Summary: While enjoying the countryside in their new gig, Sophy is unable to prevent the admiral from running foul of a dung-cart. Luckily Anne Elliot hears the crash and is able to tend to the wounded.
Licensing Note: Based on Characters and story lines from Persuasion by Jane Austen, which is in the Public Domain. All original content and plot for The Doctor is released under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license by Morgan A. Wyndham. Also published on Archive of Our Own and Derbyshire Writers Guild.
Notes: So, my audience poll had the most interest in more Persuasion. I'm sorry it's a bit short, but I write the amount of story that's in my head and I didn't want to dilute it only for length. I hope you all enjoy!
Sophy Wentworth savored the feel of the wind at her face once more. This was what she missed most about being asea, the wind in her hair. In the month and a half that they had been ashore she'd felt nothing like it. They'd been a week in possession of Kellynch hall and this delightful gig was the newest addition to their establishment. If she closed her eyes, leaned slightly forward, and conjured up the memory of sea air, she could nearly imagine herself there again.
Not that she disliked Kellynch, the hall was beautiful and by far the most luxurious lodgings she'd ever held claim to. It was, however, a trifle too grand, too large for merely the admiral and her. Particularly after years of living on frigates and man-of-wars in close quarters with the sailors. Perhaps if they could persuade Frederick to join them it wouldn't feel so empty. She also disliked the rigid class distinctions on shore. At the moment, her husband was in possession of a large fortune, which allowed him to let the palatial estate. But in the past, she had been merely the daughter of a curate with more mouths to feed than bread to fill them. When she married, she went to sea with her husband. She was the Captain's wife — later promoted to Admiral — and therefore there was a deference from the crew, but there were always interactions. She could hold conversations with the sailors, tend to them when ill or injured, read or write letters for those who were illiterate. At Kellynch, she quickly found, the servants were unwilling to break their masks of servitude and have a conversation with her. She therefore found herself far more stifled on land in a grand estate than she ever had confined in a comparatively small ship full of men.
Opening her eyes, she startled and said with some urgence, "My dear Admiral, that post! we shall certainly take that post." But by coolly giving the reins a better direction herself they happily passed the danger. The Admiral had yet to gain his land-legs it would seem. She trusted her husband implicitly at the helm of a ship. He could thread a frigate through the tightest straights with as much ease as crossing a style from one field to the next. He had a mutual respect for the sea, the wind, and the tides that allowed him to prevail even in the harshest conditions. The carriage horse, however, did not seem to respect him as well as the sea, unimpressed as it was with his clumsy, unpracticed, and casual control over the reigns. This was not the first narrowly averted disaster they'd had. But so far Sophy had been able to subtly correct his mistakes.
She sighed and looked out over the countryside. So far, they'd limited their explorations to the gardens, groves, and prospects of the Kellynch estate as they'd hitherto lacked an open carriage, so this was the farthest they'd roamed. The rolling hills and neat fields of Somersetshire would never have the untamed beauty of the sea, but they were pretty, quiet, and serene. They crested the top of a hill and Sophy closed her eyes in anticipation of the increased speed on their descent.
"Blast!" Her husband's exclamation forced her eyes open and she saw a dung cart, pulled by a donkey, crossing the intersection just at the foot of the hill. She reached out her hand to the reigns to help stop the gig, but they were moving too fast to stop, the donkey was moving too slow to clear them. She closed her eyes and braced for impact, as she'd done so many times on board ship. The horse made a terrible cry accompanied by the first jolt of impact. There was a brief sensation of weightlessness before she hit the ground in an explosion of pain and everything went black.
Anne was enjoying a brief respite in the form of a walk. Mary was resting, having convinced herself that she was truly ill. Anne had sat reading to her until she dozed off, at which point she implored a maid to sit by Mary lest she want for anything and slipped out of the cottage. Her mind wandered, as it often did, to the new occupants of Kellynch. The Crofts. Adriral and Mrs. Croft. Mrs. Sophia Croft, nee Wentworth. Sister to Captain Frederick Wentworth. Frederick. Her Frederick. Would he visit? Would he stay at Kellynch? She attempted to imagine which room he would be given. No doubt it would be in the family quarters. It was even possible ...
She had no need to steer her own thoughts away from such dangerous territory as Frederick's sleeping arangements because at that moment she heard a heart-rending cry, followed by the unmistakable sounds of splintering wood, twisting metal, and human pain associated with a carriage crash. Without a thought she broke out in a run and within a moment she came upon the scene. With military precision, Anne took in the scene. A sporting vehicle had collided with a farm cart of some sort. The horse was trapped between the weight of the gig from above and the cart before it The poor creature was in evident pain, it's front legs appeared broken where they had made impact. A gentleman lay prostrate atop the cart, evidently flung there from the gig. Anne did not like the unnatural angle at which he was sprawled. Mr. Thomas, the tenant farmer who was fertilizing his fields, appeared unharmed, and was tending to the gentleman. As she began to make her way toward the scene to offer what aid she could, she stopped up short as a well-dressed woman lay in a heap before her, thrown some five yards from the crash.
Anne dropped to her knees beside the woman and assured herself that she was in fact breathing. "She's alive but unconscious," she shouted to Mr. Thomas, "how is he?"
"Out cold," he shouted back, "He's no visible injuries, but I'm affeared of his back at that angle."
"Lets not move him until we've help." She quickly surveyed the woman and could see a rather badly broken leg and severe cuts along her face and hands, no doubt where she'd scraped against the ground on landing. "She's got a broken leg and is bleeding quite a bit. I'll stay with her as you go for help," Anne spoke with a command far greater than her usual manner. Elizabeth may give the orders in her household, but she was useless in a crisis and Anne knew when she must take control of a situation. Her mother had taught her all of the typical nursing skills necessary for women of their station, and there was a time when she had read extensively on treating wounds. She had thought such skills would come in handy if... But now was not the time to dwell on past regrets.
Without heeding any proprieties, she began tearing strips of fabric off of her middle petticoat to use as bandages. The leg was her first concern, the bone had punctured through the skin and it was bleeding badly. She could do nothing to set the bone here, but she wrapped a long strip of cotton above the break, twisting and tying it as tight as she could. She was pleased when the bleeding visibly lessened. Appropriating a piece of wood from the ruined gig, she bound the injured limb to it to minimize further damage in transit. She quickly bandaged off the cuts on the woman's hands and arms then held a piece of fabric to the cut on her face.
She heard the rapid approach of feet. "Anne!" Her brother-in-law, Charles Musgrove called as they approached. "We met Mr. Thomas as we were out shooting. We've sent a servant for the apothecary and sent Mr. Thomas on to Uppercross to get more help and supplies, how are they?"
"I've not seen the gentleman ans Mr. Thomas saw to him before running for help, but she's as stable as she'll be until we can set this leg."
"We should get them up to Uppercross," Mr. Musgrove, Charles's father said as he came up, panting from the run.
"Is that wise? The cottage is not half so far and my chamber is on the first floor, we may bring them there until we know more."
Charles, always willing to be led when difficult decisions were to be made, heartily replied, "Of course!"
Mr. Musgrove, eager to be of use, and not unaware of the smaller size of the Uppercross cottage compared to Uppercross manor, and of his daughter-in-law's disposition, was hesitant to agree, but Anne's arguments that it would be in the best interests of their patients soon prevailed.
As a small stream of servants approached with doors taken off of their hinges to transport the injured strangers, Anne first supervised moving the lady onto a door and gave instructions to remove her to the cottage and install her in her own chamber. After Mr. Musgrove and Charles set off with her first patient, she turned her attention to the gentleman, as she approached, she was relieved to see the first signs of consciousness appear. "Try not to move," she told him gently, but with an air of command, as she approached, "you've been in an accident, I'm going to check you for injuries."
He was sprawled on his back with his head inside the cart and his back resting unevenly against the raised edge of the cart. Anne was far too short to do much from the ground, and very much dismayed to discover her patient was, indeed laying in a dung cart. But she was aware of the limited anatomical knowledge of her well-meaning brother-in-law and his father and therefore that she had best check him before he was moved.
"Sophy?" He asked in a gruff voice, still disoriented.
"Her leg is broken, and she's rather cut up. The bone broke through the skin and the wound was bleeding badly, but I put a tourniquet on her and it slowed the bleeding. We'll know more when she regains consciousness." She answered as she climbed up behind his head and looked him over. "Luckily you don't appear to have any open wounds, as contact with this fertilizer would surely increase the risk of infection. Can you move your hands and feet?" She asked as she plunged her hand beneath him and felt the length of his spine for injury. All four appendages moved in their turn. "Good, your spine seems to be in tact, I think you can get up now if you feel up to it"
"Are you a doctor?" He asked gruffly?
Anne shifted so she was above him and could offer him her hand. "Unfortunately, they tend to leave such titles to men, but I am a capable nurse." He looked up to her approvingly with clear green eyes.
"You're a fair sight gentler and prettier to wake up to than most doctors and surgeons I've known, but you sure do talk like them." He said as he took her hand and slowly righted himself.
"Anne!" Charles said disapprovingly as he approached them, "You could have waited for me to return before climbing into ..." He trailed off and his nose wrinkled at the smell. Nonetheless, he offered his hand to help her down. "It's hardly a place for a lady."
"I had to be sure of his injuries before he could move, and I was willing and able to help, would you have me risk his health for my own delicate sensibilities?"
Charles looked as if he might answer in the affirmative but her patient, stiff and sore, but otherwise no worse for the wear, forestalled him. "The doctor here had the foresight to put a tourniquet on a gaping leg wound and assure I had no damage to my spine after a severe blow to my back before I moved. Would you have had the knowledge to do so?"
Charles sputtered somewhat, unsure of his answer. This was apparently answer enough for him and he nodded and said: "Well, Miss, I'm glad you were on hand to aid us and weren't so missish to shy away from blood or dung to help strangers in need," he said with evident gratitude and admiration. "Admiral Croft, at your service," he attempted a bow, but found his head still too light and sore to properly perform such a maneuver. Valiantly ignoring her rising pulse at the identity of her patient, Anne held out her hand to steady him and led her disoriented patient to a cart brought by the servants for their service.
As they walked, she heard Charles finishing the introductions. "I'm Mr. Charles Musgrove, sir. This is Anne Elliot, she is my wife's sister. We've taken Mrs. Croft to our home until she's been seen by the apothecary." Anne climbed up on the cart with the Admiral, aware of the filth and blood that caked her morning gown. As they made the short trip back to the cottage, Anne counted her blessings that Frederick himself had not witnessed her present state yet marveled at the odds that she should be so near and able to aid his sister.
It was not until hours later, after the apothecary had come and gone and Mrs. Croft was established as comfortably as possible in Anne's own bed and a cot placed beside for Anne to nurse her, that she realized the consequences. Frederick would come — she had seen the Admiral writing to him. He would be here. Soon. In her bedchamber even, to visit his injured sister. She sat on the cot and attempted to discern whether she longed for or feared his arrival.