She was lashing the case closed when Mr. Worthington entered the stillroom. He came close to her and she found her pulse increasing even as she found herself breathless. He reached out for her and her breath stopped entirely. Then his hand closed over the handle of her case and lifted it easily from the table. He nodded to her and silently left the room, clearly intending to carry her medicine case to the cart.

Ninny. Going all weak-kneed just because a man walks past you in a small room?

A truly handsome man? Oh yes.

Gemma smoothed her suddenly damp palms on her skirt and licked her lips. Suddenly the distance possible between two people on the seat of a small cart seemed very narrow indeed.

Mr. Worthington carried her case to the harnessed cart. As Gemma slowly buttoned her jacket and tightened her bonnet against the breeze, Topknot came lalloping up to them. Without a word, Mr. Worthington reached along the running board and let down a rough wooden step hinged beneath it. Topknot wagged her feathery banner of a tail and used the step to scramble awkwardly onto the driver's seat of the cart. Gemma stared. That had not been there before.

"Aye then, Topknot," Mr. Bing said with approval. "That works a treat, lad," he said to Mr. Worthington.

Gemma looked from Topknot's proud doggie grin to Mr. Worthington's casual indifference to the generosity of his invention. What sort of man took the time to do such a kindness for a dog?

Gemma remained very quiet as they drove the winding road up the dale. She remained astonished at Mr. Worthington's effortless command of the heretofore barely controllable Bad Pony. She watched as his hand occasionally reached to rub behind Topknot's feathery ears.

The dog made an excellent chaperone. Her fluffy rear took up the precise distance on the bench between Gemma and her companion. Gemma did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed.

When they arrived at the Hamme farmhold where Mr. Bing had sent them, the family at the farmhouse was confused but welcoming.

“Ain't no one sick right now," Farmer Hamme said, having taken off his cap to scratch at his head. "Still, as long as you've taken the trouble, my gran has t' bone-ache somethin' bad.”

With a silent accusation sent winging down the dale toward Mr. Bing, Gemma nodded with a smile. "Of course. I'd be happy to help."

She did a bit of simple doctoring, grinding her willow-bark for the elderly woman's arthritis and giving her a warming salve as well. Then the list grew. The children had insect bites and "Da has the corns somethin' awful."

Gemma rather thought she might start dropping in on more of the dale's populace, for it seemed people weren't coming to her as often as they ought. She could bring them chickens, which would guarantee her welcome. She smiled to herself. Mr. Bing would be so pleased.