Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter Six
She’d taken an immediate and intense dislike to the man.
Seated in a chair near Philippa’s bedside, Sophie listened to the physician as he placated and condescended to her new friend. He spoke to her as if she were simple in some way or perhaps like a spoiled child hovering on the edge of a tantrum.
“Now, Lady Philippa,” he said, “Have you been getting your rest?” He glanced over at Sophie. “I understand that it must be very difficult for you to be so confined, but you must be cautious about overtaxing yourself!”
He spoke to her as if she were a small child or simple minded, Sophie thought.
“I assure you, Dr. Blake, I am following your instructions to the letter,” Philippa said. Then the girl batted her eyelashes at him.
“I’ve told you that you may call me Richard,” he said. “We are friends, are we not?”
Philippa looked very uncomfortable as she glanced away from him. “I know you are only looking out for me and I am very appreciative, and yes, of course, we are friends.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to see you well, Lady Philippa. It is my fondest wish that you will be dancing waltzes and promenading with the other young ladies of society. But it will take time,” he insisted.
“Yes, Dr. Blake,” Philippa agreed.
“Richard! Now, are you still intent upon this sea bathing? I cannot tell you how terrible an idea I find it to be,” he said. “In your weakened state, I think exposure to cold water in a more controlled environment, such as the hydrotherapy rooms, would serve you better.”
Philippa’s gaze shuttered and she seemed to recoil from that. “But the sea is not cold… or not so cold as the hydrotherapy baths are. I’m certain it can only be beneficial for me as it makes me feel better.”
The doctor’s expression became completely impassive, his gaze narrowing and tension filling him as he stared at the girl. In that moment, Sophie found herself fearful that he might harm Philippa outright. He appeared furious at having his authority questioned. Then the moment passed, his expression shifted again, softening and his eyes were once more downcast and his tone placating when he spoke. “I must disagree with your assessment. I adore cake but that does not make it healthful! Nonetheless, having a bit of it now and again is what makes the days brighter, is it not? You shall enjoy your sea bathing once per week. No more. I will have your word on it!”
“I solemnly promise,” Philippa agreed with a soft and almost radiant smile.
Dr. Blake nodded. It was almost as if he’d forgotten anyone else was present. He reached out, his hand tenderly cupping Philippa’s cheek before pushing a stray tendril of hair from her face. It was a decidedly intimate gesture, one that implied a relationship far beyond that of doctor and patient.
Observing it, Sophie was instantly uncomfortable. So much so that she cleared her throat more loudly and with far more force than was necessary. Still, it worked. The moment was broken. Dr. Blake withdrew his hand from Philippa’s cheek and Philippa herself recoiled from it, as if realizing that, on the whole, it had been terribly improper.
Dr. Blake turned to Sophie then, a smile on his lips that did not match the coldness in his gaze. “And you, Miss Upchurch, I charge you with being certain Lady Philippa does not overtax herself… that includes your company. She must have hours of solitude and rest daily if she is to recover.”
“I will only ever do what is in Philippa’s best interests,” Sophie hedged. “I shall endeavor to see to her comfort and health above all else.”
He nodded, clearly choosing not to see the subtext of her reply. Then Dr. Blake reached into his bag and withdrew a dark green bottle. “Two drops in your tea in the morning, in the afternoon and three drops before bed,” he said. “You must take it every day, never missing a dose, or it will not work.”
“What is that?” Sophie asked.
“It’s a tonic,” he answered sharply, as if she were dimwitted.
“I’m aware of that, Dr. Blake. My question pertained more to the contents of the tonic. What is in it?” Sophie clarified.
The doctor’s eyebrows rose, an obvious indication of his displeasure. “Medicinal herbs, Miss Upchurch. Shall I read you the list of ingredients or will you be satisfied to know that I am a trained physician who can adequately prepare and dispense appropriate treatments to my patients?”
Realizing she’d been too fervent in her question, Sophie smiled. “Oh, I did not mean to imply otherwise, Dr. Blake. It was merely curiosity. If the ingredients are so healthful and are appropriate for Lady Philippa’s diet, I thought we might be able to ask the cook to incorporate more of those herbs into her dishes!”
“It is not at all the same,” he snapped. “If you had any training beyond that of how to do needlework, you might know that yourself! These herbs have no benefit until they are combined in an elixir as I have made for Lady Philippa here. I trust, Miss Upchurch, that you will leave the doctoring of patients to their doctors and not attempt to take over Lady Philippa’s treatment yourself?”
Trying to appear chastened, Sophie nodded. “Certainly, Dr. Blake. We are all certain that you will tell us how best to proceed with Philippa’s care.”
“Indeed, I do know what’s best for her! Now I must be going. Lady Philippa, I shall see you at the end of the week. Naturally, you may send for me if you have need. I will always come for you, my de—Lady Philippa,” the doctor said as he bowed his head in Philippa’s direction. To Sophie, he gave a curt nod and then walked out. The door slammed just a bit behind him prompting Philippa to wince.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend him,” Sophie said. “I really was only curious.”
Philippa looked at her skeptically. “I understand that you have doubts, but he cares about my well-being. He was likely only frustrated because another week has passed and I am no better than I was before.”
Or no worse.Sophie needed to find out precisely what was in that bottle. Was the doctor trying to cure Philippa or was he trying to maintain her state of dependence? If so, why? “Does he bring you a new bottle of elixir every week?”
“Always,” Philippa said. “He insists that they are the key to my recovery, though to be perfectly honest, I see no improvement from it.”
“And where do you keep them?”
“In the kitchen,” the girl replied. “Cook takes care of it and makes certain that a cup of tea with the appropriate dose is sent to me as instructed. It’s a vile tasting concoction and tea at least makes it tolerable.”
“Well, I shall take the new bottle to the kitchen and leave you to rest for a bit. It has been a busy morning and I know you will be tired,” Sophie offered. And she’d get the old bottle and take it to an apothecary to get his opinion on the contents.
Philippa handed the bottle to her. “You are too kind, Sophie. I am so very glad to have you here.”
Sophie smiled back at her. “And I am very glad to be here, Philippa. Very glad, indeed.”
Heading down the stairs, Sophie made straight for the kitchen. She found the cook elbow deep in pastry dough which was perfect for her plan. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve brought down Lady Philippa’s elixir from Dr. Blake. If you’ll simply point me in the direction of where it is stored, I’ll be happy to put it away for you.”
“Betsy, show Miss Upchurch where to put Lady Philippa’s tonic,” the cook said gruffly.
A scullery maid bobbed a curtsy, though it was hardly necessary to do so for her, and tittered nervously. “This way, Miss.”
Down the winding corridor of larders and preparation rooms and laundry areas, Sophie was shown into a small pantry where various medicines, herbs, and other supplies were kept. There on the shelf before her, on prime display, was a bottle identical to the one currently in her hand. Sophie reached for the bottle on the shelf. “Oh, this one is empty.” It wasn’t. There was a small amount of liquid still in the bottom of the bottle but the maid couldn’t possibly tell from the distance she stood. It would be just enough, Sophie hoped, to find out precisely what the contents were.
“I can take care of it, Miss. Cook will want to wash the bottle and reuse it.”
“Actually, I’ve a bottle of rose water upstairs in my things that’s chipped. This would be the perfect size to replace it. I’ll just rinse it with some water beforehand. But thank you, Betsy.”
“You might ought to let me see to it and give it a proper wash, Miss,” the maid said nervously.
Sophie smiled blankly, trying to come up with an excuse but the cook saved her once more. The woman bellowed for Betsy who started like a frightened rabbit.
“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it, Betsy. Run along before you get into trouble.”
The maid nodded and darted away. Placing the full bottle on the shelf, Sophie pocketed the nearly empty one and made her way out into the main corridor and up the stairs to the entry hall. She needed to find some reason to leave the house, some errand perhaps that she might complete for the duchess which would allow her to locate and obtain the services of an apothecary. She needed to find someone who could tell her precisely what was in that bottle.
Waylaying some passing footman in the corridor, Sophie inquired, “Is her grace in the drawing room or the morning room?”
“Her grace is out, Miss Upchurch,” the footman replied. “His grace is in his study with the viscount if you require assistance.”
“Oh, no! No. It’s nothing that I would need to bother them about,” Sophie said, quickly backing away. But her escape was curtailed by the opening of the study door.
“Ah, Miss Upchurch,” the viscount said, “I thought I heard you out here. Might I ask for your company on an outing? I am to call on Lady Hemsley who was a great friend of Lady Parkhurst. She is quite keen to meet you as it had been at her behest that Lady Parkhurst deigned to obtain a companion.”
Sophie stared at him in complete consternation. It was the opportunity she’d needed—a chance to get the tonic created for Philippa to an apothecary. But it was hours spent in his company. Realizing that she was stuck, she said, “What if Philippa needs me? I should hate for her to wake and have no one to assist her!”
The duke emerged then. “We’ve a houseful of servants, Miss Upchurch. Go and enjoy the day while you can. We have excellent weather for a change!”
“Of course,” Sophie agreed. “Let me just get my shawl.”
“Send a maid for it,” the duke said, and gestured to the waylaid footman who was off then to see it done. “You’re not a servant in this house, Miss Upchurch. I understand that your position with Lady Parkhurst was that of a paid companion, but here you are a guest in our home who is thankfully providing much needed company and no small amount of joy to my daughter—both of which she desperately needs.”
Sophie blushed. “Forgive me, your grace. I am not used to having servants to see to my every need and whim. It is quite an adjustment, but I am very grateful for your generosity and your hospitality, sir. Philippa is a delight and I hope that I may offer her some comfort while I am here.”
The duke nodded, disappeared once more into his study and then shut the door behind him. Sophie found herself alone in the corridor with Viscount Marchwood. “Would it be possible to visit an apothecary while we are out?”
“Certainly. Are you ill?” he inquired.
“No,” Sophie answered. From her pocket, she withdrew the bottle and showed it to him. “Dr. Blake provided a new bottle of Philippa’s elixir today. I secured the small amount that remained in her previous bottle and I wish to have it examined. I want to know what he is giving her!”
*
Henry gaped ather. He was equal parts impressed and horrified. It was a tactic he should have considered himself, honestly. That she’d managed to do so in less than a full day in their household left him feeling somewhat uncertain.
“Tis a pity Wellington did not have your services, Miss Upchurch. The war would no doubt have ended much sooner,” he stated.
Under his gaze, she blushed prettily, but he could see her bristling. “What would you have me do, my lord? It is apparent that Philippa has very complicated feelings for this man! He is her physician, he has authority over her, he is young and handsome—of course, she feels compelled to do as he bids whatever her instincts about him might say! And I must say that, while his behavior was not inappropriate with her, it skated very near to it.”
It was Henry’s turn to bristle. “What do you mean by inappropriate?”
Miss Upchurch glanced at the closed door of his uncle’s study and at the footmen who were near the end of the corridor. “It’s something we should discuss on our walk to Lady Hemsley’s.”
“No, Miss Upchurch. I think that is something we must address now. Do you think he has compromised her in some way?”
“No!” she protested immediately. “That is to say, I do not think he has. But what I observed today… well, his behavior seems more like a suitor than any physician of my acquaintance. It was, if I had to apply some sort of descriptive label to it, somewhat intimate. Even romantic. But not overtly so. I rather think he wants her to see him as potential suitor.”
Philippa was an heiress. She was painfully young. Not even sixteen yet. And her illness kept her from most social activities where she might meet suitable young men. In short, she was especially vulnerable to such attentions and, therefore, the ideal candidate for such schemes from a well-disguised fortune hunter. “And what do your instincts say about him, Miss Upchurch?”
“That he is a charlatan. That perhaps he has some ulterior motive. Philippa is the daughter of a duke, after all. What if he is making her sick—or failing to make her well—only to miraculously cure her later on? What if he is banking on her gratitude, and perhaps her family’s gratitude, to earn him a more permanent place in her life?”
It wasn’t so different from his own suspicions aroused by his prior conversation with Lady Hemsley. “I owe you an apology, Miss Upchurch. While I did not dismiss your suspicions out of hand initially, I did not take them as seriously as I ought to have. I’ve reason now to suspect that your interpretation of the situation is more accurate than you might realize. And our outing today… well, it has quite a bit to do with that.”
Henry went quiet as soon as the maid that had been dispatched by his uncle returned with Miss Upchurch’s shawl. She donned it quickly and then they were off. He did not bother having a maid or groom to accompany them as they would not be in a closed carriage but on foot. It wasn’t improper, though it wasn’t quite the done thing either. Still, the fewer people who overheard their conversation the better. Henry held his arm out to her.
Miss Upchurch smiled a tad too brightly as she placed her fingertips on his arm. “Well, let’s be off then. I’m quite anxious to see Southampton.” Exiting the house, they’d gone some distance down the street before she said, “What have you learned?”
“Lady Hemsley informed me that Dr. Blake came to be Philippa’s physician by way of recommendation from Lady Parkhurst,” Henry answered, keeping his voice pitched low. “And while Lady Parkhurst was somewhat advanced in her years, she was always in very keen health until Dr. Richard Blake became her physician. And apparently, she is not the only one. Several people have experienced worsening symptoms while under his care. But he has a great deal of support in society. I cannot understand why people will continue to seek out the aid of a physician who does not provide cures or relief from symptoms!”
“Because he is young and handsome and tells people what they wish to hear,” Miss Upchurch stated. “And I’m beginning to think his elixirs might be part of that, as well. He prescribed an inordinate amount of it to her. Two drops in the morning, two in the afternoon and three at night!”
Henry was more than a bit confounded by her continued references to how handsome the doctor was. “What on earth does his handsomeness have to do with anything? And I confess to knowing next to nothing about what quantities of mysterious elixirs one should be taking.”
“Because he is appealing to the vanity of his female patients,” Miss Upchurch stated. “He flirts with them, he pays particular attention to them. In the case of Philippa, and perhaps other young women, he plants the seed that his interest might be more than just that of a physician for his patient! When someone is isolated by illness, when their world shrinks every day, that sort of brightness and hope can be a very powerful motivator.”
Henry couldn’t deny any of that. But he wasn’t quite ready to accept it entirely. “And what is his end then in making them sicker?”
Miss Upchurch considered her answer for a moment, chewing on her lower lip in a way that drew his eyes and sent his thoughts into very dangerous territory. At last, she said, “By making them sicker, he limits their access to the outside world even more and increases their dependence on him. It allows him to cast himself in the role of both friend and savior. It’s quite diabolical really.”
Henry wondered if that could really be the case. Was it truly so simple? For some reason, he could not bring himself to believe that was the whole of it. Reluctant as he might have been to be sucked into this investigation, for lack of a better term, he now found himself wholly invested in it. “There must be something more.”
“I agree. I, too, suspect there may be something more to it than that. I cannot help but wonder why he sees Philippa twice per week. No other physician does such unless it is truly warranted. While she is not well, her condition does appear to be stable at least. Unless that harkens back to my earlier suspicions regarding the nature of his attentions toward her and that his interest in her is more than professional. Do you think—would he have designs on her virtue?”
“Possibly,” Henry conceded. “I think it more likely that he has designs on her fortune, however.”
“You do not see her, do you?” Miss Upchurch asked.
“What do you mean by that?”
Miss Upchurch sighed. “You think Philippa is still a child. But in truth, she is only about two years younger than I am. Do you think me a child?”
Heaven help him, he did not. He saw Miss Sophia Upchurch as the very definition of womanhood, and that was a disaster for them both. “You know that I do not.”
“Then do not presume that, simply because you cannot see her that way, that other men do not look at Philippa and see her beauty and her youth and the fact that she is, whatever your beliefs on the matter, on the cusp of womanhood,” Sophie stated. “And girls at that age are especially vulnerable to the attentions of men who understand that about them… who understand that they very much want to make that leap from being a girl to a woman.”
“And did some man take advantage of your vulnerability that way?” He had to ask. It would not change his opinion of her, but it would explain her caution and her reaction to his deception.
“No,” she answered sharply. “But I have seen it frequently enough with other girls. You have but to look around you, my lord. It is nothing to see young women married to men who are twenty, thirty and sometimes even forty years their senior. It is also nothing to see that women who have been turned out into the street are often not much older than I am. Meanwhile, the men with whom they committed their sins bear no consequence at all. If ever there was proof that women are exploited by men, the very existence of the Darrow School should provide it.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, Henry digesting what she had said and Miss Upchurch, if her sidelong worried glances were any indication, wondering if she had gone too far. But she hadn’t. She’d pointed out some universal truths—truths so accepted as simply being the way of the world that the terrible wrongness of them had ceased to be noted.
“How much further to Lady Hemsley’s?” she finally asked.
“Not much further, but we will detour a small bit. We shall find your apothecary first,” he said. “Lady Hemsley is not expecting us until later in the afternoon. We are to join her for tea.” If what Miss Upchurch suspected of the doctor and his intentions were true, then the man was far more diabolical than Henry had first imagined him to be.
