time to be idle.”
Yvonne’s hands curled tighter in their folded position, a scowl forming upon her lips. “I hope you do not discuss our private affairs with your other patients, Doctor. I would find that most disconcerting.”
He was rightfully abashed at her remark, falling silent and attending to the medicine he had brought within his briefcase. Grateful for his silence, Yvonne unfolded her arms, striding over to the bed and sitting by her mother’s feet. The doctor’s reticence stirred Lady Davers into animation, her attempt at discussion merely subsiding into a reprimand.
“Penny told me that she planned to call on Miss Donoghue; she is concerned that she is still in shock from the incident. If you would spare an hour of your time, she was hoping that you may accompany her.”
“That will suit Penny,” she remarked. “You know how she relishes new friends, but she gets carried away with her fancies. I am sure Miss Donoghue will find her amusing at first, though, in the end, she is hardly more of a distraction than the elderly she seems to surround herself with.”
Lady Davers stared at her with as much disapproval as she could muster, her long fingers gripping onto the white sheets that she lay under. “The accident occurred on your land. If you had any manners, you would visit the girl yourself and make amends. It would be wise, after such an incident, to make an acquaintance, even if it is to ensure they cannot voice any complaints when all has passed. You want to avoid offending anybody; I am sure you will do that enough when you reopen the factory. We need allies in this town, Yvonne, whether you like them or not. In regards to Penny, she must have a chaperone and you are the best person to accompany her. She is forbidden to leave this house unless you are by her side.”
Yvonne leant back, bolstered by her elbows. She was inconvenienced by the demand, the scowl settling as a permanent expression on her face.
“Penny is also mistress of the house,” she disputed, “she may go as she pleases.” Struck with a thought, she added- “I once dined with a Miss Donoghue in Dublin, did you know? She was beautiful but sullen, trivial. She was certainly no conversationalist; I am certain that this Miss Donoghue will be the same. I have no interest in socialites nor their lifestyle, and I would despise inquiring into the wellbeing of someone who is perfectly well so that Penny may have a friend. I have had Penny mention more than once our neighbour and if I were to hear her name mentioned one more time, it would be too soon. I have no interest in meeting Miss Donoghue.”
There was a knock at the door, the inquirer entering with permission. The footman stood at the entrance, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, Lady Davers, Miss Davers, but Miss Donoghue has arrived. She is accompanied by a Miss Ainsley.”
Lady Davers released a shrill laugh, incapable of repressing her amusement, the burst of emotion settling into a short cackle. Yvonne was less pleased, glowering at the footman.
“Inform them that I shall be down shortly.” She gestured at the baroness. “As you can see, I am attending to my mother.”
The door closed behind the footman, Lady Davers scoffing as it did, pulling the sheets closer to her chin. “You have no interest in being here. This is fate mocking you for your petulance.”
Yvonne wished she could dispute the needless claims, which is what she believed them to be, standing and scowling one last time at her mother. She knew she must see to her guest. Certainly, Penny would have admitted the two women and it would be viewed as a slight to refuse an audience now, knowing that her sister was already seated with them. Excusing herself, Yvonne exited the room, pardoning her presence from her mother, though not the doctor; she did not acknowledge him as she left.
She wished that Penny had friends of her own, relieving Yvonne of the expectation and allowing her sister the freedom she desired. She thought it fair that Penny conducted house calls as she wished, as was becoming of her age, yet she doubted their mother would allow it. In the meantime, the girl was left with little in the way of entertainment other than her sister and the library. For a girl on the brink of womanhood, that was considered insufficient and Yvonne could not do much to ease the lonesome existence that surrounded her; she could hardly help herself.
Withal, if Penny were to become friends with their neighbour, that might aid in her silence when it came to the subject of Miss Donoghue. The two may become too occupied with their friendship to involve her, and that pleased Yvonne greatly. Surely, the young woman was not so interesting as to hear of her at every turn, as she had done since returning home. Yvonne believed that an heiress raised in the Irish wilderness was bound to be dull and unrefined, trusting there was no commonality that could possibly be shared between them; she was better remaining with Penny and discounting Yvonne from whatever foolish whims took their fancy.
Coming to the door, she could hear their voices within. One utterance could be heard above the others, excitable but eloquent, and Yvonne recognised it to be Penny’s, realisation dawning that the girl was talking about the southern protests. The thought vexed her; it was not a subject that she believed appropriate for her age, though Penny would contend that was not the case- she protested against the idea that she was acting the crusader, or worse, the martyr. In the last week, there had been another bout of disturbances throughout several farms, and it was expected that there would be more in the weeks to come. Yvonne could understand her concern, aware that such disturbances may find their way to Bedford, and it would be an inconvenience that was not so easily settled with a stern word and a threat of dismissal. Penny knew that too; she was more intelligent than Yvonne would ever credit her for.
Checking her watch, she pulled it from her pocket, noting the time. She hoped the visit was no more than an hour, the thought in itself grieving her. Exhaling slowly, Yvonne resolved her reverie, returning her watch to its usual place. She wished she had excused herself but the time had passed for excuses. With that thought, she clenched her jaw, pushing the door open and entering the room.