A Reluctant Bride Read online

  How dare he give up so easily? She wanted to shove his hand away, to scream her protest and cling to the spoon, as if by doing so she could cling to hope. But having seen death too many times in her eighteen years, she knew the fight would be futile.

  She released her hold and let her hands fall to her lap. The pain in her chest was not as easy to release. It gripped so tightly she struggled to suck in a breath. Then she fought to push away the ache just as she always did. She’d learned long ago to stuff it out of sight or she might just go mad from the sorrow.

  “I’m sorry.” The doctor sat back on his heels, haggardness grooving more lines into his face.

  Mercy bent low and kissed the little girl’s forehead, praying her kiss would anoint the child as she journeyed to a better place.

  Surely anyplace in heaven or earth would be better than London.

  two

  You’ll be back again tomorrow, will you not?” Bates placed the last of the medical supplies into the chest and closed the lid.

  Joseph Colville finished rolling down his sleeves and fumbled at his cuff links, grasping for any excuse he could find to avoid another day at the Shoreditch Dispensary. “I’m afraid I already have plans for the morrow.” His game of cricket at Marylebone Cricket Club was as valid a reason as any.

  “What about the day after?” Bates persisted.

  “You know I’ll be leaving soon for Wiltshire. I must visit the estate and my aunt before too much time passes.”

  Bates stood to his full height, which fell well below Joseph’s chin. At six-feet-two, Joseph didn’t consider himself overly tall, but he towered above Bates. Even though his old friend was diminutive in stature, he had a boundless energy that Joseph envied. And boundless compassion.

  The simple truth was that Dr. Bates was a saint. How else could the man devote so much time to London’s poorest of the poor?

  “Then upon your return from the country, you must consider joining me,” Bates said. “I would put a good word in for you at the college, and you could teach a few classes.”

  “They won’t want an inexperienced and young doctor like myself.”

  “Nonsense. They’ll want you, and we both know it.”

  Joseph shrugged. He’d been a stellar scholar. More than that, however, the college would want him for the prestige his titles and wealth would bring.

  Bates cleared his throat. “If you taught, then you could spend the rest of your time here at the dispensary. It turns out my partner is retiring this summer, and I’ll need someone to take his place.”

  Turning his back on Bates, Joseph slipped his arms into his coat. Although the man had become like a father, replacing the one Joseph had lost, he couldn’t reconcile himself to Bates’s life.

  They’d known each other since Joseph had attended Harrow School, where Dr. Bates had served as the parochial surgeon. Bates had been there when Joseph received the news his family had taken ill with cholera during an epidemic that had ravaged London. And Bates had been there when Joseph learned his mother, father, and brother had all succumbed.

  After Joseph finished his studies at Oxford, Bates had been the one to support him when he’d sought to attend the Royal College of Physicians. None of the members of the peerage had understood how the titled Lord Colville, Baron of Wiltshire, could cast aside his duty to Parliament and to the other privileges of his station to pursue a commoner’s work of becoming a physician.

  His fellow gentry hadn’t concerned themselves over the fact that a title and his family’s estate were never meant to be his as second-born son. They hadn’t cared that he’d sensed God’s call to do something more with his life than smoke cigars and drink brandy at The London Tavern and eat turtle cutlets in the Surrey Oak dining room. They certainly hadn’t understood his decision to become a doctor and then later to become a ship’s surgeon for a yearlong voyage to India. He’d caused more gossip when, shortly after his return, he left again as the ship’s surgeon on a tea clipper to Shanghai.

  Joseph couldn’t explain the choices he’d made, couldn’t explain what was driving him. All he knew was that he’d needed to go. And all he knew now was that he’d have to leave again. Soon.

  Since the Kate Carnie had docked last month, the unsettled urge had been pacing back and forth inside him, like one of the caged tigers he’d seen in India, always restless, always anxious to prowl, as if that could somehow dispel the darkness hovering deep in his soul.

  Silence settled about the office, heightening the sharp patter of raindrops against the boarded window. The May evening had grown in length, but the shadows of night had crept in with the return of rain. The lantern at the center of the desk failed to drive away the gloom.

  Joseph rolled his shoulders in an attempt to release the tension that had built in his chest as he’d tended one poor soul after another all day. But the tension only tightened, like violin strings being tuned under a maestro’s adept fingers. He forced himself to pivot and face Bates. His friend deserved the truth from him.

  Bates leaned against the desk, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded comfortably. Although his wispy white hair stood in disarray and his suit was rumpled, he maintained a distinguished air. Joseph was always amazed that this man, who worked so tirelessly, never appeared weary or ruffled.

  His eyes were round behind his tortoiseshell spectacles and brimmed with a fatherly concern that brought an unwelcome ache to Joseph’s heart.

  “I’m not ready to settle down just yet.” Joseph offered Bates the only explanation he’d been able to come up with, the same one he’d given the doctor the last time he was home.

  The older man now taught at the King’s Royal College of Physicians, where he took every opportunity to encourage his medical students to consider the plight of the poor.

  It was no secret the first city had become a national disgrace. Over the past decade, the influx of laborers into London had far outmatched the availability of jobs and housing.

  Conditions within the city had reached a crisis level of a magnitude heretofore unknown. Shortages of work and housing were leading to severe hunger, poverty, and disease in the overflowing slum areas.

  The problems threatened to choke the life from the world’s most magnificent city, just as the stench and thick sewage in the River Thames threatened to choke the air from anyone who breathed it in.

  Bates wanted to make a difference with the Shoreditch Dispensary, was reaching out and showing compassion to hurting people day after day. But his efforts hadn’t made any difference in the Shoreditch community as far as Joseph could tell. The building, the street, the neighborhood had only grown more dilapidated since the last time Joseph had been there. And the people had only grown more haggard and hollow-cheeked.

  The troubles seemed insurmountable, as enormous as the mountain ranges he’d seen in Indonesia. Who could scale such a divide between the rich and poor? The contrast between the two separate worlds seemed completely irreconcilable.

  “How can you bear it, Bates?” The question slipped out before Joseph could stop it.

  “Bear what?”

  “The desperation in each face, the heartache, the ability to do so little for them . . .”

  Bates regarded Joseph, his wise eyes narrowing in thought. Joseph appreciated that his friend never gave glib answers. He could count on Bates for the truth, even when it wasn’t easy to hear.

  “I may not be able to help everyone,” Bates said slowly, “but I help those God places in my path each day. One life at a time, one small difference at a time. My methods are not revolutionary. But I’m doing the small part God’s called me to, and when I obey Him, He gives me the strength I need to accomplish the task at hand.”

  “What about those you cannot help?” Joseph persisted. “Like the child with the cholera infantum? Her mother brought her in too late. The infant was practically dead when she arrived.”

  “Do you mean the child Mercy brought to us?”

  “She’s too young t
o be a mother.” Joseph couldn’t contain his exasperation. “At her age, she ought not to have any children, since she clearly has no idea how to take care of them.”

  Joseph didn’t agree with every philosophy his friends espoused regarding the poor, particularly blunt statements such as “If they cannot feed, they should not breed.” Perhaps he didn’t go quite so far as to think the poor should stop having babies, but after the neglect he’d witnessed time and again during his work at the dispensary, he was beginning to think that at the very least, poor women needed to be educated on how to take care of their young.

  “Mercy wasn’t the child’s mother.” Bates took off his spectacles and wiped them with the edge of his waistcoat. “My guess is the mother was at work or perhaps sick herself so that she was unable to bring the child. And Mercy, seeing the child in need, rushed her here hoping to save her.”

  Joseph envisioned the young woman bending over the dead child, her delicate features taut with agony, her eyes swelling with grief. Pretty eyes, he remembered thinking, especially their blue-green color. “You must be mistaken. She was the infant’s mother—”

  “Mercy comes in all the time with one child or another. She’s an angel of mercy in that community, though she doesn’t know it.” Bates chuckled softly. “Her name certainly befits her.”

  Again, Joseph pictured the woman as she’d finally stood. She’d surprised Joseph by bending over and unlacing her boot. “Thank ye for trying, sir,” she said in a broken voice. “I’m very much obliged to you.” She then tugged her sockless foot out of the boot and held it out to him. “Will you take my boots as payment, sir? It’s all I’ve got.”

  Joseph had tried not to recoil at the prospect of touching the filthy excuse for a shoe, much less the idea of allowing the woman to walk the London streets barefoot. Of course, he’d insisted she keep her boots, that he required no payment. He figured she would need every penny she could find to pay the undertaker for a coffin and a proper burial.

  “Mercy is doing her part to make a difference,” Bates continued. “Now, imagine if everyone did that—took a small part in reaching out. Then imagine if all those small parts were added together. We’d be able to accomplish a great deal of good.”

  Joseph nodded. He knew the changes had to begin somewhere. Starting small was better than sitting around and simply complaining about the problems, as many of his peers were wont to do. He’d heard of organizations forming charities, of other concerned members of the upper class who genuinely desired to provide relief to the poor as his father had wanted to do. But was it too little, too late?

  “The question I have for you, son, is this.” Bates replaced his spectacles and peered through the lenses in his direct manner. “What’s the small part God’s calling you to? Are you seeking His leading or are you running away from it?”

  Joseph tugged at the large gold buttons on his coat. He’d defied convention by becoming a physcian. He was helping sailors and passengers during their voyages. Moreover, he didn’t demand the courtesy and rights of his station and title. What else did God expect of him? Wasn’t he already doing enough?

  Though the questions choked him like the sooty fog that permeated the city, he swallowed the bitter taste. “You always know how to make me think deeper.”

  Bates pushed away from the desk and crossed the room toward Joseph. The older man grabbed him into an embrace, squeezed him hard, then thumped his back. When Bates stepped away, he wore a tender smile. “You can count on me, Joseph, for anything. Always. I hope you know that, son.”

  “Of course,” Joseph said. “Thank you. And likewise.”

  “Does that mean you’ll consider the partnership?” The seriousness in Bates’s expression told Joseph more than his words. Bates needed him if he had any hope of keeping the dispensary open long term.

  “Your students,” Joseph said, “are not any of them willing?”

  Bates’s shoulders slumped in the first sign of discouragement he’d shown today. “I need someone with both time and money, Joseph. Most of them have only the time, and even that’s limited.”

  Joseph held back a sigh. He wasn’t the solution to Bates’s problem. Surely his friend could see he wasn’t the right man to enter into a partnership at the dispensary. Yes, he cared about the people of this community, and yes, he always went away knowing his services were necessary and appreciated.

  But the mission here was Bates’s passion, not his own. At least it couldn’t be his passion at this point in his life.

  “I am sorry.” Joseph chose his words with care. “I cannot make a commitment I fear I would only break.”

  The older man smiled ruefully, then patted Joseph’s cheek before turning to go. Bates stepped into the hallway and spoke a few words to the driver of their hackney coach, who had arrived a short while ago to transport them and the medical supplies back to their homes.

  When he returned to the room, the distress in his face was gone and he tossed Joseph a grin. “Since I cannot convince you to stay, can I count on you for another sizable donation to the operating expenses of the dispensary?”

  “Consider it done.” The knot inside Joseph’s gut eased a bit. Maybe he couldn’t serve the poor the way Bates was doing, but he could give his money toward the cause. Surely that counted for something.

  three

  Joseph threw aside his white bowler hat and wiped his brow with a hand towel one of the attendants offered him. He’d discarded his white flannel cricket coat during the game, unbuttoned his high collar, and loosened his bow tie. Even so, his starched shirt stuck to his back with perspiration.

  “Excellent game today, Lord Colville.”

  Joseph accepted the compliments from the other men as he lounged in an armchair in the elegant Long Room of Marylebone Cricket Club’s pavilion. The high ornate ceiling and tall windows provided ample light despite an overcast afternoon as the men came inside off the field.

  Even though Joseph had played cricket here for as long as he could remember, his brother, Anthony, had always been the star and darling of the club. Anthony had set the record for the most wickets and runs. Even after a decade since his passing, he was still a legend.

  “You’ve gotten faster,” said another friend, sitting nearby. “Maybe those sea legs of yours are giving you the advantage.”

  Joseph had endured the good-natured teasing of his peers often over the past years. He didn’t care that many thought he was a tad touched in the head. The truth was, he liked being his own man, breaking free of the constraints of his class and doing whatever he pleased.

  His aunt took every occasion she could to remind him of his place, the social graces he lacked, and the family name he must honor. He loved his aunt and was grateful for her managing Wiltshire in his absence. Nevertheless, he’d learned to keep his visits short and thus curtail her lectures regarding his “wild behavior” and his need to find a proper wife.

  He had enough pressure without hers. Every time he was home from a voyage, he received invitations from wealthy and titled families hoping to introduce him to their daughters and initiate a match. He tried to resist, but his friends cajoled him and dragged him along to various outings, dinner parties, and dances.

  Over the past few weeks, he’d enjoyed spending time with the fairer sex, especially since such company was rare during his travels. Yet he’d been careful not to form attachments or mislead any young ladies into thinking he wanted more from them than friendship.

  He was no more ready to take a wife than he was to settle down. Of course, one day he’d get married and have a large family—a family to take the place of the one he’d lost. Just not yet . . .

  “Excuse me, my lord.” One of the attendants offered Joseph a glass of brandy. “This is compliments of the gentleman, Captain Hellyer.”

  Joseph accepted the thick glass and followed the attendant’s nod to a man sitting stiffly among a cluster of chairs a short distance away. In a sharp navy coat, military trousers, and an old-fashioned
silk cravat tied at his neck, he emanated an aura of authority. With slight threads of gray in a trim mustache and beard, the man appeared about the age Joseph’s father would have been.

  Captain Hellyer raised his glass, filled only a quarter with the amber liquid, and silently greeted Joseph.

  Joseph returned the gesture, took a sip, and let the brandy burn a hot trail down his throat.

  Something in the captain’s eyes beckoned him, an intensity that informed Joseph the drink was but a bridge to a conversation he wished to have.

  Who exactly was Captain Hellyer? And what could he possibly have to say? Joseph searched his mind for some knowledge of the man, any connection. But he could think of nothing of consequence. He’d been gone too often in recent years to keep abreast of the local news and gossip.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” Joseph pushed himself up from his chair, handed his bat to the attendant hovering nearby, and crossed toward the captain.

  “Captain Hellyer.” Joseph gave a slight bow. “Joseph Colville at your service, sir.”

  The captain nodded at Joseph and waved to the empty chair next to him. “Lord Colville. Please. Sit.”

  Joseph lowered himself into the chair, which was positioned so that the entire playing field spread out before him. A new game of cricket was under way, this one by younger fellows.

  He and Anthony had been a part of a group like that, so full of zeal and excitement and industry. They’d had good times together, and if anyone should have had his life cut short, it should have been him, not Anthony.

  “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before, Captain,” Joseph began, diverting his thoughts away from his brother.

  “I knew your father.”

  Joseph wanted to shrug but didn’t. Many had known the late Lord Colville. He’d been prominent in the House of Lords for many years.

  As if sensing Joseph’s indifference, Captain Hellyer continued, “He was a good man. And if you’re even half the man he was, then I suspect you’re a good chap too.”