own, then perhaps you will not concern yourself with every little urchin you meet.’
‘I shall always be concerned about the lives of poor children,’ Kate said. ‘Being married will not make any difference to that.’
‘I think Lord Cranford might have something to say on the matter.’
‘Why should he object? Anyone with an ounce of pity would feel the same as I do. He is not a hard man.’
‘Hmph,’ the old lady said and fell silent.
Kate could not stop thinking about the little boy and thoughts of him were all mixed up with thoughts of Dr Redfern. He did not look a bit like a doctor. Doctors usually dressed in sombre clothes and were often a little shabby, but Dr Redfern was elegantly, if simply, dressed. She had admired the way he dealt with the child, in firm but friendly fashion, and he had not been afraid of dirtying his fine clothes. Such a man must be a wonderful papa. Was he married? Did he have children of his own? Would a married man interest himself in other people’s children if he had offspring of his own? But if he was single, surely he should be looking for a wife and setting up a nursery of his own, not concerning himself with slum children?
Kate was sitting in the drawing room with her grandmother the next day when Dr Redfern was announced by their parlour maid, Susan. She put down the book she had been reading and jumped up eagerly, almost too eagerly, to receive him. He was wearing a long-tailed coat of green superfine, yellow-and-white striped waistcoat, skin-tight pantaloons which showed off his muscular thighs and well-polished boots. His shirt was white and his starched cravat was tied neatly between the points of his shirt collar which were high, but not so high he could not turn his head. He had removed his top hat and held it in the crook of his arm. ‘Mrs Meredith, your obedient,’ he said, bowing.
‘Doctor Redfern.’ Kate bent her knee slightly and inclined her head, as good manners dictated, then turned to her grandmother. ‘Grandmother, may I present Doctor Redfern. Doctor Redfern, the Dowager Lady Morland.’
‘My lady.’ He managed to contain his surprise and bowed again. How could he have imagined Mrs Meredith was a nursery maid? He felt himself grow hot, remembering how he had treated her with condescension. Why, she came from aristocratic stock! She had said she was related to Lady Eleanor too, and he had simply imagined she was the poor relation. Nothing he could see about him now bore that out. The room was elegantly furnished and the old lady was regal in her bearing. She was looking him up and down through a quizzing glass, taking in every detail of his apparel, and he was glad he had taken trouble with his appearance.
‘Redfern,’ she said, at last. ‘Any relation to the Redferns of Finchingfield?’
‘Yes, my lady. Lord Redfern of Grove Hall is my uncle.’
‘Ahh,’ she said, as if he had answered some conundrum that had been puzzling her. ‘Please be seated. You will take tea?’
‘Thank you.’ He took a seat opposite her and put his hat on the floor at his side.
Kate found another chair close by. ‘How is Joe?’ she asked him, as her grandmother instructed Susan to bring the tea things. They did not employ a footman. They had a cook, a kitchen maid and a chambermaid besides Susan. Her grandmother had a maid whom Kate shared on special occasions and her father had a valet who also acted as his secretary. Two women came daily to clean and to do the laundry and a man came to see to the garden. Daniels, their coachman, lived in the mews.
‘He has settled down well. I am trying to find the family a more wholesome place to live, so that he can be returned to his mother.’ He noticed Kate slowly shaking her head and realised she had not told her grandmother the whole of what had happened the previous day and he must tread carefully.
‘How did you come to be involved in such work?’ her ladyship asked.
‘The plight of poor children has always interested me; since the war it seems harder for men to find work and there are so many poor, unwanted children about. I thought something should be done, so I approached as many influential and wealthy people as I could and one of those was Lady Eleanor. Between us we set up an association of like-minded people to raise funds and the result has been The Society for the Welfare of Destitute Children and a home for those we cannot foster out.’
‘And why did you choose to be a doctor?’ the old lady persisted in her questioning. ‘It seems a strange thing for a gentleman to do do.’
He laughed. ‘I was always picking up injured birds and animals when I was a boy and looking after them until they either died or were cured, then I would release them back into the wild. And when a choice of career was being considered, I decided on the army. But I would rather preserve life than end it, so I trained to be an army doctor…’
‘A far cry from looking after children,’ the old lady went on, as Susan returned with the tea things and, having set them out, left Kate to pour it and hand it out.
‘There are children with the women who follow the march,’ he told her. ‘Many were born in camp. I acted midwife on many an occasion, but my main occupation was treating the sick and wounded after the battles.’
Although Kate would not have dreamed of quizzing him as her grandmother was doing, she listened with growing admiration as he talked. If she had been a man, she would have pursued the same calling or something very like it, but such a career was not open to a woman and she had to content herself with visiting the poor and sick and taking them little comforts like food and clothing and helping them in any way she could.
‘I collect you were brought up by your uncle, is that not so?’ Lady Morland queried, changing tack suddenly.
‘Yes, my lady. Both my parents died when I was very young and he became my guardian.’
‘But you are not your uncle’s heir?’
‘I was not, but nine months ago my cousin died in a hunting accident, which has unexpectedly put me in that position.’
‘I see.’
Kate looked at him with renewed interest. She could feel for him; her own mother had died when she was seven and she knew the sense of loss never entirely went away. It might account for the bleak look she sometimes saw in his eyes.
Lady Morland was not done with him yet. ‘And do you do your work with your uncle’s blessing?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Not exactly. He told me to go to the devil in my own way. Fortunately he is in prime kilter and I do not expect to inherit for a long time yet.’ It was a mild way of describing his relationship with his uncle, which had been, and still was, a stormy one, especially since the death of his cousin. He was expected to step into Charles’s shoes, marry an heiress and give him a brood of grandchildren. ‘You should be looking for a wife and setting up your own nursery, not taking on other people’s bantlings,’ Aunt Matilda told him repeatedly. ‘You will catch some dreadful disease, or be set upon and robbed by the very people you are trying to help…’ And that was mild compared with what his uncle said.
‘I assume from that you have not married.’
‘No, I have yet to meet the lady who will put up with my peccadilloes.’ It was his stock answer, if not entirely accurate.
‘I would not call the wish to help your fellow creatures a peccadillo, Dr Redfern,’ Kate put in. ‘It is an admirable thing to do.’
‘Thank
