Joe would have questioned her odd response, but her mother was back, conducting servants carrying the tea things and a small table which was arranged close to the invalid. ‘I hope you have a sweet tooth, Dr Warriner, as there is plenty of cake. And biscuits, too! Both my girls are extremely fond of biscuits. Come along, Clarissa! Come join us for tea!’
The object of his affection slapped down her embroidery with a huff and sauntered to the table like a surly child. Immediately, Joe stood and inclined his head. ‘Lady Clarissa. I hope you are well.’
‘Actually, Dr Warriner, I am not well. I have a cold. But my health must be ignored for the sake of dear Bella, as she is the one everyone must worry about. All of the time.’
‘You have the tiniest of sniffles, Clarissa dear.’ Lady Braxton was embarrassed. ‘And your sister could have broken her leg!’
‘I am here and can attend to you, too, my lady.’ Good grief, he sounded eager. Far too eager. He pasted on a professional expression of concern. ‘What are your symptoms?’
Lady Clarissa cast her sister a brittle smile and plopped her bottom on the chair just placed for her by a footman. It bothered Joe she did not thank the poor fellow for his efforts. ‘My head hurts and my nose is quite blocked.’
‘Congestion of the sinuses does cause headaches. Do you have a fever?’ He avoided the temptation to reach out and touch her forehead.
‘I am a little warm.’
‘Something which might be caused by your insistence on wearing that wool frock in July.’ Lady Braxton’s eyes were shooting daggers at her daughter. There was an undercurrent here, a dynamic Joe didn’t quite understand. Jealousy? Hostility? Palpable underlying friction between the two sisters, although mostly coming from Clarissa. Lady Isabella was the very picture of mortification and back to staring down at her hands. The mother seemed ready to strangle her eldest daughter. ‘Why don’t you go and change and stop wasting the good doctor’s time, dear?’
‘Oh, yes! Why don’t I? Then you can go back to fussing over poor Bella. Why, she hasn’t been fussed over enough, has she? Thanks to her, we are stuck here and I am bored senseless!’
‘Have you tried a steam inhalation?’ Ever the diplomat, Joe intervened and tried to diffuse the fraught atmosphere. If this was a case of sibling rivalry, perhaps Lady Clarissa would return to her sweet self if her minor ailment received some attention and he would stop feeling disloyal for feeling irritated at her. ‘I would recommend a few drops of peppermint oil in boiling hot water. It’s excellent for unclogging sinuses. I could send some back here directly.’
Lady Clarissa beamed at him and Joe basked in the glow. ‘Why, thank you, Dr Warriner. It is so nice to know that someone cares about my well-being.’
* * *
The next half an hour passed without incident. Lady Braxton and he maintained the bulk of the conversation. Lady Clarissa added the odd snippet and her sister not at all. Her silence bothered him, although he couldn’t say why. As he made his goodbyes, Joe made one final attempt at engaging her. Goodness only knew why. ‘I am certain you will be well enough for Saturday’s assembly.’
‘Whether she is or she isn’t, I shall be there. Retford is such a dull place, we must find our entertainments where we can.’ Lady Clarissa rolled her eyes. ‘I cannot wait for this summer to be over.’ Which suggested their residency here was only temporary. Something that was probably for the best. A month of dreaming about the angelic, unattainable Clarissa was a month too many, as his misguided heart was doomed to be disappointed for ever.
‘Then I shall look forward to seeing you there.’
‘I am relying on you to dance with me, Dr Warriner.’ His heart soared. ‘There is a distinct shortage of eligible men in the area and, in the absence of any titled gentlemen, I shall have to content myself with handsome ones instead.’ And his heart dropped back to his toes where it belonged.
‘I am glad to be of service, my lady.’ Although he wasn’t. He was miffed. The butler passed him his hat and Joe started towards the door, feeling dejected and foolish. And angry at feeling guilty for being rightly peeved at Lady Clarissa’s words.
‘Dr Warriner...’ Lady Isabella had found her voice. ‘When might I go back to the infirmary to attend my duties?’
He saw her sister’s obvious eye roll and felt another stab of irritation at her selfishness. At least the dour Bella wanted to help people. Her eagerness shone in her dark eyes. They almost sparkled. ‘I suppose that depends on the type of duties you undertake. Racing around the ward, or standing for long periods of time, not for at least another week. But if you are doing something lighter—reading to the children or keeping a sick child company—I see no reason why you cannot resume those things in a day or two. As long as you are sitting down, of course.’
This answer pleased her immensely and for the first time he saw her proper smile. It was quite something. Quite something indeed. Dazzling, almost, and wholly responsible for a fresh wave of tingles. ‘Thank you, Dr Warriner. And thank you again for this morning.’
‘It was my pleasure, Lady Isabella.’ And for some inexplicable reason, as he left her, it was.
The next two days seemed to go far slower than days ever had before. Being stuck on the sofa with no purpose made Bella’s anxiety worse. She fought it, of course, by reading or painting or sewing—anything to stop the debilitating melancholy which constantly threatened to suffocate her. Logically, she knew keeping active helped to ward off her demons. Dr Bentley’s assessment of her mental state and the invasive treatment he suggested had terrified her, and whilst she was fairly certain he was a quack at best, there was only so long her family would allow her to get over it all herself. Her way. They had moved to Retford, at her insistence, to give her the summer away from London to sort herself out. If she couldn’t, then the threat of more dreadful water treatments, and perhaps even Dr Bentley’s cure for her blatant hysteria, loomed on the horizon because she couldn’t go on like this.
She had to get better. There really was no other option and sitting around all day embroidering handkerchiefs was not helping her recovery or stopping her mind whirring. Her big brain needed proper stimuli, something meaningful, and her big heart needed to focus on others rather than herself.
* * *
On the third day, when her father announced he was going into town, Bella insisted on accompanying him, although he did not take much persuading. Both her parents saw her desire to leave the house as a positive step forward and delighted in seeing tangible evidence of progress, although they never, ever discussed it.
The lack of communication about the incident made it harder. Her parents, or more specifically her father, had decided from the outset it was better for everyone if they pretended it had never happened, as if blithely ignoring that dreadful night in Vauxhall Gardens would somehow erase it from existence. Yet how could it? Bella could still see his eyes boring down into hers. Still smell the fetid odour of the man’s filthy clothes and body. Still feel his hands groping her bare skin, pawing at her breasts and between her legs. Feel that part of him pressing against her flesh insistently. And all of it whilst pinned powerless beneath him in the dark bushes, unable to scream. Unable to run. All around her were the sounds of the laughing crowds and the fireworks and she was at the mercy of a monster.
In that dreadful instant, she had learned that the world was not the safe, cossetted place she had always believed it to be. Darkness and evil lurked, waiting for the unsuspecting. The trusting. The good-hearted. She had stopped to give a poor beggar some coins and he had wanted something else entirely. He’d almost taken it...
‘Will you read to us again, Bella?’