decided to move. He could not tolerate even the hint of insurrection.
“I do not understand. If Astley's manner chafes, simply go to his nurse. Miss
Foster can treat you.”
Hadley stomped forward. “Apologies
sir, but he don't allow her to use her practices. Miss Foster can't treat us
the way we're used to.”
Sergeant Boyd's ruddy cheeks went a
shade redder. “She can no' treat us at all. He's forbid it.”
Flanagan's lanky frame straightened
to an indignant line. “She's gone to the follower's camp. Astley says she'll
not be back, and he's put the chill on us goin' to her.”
Of all the instances where Miss
Foster had complained about something inconsequential, and this time he had
heard not a word of her dissatisfaction? Matthew was certain of never
understanding the inner workings of her brain.
As for Astley, he had overstepped
himself by an infantry mile.
Matthew laced fingers behind his
back. “I will speak with Miss Foster, and Mister Astley. As Miss Foster cannot
under the law act as physician, she will continue on as camp nurse, but –” He raised a hand, squelching dissatisfied shuffling, “You men will have a
choice in who attends you. Unless French guns hit, in which instance I think
you'll be grateful for any pair of hands. Satisfied?”
Nods all around, and Boyd saluted.
“Thank ye, sir.”
“Very good. Dismissed.”
Matthew sat again and stared at
small sun-spot on the tent wall, mulling over what to do. Careful diplomacy was
needed. Astley's overuse of authority had to be dealt with, but he would have
to be careful to not to drive the man away. With something like a doctor on
hand, he could justify giving Miss Foster some autonomy. If Astley left, there
would be no allowing her to practice without putting them both in an untenable
position. If a patient died under her care, if one of the men lodged a
complaint with the field marshal and he had knowingly allowed the arrangement,
both their heads would be in a noose.
Not entirely settled on the matter,
he sent for Astley and Miss Foster, deciding to let the conversation dictate
his response.
Naturally, Astley arrived first. If
there was any matter that needed addressing, he could be counted upon to acquit
himself long and loudly before the opposition arrived.
Matthew nipped it in the bud by
finishing Bathurst's letter, refusing to look at Astley no matter how many
times he muttered and shifted in his seat.
Kate, on the other hand, was long in
coming. Matthew assumed it was because she knew it provoked him to wait and
made him less reasonable. She seemed the sort to enjoy a challenge.
He had to swallow that bitterness
back when she stepped in a moment later. Her face was flushed, pink from sun
and fresh air. Unruly chestnut waves, egged on by the wind, tumbled over her
right eye. She dropped her red pack to the floor, so full up with leaves and
flowers it was as if she had robbed a hothouse. He suddenly wished they were
alone, so he could take her in without Astley's scrutiny, speak to her about
some topic that would guarantee him a smile, and not one tailor-made to incite
their usual hostilities. Just when he imagined it could not get worse, she
smiled.
“I apologize, general. I was out
gathering.”
Astley, taking on the role of black
cloud, jabbed her haul with his toe. “Gathering what?”
“Thistle, dogwood, horse mint.
Whatever is useful. Indian healers rely on all sorts of plants.”
“You're going to rely on something
the savages taught you?” Astley sneered.
Kate shrugged, belying the volley
Matthew knew was coming. “They taught us scalping. That has proved reasonably
effective.”
Matthew knocked on the desk,
stifling a groan. “That will do . Mister Astley, I will be brief. You are
not the regiment's doctor, but the same basic rules apply. If there is
dissatisfaction with Miss Foster or the discharge of her duties, direct them to me . There is no reason, or precedent, for you to trouble with discipline
when I
“I do not understand. If Astley's manner chafes, simply go to his nurse. Miss
Foster can treat you.”
Hadley stomped forward. “Apologies
sir, but he don't allow her to use her practices. Miss Foster can't treat us
the way we're used to.”
Sergeant Boyd's ruddy cheeks went a
shade redder. “She can no' treat us at all. He's forbid it.”
Flanagan's lanky frame straightened
to an indignant line. “She's gone to the follower's camp. Astley says she'll
not be back, and he's put the chill on us goin' to her.”
Of all the instances where Miss
Foster had complained about something inconsequential, and this time he had
heard not a word of her dissatisfaction? Matthew was certain of never
understanding the inner workings of her brain.
As for Astley, he had overstepped
himself by an infantry mile.
Matthew laced fingers behind his
back. “I will speak with Miss Foster, and Mister Astley. As Miss Foster cannot
under the law act as physician, she will continue on as camp nurse, but –” He raised a hand, squelching dissatisfied shuffling, “You men will have a
choice in who attends you. Unless French guns hit, in which instance I think
you'll be grateful for any pair of hands. Satisfied?”
Nods all around, and Boyd saluted.
“Thank ye, sir.”
“Very good. Dismissed.”
Matthew sat again and stared at
small sun-spot on the tent wall, mulling over what to do. Careful diplomacy was
needed. Astley's overuse of authority had to be dealt with, but he would have
to be careful to not to drive the man away. With something like a doctor on
hand, he could justify giving Miss Foster some autonomy. If Astley left, there
would be no allowing her to practice without putting them both in an untenable
position. If a patient died under her care, if one of the men lodged a
complaint with the field marshal and he had knowingly allowed the arrangement,
both their heads would be in a noose.
Not entirely settled on the matter,
he sent for Astley and Miss Foster, deciding to let the conversation dictate
his response.
Naturally, Astley arrived first. If
there was any matter that needed addressing, he could be counted upon to acquit
himself long and loudly before the opposition arrived.
Matthew nipped it in the bud by
finishing Bathurst's letter, refusing to look at Astley no matter how many
times he muttered and shifted in his seat.
Kate, on the other hand, was long in
coming. Matthew assumed it was because she knew it provoked him to wait and
made him less reasonable. She seemed the sort to enjoy a challenge.
He had to swallow that bitterness
back when she stepped in a moment later. Her face was flushed, pink from sun
and fresh air. Unruly chestnut waves, egged on by the wind, tumbled over her
right eye. She dropped her red pack to the floor, so full up with leaves and
flowers it was as if she had robbed a hothouse. He suddenly wished they were
alone, so he could take her in without Astley's scrutiny, speak to her about
some topic that would guarantee him a smile, and not one tailor-made to incite
their usual hostilities. Just when he imagined it could not get worse, she
smiled.
“I apologize, general. I was out
gathering.”
Astley, taking on the role of black
cloud, jabbed her haul with his toe. “Gathering what?”
“Thistle, dogwood, horse mint.
Whatever is useful. Indian healers rely on all sorts of plants.”
“You're going to rely on something
the savages taught you?” Astley sneered.
Kate shrugged, belying the volley
Matthew knew was coming. “They taught us scalping. That has proved reasonably
effective.”
Matthew knocked on the desk,
stifling a groan. “That will do . Mister Astley, I will be brief. You are
not the regiment's doctor, but the same basic rules apply. If there is
dissatisfaction with Miss Foster or the discharge of her duties, direct them to me . There is no reason, or precedent, for you to trouble with discipline
when I
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