The Armored Doctor (Curiosity Chronicles Book 2) (11 page)

He needed to get Abigail out of that part of London before nightfall. Assistant or not, there were certain parts of the city that were very unsafe for women after hours.

Jacob took his bag, coat, and walking stick and went to find Abigail. She was at the front of the ward, walking alongside a mill boy who was learning to maneuver on crutches. “It’s six o’clock. We should be getting back to Bloomsbury.”

Abigail helped the boy to his bed before she put on her coat and joined Jacob at the hospital door.

Outside, the temperature and the late hour had sent most people indoors, including those leaving the day shifts at the factories. Jacob viewed the street from left to right in search of a hansom cab to ride. None were to be found. He tapped his cane against the curb, regretting his continuous lapse in punctuality. “It looks as though we’ll have to walk until we find a cab, Miss Benton.”

Abigail buttoned her coat up to her neck. “The cold isn’t as bracing today.”

“It’s not the cold that concerns me. This quarter is dangerous at night.” Jacob cast a glance at the nearest gas light as an automaton lamplighter wheeled along and, raising half its body with the use of a metal ladder apparatus, lit it. The automaton’s gears creaked as it lowered itself down and went forward. It repeated its procedure on three more coal gas lights on the row before the street settled into a gritty dimness. Additional illumination was provided by the glow from fires that stoked the machines of the mills. The automaton rolled along to complete its task on the next street.

Abigail watched it depart. “At least the streets are not crowded. That is in our favor, isn’t it?”

Across the way, two men stumbled out of a drinking establishment. They turned their faces towards the hospital, and then lingered on Abigail.

“It’s time we leave,” Jacob said, maintaining eye contact with the men to let them know that their presence did not go unnoticed.

He felt Abigail slide her hand into the crook of his arm. She took his medical bag and fell in step with him. The two men continued to watch until they were up the street.

Jacob gripped his walking stick defensively as he moved first around the corner. The street itself lay bare before them, but three men stood huddling along the sidewalk. They walked past a waif and an old woman who warmed their hands over foul-smelling flame, stoked with rubbish. The boy looked up at them with large sunken eyes. The old woman sneered.

“Leave ‘em be, lad. They’s better’n us.”

Abigail shook her head and moved as though she were going to search her reticule for some coin. Jacob stepped into the street, taking her along with him.

“Why did you do that? She wouldn’t have hurt me.”

He waited until the three men passed by. “Giving money at this hour only draws more attention. Didn’t you learn that during your missions to India?”

“I see no harm in helping one woman,” she protested, looking back.

“You may not see the harm, but that doesn’t mean others are not watching you from the alleys.” Jacob heard his voice becoming harsh, but it fell upon him to protect her. She could be annoyed at him for it if she wished.

They walked seven blocks, getting closer to the outskirts of Bloomsbury, but still near to the St. Giles parish, as well. Another factory building took up the street’s north end. Thick black smoke churned from the chimney, blanketing the moon from view. The street and buildings surrounding the factory were covered in a film that lent the area a stilted, dull appearance.

The smoke got into Abigail’s lungs. She coughed.

“Does the lady need a glass of water?” a voice mocked.

Jacob instinctively pulled Abigail closer to his side as he surveyed the area. Three shadowed figures emerged from the smoke-filled path ahead of them as they came into the pale light emerging from the factory windows. He assessed the men.

Dressed in dark, ragged trousers and patched, frayed coats, they possessed a lean, hungry look. They came closer until they stood less than ten steps away. It dawned on Jacob that they were the three men who passed him and Abigail just minutes before.

“Look wot we got here, lads,” the one who stood in the middle spoke. “A bloke out on an evenin’ stroll with his lady.”

“Yeah, Tim.” The man on his left, looking barely older than twenty, joined in. “Looks like he’s a rich bloke, judgin’ from the handle of that walkin’ stick. Is it ivory, Perry?”

“I don’t know.” The scraggly-bearded one on the right shrugged, hands in his pockets. Jacob knew he had a weapon in one or both of them. “The skirt hangin’ on his arm is wot I got me eye on.”

Abigail tensed under his leer. Jacob drew himself up, moving his walking stick from his side to the front of his feet. His fingers moved over the carved handle until they found the smooth depression at the base. He maintained them there. “Gentlemen, we want no trouble with you.” He kept his words civil and spoke calmly, but he intended for the men to hear the warning in his tone.

Tim, the leader, laughed. “Who said there’d be trouble, chum? Do you see any trouble, lads?”

Perry gave Abigail a gap-toothed smile before he raised a brass-knuckled hand to scratch his whiskers. “Not in the least.”

“I agree.” Tim patted his pocket. “All I see is a wee woman and a cripple.”

Jacob bristled at the term. The gang leader saw it and laughed. “We’d be willin’ to let the lady go, provided she hand over the coin she was gonna give to that old hag.” Tim advanced towards her. “We know she has money. You both do.”

Jacob got in front of Abigail.  “Leave her alone. I will give you money.”

A hard glimmer reflected in Tim’s black eyes, like the crows that scoured the streets in the daylight hours. “I want her money. Then she can go.” The flash of a knife appeared in his hand.

Jacob felt Abigail’s grip on his arm tighten. He needed her to be as calm as possible right now, and to follow his instructions. He prayed she would listen. “I hate to ask, Miss Benton, but it seems we have no choice. Your reticule, please.”

He moved his right hand behind his back and turned it over. He waited. He heard a rustling of wool and muslin lining, and two moments later, he felt the weight of her small reticule land in his palm. He closed his fingers around it and presented it to the gang leader.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Tim jingled the coins in the reticule. “And to show you that I’m a man of my word…the lady paid her toll, lads. Let her pass.”

The other two men stepped apart from each other. Jacob got a bad feeling. What were they up to? But as long as he could get Abigail away from them, he would be willing to bear the brunt of what they had in store. “Go, Miss Benton,” he said, never turning to look at her, but keeping his face always towards the men whose desire to rob appeared to remain unappeased.

Abigail hesitated. Jacob sensed that she didn’t want to leave him alone to face the three men. Along with their combined strength, they possessed knives and brass knuckles. He had a walking stick. But he would use it. “Go,” he repeated to Abigail. “It will be alright.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Abigail started forward. Perhaps if she reached the Bloomsbury outskirts ahead, she could find a constable to intervene. But Jacob doubted they would make it back in time.

Perry and the youngest gang member stepped back for her to pass. They wouldn’t allow her to go around them. She stared straight ahead. The men stayed put as she went between them. She tightened her grip on Jacob’s medical bag that she still carried in her possession.

Something didn’t look right. “Abigail, look out.” Jacob’s shout reached her just as one of the men seized her arm.

Jacob saw no more of her as Tim descended upon him, knife extended. Jacob pressed the button on his walking stick. Immediately, the casing fell away from the handle and its blade. Before Tim could drive the knife home, Jacob deflected with his cane sword, sending the small blade sailing through the air. He then drove the sword deep into the man’s shoulder, cutting through muscle until the blade bit into bone. Tim let out a cry of pain, diving to the ground. His hands outstretched, he grabbed onto Jacob’s right leg. Before he could do anything, Tim’s grip on the mechanical limb tightened.

“What the—?” The gang leader exclaimed as he realized that his grip came upon steel, aluminum, and brass. “
What are you
?”

Jacob kicked him off before his right leg became completely unhinged. He fell backwards as his center of gravity shifted. Tim also fell, landing on his back. Tim scrabbled along the cobblestones to regain his footing.

Jacob looked to Abigail. She struck Perry with his medical bag, sending the man back. She turned it onto the youngest one, striking him in the jaw. Perry, meanwhile, righted himself. Jacob saw the flash of Perry’s brass knuckles before they came into contact with Abigail’s temple. She dropped the bag. Perry picked it up and ran off with it, followed by his young accomplice.

The brawl was over as quickly as it commenced. The leader Tim scuffled to his feet like an injured dog. He grappled for his knife in the slush.

Jacob pointing his cane sword at Tim’s throat. “Leave.”

Tim backed away clumsily, clutching his shoulder. He followed after the two men. They went down the street and right before disappearing in an alley next to an abandoned storehouse.

Jacob’s focus turned elsewhere as soon as they departed. “Abigail?” He saw her on the ground. She rolled onto her hands and knees. “Answer me.”

Shakily, she got to her feet. A look of horror permeated her features as she looked at Jacob’s mechanical right leg.

The look on Abigail’s face summarized everything that Jacob spent the past several weeks trying to avoid instilling in her.

Shock. Fear. Confusion. Her lips parted as she stared at the steel and aluminum apparatus that was his mechanical limb situated on the ground beside him. Was it horror? Disgust?

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” came her small reply.

Jacob dragged himself through the grime and coal dust-encrusted slush of the street to get to his mechanical limb.

Abigail started forward. “I’ll get—”

“No.” He snatched the limb by the boot before she could come closer. His rebuke stopped her short.

In the sting of humiliation, he turned his back to her, set the cane-knife down, and worked furiously to attach the limb back on his knee. He shook his head as he went through the process of rolling up his trouser leg, searching for the straps that were attached to a belt at his waist, yanking them past his thigh, and hooking them through the prosthetic’s closures. All with the indignity of having to do so in the middle of the street. Finally, he cinched the band that strapped over his knee and pulled his trouser leg back down over the top of his boot last.

Jacob pushed himself to his feet, his back still to Abigail. He dared to turn. She remained standing in the same spot. Her eyes were large as she stared at him. “Those men will come back with reinforcements. We’re almost to the main road where we can find a cab.”

He picked up the cane-knife and found the shell of his walking stick nearby. The knife slid in with a small click. But then he noticed that Abigail brought her hand to the corner of her brow and kept it there.

“Abigail, what is it?”

She shook her head, wincing. “Nothing. I thought…that man with the brass knuckles…he grazed me with the side of his fist.”

Jacob crossed the space between them and took her hand away from her face. “You’re bleeding.” He saw the dark wetness that stained her gloves. She winced again as he moved back the hair that stuck to her forehead. Blood trickled from a bludgeon wound.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“There’s not enough light for me to see the extent of it. Are you dizzy, disoriented?”

“No…” Her halted speech told him that she was still reeling from the shock of being attacked. He had to get her back to his practice. “We’re closer to my residence now than we are the hospital. We can’t linger here.” He withdrew his handkerchief and placed it against her brow. “Keep this pressed to your temple.”

She followed his instructions and started walking beside him again, matching his stride. Jacob’s knee ached from where the gang’s leader Tim pulled him down.
If I had both my legs, I could have been faster. Then Abigail wouldn’t have been injured.

But the fault was still his. He took too long making his rounds at the hospital. They should have left earlier. Then they would have had the afternoon light and a cab waiting to take them back to the practice.

Jacob kept a close eye on the darkened alleys and street corners as he and Abigail went up New Oxford Street. He saw a cab on the adjacent corner and hailed it, increasing his pace even as the driver acknowledged him.

He made sure Abigail got inside the cab even before the driver hopped down from his perch. “Nineteen Locksford Lane. And hurry.” He climbed in and shut the door himself.

Very little of his tension eased as the cab started to move. He turned to Abigail. “Lift your hand.”

The gaslights they passed did little to let him see the exact site of the wound, or even how big it was. “Continue to keep it compressed.” He remained on the edge of his seat, studying her.

“I didn’t realize I was injured when you asked the first time,” she said. “I was surprised to see—I’m sorry.”

She didn’t have to say it. He knew why she was distracted from noticing the full extent of her injury.

The cab sped through town and stopped at Jacob’s address. He opened the cab door to see his valet and housekeeper hurrying from the house.

“We were worried something happened to you and Miss Benton,” Struthers said. His expression turned to distress when he saw Abigail clutching the bloodstained handkerchief to her head. “My God.”

“Struthers, pay the driver from my despatch box on the console. Maria, if you would help me get Abigail into the office where I can treat her.”

His housekeeper took Abigail’s arm as Jacob helped her step down from the cab. “There now, dear.” She put a supportive hand on Abigail’s back as well. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll see. The doctor will take good care of you.”