The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [92]
That being so, I saw no point in beating round the bush.
“I understand that you’re entertaining Father Donahue,” I said pleasantly. “I’ve come to see him; I’m his physician.”
Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that; his jaw dropped slightly, exposing a severe case of malocclusion, well-advanced gingivitis, and a missing bicuspid. Before he could close it, a tall gentleman in a bottle-green coat stepped out of the tent behind him.
“Mrs. Fraser?” he said, one eyebrow raised. He bowed punctiliously. “You say you wish to speak with the clerical gentleman under arrest?”
“Under arrest?” I affected great surprise at that. “A priest? Why, whatever can he have done?”
The Sheriff and the magistrate exchanged glances. Then the magistrate coughed.
“Perhaps you are unaware, madam, that it is illegal for anyone other than the clergy of the established Church—the Church of England, that is—to undertake his office within the colony of North Carolina?”
I was not unaware of that, though I also knew that the law was seldom put into effect, there being relatively few of any kind of clergy in the colony to start with, and no one bothering to take any official notice of the itinerant preachers—many of them free lances in the most basic sense of the word—who did appear from time to time.
“Gracious!” I said, affecting shocked surprise to the best of my ability. “No, I had no idea. Goodness me! How very strange!” Mr. Lillywhite blinked slightly, which I took as an indication that that would just about do, in terms of my creating an impression of well-bred shock. I cleared my throat, and brought out the silver flask and case of needles.
“Well. I do hope any difficulties will be soon resolved. However, I should very much like to see Father Donahue for a moment. As I said, I am his physician. He has an . . . indisposition”—I slid back the cover of the case, and delicately displayed the needles, letting them imagine something suitably virulent—“that requires regular treatment. Might I see him for a moment, to administer his medicine? I . . . ah . . . should not like to see any mischief result from a lack of care on my part, you know.” I smiled, as charmingly as possible.
The Sheriff pulled his neck down into the collar of his coat and looked malevolently amphibious, but Mr. Lillywhite seemed better affected by the smile. He hesitated, looking me over.
“Well, I am not sure that . . .” he began, when the sound of footsteps came squelching up the path behind me. I turned, half-expecting to see Jamie, but instead beheld my recent patient, Mr. Goodwin, one cheek still puffed from my attentions, but sling intact.
He was quite as surprised to see me, but greeted me with great cordiality, and a cloud of alcoholic fumes. Evidently Mr. Goodwin had been taking my advice regarding disinfection very seriously.
“Mrs. Fraser! You have not come to minister to my friend Lillywhite, I trust? I expect Mr. Anstruther would benefit from a good purge, though—clear the bilious humors, eh, David? Haha!” He clapped the Sheriff on the back in affectionate camaraderie; a gesture Anstruther suffered with no more than a small grimace, giving me some idea of Mr. Goodwin’s importance in the social scheme of Orange County.
“George, my dear,” Mr. Lillywhite greeted him warmly. “You are acquainted with this charming lady, then?”
“Oh, indeed, indeed I am, sir!” Mr. Goodwin turned a beaming countenance upon me. “Why, Mrs. Fraser did me great service this morning, great service indeed! See here!” He brandished his bound and splinted arm, which, I was pleased to see, was evidently giving him no pain whatever at the moment, though that probably had more to do with his self-administered anesthesia than with my workmanship.
“She quite cured my arm, with no more than a touch here, a touch there—and drew a broken tooth so clean that I scarce felt a thing! ’Ook!” He stuck a finger into the side of his mouth and pulled back his cheek, exposing a tuft of bloodstained