The Irish Healer - By Nancy Herriman Page 0,24

carpet. She picked them up and held them out. “I cannot accept money from you.”

“Do you have any funds for an emergency? No, I thought not. It’s only a few shillings, anyway.” Claire shoved Rachel’s hand away. “I’m going to send over a dress for you to wear, if you don’t mind. First impressions are critical.”

Blushing, Rachel wrapped the note around the coins and tucked the entirety into her pocket. “Thank you for the dress.” She wouldn’t argue about the necessity for one. “And the money. I pray I do not need it, but I will keep it safe in case I do.”

“And I shall keep your secret safe. A woman’s future depends upon maintaining the purest of reputations.”

“Mine has a rather large blot.”

“We’ll work hard to erase it. With God’s grace, we shall.” Claire stood. “This will have to be a short visit, Rachel. I don’t want to be late to Lady Anthistle’s. She’s providing a large sum of money to a foundation I’m thinking of starting.”

“Your own foundation . . . how marvelous.” More evidence of Claire’s charity. Pride bit hard. How far I have fallen that I’ve come to need it.

Rachel escorted her cousin into the hallway.

“I’ll come by to fetch you on Friday, Rachel. Send a message to the address on that piece of paper if Dr. Edmunds will not release you to make the appointment.” Claire deposited a quick kiss on Rachel’s cheek. “I know you’ll succeed. I will make certain you succeed.”

They exchanged fond farewells, and Rachel closed the door behind her.

As she turned away, she spied a flash of black merino disappearing around the first-floor landing. Molly, she thought with a pinch in her chest. The maid had been listening at the door.

“Where is Molly this morning, Joe?” Rachel asked as she held the kitchen door open for him.

Joe struggled through with a small crate piled high with chipped plates, bound for the charity wagon waiting on the curb outside. “She’s gone off to the grocer’s to stock up for dinner this evenin’. Why d’you ask, miss?”

Rachel trailed him up the staircase, a box of old kitchen linens in her hands. “Oh, just wondering if she’s said anything about . . . anything.”

Joe glanced over his shoulder at her. “Does she ’ave somethin’ in particular to say?”

I hope not. “I was just wondering if she ever talks to you about me.”

He rolled his eyes. “If Moll ’ad somethin’ to say about you, miss, she’d tell the entire ’ouse, not just me.”

They passed Peg on her knees in the hallway, a scrub brush in her hand, a bucket of soapy water at her side.

Joe sidestepped her sprawled skirts. “You missed a spot there, Peg,” he teased.

Peg glared as she dragged the brush along the baseboard. “Oh, it’s right funny you are, Joe.”

Rachel went past without catching the girl’s eye. She had already learned life was easier if she avoided conversing with Peg. “Everyone is so busy today.”

“Don’ you know we’ve special company comin’?” Joe set down the box in the entry hall. He stretched his neck and pretended to tidy a cravat like the greatest peer of the realm. “Dr. Castleton and ’is esteemed sister, Miss Louisa Castleton. Won’t be bringin’ ’is missus tonight. ’eard she’s off visitin’ somewheres. ’e’s a right stuffy bloke, ’e is. Goin’ to be takin’ over the doctor’s practice when we go. Don’t much like how ’e looks around ’im when ’e comes to visit. Like ’e’s taken a fancy to ownin’ the place on top of everythin’ in it! An’ there’s ’is sister . . . well, she’s a pretty one, and I think she ’as ’er ’eart set on Dr. E, the way she bats those eyelashes at ’im whenever she’s ’ere. Not that I’ve been spyin’ on them or anythin’.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Rachel waited as he opened the front door, retrieved his box, and stepped through. “And Dr. Edmunds, does he return Miss Castleton’s interest?”

Joe cocked his head and grinned. “Why, you soft on ’im too?”

“I hardly know him,” she protested, warmth creeping along her neck. “Besides, he is my employer.”

“All the more reason to be interested in ’im! Sure didn’t stop that Miss Guimond from goin’ all big-eyed around ’im. Even though folk like us shouldn’t be bothered with pinin’ after folk like Dr. E and ’is kind. Too high up an’ all.”

“Yes, Joe,” she agreed. “Far too high for folk like us.”

He started down the steps toward the curb. A cart with a

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