“God save you, Your Grace!”
“Bless ye, Yer Grace!”
“She’s not a toff, Beardsly! She’s a MacCallan.”
Beardsly scowled at the echoing voices around him before offering Svetlana a reluctant sniff. “Reckon ye hae at that. On wi’ yer speech then.” He waved a dismissive hand and plonked back down on the bench.
From the front row, Constance beamed while Marina sent her a sly wink. They, too, wore black and matching rosettes. If nothing else, she had their support.
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 vatrushkas.”
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.” If not a little untimely.
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.
“Excuse me, please. Be sure to sample the vatrushkas and take some home if you like.” Svetlana hurried after the rat as people reached out to talk to her. She waved them off as politely as she could. It wasn’t a coincidence that man was here. If there was a threat, she needed to know.
Charging into the outer hall lined with coat hooks, she smacked into Sergey.
“What’s all this?” He grasped her shoulders, holding her steady.
“You’ve returned.”
“I could not stay away for long. You must know that.”
Wasting no time deciphering that comment, she wriggled away just as the black flap of a cloak disappeared outside and the door banged shut on a gust of wind. She ran after the intruder. The wind whipped across her face and scattered the leaves around her feet as she scanned the schoolyard. A few tired horses and one fine gray from Thornhill’s stable dotted the area, but not a soul to be seen.
Dead grass crunched beneath Sergey’s polished boots as he joined her. “What’s the commotion?”
“Did you see him?”
“See who?”
“A man. All in black.” She stared down the single road leading from the schoolhouse and into the village. “You must have seen him in the hallway.”
“I saw no one but hunched over villagers stuffing their faces.” Taking her arm, he propelled her back inside. “It’s much too cold for you to be standing in the elements.”
“I’m Russian. My blood is made of winter’s ice.” She peered past him to the peep window squared out of the school’s door.
“Tell that to your red ears and cheeks.”
“He must have walked right by you.”
“I saw no one, I tell you.” He looked down at her. Every single mustache hair was perfectly combed and softened with oil smelling of nutmeg. “Are you feeling yourself, kroshka?”
She’d never cared for nutmeg. “I am not your little crumb.”
The corners of his mouth turned down and he took half a step back, locking his hands behind his back. “Forgive my old habit of informality, it’s only that I worry for you. Perhaps you spend too much time around these muzhika.”
“They are not peasants.”
“They might as well be for the social divide between us and them. As a gentleman and your oldest friend, I urge you to reconsider circulating among them so closely. It’s not appropriate for a lady of your rank. They carry diseases.”
This amount of idiocy was expected from her mother, but she never thought to witness it in Sergey. “I am not ill in the head if that is what you are suggesting, nor will I tolerate slander against these good people.”