The Armored Doctor (Curiosity Chronicles Book 2) (7 page)

Her brother-in-law adjusted his stark white shirt cuffs. “I must be getting to the office soon. Can it wait until a better time?”

“I’m afraid there is no better time. May I come in?”

Hammond shut the door on the cold once she stood in the entranceway. “What is the matter?”

Abigail smelled sausage cooking in the kitchen. “Where’s Catherine?”

“Still asleep. We arrived home very early this morning. ” Hammond put on his suit coat. “The children aren’t ill, are they?”

“No, but they got themselves into a spot of trouble.” She summarized the story for him, dead piano mouse and all. “The headmistress agreed to let them stay at the academy until you came to readmit them, but that ends today. You must go and speak with her.”

Her brother-in-law scolded at the clock on the wall. “I told Catherine that the children should have a tutor at home, not attend the academy. It appears I’m right.” He took his hat off the peg by the front door. “Tell my wife I can’t linger at breakfast. I have to settle this before I’m late for work.” He pulled open the door and left.

Catherine’s voice carried down the stairs. “Hammond, who are you talking to?” Seconds later, she appeared at the top of the stairs in a robin’s egg blue dressing gown. Her curly russet hair was braided. “Abigail. What are you doing here?”

Abigail heard the change in her older sister’s tone. Eight months later, the anger was still there. “I came to inform you and Hammond about Phillip and Winnie. He left to see about them.”

“Are they in trouble again?”

“Headmistress Cummings almost expelled them. They scared their music teacher with a dead rodent.”

Catherine gave a high-pitched squeal as though the deceased vermin was now sprawled atop the banister. “The academy was supposed to correct their bad behavior.” She placed her hands on her hips, emphasizing her slim waist, tiny even without the aid of a corset. “Is that the only reason why you stopped by?”

Abigail folded and unfolded her hands. “We haven’t spoken in a long time. I think it’s time we try to put our past feud behind us.”

Catherine relaxed her arms. “Perhaps you and I do need to speak more often.”

Abigail looked up, hopeful. “Yes, we do.”

A maid came from the kitchen, bearing a steaming platter of eggs and sausage and a pot of coffee. There had certainly been no maid when Abigail lived with them.

“Eleanor,” Catherine addressed the maid. “I will take breakfast in my room this morning.”

Eleanor nodded and went back in the kitchen.

“Come, Abigail. I must show you how I decorated the upstairs.”

Abigail followed her sister into a room that closely resembled a hotel suite than it did simple sleeping quarters. The floor was cushioned by several expensive rugs. One side of the room that housed the bed was concealed by an Oriental screen while the other half displayed a boudoir set, complete with couch, matching chairs, and a dressing table with a vanity mirror.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Catherine spread her arms.

“It’s very lovely.” Abigail looked at the figurine clock on the dressing table. The hands rested on eight and six. “I can stay but for a few minutes. I must be at work in an hour.”

“The apothecary’s only a short walk from here.” Her sister sat at the dressing table and picked up a hairbrush.

“I don’t work there anymore. I found more gainful employment.” Abigail skipped over the exact reasons for her having to leave the apothecary. “I start work today as a physician’s assistant.”

Catherine wrinkled her pert nose. “Father’s office always smelled of medicine. You want to breathe those vapors again?”

“Dr. Valerian is an outfitter of artificial limbs. I don’t think he keeps too much  stock of medicinal tonics.”

“Even worse.” Catherine stopped brushing her hair. “Those patients are not like you and me.”

“They are exactly like us, except they’ve suffered accidents. That doesn’t make them indecent.”

“Still preaching on the missions field, I see. Sometimes I think you and our parents held it against me because I chose the more conventional route of marriage instead of charitable work.”

“Not at all. You have a beautiful family.” Abigail heard the maid come up the stairs with breakfast. She waited until Eleanor set the trays on the table and left to speak again. “I believe this new job will be good work for me, Catherine.”

“Yes, yes.” Catherine flitted to the tray to nibble on a scone. “I’m curious about your employer, this Dr. Valerian. Didn’t I read something in the papers about him? It was right before the society section…oh, yes, he presented an invention at a lecture hall on Friday. Caused quite a stir when it went awry.”

“There was a mishap. Fortunately, no one was harmed.”

“You were there?” Catherine paused chewing to shrug. “It figures, I suppose. You always did have an interest in scientific things.”

Abigail guessed the article did not mention her name as Dr. Valerian’s assistant during the lecture, or else Catherine would have remarked upon it. For now, at least, she decided to keep mum of it to her sister.

“I shall ask my husband about Dr. Valerian. Care for some eggs and sausage?”

Abigail’s mouth watered at the smell of the savory breakfast dishes, but knew she must be going. “Dr. Valerian’s practice is a long walk from here. I need to go.”

“You can’t go with nothing on your head. And I recognize the skirt of that drab, dark dress you’re wearing. You used to enjoy being fashionable. Let me see what I have to liven it up.”

“I really don’t have the time.” Abigail protested as her sister marched in bedroom slippers to a wardrobe on the room’s right wall.

“You always fuss with me. This will only take a moment.” Catherine pulled a hatbox from the top shelf of the wardrobe and carried it over to the bed. Abigail expected her to present some frilly topper of flowers and silk netting. To her surprise, her sister lifted the lid and presented a tiny black hat, complete with white band, bow, and flowers that looked too small for even Winnie to wear.

“It’s the latest in hat styles. I saw all the ladies wearing them at my neighbor’s party last week.” Catherine affixed it to the side of her own head to demonstrate. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“It looks like a doll’s hat.”

“You can be fashionable as well as intelligent, you realize.” Catherine removed the hat and put it on Abigail, affixing it with a comb and hat pin. Her hazel eyes danced as she set the hat to a jaunty perch.

For a moment, it felt like no argument had ever ensued between the two of them. If a simple hat was the start to putting them on speaking terms again, then perhaps Abigail could wear it for a while. What would it hurt?

And besides, Dr. Valerian was not one who adhered closely to the prim and fastidious clothing norms of physicians. Everything about his appearance, from the cut of his suits, his color-changing spectacles, the carvings on the handle of his walking stick, to the way he wore his hair, was different. He most likely wouldn’t blink a piercing blue eye at her miniature topper.

“Abigail, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you contemplate an article of fashion so deeply.”

Abigail caught herself staring into the vanity mirror. Her thoughts were not upon her reflection, but Catherine thought they were.

Her sister beamed into the mirror. “I told you it was adorable.”

The slight weight on the side of Abigail’s head made her feel lopsided. “Thank you, Catherine. Now I really must run or I will be late.” She paused upon reaching the door, her hand on the frame. “I hope we can talk again soon.”

“Oh, we will. I want my hat back.” Catherine wrapped a scone from the breakfast tray in a napkin and gave it to her. “Shoo. Mustn’t keep the good doctor waiting.”

Jacob heard the grandfather clock chime downstairs. With eyes still closed, he reached for his pocketwatch on the table beside the settee he fell asleep on the night before.

He opened his eyes to the dim interior of his study. Morning light broke through the curtains in a vain attempt to penetrate the room. He flipped open the watch case.

Nine o’ clock. Abigail would be there in half an hour.

He sat upright. Blood rushed to his head, though it did little to clear the heavy drowsiness that refused to dissipate. The laudanum was to blame for that.

Jacob rubbed his face. He hated dulling his senses with medication, but from time to time, he had no choice. The pain had gone on for two full days, rendering him unable to leave his residence.

He moved his hands away from his face to stare at his right leg—what remained of it— beneath the wrinkled, slept-in fabric of his trousers. Strange how something that was no longer there could still make its presence known. He rolled the trouser leg up, stopping at a few inches below his knee, the site of amputation.

His sacrifice for the India campaigns. He had been fortunate. Some men lost their lives. At least he returned home. That was what he told himself when the memory of his trial returned in full force.

But there was no time this morning to think on it or the trace aches that lingered in his joints and bones. Abigail was coming. He must get cleaned up.

He reached for the steel and aluminum prosthetic limb beside the settee. The series of buckles and straps presented a challenge to him in the early days when he first fashioned the device. Now he barely gave it thought as his fingers worked quickly to attach it at his knee and buckle the straps along his thigh and waist. He stood once it was on and walked from the study to the water closet in his bedroom.

“Please.” He talked at his reflection in the shaving mirror. “Let her be late.”

#

Abigail arrived at Dr. Valerian’s door with one minute to spare. Struthers let her inside.

“The doctor said to expect your arrival this morning, Miss Benton.” He took her coat. “If you will follow me to his office.”

Abigail rubbed her arms as she trailed him down a brief hallway. A fire blazed in the front room of the house, but the adjoining corridor was cooler.

“Dr. Valerian will be downstairs shortly.” Struthers led her into the office, a room furnished with a large desk, divan, and armchairs.

Abigail’s eyes wandered from the rows of glass display cabinets lining the walls to an exam table with lampstand that resided in the room’s right corner. She returned to the cabinets, where items of which she could only describe as pieces of armor, occupied the shelves. One shelf held gauntlets that resembled the device Dr. Valerian demonstrated at the lecture hall. Most of them were prosthetics instead of weapons, judging from the straps inside that appeared as though they were meant to be attached to the amputation site.

Another shelf held what reminded her of knights’ greaves, armor designed to protect the wearer’s legs. They were fashioned with gleaming plates of silver and brass. All of them resided in various stages of completion, with hooks and wires protruding from the joints connecting the plates.

She moved to another cabinet before she saw Dr. Valerian’s reflection in the glass. She whirled as he entered the office, noticing that Struthers had left.

“Good morning, Miss Benton.” He went to the desk, where he opened the patient ledger at once. “We have our first appointment in fifteen minutes.”

That didn’t give Abigail any time to acquaint herself with the office and procedures.

His eyes rested momentarily on her hat, though he said nothing. He left his walking stick by the desk and walked to the cabinet on the left which contained the gauntlets. His gait was smoother today. “The patient we are about to see is a train conductor. He suffered the loss of his hand during a derailment this past August. If I can outfit him with an artificial one, he may be able to return to work soon.” He opened the cabinet and removed one of the items. “This is a basic model.”

Abigail didn’t think anything Dr. Valerian crafted could be called basic. The prosthetic hand was forged of silver metal, with linked joints that appeared to be able to move through a complicated series of interconnected wires extending through the wrist and up into the hollow forearm. The forearm capped off with four straps to connect it to the wearer’s elbow and upper arm.

“The gauntlet gun was heavy. Is this made of a similar metal?” she asked.

“The steel is hollow for the wires to go through, and I used brass sparingly. It’s lighter than you think.” He gave her the prosthetic to hold. “While the metal does weigh more than an arm of flesh and bone, the wearer will eventually get used to it through exercise and practice.”

Abigail pressed a plate down inside the forearm’s cap, where the amputation site would depress it. She watched the fingers close into the palm. She released the plate, and the fingers unfurled once more.

Dr. Valerian took the prosthetic hand again. “Depending on how the plate is pressed, the hand can curl into a fist, one finger can point, or the digits can be used to hold an eating utensil.” He depressed the plate to demonstrate all three movements. “But as I said, it takes practice.”

Abigail pointed to another model in the cabinet. “You make armored devices for people who don’t require artificial limbs.”

“I have clients as well as patients. My clients are wealthy sporting gentlemen who commission weapons that are extensions of their hands and legs. Catering to their occasional order allows me to provide services for some patients that could not otherwise afford an artificial limb.”

Struthers came to the open door of the office. “Doctor, Mr. Carney is here to see you.”

“Send him in.” Dr. Valerian closed the cabinet. “Miss Benton, you’ll find a brown leather-bound notebook on my desk along with a pencil. See that you take notes.”

Abigail went to retrieve the items. When she turned around, a man of stocky build, dressed in a brown suit, stood at the door.

Dr. Valerian greeted him. “Mr. Carney, do come in.”

The man ambled into the office. Abigail saw the gleam of a metal hook extend from his right coat sleeve. “Hope I’m not late for my appointment, Doctor.” His voice belied an Irish lilt.