Doing No Harm Read Online Free PDF Page B

How Miss Grant managed to smell so sweetly of vanilla scent, even after embracing as filthy a little boy as he had ever tended and in a room awash with blood, Douglas couldn’t have said. Long experience had taught him to take what came, with appropriate rejoicing.
    She freed herself quickly from his impromptu embrace, but she smiled, so he knew he had not offended her. She touched his heart when she went to Tommy with a clean cloth dipped in warm water from the brass can and wiped his face, his dirty neck, and then his arms, crusted with what looked like fish leavings. Tommy must be a dock boy , Douglas decided.
    “May I fetch him some food?” she asked.
    Tommy’s eyes had been closing. At the word food , they opened and he nodded. Douglas saw the hunger in them, which even eclipsed the pain of a compound fracture. How to do this without shaming the lad? Douglas thought a moment.
    “Tommy, I know you hurt, and I am going to give you a sleeping draught,” he began. “When did you last eat?”
    Tommy glanced at his silent mother. “I don’t remember,” he said finally, the words dragged out of him.
    Douglas considered his little patient, an independent being, unlike the men of the Royal Navy, who had to take what he dished out. He looked into the boy’s eyes again, and suddenly knew what he was doing. It had nothing to do with him but everything to do with his mother.
    “I know you’re hungry, and so is your mam,” Douglas told him. “If you can stand the pain for a little while, we can probably convince Miss Grant to bring up some food for you and your mother. Draughts and food don’t mix well.”
    Douglas saw the deep gratitude in Tommy’s eyes and found it difficult to continue. Good thing he needed to make a slight adjustment to the splint just then, an adjustment precisely long enough to allow him to collect his feelings.
    “That’s better. Can’t leave these little things untended,” Douglas said finally. “If you eat something now, you and your mam, you’ll have to wait another hour before I give you that sleeping draught. Personally, I think that best, if you can manage the pain, lad.”
    “I can manage,” the boy whispered.
    “Excellent.” Douglas knew better than to look at Miss Grant, so he fiddled with that splint again. When he finally looked in Miss Grant’s direction, she was gathering up bits of bloody lint that needed no attention at the moment. What silly beings we are , he thought, grateful for human kindness.
    Miss Grant was obviously made of sterner stuff than he had thought, considering her reluctance around blood. She turned to Mrs. Tavish. “I have so much to do. If my scullery maid and I bring some food up here for you and Tommy, could you feed him while we are busy elsewhere?”
    Perfect , he thought, perfect. The two of them can eat without an audience watching them wolf down a meal . “I will echo that, Mrs. Tavish.” Douglas indicated the scissors, suturing needle, bistoury, and catgut. “I’ll take all this downstairs while you eat and I wash my instruments. They must be cared for immediately. Will you help us by feeding Tommy?”
    Mrs. Tavish nodded, her eyes less haunted. He saw something in them of anticipation and maybe even hope. He doubted supremely that anything good had happened to her in years. Let it be a handsome bit of food, Miss Grant , he thought.
    Miss Grant clapped her hands. “Brilliant! Maeve and I will only be a few minutes. I so appreciate your help, Mrs. Tavish. Come, Maeve.” She left the room with her scullery maid.
    Moved to the depths of his heart, Douglas gathered together the untidy pieces of his profession and put them in the leather satchel. “I’ll be up in an hour with that sleeping draught,” he said, and he left the room. He gave a nod to Mrs. Tavish. “Mind he doesn’t gulp his food. I’m relying on you.”
    He saw the poor woman straighten her back. “I can take care of my son,” she said with a touch of pride, probably