Page 20 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Laudanum begins with distilled poppy seeds,” she said sharply, narrowing her gaze. “All medicine begins somewhere in nature.”
He took a small sip from the vial. It was sweet on his tongue. He took another sip, continuing to stare at her.
“What is in this one? What herbs?” he asked, still with suspicion in his tone, though not as strong as before.
“Natural painkillers,” she answered softly. “Feverfew, meadowsweet, red clover, and violets mostly.”
“I prefer the taste,” he answered honestly.
He stared at her, watching as she shifted back on her stool, revealing the smallest of smiles again. He still longed to produce one of those full smiles, as Esther had managed to do.
“If I gave you free rein with my healing, what else would you do?”
“You said you believed your illness was from a toxic environment,” she leaned forward with determination in her tone.
Is that excitement too?
“If that’s the case, then the case is no longer there. What we need to do is encourage a healthy recuperation, not a healing. Do you see the difference?” At her question, he frowned. He rather thought she had misunderstood exactly what was wrong with him. “I would encourage a healthy and full diet, exercise, starting small, sunshine and fresh air. No more laudanum,” she said sharply, as if she was a tutor punishing their student.
He couldn’t help smiling at the image.
“You sound as if you would punish me for taking more laudanum.”
“Do not tempt me,” she teased him.
Oh, I am in trouble with you, Miss Orla.
He shifted in his seat; certain his length would stand fully at attention at any minute, with Orla saying such things.
“Yet I am not sure you are right.” Horace shook his head. “My condition has worsened since I left the factories. It must be in me by now, in my skin.” He shivered, looking down at his arms as if he could see the chemicals upon him. “I feel so dizzy, all the time, I feel heated, on fire, as if I’ll burn up at any second. I can scarcely sleep some nights, and my headaches.” He winced as he rubbed his temples. “They consume me.”
“Well, for starters, that won’t help.” She took his hand from his temple with her gentle fingers and placed it down on the arm of the chair.
She didn’t release him.
He stared at that touch, amazed that she would trust him enough to touch him in this room when they were completely alone together.
Is she mad? If she wishes me to behave, she needs to pull back at once!
“I’m a cripple,” he said with sudden venom. “Let’s face it, Orla. You are looking at the face of a man who will be in his grave this time next year.”
“No.” She spoke strongly. “No, you will not be.”
“I will. My life is a miserable one indeed.” He downed what was left in the vial she had given him, looking at it in wonder. It did taste far better than laudanum.
He parted his lips, ready to complain more when he realized she hadn’t yet released his hand. He chose not to say anything instead, fearing she might pull back from him.
“What must you think of me?” he muttered, looking at their hands. “The miserable baron, who condemns others to work in dangerous factories, as he sits here nursing his woes in a large and isolated house.”
“Oh, woe is me,” she said suddenly, with a glimmer of humor in her voice. “Do you not think well of yourself at all?”
“Not in the slightest.” He shook his head.
“Then it’s high time you started to.” She retracted her hand. At once, he wanted it back, but he knew it would be absurd to ask Orla to take his hand again. She hurried to her bag, then returned to sit beside him. She opened up a small pot and dipped her finger inside some sort of silvery salve. “Trust me?” she whispered, and he nodded, regretting it the next second, for his head pounded. “Then stay still.”
She leaned forward, reaching out with the salve and placed it on the left-hand side of his temple, where he had kept gripping the pain in his head. Her fingers were gentle upon his skin as she rubbed the salve onto his temple.
“What is this?” he whispered.
