The Governor's Man by Jacquie Rogers (best beach reads TXT) 📕

‘I think …’ she paused, turning over in her mind various options. ‘First, I would suggest more poppy to keep him sedated and less likely to move and undo your fine surgery.’

The bustling little doctor turned red with pleasure.

‘Would you agree his constitution and age make it possible to keep the poppy treatment going for some time yet?’ At his nod, she continued. ‘I’d like to wash the wound again with tincture of hellenium. Fresh bandages, and the splint back in place, of course. Then when he wakes, perhaps the orderly could give him a drink I will mix up for him: rosemary for the swelling, and horsetail to fight the infection? Yes, it’s vital to get that swelling down and allow his blood to circulate, to cleanse and heal the break.’

‘Rosemary,’ she muttered to herself, moving away to the little pharmacy where she prepared and stored her medicines. She had forgotten Anicius already. He smiled, signalling to the orderly to have fresh bandages ready as soon as Julia had cleansed the wound. There was no need to linger; Julia would summon help if she needed it.

‘Mistress? Mistress! Lady Julia!’

Julia looked out of her dispensing room, frowning. There was no mistaking that rising tone. It seemed that Britta was here, and determined to attract her attention. Please the Goddess, she would show the deference expected in public by a servant addressing a noble lady. She so rarely did so at home, after all. Julia put down her pestle and went quickly to meet her housekeeper by the ward entrance, where Britta was blocking the attempts of a ward orderly to carry urine jars out to the latrine.

Julia sighed, her mind still more than half on her patient. Britta had that look on her face, the look that combined impatience at her mistress’s choice of occupation with the certainty of her own priorities. Britta came from a family of free tenant farmers who had lived on the Aurelianus estate for time out of mind. Her brother Morcant worked Home Farm, and managed the large Bo Gwelt estate for Julia’s brother, Magistrate Marcus Aurelianus. Britta herself had come a long way from the shy little russet-haired playmate and maid-servant Julia’s parents employed when they were both young girls. These days Julia’s plain-speaking friend was more of an unofficial confidante than ordinary housekeeper.

And not to be denied when she had that stubborn look on her face.

‘Mistress, I beg a word in private.’

The words were conciliatory; the tone was not.

‘Sorry, Britta. I’m all ears.’

‘Well, Mistress, someone’s come you’ve been wanting to see for a long time.’ Britta paused, full of importance.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Miss Aurelia.’ A hesitation.  ‘Arrived at the house just now, on her own horse.’

Julia’s mind switched fully to what Britta was saying. She wasn’t expecting a visit from her niece. Aurelia was only thirteen, and never travelled this far from home alone on the public roads. Not without her father writing to Julia first to let her know she was coming, and sending a family escort.  Aurelia was a more than competent rider — of course she was, being of the Durotriges of the Summer Country. But she was also a noble from the leading family in the area, gently born and bred. She should be travelling in a litter or wagon, with attendants, and luggage…

‘Luggage?’

‘Just saddle bags. But Rufus is with her. I’m sure he could return to Bo Gwelt to fetch more of her baggage, my lady. It must be an impulse visit, she’s so fond of you…’

Julia snorted. It  was strange that Aurelia, whom she loved more than the girl probably suspected or needed to know, would ride so far with only a groom. Even stranger that Marcus, or Aurelia’s stepmother, the correct and thinly-elegant Claudia, would allow such a thing.

Julia administered her patient’s medicine, and told Piso apologetically that she had to leave for the day. After pouring a libation to the Goddess at one of the altars in the Sacred Spring complex, she left with Britta. The two women walked the short distance east along the river bank to Julia’s home.

They arrived to find the pretty stone townhouse in uproar. Julia’s distracted servants were gathered round in the atrium, all vying for the attention of a slip of a girl, a flash of dark wavy hair and quicksilver movement.

‘Senovara, how wonderful! I’m starving!’ The smiling cook was offering Aurelia a platter of fresh honey cakes, while Julia’s personal maid was shaking out Aurelia’s fine lilac mantle. Julia’s head groom was disputing with Rufus about whose job it was to hand down the young mistress’s saddle bags.

Aurelia caught sight of Julia and Britta, and flung herself at her aunt.

‘Dearest Aunt Julia!’

Julia caught Aurelia’s hands, and held them a moment, while Britta signalled to the dishevelled household her disapproval of the scene. The atrium fell silent as it emptied.

‘What a pleasure this is, Aurelia,’ said Julia evenly. ‘By all means come into the salon, and tell me why your delightful company so unexpectedly comes our way.’ Britta accompanied them, and swung the wooden door shut behind them. The two Aureliana women sat down on a long sofa. Julia looked quietly at her niece.

Aurelia bridled a little.

‘Oh, well, if you’re going to be cross, Aunt…’

‘I am not cross, my dear. Just surprised, and rather puzzled. Why didn’t I know you were coming? Did your father’s message go astray?’

Aurelia flicked the dark hair away from her face, and cupped her pointed little chin in both palms, turning her head to survey the room. Her eyes darted around as if admiring the familiar wallpaintings of songbirds framed by red and gold panels for the first time.

Julia tried again. ‘Aurelia? Of course, you are always welcome in my house, but…’ Julia paused to let