Buoyed by the audience’s desire not to shun her, the nervous whirling in her stomach ceased. “Thank you, Mr. Beardsly. As I was saying, our most pressing need is medical assistance. At present you are required to travel to and from Glasgow for exams and medications, wasting valuable income and days away from your farms and shops. I propose we open a medical facility here in Glentyre with trained nurses and a dedicated physician knowledgeable in the latest advancements to treat returning soldiers.”
“His Grace kens about all that,” said a man missing his left arm. A Mr. Grover, if Svetlana recalled, who farmed sheep. Next to him sat his wife clutching two children. They had been due a third child, but recently lost the baby.
Nerves tripping back into place, Svetlana pinched her fingers together. Wynn was the last thing she wanted to talk about, but he might as well be the proverbial elephant in the room. “His Grace has many responsibilities requiring his medical skills and duties for the estate. He is in full support of this proposition.”
“His support, aye, but what o’ him tendin’ us as a healer? No every day there’s a duke what can stop a bleedin’ man.” Mr. Grover’s gaze softened to look at his wife. “Or woman, fae that matter.”
“The duke’s greatest desire is to serve the people of Glentyre, but in doing so he is forced to decline a commitment as permanent attending physician.” Truth, but not the whole of it. “In addition to a medical facility, we will also have classes for those wishing to learn viable skills, open to both men and women, fourteen years of age and older.”
Murmurs rippled around the room. Women bent their heads together while several of the men perked up.
“Ye’re proposin’ we pay fae this how? What few spare coins we hae left? Hospitals isna cheap,” Mr. Grover said.
“The old weaver’s mill is the prime location candidate. Repairs and renovations are at no cost to you, and we will be taking applications for tradesmen to work the site with priority given to Glentyre men. Classes and training sessions will be free of charge excluding any supplies needed. However, medical appointments and prescriptions will be your own expenses as per arrangement by the newly founded Ministry of Health and the Army Medical Board.”
Medical Board. A collected tomb of cranky white-haired old men, Wynn had called them. She instinctively scanned the room for him, her stomach fluttering with disappointment at not finding him. Her search found a small man dressed all in black hovering near the back corner. Sallow skin, greasy hair, and a pointed nose gave the repugnant image of a rat. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck as the memory of men dressed in black with red armbands dragging Sergey from the train platform trampled its horror over her once more. Some nights she still dreamed of them coming for her.
And like the instant waking from a dream, the man slipped behind the crowd. An expectant audience stared back at her.
“Thank you all for coming today,” she hurried. “Before you leave please enjoy the pies and
Constance and Marina moved to where Mrs. Varjensky stood with the baskets of food spread across a row of desks against the far wall. Svetlana weaved through the crowd in search of the rat man. Only by looking him in the eye could she put her nightmare to rest.
“Yer Grace. How ever can we be thankin’ ye?” Katie MacKinnon, whom she’d first heard about while sitting with Mrs. Douglas, wobbled into a curtsy in front of her. She waved at her three little children to follow.
“Mrs. MacKinnon, a delight to see you.”
The woman’s chapped cheeks glowed pink. “An answer to prayer, this is. What with me man laid up ’tis hard to find proper work.”
“I hope this will ease a burden weighing so heavily on our community.”
“’Tis braw hearin’ ye say ‘our community.’ We’ve a real princess championin’ us, but my only hitch is what’s to become of the bairns if’n I should take a class? Their da canna manage them on his own.”
The three children’s tattered clothes barely brushed their exposed ankles, but their hair was neatly combed as they stared at Svetlana with hungry eyes. When was the last time they’d seen a full meal on their table?
“I see the dilemma. This will take thought, but I give my word something will be managed.”
“Oh, thank ye, Yer Grace. A godsend, ye are.” Mrs. MacKinnon wobbled another curtsy. Over the top of her bowed head, the rat man stared at Svetlana. Nose twitching, he scurried into the outer hall.