The following is based on the 2007 BBC miniseries Cranford, in which Heidi Thomas adapted Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford, Mr. Harrison's Confessions, and My Lady Ludlow for the small screen. I have invented several characters of my own and departed from the canon in other respects.

Chapter 4: The Best Medicine

Thanks to Lady Ludlow, there were some burdens Mr. Carter had escaped.

For all that she knew Mr. Carter detested fuss and the trappings of privilege, she also understood something of his pride and was not about to place him into the hands of the informal community of nurses in Cranford, as well-intentioned as the local women might be. Mr. Carter would spend weeks in recuperation, and she was determined to spare him any affront to his dignity.

And so she had assigned a manservant the task of seeing to Mr. Carter's day-to-day needs. She had taken on Anthony Beckett at the recommendation of one of her friends, knowing that he had proven especially reliable in caring for convalescents. Mr. Beckett would assist Mr. Carter, even fulfilling rudimentary nursing duties, if it came to that, for as long as necessary.

They made an odd pair. Mr. Carter had stood a full six feet tall before his accident and had always been a vigorous man. Mr. Beckett was a half a head shorter and a good deal slighter. But he was also more than a decade younger than Mr. Carter, and quite sturdy in his own way – strong enough to help a man get about.

And he was watchful. He'd quickly sized up Mr. Carter's situation, for example, and was unsettled by what he found. Mr. Beckett had seen a number of people through illness and injury, and recognized the signs of melancholy. Mr. Carter was in low spirits, a troubling if not unexpected development, and Mr. Beckett feared Dr. Harrison's efforts would be all for naught if the care of body and spirit were not given equal consideration.

And so it was that Mr. Beckett had decided it was best that his patient receive visitors, as early and as frequently as possible.

In fact, very much to Mr. Carter's surprise, there had been a procession of friends and neighbors eager to visit him at Hanbury. Among the first was Captain Brown, bringing with him a copy of The Pickwick Papers, which, he was persuaded, would surely cheer up his friend Carter. Evidently he'd forgotten the passage about Mr. Burton and his wooden legs.

Mrs. Forrester and Miss Pole had not been up to the estate but had sent a basket of fruit, with their compliments, and Mary Smith and Matty Jenkyns had actually paid a call. Even Reverend Hutton, who had concerns enough at home, had come by for a pastoral visit.

Miss Galindo had brought Mr. Carter a book of verse, though surely she must have known that the library at Hanbury afforded a more extensive collection. It pained him to think that she was parting with one of her own possessions for his sake, but he accepted the gift as graciously as he knew how.

And Harry Gregson had slipped in to see Mr. Carter as often as he could, and with the full encouragement of Mr. Beckett. Beckett wasn't quite certain what Harry was to Carter – probably neither relation nor ward, from what he could see -- but there was no mistaking how Mr. Carter's spirits rose when the boy came and read aloud to him, or sat chatting with him at the day's end.

For all that Mr. Carter was always glad to see Harry, though, he couldn't quite conceal his own bleak mood, and Harry, for his part, recognized a change in his friend that went beyond anything that had happened at the railway or in Dr. Harrison's surgery. After one of his visits he had dared to approach Anthony Beckett with a question.

"Is Mr. Carter going to die?" Harry's voice was very low.

No one thought to explain anything to the boy, thought Beckett, and as gently as he could, he replied, "No, Harry, Mr. Carter's not going to die. Now why do you ask me that?"

"He's not like he was, Mr. Beckett. I mean he's sad --"

"Of course he's sad, Harry. You wouldn't like it much, would you, if someone came and cut off your leg!" Seeing the look on Harry's face, he continued, "It's just that he's doing a hard thing now, see, and it may be some time before it's all put right."

Harry mulled that over for a moment, and thought of something else. "Is he well enough for me to come see him, then?"

"Harry, I think the very best thing for him right now is to see you." In for a penny, in for a pound. "He'll be all right, Harry. But for now you must keep visiting him, see, and get him to thinking."

"About what?"

"Life, for one thing. It's a gift. Mr. Carter's lucky to be here, even if he doesn't much believe it now. And you must talk to him of books and such – you know, the things he's teaching you, the things you still want to learn."

And so Harry Gregson came, and all the others. Mr. Carter had some suspicion of what Anthony Beckett was about, especially on the evening Harry came in and said, "You're looking very well, Mr. Carter" – a turn of phrase the boy would never have produced on his own. But he could forgive Harry his ruses and games, and even Mr. Beckett, at that. The boy's visits were a welcome relief in his rather empty days, and if Beckett was a little too solicitous for his own good, at least he made no open display of pity.

It was some time before Lady Ludlow understood what liberal access Mr. Beckett had been granting Mr. Carter's stream of visitors. When she discovered that Harry Gregson had once again become Mr. Carter's pupil, she ordered Anthony Beckett to appear before her. Mr. Carter was not to be disturbed unnecessarily, she told him, and all visitors, apart from the local physicians and of course Reverend Hutton, were to meet with her approval.

"My lady, believe me, I was only concerned about Mr. Carter's spirits –"

She stopped him. "Your work has been above reproach till now, Anthony, but I warn you that if you disobey me in this, I will turn you out of the house, and without a reference." Lady Ludlow took no pleasure in seeing the color drain from the young man's face, but a principle was a principle. Then, softly: "You may go."

"Thank you, madam."

But if Anthony was outwardly compliant, within his brain a plan was already forming. There were at least two options that remained to him, and regardless of what Lady Ludlow had said, he had every intention of exploiting both.

To be continued...