Laniere stood with his hand resting on Braddock’s shoulder, but he fixed Abigail with a look so full of compassion that she nearly broke down in tears again. “I understand your distress. But you know the baby is in the arms of the Father now.” He smiled slightly. “Perhaps, of all of us, the least abandoned.”
Abigail wished she could believe that.
Hope lifted the discouraged droop of John Braddock’s mouth. “That’s so, isn’t it, sir?”
“As I live and breathe in Christ.” Dr. Laniere squeezed his student’s shoulder. “Now let’s see what we can do to make your patient more comfortable and take care of the baby’s resting place.”
“You will not give her that beastly powder.” Abigail stood in the kitchen doorway, effectively preventing John’s entrance into the clinic. The professor had gone to take care of the burial arrangements, leaving the two of them to watch over Tess. “I’ve known women who never rid themselves of the craving, once they taste it.”
John showed her the harmless-looking brown bottle of morphine. “But it would ease her pain and help her sleep.”
“Yes, but if you slow her heart enough, she may not wake up at all.”
“What do you know about it?” John stiffened. “We’ll ask Dr. Laniere.”
She’d studied on her own, but hadn’t known enough to help her mother. “I know what I’ve seen—”
“John, at the risk of sounding uncivil, what are you doing here so late?”
Abigail turned.
A pretty, curly-haired young matron entered the clinic with a baby of about six months propped on her hip. She tipped her head to smile at Abigail around John’s shoulder. “I’m Camilla Laniere. Meggins, say ‘How do you do.’” She picked up the baby’s hand to wave.
John looked guilty. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
“Nonsense. I was just surprised to see anyone here, that’s all.”
When the baby stuck her chubby fist in her mouth, Abigail smiled. “How do you do, young lady?”
“Afflicted by swollen gums, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Laniere, brushing her knuckles gently across the baby’s flushed cheek. “We came down for a sliver of ice.” She paused, a question in her soft voice. “I didn’t know we had a patient in the clinic.”
Abigail brushed past John. “I’m not the patient, ma’am. My name is Abigail Neal, and my friend Tess is in the ward here. Your husband sent Mr. Braddock to us. He brought us here when—” She faltered. “Tess is very ill. She lost her baby.”
“I’m so very sorry.” Mrs. Laniere reached to clasp Abigail’s hand. She glanced at John, heading off his clear intention to continue the opium debate. “You did well to bring them here, John. What have you done with my husband?”
John blinked, reverting to some instinctive standard of manners. “He’s taking care of laying out the—the body. He sent Willie to find a couple of grave diggers.”
“Ah. Then I assume we’ll have the burial in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am, before church.” He hesitated. “Because the professor will be back soon, I believe I’ll leave the patient in his hands. She’s resting fairly comfortably now. I’ve a pharmacy test to study for.” He pressed the vial of morphine into Abigail’s hand. “You can trust Dr. Laniere to do the right thing.”
“I’m sure I can.” Pocketing the opiate, Abigail gave him a dismissive nod. “Good evening, Mr. Braddock.”
“Good evening, Miss Neal.”
When he closed the door behind him with a distinct thump, Meg flinched and snuggled her face into her mother’s neck.
Shaking her head, Mrs. Laniere hugged the baby. “Please overlook John’s abruptness. He’s…a bit tense these days.”
“I suppose I should have thanked him.” Abigail leaned against the table, rubbing her aching temple. “Does he think he knows everything?”
“I’m afraid it’s rather characteristic of the genus homo.” Mrs. Laniere smiled. “But John in particular, being considered brilliant in his field, tends to be a bit…insistent in expressing his opinions.”
Abigail laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You must be worried about your friend.” Mrs. Laniere hesitated, swaying with the baby. “My dear, would you care to sit down with me for a cup of tea?”
“I couldn’t impose. Tess—”
“—is resting. We’ll be near enough to hear her if she calls. And I’d like a bit of intelligent female conversation while I nurse the baby.”
Abigail studied Camilla Laniere’s frank, friendly face. There seemed to be no ulterior motive. She smiled faintly. “I’d adore a cup of tea, Mrs. Laniere.”
“Please. Camilla. I’m not that much older than you.”
The doctor’s wife led the way into the kitchen, then unceremoniously handed the baby over to Abigail and began tea preparations. Despite her itchy gums, Meg seemed remarkably placid. Giving a contented sigh, she popped her thumb in her mouth and laid her head on Abigail’s shoulder.
After a startled downward glance, Abigail smiled and patted her charge’s cushioned bottom. Leaning against the dough box, she watched Camilla’s familiar movements around the roomy, well-equipped kitchen. “Where did the servants go?”
“Winona and Willie are our only house servants.” Camilla measured tea into a lovely floral china teapot. “They both go home on Saturday evenings to be with their families on the Lord’s Day.”
“I suppose we interrupted your family time tonight, but I was so grateful when your husband arrived—”
“My dear, you mustn’t apologize.” Camilla set the kettle on the stove to boil and smiled over her shoulder. “Gabriel is always glad to be of service. I would have been down here myself if I hadn’t been putting the children to bed.”
As Abigail stared into Camilla’s golden-brown eyes, something flashed between them—an intuition of friendship, an offer of human connection. Abigail looked away, hardly able to bear this sudden kindness.
After a moment Camilla quietly took the baby, leaving Abigail empty-handed and feeling foolish. “I think you need a place to stay tonight. To be with your friend.” She laughed as Abigail shook her head. “I’m being utterly selfish, you know. Winona and Willie won’t be back until tomorrow evening. If our patient needs something, you’d be here for her.”
“All right.” Abigail returned the smile. “I’ll stay. And of course you must call me Abigail. ‘Miss Neal’ ran away many years ago and hasn’t been heard from since.” Touching the baby’s pink foot, she looked up from under her lashes. “Besides, I have to make sure the Barbarian doesn’t try to feed opium to Tess.”
Feeling a soft little hand patting her cheek, Abigail struggled out of deep sleep into utter darkness.
“Winona! Winona, wake up, I’m thirsty!” lisped the small, invisible person behind the hand. “It’s hot and Mama’s rocking the baby and I can’t sleep.”
Abigail suddenly remembered where she was. Winona’s little room off the clinic, just a few steps from Tess’s bed in the ward. This must be one of the Laniere children.
She sat up. “I’m not Winona, I’m Abigail. But I’ll get you a drink of water—just a minute, let me light a candle.”
“Ooh! Just like Goldilocks! What’re you doing in Winona’s bed?”
Abigail