Special Note to Readers: Thanks to the good offices of the writer ChocolateIsMyDrug, I recently found out that this site removed ALL the asterisks I had used as line breaks in my stories. As a result, many of the scene changes in my stories are not showing up. So bear with me while I go through the work of the past months and years to clean up and insert the necessary breaks.

Many thanks to everyone for the feedback, support, and interest.

Any literary quotations contained here are in the public domain.

After a very talky previous chapter, my Cranford denizens are still talking...and dealing with their various concerns in the winter of 1844. With fear and trembling I await your comments…

Chapter 17: House Calls

"Well, Miss Matty, would that we were not meeting under these circumstances!" Dr. Morgan smiled warmly at his patient, who was sitting upright in her bed, and quite demure in cap and shawl. The Jenkyns family had summoned him often enough over the years, and he was well acquainted with their every ailment. Yet Miss Matty had always proven surprisingly robust, and this call had been most unexpected.

"Indeed, Dr. Morgan, I did not wish to trouble you, but my brother was most insistent that you provide a diagnosis for my illness," said Miss Matty. "You'll find I have caught a chill, that is all, and perhaps you can set Peter's mind at rest."

"Well, I shall do my utmost not to disappoint him, Miss Matty; of that you may be certain. We shall have you up and about as soon as possible! Now let us see what has been troubling you."

In the years since he'd become a widower, Edward Carter had rarely received anyone in his own home. Indeed, his quarters were very nearly a place of business, with only household staff and himself passing through from one day to another, and silence reigning in the evenings as he saw to work or read for a while before falling asleep from exhaustion.

But after he'd spent a few days on a sickbed in the winter of 1844, such isolation and austerity seemed intolerable and, thanks to his friendship with Captain Brown, at last reached an end, for that good man would not leave Mr. Carter to himself, not when he was well enough to receive a visitor.

One evening the captain had arrived, hearty, good-humored, and, as usual, not empty-handed.

"Well, Carter, I cannot say that I trust I find you well, but you certainly look no worse for your recent troubles," said he.

"Oh, I'm nearly recovered, and Dr. Harrison has given me leave to resume my normal duties shortly. But it's very kind of you to visit, and kinder still to bring the book I requested. And what's this?"

"Some broth, of course -- the better to recover your strength. But I must say, Carter, I'm puzzled at your choice of reading during convalescence. I would have selected something more diverting than Shakespeare's histories."

"I intend to study Henry V, Captain -- a work I'd suppose you have an opinion on, given your own history," said Mr. Carter with a smile.

"Indeed. There are fine speeches in that, Carter, as well as some suggestion – perfectly true, I must tell you – that the life of a soldier consists more of cold and hunger, mud and blood, than of glory. Mind you, for all that I live simply enough now, such privations are long past for me."

"And that's no more than you deserve. I trust everyone in your household is well?"

"Oh, yes, thank God. The major is, as always, in excellent health, and as for Jessie, why, she is blooming, for all that it's winter. But perhaps 'blooming' is the wrong word, as she – well, you understand my meaning. But she is very well, and it is she who sent you the broth."

Carter smiled again. "That is very kind. You must give Mrs. Gordon my thanks."

"I will. She was very concerned for your welfare. Carter, I must say it's a great pity you do not have a wife, a daughter to look after you, to share--"

"My recent ailment, Captain Brown, is not one I'd care to share."

"Carter, you really ought to have studied law, or stood for Parliament, perhaps both. I have never met anyone fonder of an argument. I meant that a wife would share in your plans, your joys, your life."

"Oh, I understood your meaning." Slipping free of his reticence, Mr. Carter added, "Captain, this may well astonish you, but I did consider marrying again, not long ago."

Captain Brown responded in as neutral a tone as he could manage. He had waited a long time for his friend to make such an admission."You say 'did consider.' You did not make the lady an offer?"

"No."

The captain took that in, and a new thought occurred to him. "And has the lady done anything to lessen your esteem for her?"

"Oh, no. No, quite the contrary."

They remained in silence for a moment before Brown continued. "Carter, pardon my bluntness, but did you reconsider your plans after Harrison amputated your leg?"

He was ashamed to hear it at last put into words. "Yes."

"Well, then forgive me for what I am about to say, but I am a soldier and have seen every manner of violence done to the body that either a weapon or the surgeon's saw can inflict. Firstly, there's many a man who has suffered far worse, and secondly, any woman who would refuse you because of your injuries is not worthy of your regard. That is the hard truth, Carter, and I hope I do not offend you by saying it."

"No, no, I had rather you did."

Captain Brown hastened to add, "But pray don't mistake my counsel for reproach. Of course I lack your manners, your refinement." He leaned forward, lowering his voice as though conveying a great secret. "Carter, if I believed a lady would accept my offer of marriage, I would put forth my intentions in the plainest language, and have the banns read and her name changed as well, in the briefest possible span of time."

So he had no designs on…he never meant to…

With a deep, rumbling chuckle, Brown added, "But what woman really prefers such bluntness? No, Carter, a more gentlemanly approach ought to please your lady very well."

Carter looked thoughtful, for all that there was a bit of a smile on his lips. "Captain Brown, you do not so much as know her name."

"Carter, it may astonish you to learn I am not entirely bereft of the power of observation, or imagination," said the captain, remembering that his daughter might quarrel with such a claim.

"No, you need confide nothing further to me," he added. "But I see your course of action in the simplest terms. All that remains is for you to determine the lady's feelings, and of course reveal your own."

"It seems to be influenza, Miss Galindo, a mild enough case of it, but still enough to keep you abed for a few days." Dr. Morgan put a hand to her forehead. "You're still a bit feverish."

"I still feel rather weak, a bit light-headed."

"You must rest for a few days. And you are becoming altogether too thin, I think. You must eat beef when you are fully recovered."

At that Miss Galindo's face turned paler still. "Indeed, Dr. Morgan, I do not think I could bear to hear discussion of food at this moment."

"No, you could not. I am sorry. But I think you have not been looking after yourself, and that must change. When you have recovered, and when the weather improves, you must take a daily walk. I have come to share Dr. Harrison's opinion that taking regular exercise is a most healthful practice for ladies."

This time she managed a smile. "Indeed, Dr. Morgan, I am a great walker, and in most weathers."

But always alone, he thought to himself. Other women traveled in pairs, or even in packs, God love them, yet Miss Galindo walked through the town and the woods in solitude.

"Yes. Well, spring is not far off, and the crocuses will soon be in bloom, and I shall see you out and about. And I quite forgot to mention to you that Mrs. Morgan sends her best wishes for your recovery, and says her tea service stands ready when you are past this illness."

Miss Galindo smiled again, this time in earnest, quite charming her careworn physician. "Doctor, please give Mrs. Morgan my kindest regards in return. I do hope she is well."

"Oh, yes! She continues in her usual health. I would that all the ladies of Cranford were flourishing as my wife does."

"You have not diagnosed many cases of influenza, Dr. Morgan?"

"Alas, Miss Galindo, there are a good many of them, I fear, in this season – far too many."

"First Miss Jenkyns, and now Miss Matty!"

"It can't be that bad, Martha. Miss Matty'll rally; I'm sure of it," Jem murmured, as his wife dissolved again into weeping. "Oh, love. Come here." He took his Martha in his arms, brushing away some of her tears with rough hands, kissing away the others, murmuring soothing words.

Martha pushed him away with strength born of indignation. "Here's Miss Matty dying and all you care about's your pleasure, Jem Hearne!"

"Martha, I was trying to give you comfort!" said Jem. It was really too unfair. Ever since Martha had been carrying their child, it had seemed he could do no right. Why, now, with Miss Matty abed with the fever, Martha had nothing but cross words for him. He didn't know what had become of the girl he'd courted in secret, who had turned pursuer herself when he was reluctant to marry --

Careful but brisk footsteps announced the approach of Mary Smith. "Martha! Jem!" she hissed from the entrance to the kitchen. "If you are going to quarrel, I'll thank you not to shout."

"I'm sorry, Miss Smith," said Martha, wiping her face on her apron, and shooting a reproachful look at her husband.

"How's Miss Matty?" said Jem, hoping to restore peace.

He was unprepared for the dismaying silence that greeted his question, and the tale that Miss Smith's expression told. If only to reassure himself, he tried again. "Oh, Miss Smith, surely she's not in – surely Miss Matty's not in any danger."

Mary's voice was barely audible, somewhere between a whisper and a sob. "We don't know, Jem."

"Shall I go fetch Dr. Harrison?" said Jem, looking from one woman to the other.

Martha had begun crying again, but silently this time, twisting her apron in her hands. "Oh, Jem, Dr. Morgan's been here already. He was here before you came home!" she said. This time she did not pull away when Jem's arm went about her shoulders.

"You see, Jem," said Mary Smith, struggling to keep her voice even. "You see, Dr. Morgan fears there's a chance of pneumonia."

Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat!

Sophy Harrison, eldest daughter of a clergyman, had spent her entire upbringing in a rectory under constant siege by the spiritually troubled and the desperate – nearly ideal training for her new life as a physician's wife, it turned out, though she had to admit that Frank's supplicants faced, if anything, problems that were often more daunting than those brought by her father's parishioners.

But for all that she had grown used to frantic knocking on the front door at various hours of the day and night -- particularly this week, when illness seemed to be spreading in the community with alarming speed – she took no pleasure in serving as the bearer of disappointing tidings whenever Frank was out on call and she was left by herself in the rooms above the surgery.

Today she opened the door to Miss Pole, who proved to be in a greater state of agitation than usual.

"Good day to you, Mrs. Harrison," said Miss Pole, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "I must speak with the doctor directly. It is a matter of the utmost importance." Why, she's barely more than a girl, and already a physician's wife! Such is the state of things!

Sophy managed a gentle smile, hoping to soften the blow she had to deliver. "Miss Pole, my husband has been called out to see a patient, but I will be happy to convey a message when he returns. Perhaps you could provide me guidance as to what report I should make to him."

"No, madam, you have quite misunderstood me. This cannot wait. It simply cannot. I must know where he has gone, and how far, that we may bring him back immediately, or else it may be too late."

Sophy was becoming disconcerted. "Miss Pole, if it is a matter of such urgency, perhaps you might go to Dr. Morgan and –"

Miss Pole snorted. "Dr. Morgan? Dr. Morgan? Indeed I have known that gentleman many a year, and revered him, but in this case he has utterly failed us – utterly failed us." She snorted again. "No, Mrs. Harrison, at such a time I'd call upon someone trained in the newest medical techniques, someone who studied under Sir Astley Paston Cooper himself. And in Cranford, that someone is your husband, not Dr. Morgan."

"Indeed, Miss Pole, I am sure Dr. Morgan provided the best advice and treatment he was able, and it is not necessary that my husband should –"

The pitch of Miss Pole's voice had risen alarmingly. "What can they be teaching them at Guy's, if physicians allow patients to linger at death's door while they themselves are gallivanting about the countryside?"

Had not Miss Pole's distress been so pronounced and so severe, Sophy might have angrily observed that her husband was not "gallivanting" but on a call to treat a child who had been badly scalded in a household mishap. Instead she adopted a soothing tone.

"Do sit down, Miss Pole, and rest yourself, and I shall send word to Dr. Morgan, who will surely come at once, if he is –"

"Mrs. Harrison, I do not care if Dr. Morgan comes at once, or ever," said Miss Pole shrilly. "He's already been to see Miss Matty -- indeed, several times -- and still there's no – she's – there's no – "

And Miss Pole broke off as her rage gave way to sobs.

Dear Dr. Marshland:

Dr. Harrison will have likely conveyed to you some report of the trying fortnight he has spent as the influenza worked its terrible will on the people of Cranford. But possibly his obligations at work and at home have allowed him no leisure to write, and thus my account must suffice.

Many in the community were stricken, and our usual merry and brisk hum of activity gave way to bleak silence in both street and parlor. Indeed, you would scarcely have recognized our own dear Cranford.

All in our household were taken ill – Mr. Jenkyns, Miss Matty, Jem Hearne, myself – that is, all of us save Martha Hearne, of whose robust good health the entire village now stands in awe. Would that we were all so blessed!

As it was, Mr. Jenkyns, Mr. Hearne, and I suffered for only a few days, but Miss Matty fared worst, and I am not ashamed to confess that we all were desperately worried. Indeed Dr. Morgan feared that pneumonia might overtake her as well, but fortunately that suspicion proved groundless.

Miss Matty is still quite weak, though now well enough to receive visitors. If there is any good to be found in what has happened, it is the knowledge that true friends have shown themselves ready to provide comfort and assistance. My heart is quite moved at how many in our community have given evidence of their profound regard for Miss Matty, and have made efforts on her behalf. Truly it is only in the midst of adversity that one recognizes the extent of a friend's devotion.

I do look forward to a letter from you, Dr. Marshland, as we have been so dispirited of late, and your wit might prove a tonic for poor Miss Matty. "What news from Dr. Marshland?" she always says when the post arrives, and I put on my spectacles and read suitable portions of your letters to her. I think she craves the diversion, and I know I enjoy providing it.

But perhaps current responsibilities weigh quite as heavily upon you as upon Dr. Harrison – indeed, likely more so – and the infirmary has kept you from your writing desk. Yet I pray your burdens may be light, and your spirits high.

Very truly yours,

Mary Smith

"Hello, Miss Matty."

Miss Matty's eyes brightened as she saw the visitor at the door of her room. Miss Galindo really did have such a sweet smile, she thought, and it was a pity so few people ever saw it.

"Oh, Miss Galindo, how kind of you to come." She noticed the parcel in the younger woman's arms. "Oh, my dear, you did not bring the caps yourself!"

"I knew I would see you, Miss Matty, and I thought to spare you some trouble, especially as you are not to be out of doors."

"Goodness, there was no need for that, no need at all. Why, Mary could have collected them, and settled the account, or we might have waited until I was able to come myself."

"Please, Miss Matty, let us not talk of accounts! Indeed, you are not to worry about such things."

"Oh, no! I should not like to leave anything unpaid." Miss Matty gave an embarrassed chuckle. "And besides, we are not nearly as frugal a household today, now that Peter is among us again."

"Well, let us simply say that all that matters now is that you are making a good recovery, and all else must wait its turn."

"I am making a good recovery, and everyone has been so very kind. Do sit down, Miss Galindo," she added, gesturing to a chair by the night table.

As she took her seat, Miss Galindo glanced around the little room and noticed something completely unexpected hanging in a little frame on the wall.

"That is a very handsome silhouette, Miss Matty," said Miss Galindo. She was not close enough to read the inscription and the date. "I do not recognize the profile, though. Is it someone in your family?"

Miss Matty colored and said quietly, "No, my dear. No, that was taken of Mr. Thomas Holbrook, some 30 years ago."

"Thomas Holbrook. I confess I do not know the name."

"No, my dear. I do not think you would have cause to remember him," said Miss Matty solemnly.

"But you must have greatly esteemed him, if his portrait came into your possession."

Miss Matty made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. "Oh, that was Miss Pole's doing. Mr. Holbrook was her cousin, you see, and when he died, she kindly purchased the silhouette for me." Her eyes were wistful and her voice soft as she added, "And there it remains, and I see it when I wake in the morning, and again at night, just before I close my eyes." She looked again at the handsome image, then turned her gaze on the fire and said quietly, "Miss Galindo, do you ever think that if you could restore lost time – a day of your life, perhaps, or even but an afternoon, a few hours – you might alter the course of all that came after?"

"I admit to regrets, Miss Matty, and many mistakes, but as to decisions I took, or words I said, I cannot say with certainty I would go back and undo most of them, even if it were in my power to do so."

"In that we are perhaps very different, Miss Galindo. I have come to believe that I expended precious months, allowed time to pass out of my hands most carelessly, when I might have recognized the days for what they were and made better use of them. I am not bold. I have never been bold, and yet --"

Her eyes were filling with tears, and she broke suddenly from her musings, declaring briskly, "Oh, but you must not mind what I say. One tends to think too much during convalescence. I dare say when I return downstairs, I shall become quite sensible again."

"You are always sensible, Miss Matty. But we do want you back downstairs again, and soon."

"I shall rally, Miss Galindo. It is the very least I owe to Peter and Mary -- and to Martha and Jem, of course," she added, with a husky laugh.

Sleep was evading him again this evening, for all that his illness was well past, and Mr. Carter set the candle on his bedside table and sought out the volume of Shakespeare Captain Brown had brought from the bookseller's.

Harry had quite liked hearing the passages from Henry V, for all that the language proved vexing – "It all sounds very grand, Mr. Carter, even if I don't always know what folk are saying" – and of course he was immensely proud that the king and he shared the same name.

They had done nothing with Act V as yet, however, and Mr. Carter wondered whether it might not in the end prove too dry after what had come before. Still, he must study it himself before sharing it with Harry, and tonight was as good a night as any to finish reading the play.

Dear God, here was more French to struggle with. He'd have to apply to Miss Galindo again for help with that. He had never learned French, and he'd admitted as much to Harry, who didn't much care one way or the other but had still laughed a great deal when Miss Galindo had attempted to teach Mr. Carter to pronounce a few words.

Well, at least Shakespeare had included English enough for him to follow.

Fair Katherine, and most fair,
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady's ear
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

Here was another challenge for Shakespeare's warrior-king to face: a woman. Better to wade into fierce battle against the French hordes than face one lady, with wit and voice his only weapons.

And for all that the king claimed his speech was plain – Mr. Carter thought again of Captain Brown's counsel on wooing -- the man kept talking.

A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a
black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow
bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax
hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the
moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it
shines bright and never changes, but keeps his
course truly. If thou would have such a one, take
me…

It was becoming difficult to read. The candle's light burned strongly still, and yet to Mr. Carter's eyes the words on the page were blurring. He must read on -- no, he must read the same words again. Wiping his eyes with one hand, he read the king's speech to the princess once more, and then again, and then again.

If thou would have such a one, take me…

And then he read everything beyond -- the courtship conducted in a torrent of French and English, concluded with bold kisses, and then what came after, right to the unsettling words from the Chorus that brought the play to a close. When he had read it all to the last word, he put out the candle and lay awake for a time, thinking again of King Harry's address to Katherine.

Captain Brown was right. The course of action was simple, whether one was a monarch or a soldier, or even Lady Ludlow's estate manager.

To be continued…