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

The curious doctor left the shop. A small limp in his gait had minimal effect of slowing him down as he coursed through the busy street outside.

Abigail put the money in the register, admonishing herself for losing Mr. Macklethorpe a customer. A high-paying customer, judging from the fee Dr. Valerian paid to expedite the order. She pushed the register door shut.

The din of glass shattering resounded from the stock room.

Abigail ran to the back. The floor was littered with glass shards, interspersed with cork stoppers. Her niece and nephew stood in the center of the mess, eyes wide with guilt-ridden fear. “I told you not to touch anything.”

“The crate was hanging off the shelf,” Phillip explained. “We were just trying to set it back. Weren’t we, Winnie?”

Winnie nodded, lower lip tucked in between her teeth.

“Don’t move.” Abigail reached for a broom. What was she going to tell her employers?

The sound of heels clop-clopping indicated that she wouldn’t have much time to think about it. “Seven heavens,” Mrs. Macklethorpe exclaimed, once she bustled through the doorway.

Glass broke under the children’s hard-soled shoes as they retreated into a corner. Their saucer eyes swung from Mrs. Macklethorpe to Abigail.

“It was an accident, ma’am. I didn’t have the crate settled completely on the shelf.” Abigail swept glass from the doorway.

“Those children are responsible, aren’t they? Shouldn’t your niece and nephew be in school?”

“An incident occurred at their academy. They came to inform me of it, since their parents are traveling.” Abigail withheld the details of the incident, as it would only serve to fuel the fire of Mrs. Macklethorpe’s disdain of Winnie and Phillip. “I would never ask under ordinary circumstances, but may I take the afternoon to see them back to the academy?”

The matron stomped a foot free of glass. “This will come out of your pay.”

Abigail couldn’t protest, as it was her idea to settle the children in the stock room until Dr. Valerian was gone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Macklethorpe clucked her tongue in disapproval. “The husband certainly won’t like this when he hears about it.”

Abigail was certain she would just as equally not like the consequences.

Headmistress Cummings of Cummings Proprietary Education Academy raised a wire-thin eyebrow at Abigail from across the heavy oak desk in her office. “Very well, Miss Benton. The children may remain here for one week until their parents return from Switzerland. If their parents do not come forth to readmit them, they will be promptly released. Is that understood?”

“Completely.” Abigail sighed with relief as she shifted in her uncomfortable chair.

“If those children misbehave in the slightest manner, you will be summoned at once to retrieve them.”

Abigail rose, taking her coat under one arm. “That won’t be necessary. They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“Let us hope so.”

“Thank you and good day.” Abigail closed the door to the headmistress’ office on her way out.

Winnie and Phillip sat on wooden chairs in the hallway. Winnie dozed with her mouth open. Her brother whittled a design into the back of his chair with his thumbnail. Winnie woke from her doze and sat up.

Phillip ceased carving into the chair. “What did that old biddy say?”

“Her name is Headmistress Cummings,” Abigail answered. “I asked her to let you stay at the academy until your parents come to readmit you.”

Winnie folded her little arms. “I don’t want to stay here. Momma and Papa make us. I want our tutor again.”

Abigail knew that her sister and her brother-in-law Hammond dismissed the children’s tutor and forced them to attend the expensive, though strict, academy in hopes that it would better serve Phillip and Winnie. Unfortunately, the decision seemed to have worsened the children’s propensity to misbehave and made them miss their parents.  “Your parents will be here next week, so I suggest you both start being on your best behavior. That means no backtalking, no disruptions, and especially no mice. Is that clear?”

Phillip nodded, grudgingly. “Yes, Aunt Abigail.”

“Winifred?”

Winnie cringed at the use of her full name. “Yes, Auntie Abigail.”

What was she going to do with the two of them? A better question was, what she was going to do when Catherine and her husband returned? She hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to her sister in months. How would Catherine receive her when she showed up on her doorstep?

Abigail took her nephew and niece and escorted them to their respective dormitories. Once that was done, she was forced to address another important task. Her shift at the apothecary wasn’t scheduled to end until eight that evening. If she hurried back, she could earn enough to recoup some of what she loss during the afternoon.

With a collective breath, she buttoned her woolen coat up to her neck and exited the academy.

#

Both Mr. and Mrs. Macklethorpe were waiting for her at the apothecary when she returned. Mr. Macklethorpe, a medium-built, thoughtful-looking man with an intelligent brow, was usually pleasant when he greeted her. This evening, no smile graced his mustachioed face.

“Miss Benton, we need to speak with you. Put the closed sign up on the window, please.”

She did as she was told, even as an uneasy feeling settled in her belly. The Macklethorpes never closed the apothecary during normal business hours unless there was very good reason.

She went to stand before the counter. “Yes?”

Mrs. Macklethorpe scowled at her before casting an expectant look upon her husband. Mr. Macklethorpe smoothed his cravat. “It’s come to our attention that your work in the shop has suffered lately. This afternoon you took leave without proper notice.”

“Mr. Macklethorpe, I informed your wife that I had no choice but to escort my niece and nephew back to their academy. Their parents are away, and I’m the closest relative they have.”

“Yes, Mrs. Macklethorpe told me.” He glanced at his wife, who started busying herself by wiping the counter of fingerprints. “You know the rules about visitors during work hours. The children were here for more than ten minutes, and they broke store merchandise.”

“But I cleaned it up. It won’t happen again.”

“Miss Benton, this not only concerns your niece and nephew. A customer had a grievance against the way you treated him.”

Abigail’s palms sweated. Dr. Valerian must have spoken to Mr. Macklethorpe about her. She must have left quite a foul taste in his mouth if he had already taken the time to return to the apothecary and voice his complaint, especially after saying that he had a lecture to attend. “If I may ask, who had the grievance?”

Mrs. Macklethorpe stopped wiping fingerprints from the counter. “It was the gentleman who came in with his wife shortly before one-thirty this afternoon. He needed an insomnia remedy and you sold him castor oil to put in his tea instead of chamomile.”

“Oh, dear.” Could she really have been that careless?

Mrs. Macklethorpe continued. “His wife came back while you were out, and oh, did she give us a piece of her mind. Her poor husband will be shut in the privacy of his privy for days.”

“I’m so sorry.” Abigail looked from the apothecary owner to his wife, but neither was receptive to her imploring gaze.

“It’s clear that you’re distracted, Miss Benton.” Mr. Macklethorpe reached for an envelope on the counter beside his hand. “And you have been since we hired you last spring. These incidences with your family keep you occupied more than your work here. That’s why it’s best for all that we end your employment. Here is your severance pay.” He held out the envelope.

Abigail stared at it for several seconds. “Mr. Macklethorpe, please. Today was simply a trying one. I can do better than this. I know I can.”

“Today you caused a man to be in some discomfort, but what if you had given him a stronger medicine by accident? He could have suffered severely or worse.”

Abigail shuddered to even consider that possibility.

“Take the envelope. It doesn’t please me to do this, but the welfare of our customers is of utmost importance.”

With shaky fingers, she grasped the envelope that held the last of her wages. Mr. Macklethorpe smoothed his cravat again before leaving the front of the store.

Mrs. Macklethorpe stayed, but never ceased to wipe the now sparkling, immaculate glass countertop. “On your way out, don’t forget to turn the sign over from Closed to Open.”

Abigail waited for her to raise her eyes, but when that didn’t happen, she left the store as a paid employee for the final time.

#

Jacob left the lecture hall New Britannia College of Science and stepped outside in the dim of the evening. Overhead, charcoal-colored smoke streaked the sky, wafting from the factories further east down by the river. The cold frequently made his right leg hurt. This fierce winter looked like it would offer him only more of the same.

Clutching his parcel from the apothecary, he used his walking stick to hail one of the oncoming hansom cabs. The driver guided his horse near the curb and pulled on its reins.

“Where to?” The driver hopped from his perch with enviable ease and proceeded to open the cab door.

“Nineteen Locksford Lane in Bloomsbury. I’ll pay you an extra shilling if you get me there fast enough.” Jacob sank into the plush interior of the cab. Once the driver started the cab off, he unwrapped the parcel and lifted the box lid.

There it was. The ether solvent. He lifted the small bottle gingerly in one hand, being careful to cradle its base in his palm. At last, the final key to his experiment.

Most apothecaries never carried ether solvent in stock, but had to place a special order with a small chemical manufacturer in Scarborough. The druggist Macklethorpe worked a miracle to get his order of the solvent to London in less than a fortnight. Jacob considered using the apothecary to purchase his supplies from now on, despite what he uttered in haste to that inquisitive, green-eyed female store clerk.

He couldn’t recall if she told him her name. She did, however, tell him just about everything else about her life in a span of five minutes. Her father had been a doctor at some point in his life. She once worked as a missionary in India.

Jacob turned the ether solvent bottle in his hand as the cab’s wheels rolled over cobblestone below. Even though he left India four years ago when his country’s army sent him back home on a ship, injured, he still remembered his time spent there as though it were yesterday.

The pain and loneliness resulting from the campaign wouldn’t let him forget.

The wheels struck a hole in the road, jolting the cab. Jacob closed both hands around the ether bottle and shifted to block the rest of the items from tumbling out of the box on the seat beside him.

Spilling the ether solvent on the floor of the cab would have made Jacob become well-acquainted with the bricks used to pave the street. Spilling the nitrous oxide would have made him too riotous with laughter to care about being trampled under the cab’s wheels.

Jacob placed the ether solvent back into the box and secured the lid until the cab came to a stop. He heard the driver jump to the ground.

“Nineteen Locksford Lane. Made it here in under fifteen minutes, I did.”

He paid the man an extra shilling as promised and hurried to the two-story property that housed both his residence and practice, where he outfitted amputee patients with artificial limbs. His valet Struthers opened the door just as his hand touched the knob.

“Good evening, Doctor.”

“Good evening, Struthers. Where is Maria?” He referred to the valet’s wife, who worked alongside her husband in Jacob’s employ as a cook and housekeeper. Both employees were longstanding, and Jacob treated them as his family.

“In the kitchen, preparing supper,” Struthers answered. “Will you be dining with us?”

“Not tonight. You and Maria may have the evening off.”

“Very good, but what of your practice?”

Jacob paused. “I didn’t forget an appointment today, did I?”

“No, sir, but the area still has in prominent display your papers and the steel plates you assembled this morning. Shall I remove them?”

Jacob forgot to clear the space in his rush from the house. He pictured what the practice looked like. His notebooks sat piled on the examination table. Tools and prosthetic models lay in groups on the floor. “I really must place an advertisement in the
Times
for a new assistant. It’s a shame my last one gave his notice. What did he say it was about?”

Struthers placed his hands behind his back. “I do recall, as you said, ‘some nonsense with the physicians’ practices in Cavendish Square being less cluttered’.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Well, the young medical student should have realized that my specialty is not one of convention . Prosthetic devices take immense patience and time to craft.”

“Indeed, Doctor.”

Jacob realized that he had still to answer Struthers’ inquiry about tidying up the practice. “Before you leave, if you would please see that the area is fit to receive patients, I would appreciate it. And I will place that advertisement tomorrow.”

“I’ve already taken the liberty of doing so. It’s been listed in the
Times
for six days. Let us hope someone will answer it soon.”

Struthers’ reliability never failed to impress. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, Struthers. I’ll see you and Maria in the morning.” Jacob continued on his way, without handing Struthers his coat to put on the rack.

With walking stick and box in his hands, he traversed the hall and opened the door at the end of it, leading to the cellar. Down the steps he went, his right leg protesting the journey after a full day traversing lecture halls and the streets of London, but he soon arrived to his workroom.

In the dimness of light seeping through the doorway above, Jacob flipped a switch on the wall to turn on the lamps. Their experimental electric coil bulbs crackled on.