William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

prescribe such a thing for the child, but he might not; he was extremely conservative—and he was also not due to make his rounds for another five hours.
    The child stirred again. She leaned over and touched him gently, to soothe as much as anything. But he did not regain his senses, rather he seemed on the border of falling into delirium.
    She made up her mind without hesitation. This was a battle she would not surrender. Since the Crimea she had carried a few basic medicines herself, things she thought she would be unable to obtain readily in England. A mixture of theriac, loxa quinine and Hoffman’s liquor was among them. She kept them in a small leather case with an excellent lock which she left with her cloak and bonnet in a small outer room provided for such a purpose.
    Now, the decision made, she glanced around the ward one more time to make sure no one was in distress, and when all seemed well, she hurried out and along the passage to the outer room, and pulled her case from where it was half hidden under the folds of her cloak. She fished for the key on its chain from her pocket and put it in the lock. It turned easily and she opened the lid. Under the clean apron and two freshly laundered linen caps were the medicines. The theriac and quinine mixture was easy to see. She took it out and slipped it into her pocket, then closed and locked the case again, sliding it back under her cloak.
    Back in the ward she found a bottle of the ale the nurses frequently drank. The mixer was supposed to be Bordeaux wine, but since she had none, this would have to serve. She poured a little into a cup and added a very small dose of the quinine, stirring it thoroughly. She knew the taste was extremely bitter.
    She went over to the bed and lifted the child gently, resting his head against her. She gave him two teaspoonfuls, putting them gently between his lips. He seemed unaware of what was happening, and swallowed only in reaction. She wiped his mouth with a napkin and laid him back again, smoothing the hair off his brow and covering him with the sheet.
    Two hours later she gave him two more teaspoonfuls, and then a third time just before Pomeroy came.
    “Very pleasing,” he said, looking closely at the boy, his freckled face full of satisfaction. “He seems to be doing remarkably well, Miss Latterly. You see I was quite right to leave the operation till I did. There was no such urgency as you supposed.” He looked at her with a tight smile. “You panic too easily.” And he straightened up and went to the next bed.
    Hester refrained from comment with difficulty. But if she told him of the fever the boy had been sinking into only five hours ago, she would also have to tell him of the medication she had given. His reaction to that she could only guess at, but it would not be agreeable. She would tell him, if she had to, when the child was recovered. Perhaps discretion would be best.
    However circumstances did not permit her such latitude. By the middle of the week John Airdrie was sitting up with no hectic color in his cheeks and taking with pleasure a little light food. But the woman three beds along who had had an operation on her abdomen was sinking rapidly, and Pomeroy was looking at her with grave anxiety and recommending ice and frequent cool baths. There was no hope in his voice, only resignation and pity.
    Hester could not keep silent. She looked at the woman’s pain-suffused face, and spoke.
    “Dr. Pomeroy, have you considered the possibility of giving her loxa quinine in a mixture of wine, theriac and Hoffman’s mineral liquor? It might ease her fever.”
    He looked at her with incredulity turning slowly into angeras he realized exactly what she had said, his face pink, his beard bristling.
    “Miss Latterly, I have had occasion to speak to you before about your attempts to practice an art for which you have no training and no mandate. I will give Mrs. Begley what is best for her, and you will obey my instructions. Is that understood?”
    Hester swallowed hard. “Is that your instruction, Dr. Pomeroy, that I give Mrs. Begley some loxa quinine to ease her fever?”
    “No it is not!” he snapped. “That is for tropical fevers, not for the normal recovery from an operation. It would do no good. We will have none of that foreign rubbish here!”
    Part of Hester’s mind still struggled with the decision, but her tongue was already embarked on the course her conscience would inevitably choose.
    “I have seen