Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [114]
Under the circumstances, I saw no reason to doubt it. I bowed to Bouton, and picked up a vial of powdered St.-John’s-wort to dress the infection.
“Pleased to have your assistance, Bouton. You can work with me anytime.”
“Very sensible of you,” said Mother Hildegarde, with a flash of strong teeth. “Many of the physicians and chirurgiens who work here are less inclined to take advantage of his skills.”
“Er, well.…” I didn’t want to disparage anyone’s reputation, but my glance across the hall at Monsieur Voleru must have been transparent.
Mother Hildegarde laughed. “Well, we take what God sends us, though occasionally I wonder whether He sends them to us only in order to keep them out of greater trouble elsewhere. Still, the bulk of our physicians are better than nothing—even if only marginally so. You”—and the teeth flashed once more, reminding me of a genial draft horse—“are a great deal better than nothing, Madame.”
“Thanks.”
“I have wondered, though,” Mother Hildegarde went on, watching as I applied the medicated dressing, “why you see only the patients with wounds and broken bones? You avoid those with spots and coughs and fevers, yet it is more common for les maîtresses to deal with such things. I don’t think I have ever seen a female chirurgien before.” Les maîtresses were the unlicensed healers, mostly from the provinces, who dealt in herbals, poultices, and charms. Les maîtresses sage-femme were the midwives, the top of the heap so far as popular healers were concerned. Many were accorded more respect than the licensed practitioners, and were much preferred by the lower-class patients, as they were likely to be both more capable and much less expensive.
I wasn’t surprised that she had observed my proclivities; I had gathered long since that very little about her Hôpital escaped Mother Hildegarde’s notice.
“It isn’t lack of interest,” I assured her. “It’s only that I’m with child, so I can’t expose myself to anything contagious, for the child’s sake. Broken bones aren’t catching.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” said Mother Hildegarde, with a glance at an incoming stretcher. “We’re having a plague of them this week. No, don’t go.” She motioned me back. “Sister Cecile will see to it. She’ll call you if there’s need.”
The nun’s small gray eyes regarded me with curiosity, mingled with appraisal.
“So, you are not only a milady, you are with child, but your husband does not object to your coming here? He must be a most unusual man.”
“Well, he’s Scottish,” I said, by way of explanation, not wishing to go into the subject of my husband’s objections.
“Oh, Scottish.” Mother Hildegarde nodded understandingly. “Just so.”
The bed trembled against my thigh as Bouton leaped off and trotted toward the door.
“He smells a stranger,” Mother Hildegarde remarked. “Bouton assists the doorkeeper as well as the physicians—with no more gratitude for his efforts, I fear.”
The sounds of peremptory barks and a high voice raised in terror came through the double doors of the entryway.
“Oh, it’s Father Balmain again! Curse the man, can’t he learn to stand still and let Bouton smell him?” Mother Hildegarde turned in haste to the succor of her companion, turning back at the last moment to smile engagingly at me. “Perhaps I will send him to assist you with your tasks, Madame, while I soothe Father Balmain. While no doubt a most holy man, he lacks true appreciation for the work of an artist.”
She strode toward the doors with her long, unhurried stride, and with a last word for the carter, I turned to Sister Cecile and the latest stretcher case.
* * *
Jamie was lying on the carpet in the sitting room when I came back to the house, with a small boy sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him. Jamie was holding a bilboquet in one hand, and had the other poised over one eye.
“Of course I can,” he was saying. “Anyday and twice on Sundays. Watch.”
Placing the hand over his eye, he fixed the other piercingly on the bilboquet and gave the ivory cup a toss. The tethered ball leaped from its socket into an arc, and dropped as though guided by