Page 40 of Fair as a Star

“Beryl.” His voice held a note of warning.

“It’s a ridiculous solution,” she said. “It’s… It’s not what I want.”

“Perhaps not, but you don’t understand human biology.” He gave her a tight smile. “That’s why we employ doctors. It’s their job to tell us what’s best for our health. We’d be wise to take their advice.”

Mark stood silent in the corner of Mrs. Priddy’s darkened kitchen as Dr. Black bandaged her broken arm. That injury, at least, could be set and mended. Her black eye and swollen lip were another matter.

Bruised and battered, the woman’s work-worn face was almost unrecognizable. She was seated in a wooden chair at a table still cluttered with breakfast leavings—half-eaten bowls of congealed porridge and cold mugs of tea. “It’s the drink, Dr. Black. My husband wouldn’t hurt me otherwise.”

Black was hearing none of it. His mouth had been set in a grim frown from the moment he’d entered the cottage and seen Mrs. Priddy’s condition. “He chooses to drink.”

“Not much choice in it. He can’t resist the temptation of the bottle.”

“It doesn’t excuse what he’s done to you,” Black said.

Mrs. Priddy winced as the doctor carefully maneuvered her arm. “His life’s not been easy, my Bert. He’s had his share of disappointments.”

Mark sank to his haunches beside her chair, bringing their faces level. “Do you know where he’s gone?”

She averted her gaze. “He didn’t say. To town, I expect.”

Mark didn’t believe her. But there was no point in pressing the matter. Not in her current condition. He’d have to find Bert Priddy on his own.

Black tied off the bandage. “You’ll need to refrain from getting it wet.”

“But I must do, sir,” she said. “I’ve got yesterday’s laundry to finish, and more bags of it coming tomorrow.”

“No laundry.” Black snapped shut his medical bag. “No exertion of any kind, not for several days.”

Mrs. Priddy gave Mark a look of distress. “I’ve got to work, Mr. Rivenhall. That laundry is what keeps food in my children’s bellies.”

Mark set a hand on her uninjured arm. “Don’t distress yourself. I’ll find someone to assist you until you’ve recovered.”

“Is it too much to expect that her husband might support them?” Black asked under his breath as he and Mark exited the cottage.

It was a beautiful day in Shepton Worthy, the summer wind whispering gently through the late-blooming blossoms on the trees. One would never guess at the unpleasantness that lurked inside some of the neat little thatched cottages that lined the lane.

“Bert Priddy used to be a day laborer,” Mark said. “I’d sometimes see him in the fields at Rivenhall Park. But that was long ago. Long before his children were born and he turned to the bottle.”

“Has he ever done this before?”

“Not that she’s been willing to admit.”

Black bent his head. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “He might have killed her.”

Mark was only too aware. “Something must be done, of course.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll speak to her husband if I can find him—though I don’t expect he’ll show his face around here anytime soon.” Mark was both angered and frustrated by the situation. Despite his best efforts, there was only so much he could achieve when the violence that occurred was between husband and wife. “I suppose, all else failing, I could mention the matter to my brother.”

“Is Sir Henry likely to intervene?”

“I doubt it. He doesn’t like to meddle in the lives of his tenants, even for the good. He’ll usually only exert himself if a law was broken.”

“It should be a crime,” Black said.

“Indeed.” But it wasn’t. Bert Priddy wouldn’t suffer any punishment for beating his wife. Not unless some well-meaning gentleman got it into his head to teach the man a lesson. At the moment, Mark felt rather like doing the job himself.