The Armored Doctor (Curiosity Chronicles Book 2) (8 page)

“You’re on time. Have a seat.”

Mr. Carney noticed Abigail. “I haven’t met your missus, have I?”

She started to correct him, but Dr. Valerian beat her to it. “Miss Benton is my new assistant.”

“You don’t say?” Mr. Carney settled into an armchair. “What happened to your old one?”

“Mr. Pickens put in his resignation. But Miss Benton has worked both as a nurse and physician’s assistant before she came to my practice. She is very dedicated to the field of medicine.”

Dr. Valerian’s statement sounded almost like a compliment. Abigail decided to take it as such. “How do you do, Mr. Carney?”

The man nodded to her. “Improving bit by bit. I’ll be even better when I find something to replace what the surgeon gave me.” He displayed the hook and made it open and close. “Hurts my arm every time I move. What do you think, Doctor?”

Dr. Valerian had him remove his coat and roll up his shirt sleeve. He inspected the hook and the straps that clamped the man’s arm. “The prosthetic is ill-fitting. See how the straps must be tightened to the point where they chafe the skin?”

“The surgeon said that the skin would be red for some months.”

Dr. Valerian shook his head as he removed the prosthetic. “That shouldn’t occur once the amputation site is healed. Miss Benton, bring me that model we just looked at before Mr. Carney arrived.”

Abigail stopped writing in the notebook to go to the cabinet. She lifted the prosthetic metal hand from its place and brought it to him. She observed him adjust it to fit the train conductor’s forearm.

“Now, Mr. Carney, in the same motion that you used to open and close the hook, I want you to move the fingers of this model.”

He curled his new hand into a fist. “Well, look at that.”

“Good. Try to grab your coat off the chair.”

He was successful after two attempts. “I can go back to directing the trains, I can.” Laughing, he dangled his coat in the air by its sleeve.

Abigail couldn’t help but smile as she witnessed the man regain some of his dexterity and much of his confidence. Dr. Valerian nodded with satisfaction, but he remained sober.

“It will take time for you to master the movements, but after that, you can return to your work. You’ll need to have a model custom made.”

He proceeded to schedule his patient for a second visit for measurements. Abigail recorded the date in the ledger.

Mr. Carney reluctantly gave the prosthetic model back to Dr. Valerian and returned his hook to his forearm once the visit was concluded. “This visit was worth the trip from Birmingham. I’ll see you next week, Doctor.” He set payment on the desk. “And you as well, Miss Benton.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carney,” Abigail replied.

The train conductor gave Dr. Valerian a conspiratorial look. “I like her better as your assistant. Much nicer to look at.”

Dr. Valerian cleared his throat. “Have a good week, Mr. Carney.” He saw him to the door.

Abigail hid a smile as she finished recording the last of her notes. She looked in the record book and saw that another patient was due to arrive in the next ten minutes. She straightened the chairs in preparation for his arrival.

The second patient was a former admiral in the Queen’s navy. Having lost his left leg to a case of gangrene at sea, he arrived to get the custom artificial limb that Dr. Valerian made for him. Abigail took note of how he expertly fitted the former admiral with the mechanical limb and gave instructions on how to walk with it, a task that took patience, considering how the limb’s pressure plates and pulley mechanisms needed to work in tandem to allow the wearer to move.

Yet, at noon, the admiral stepped out of the office a contented man, on his way to no longer being inhibited by the stilting movements of a wooden leg.

“That concludes the morning patients,” said Dr. Valerian after he had left. “We’ll break for noonday meal.”

Abigail followed him out of the office. She smelled something savory coming from the front of the house. Expecting Dr. Valerian to go that way, she was surprised when he pivoted in the opposite direction.

“Appointments will resume at one o’ clock. I have four more patients and a client to see,” he said as he stopped before another door and unlocked it with a key. Without further word, he vanished behind the door and left her standing in the short hallway. She heard his footsteps descend stairs.

Abigail went into the vanity closet to wash her hands and returned to the hallway, all the while wondering why Dr. Valerian had left so quickly.

“Pardon me, Miss Benton. Lunch is served. Follow me.”

She looked to the doorman Struthers after he addressed her. Abigail left the hallway. She saw that he and another domestic employee, a cheery-faced, middle-aged woman of medium height and stout build, set a tray in the dining room.

Abigail took her seat in front of the table, stealing a glance behind her to see if Dr. Valerian would reemerge from the door of what had to be the cellar.

Struthers introduced the other employee. “This is Mrs. Struthers, my wife. She is the cook and housekeeper.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Struthers,” Abigail greeted Struthers’ wife.

“Call me Maria.” The woman’s warm smile was in stark contrast to her husband’s detached air. She poured tea into Abigail’s cup.

Abigail unfolded her napkin and set it upon her lap. “Should I wait for Dr. Valerian?”

The skin crinkled around Maria’s brown eyes as she squinted down the hallway. Struthers made a sound and she promptly shook her head. “The doctor takes his meals while he’s at work,” she replied quickly.

Abigail thought that work was over, at least for an hour. What was he doing in the cellar?

Maria lifted the tray to reveal soup and a Cornish pasty of beef for one person. She and Struthers departed, leaving Abigail alone with her food and the soft crackling of the fireplace. Abigail noticed that they did not venture to the cellar with a second tray of food.

She ate and lingered over her tea for the remainder of the hour. At five minutes to one, she heard Dr. Valerian emerge from the cellar and open his office again. She folded her napkin on the tray before she stood up to join him.

The afternoon brought more visitors to his practice. One of them was a member of a prominent London banking family, seeking to purchase a Christmas gift for his son, an avid gun collector. He chose an iron wrist cuff that allowed a hidden derringer to unfold.

Abigail recorded in the ledger the very lofty sum he paid before proceeding to prepare the office for the next visitor.

As the afternoon wore on, she became very tired. Dr. Valerian meant what he said about her not being able to sit longer than a couple minutes during business hours. She rubbed the small of her sore back when she was sure he wasn’t looking.

“Business hours are concluded for this evening, Miss Benton,” he said, after the final patient departed. “I will see you tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. Tuesdays and Fridays I lecture at the college and I must be there early to assemble my presentation.”

Abigail lengthened her stiff spine when he came to take the ledger from her. “You don’t see patients on Tuesdays and Fridays, then?”

“In the afternoon. The office remains open for an additional two hours.” He began locking the cabinets. The day’s activity did not appear to leave him fatigued, but rather energized. He moved quickly, his back straight. Miraculously, his clothing remained starched and pressed as it appeared at the start of business that morning.

Abigail positioned her borrowed miniature hat back into place where it began to droop over her ear. “I will be here promptly at eight-thirty.”

Dr. Valerian said not a word as he locked the last cabinet. Did he even hear her?“Have a good evening, Doctor.”

“Yes, good evening.” Distracted, it seemed, he returned to the middle display cabinet to unlock it. He removed one of the incomplete mechanical arm models and brought it over to the desk to inspect under the lamp.

Abigail slipped from the office and went to the front of the house, where Struthers waited with her coat. She thanked him, donned the coat, and ventured outside. Her back and feet ached as she started the walk home. She wondered what the next twenty-nine days of being in Dr. Valerian’s employ would have in store.

Christmas Day

Nearly a month passed since Abigail came into Dr. Valerian’s employ. In that time, she attended four lectures, straightened both his home office and the one at the college at least ten times apiece, learned how to take measurements of patients being fitted for various prosthetic devices, did the bookkeeping, and became acquainted with several of his more frequent visitors.

All this, and Dr. Valerian still remained taciturn, as though he merely tolerated her being in his employment. Would she still have her job after tomorrow, when he was supposed to give her an evaluation on her state of permanent employment? She wondered what all he was storing up to evaluate her on.

But today was Christmas, and she could rest from work. A week before, Abigail received an invitation from her sister to visit on December 25th. She welcomed the opportunity to see family again and celebrate the holiday.

Hammond answered the door when Abigail came by on Christmas morning. He called back into the house, “Catherine, Abigail is here.”

The sound of little feet pattering ensued. Instead of Catherine coming to greet her, Phillip and Winnie burst past their father and all but leapt onto Abigail like a pair of capuchins. Laughing even as she sought out her balance, she wrapped her arms around the children. Her hands clung to a tied parcel and two wrapped packages, one in red and the other in green.

“Merry Christmas.” She handed the red gift to Winnie and the green to Phillip.

“Open them in the sitting room,” said Hammond, ushering them back inside. “They’ve been this rambunctious ever since the academy let out for winter holiday.”

“This is for you and Catherine.” Abigail handed him the wrapped parcel, which contained a loaf of gingerbread, and stepped over the threshold. She beheld the interior space decorated with holly boughs, ornaments, and wreaths of pine and fir. The festive display continued with the mistletoe-strewn entryway of the sitting room and up the bell-laden banister of the staircase. She inhaled of the crisp greenery of pine, mixed with the warmth of plum pudding wafting from the kitchen.

“Abigail.” Catherine emerged from the sitting room, flashing teeth as white as the lace on her taffeta dress. “I thought you wouldn’t make it, with your new work and all.”

“Even medical practices take holidays.”

“Speaking of which,” Catherine said, steering her over to the bottom of the staircase. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hammond has brought us news of your employer.”

“He has?” Abigail didn’t really think Catherine would trouble herself to learn more of Dr. Valerian. Obviously, she was wrong.

Hammond joined them. He glanced at the children in the sitting room before he spoke. “Abigail, I’ve done some inquiring among my bank clientele and club associates. They had a few remarks about Dr. Valerian.”

“You sound worried.”

“I am.” Hammond tilted his head. “According to other physicians who went to school with him, Valerian is more metal worker than medical practitioner. He doesn’t follow conventional practices.”

“If by that you mean his methods are more inventive, then I suppose you’re right.”

“I mean he’s an eccentric. He doesn’t frequent the gentlemen’s clubs or take part in society as others of his profession do.”

“He’s very busy with patients and college lectures.”

“Does that explain why he’s let his hair grow long, or dress in loose trousers?” Hammond leaned forward, lowering his voice. “One of his Cambridge classmates described his appearance to me. He also said that before Valerian accepted a position as a field medic to India in ‘32, he looked like any other gentleman. Since he came back, though, he grew obsessed with metalworking, even building a blast furnace in the back of his house. He’s thrown himself into nothing but his work. A recluse, estranged even from his own family in Sussex.”

“Egad,” said Catherine. “What do you think it could be? Brain fever?”

“In India’s heat, perhaps.” Hammond shrugged a thin shoulder. “I talked with another associate, a railroad investor. Valerian was engaged to the man’s youngest daughter before he left. Needless to say, she didn’t marry him. He must have gone mad over there and scared her upon his return home.”

Abigail stepped out of the circle of confidants, uncomfortable with what they were telling her and the free manner in which they did so. “I think I’ve heard enough gossip.”

“Hammond only means to tell you this for your own protection,” said Catherine.“Yes,” Hammond affirmed. “I know little of Valerian’s marvel mechanical devices, but judging from what I’ve gathered of his eccentric work habits and unsociable demeanor, you need to be careful.”

Abigail acknowledged that there was an air of mystery surrounding Dr. Valerian, one that left her bemused and sometimes daunted, but she grew impatient with her sister and Hammond’s summation of him. They didn’t know him, but merely relied on the gossip of others to form their opinions. How could they be sure any of it was true?

“I don’t see why you can’t simply go back to working at the apothecary,” Catherine voiced after her husband left to be with the children.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

“What happened?”

“I made a mistake with a customer’s order, but that’s all past. I found new work as Dr. Valerian’s assistant.”

“Oh, I do wish you had taken my advice in the beginning and found yourself a well-to-do gentleman to marry. Then you wouldn’t have to support yourself by seeking this kind of work.”

Abigail proceeded to speak in what she hoped was a calm manner, not wanting to spoil the holiday bickering with Catherine over her choice of employers and reigniting their old feud. “I’ll be careful as you and Hammond asked, but I intend to keep this job. Now, can we please continue with Christmas?”