Moved by an impulse, I let go of his leg and fetched my medicine-bag amulet from the cupboard.

Nobody was watching, but I still felt self-conscious when I reached into the bag and withdrew the John-the-conqueror root. There must be some ritual connected with its use, but as I had no idea what that might be, I’d have to roll my own. I paused for a moment, holding the root in the palm of my hand, and thought of the woman who’d given it to him. His great-grandmother, he’d said. So she’d held this root herself, just as I did now.

“Bless your great-grandson,” I said softly, laying the root on his chest, “and help him to heal.”

I didn’t know why, but I felt I must stay—and I’d been at this business long enough to know when not to argue with myself. I roused Agnes and sent her upstairs to her bed, then sat down myself in the rocking chair and rocked gently, pressing down with the tips of my stockinged toes. After a time, I stopped and sat listening to the quiet of the room and the breathing of the man and the slow even beating of my own heart.

DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT roused me from my dozing trance. I got up, stiffly, and checked my patient. Still sleeping, though I could see dreams moving behind his closed eyelids; he was coming gradually to the surface. His skin was cool, though, and the flesh above and below the plaster was firm, no sense of puffiness or crepitation. The fire in the brazier had died to ash, and the air held a moving freshness.

“Thank you,” I murmured, plucking the conqueror root off Mr. Jackson’s chest and restoring it to my amulet. Man’s magic could be a useful thing, I thought, given recent events and the prospect of lots more like them.

I went out to the privy, then upstairs, where I washed my face, brushed my teeth, changed to a fresh shift, and put my work gown back on. The smell of bacon and fried potatoes was creeping enticingly into the room, and my stomach gurgled in anticipation. Perhaps there was time to grab a quick bite before Mr. Jackson rejoined the living …

Fanny and Agnes were giggling together over a slightly scorched pan of corn bread, but looked up guiltily when I came in.

“I forgot,” Fanny said, apologetic, “but then I remembered.”

“It will be fine,” I said, sniffing it. “Put out butter and a little honey with it and no one will notice. Have you seen Himself this morning?”

“Oh, yes’m,” Agnes said. “We went to the surgery a minute ago, to see if you were there or if the soldier wanted breakfast, and Mr. Fraser was there, with a, um, utensil in his hand. He told us to go and make up a plate whilst he talked to Corporal Jackson.” She nodded at a pewter plate on the end of the table, this holding two bannocks with jam, a heap of fried potatoes, and six rashers of bacon.