“When I am ready,” she agreed. “I promise you, Doctor, I will not hold him off forever. Just until… I can forget the embarrassment of, of… oh, Doctor, of that whole dreadful evening.”
“Good. Yes, I understand, and so does he, for it was not especially enjoyable for him, either. And since we are friends now, I should like it very much if you would call me John,” Watson offered. “You must still call me ‘Doctor’ in the hospital, of course, but otherwise, if you like, you may use my Christian name.”
“I would like that… John,” she said with a shy smile. “Do you please call me Leighton, or Leigh, if you would prefer. My closest friends do.”
“Thank you, Leighton.” He returned her smile. “I think I shall refrain from the more familiar form of your name until we know each other a wee bit better.”
“That is fine, John. When do we need to go to the infirmary to begin work?”
“Well,” here Watson pulled out his pocket-watch to check the time, “formal hours do not begin for another, oh, half an hour yet. Morning hours are from ten until the noon luncheon bell; afternoon hours from after the siesta, or roughly 2pm, until the dinner warning bell. An emergency is dealt with whenever it comes up, of course, and you would be expected at hospital if and when one is announced. But if you would like, we can go now. There should be no one else there at this hour, as we currently have no overnight patients, and I can give you a little more of a beginning tutorial than you have yet received.”
“And maybe we can get to know each other a bit better, my new friend,” Leighton said, offering him another smile, her expression lightening.
Watson smiled again and offered his arm. She took it, and they left her tent, headed for the camp hospital.
* * *
At the infirmary, the pair started getting to know each other better, around Watson giving Leighton a much more thorough introduction to the medical equipment and techniques. Some fifteen minutes later, the rest of the hospital staff began arriving, and Watson formally introduced them.
“Leighton, this is my staff. You did not get to meet them properly the other day, and I should like to rectify that now. This is Sati, my orderly; Alimah, my emergency triage nurse; and Wahbiyah, my anaesthetist. All, this is Leighton Whitesell, the Professor’s daughter. She will be joining us to learn some nursing techniques. If you would all be so kind as to assist her in learning, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“It will be our honour,” Alimah said with a beatific smile, her white hair framing her dark face beautifully beneath her hijab.44
“Sati,” Watson continued, “I would like for you to begin by showing Leighton where everything is. Leighton, we are all on a given-name basis here; I feel it makes for good morale.”
“Except for our greatly respected Doctor,” Wahbiyah said with a smile; she seemed not terribly much older than Leighton. “Dr. Watson is a good man, very kind and understanding.”
“He is the chief of staff,” Sati declared. He was a handsome man, dark-complected as all his fellow Egyptians, tall and slim, yet with a wiry strength which sometimes reminded Watson of Holmes himself. “We owe him our respect, if for no other reason. But he has also earned it, for he is obviously skilled and knowledgeable, and he is also very benevolent and thoughtful. Doctor, if you would be so good as to tell me what Leighton’s duties will be, I will keep that in mind when I work with her.”
“For now, Leighton will be responsible for stocking supplies, and laying them out on the surgical trays when needed,” Watson decreed. “I will add to those duties as she learns her way.”
“Very good,” Sati sketched a slight bow. “Miss Leighton, would you accompany me, please?”
As the two headed off, Watson put out a staying hand, putting the index finger of his other hand to his lips to indicate quiet, and gestured the two remaining women closer.
“Professor Whitesell has requested I try to keep his daughter’s spirits up,” he told them in a low tone. “She is interested in the work, and it will keep her mind occupied.”
“Ah, yes, I heard of the fight of last night,” Alimah murmured. “Most distressing for a girl of that age. So you would like us to help you maintain a cheery atmosphere in the infirmary.”
“Precisely,” Watson said in relief. “And, ah, should Mr. Phillips or Mr. Holmes come in, notify me right away, and if you can, divert Miss Leighton, until such time as I tell you otherwise.”
“Very good, sir,” Wahbiyah agreed.
“Let us go aid Sati, Wahbiyah,” Alimah said to the younger woman. “We can get to know Miss Leighton better in the doing.”
Watson watched in satisfaction as the two Muslim women moved to join the other two members of his staff.
* * *
The science team had moved one of the tables from the artefact tent to the outside, just in front of the door flaps, and spread out the maps, weighting the corners against vagrant breezes with convenient rocks.
“…So here is the layout of Wadi al Muluk,”45 Whitesell said, running a hand over a map of the Valley of the Kings, “and here is the terrain of our own valley, or cañon, as Thomas here likes to term it.” He ran another hand over a topographic map of the area in which they stood.
“I’m not so sure it is Abwab al Muluk46 we should be comparing it to, Will,” Nichols-Woodall suggested. “I’m inclined to think there is more similarity, at least geologically speaking, to Ta-Set-Neferu.”47
“Possibly, possibly, Parker,” Whitesell murmured, studying the map of the Valley of the Queens, putting it alongside the other two. “Yes, I see your point. There is a certain similarity in the layout of the ridges and spurs. Yet, the Valley of the Queens is not so very different, really, from that of the Kings.”
“True,” Beaumont agreed. “So what are you suggesting, mes amis?”
“I think we should mark off the locations of the tombs from the known sites on the map of THIS site,” Whitesell proposed. “Then, Parker, you look to see what fits and what doesn’t, from a geologic perspective, and that may well tell us where the various pre-dynastic tombs are, here.”
“It seems a reasonable start,” Holmes decided.
“Agreed,” Nichols-Woodall assented. “Beaumont?”
“I concur,” the other archaeologist said. “It is, as Monsieur Holmes says, a good place to start.”
“Well, then, someone fetch the grease pens,” Whitesell ordered, “and let us get started.”
* * *
About half past ten that morning, Landers Phillips walked into the hospital tent, holding his nose and grimacing in pain. He walked right into Leighton Whitesell, who had her back to him, stacking fresh linens, before he knew what he was about. He looked up, startled, to see what he had run into, just as she spun in surprise.
“Leigh!” he exclaimed, and the other staff members spun likewise; Watson cursed under his breath. “What are you doing here?!”
“Helping,” she replied tightly. “Which is more than you seem to be doing at the moment.”
“Eh,” he grunted. “That lout Holmes must have broken my nose last night when I was defending your honour, my dear. I’ve come to see about getting it set properly.”
Leighton drew herself up. Watson swore the temperature in the infirmary dropped twenty degrees in an instant.
“Then you wasted your time and got your nose broken for nothing last night, for there was no stain upon my honour,” she told him, her voice ice-cold.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Phillips replied, face turning red. “But he certainly hurt you, now, didn’t he?”
“That is none of your business, MISTER Phillips,” she declared, then spun on her heel, gathered the linens she’d dropped, and carted them off to sort through. As she passed Watson, she jerked her head back toward Phillips and muttered, “He’s all yours, John.”
“I’ll take care of it, Leighton,” he murmured back, irked at the man himself. “Do you go fold some clean linens, and stay in the back, out of sight. Everything is fine.�
�� She nodded, and he walked over to Phillips, as Sati and Wahbiyah eased themselves between Leighton and Watson’s patient.
* * *
“Broken nose, eh?” Watson noted as he walked up, surveying Phillips’ facial bruises, black eyes, and crooked nose. The physician’s skilled hands slid lightly over the protuberance, palpating lightly, feeling the bone and cartilage beneath the flesh, as he gazed into the other man’s eyes. He did not entirely like what he saw there, and it had nothing to do with Phillips’ attitude.
“I think so,” a diffident Phillips said, sitting down in the folding chair Watson indicated. “Can you fix it, Doctor?”
“I can,” Watson agreed. “Take a deep breath and hold it.”
“What? Why?” Phillips asked, as Watson placed one hand firmly behind Phillips’ head, and got a good strong grip on his nose with the other. Then he jerked the nose sideways and down. There was a loud, crunching pop, and a trickle of blood surged from Phillips’ nostrils.
“EEEYOW!” Phillips screamed. “Hellfire and damnation, Doctor! What the blazes are you doing?!”
“Setting your nose,” Watson said calmly. “It was indeed broken.”
“Did you have to be so rough?”
“Did you think it would be easy to set?” Watson turned. “Alimah, would you bring me some packing?”
“Right here, Doctor,” the older woman said, approaching with the tray she had anticipated and prepared. Lying on it were several rolls of cotton gauze of narrow diameter, and a surgical forceps.
“What’s that for?” a surly Phillips demanded, holding his nose tightly with his left hand. Watson smacked his hand away.
“Get away from that,” he said, curt, “unless you want me to have to set it again.”
“Oh, HELL no,” Phillips muttered, dropping his hands to his sides. “What’s that for, I asked.”
“To stop the bleeding,” Watson said, grabbing a roll and shoving it up Phillips’ right nostril. “And to help keep everything in place until it can heal.”
“OWWW!” Phillips howled. “THAT HURTS!”
“Of course it does,” Watson snapped. “You broke the ruddy damned thing by getting into an unnecessary fight last night, with someone far better than you are.” He used a pair of forceps to push the roll deeper into the nostril as Phillips yelped and groaned in pain. “It’s going to hurt. And I find that injuries that are obtained due to one’s own stupidity tend to hurt worse than others.” A roll of gauze went into the other nostril, and Phillips let out another roar of pain, which subsided into additional whimpers as Watson used the forceps to ensure that, too, was firmly and deeply seated in the nostril. “Next time, my advice to you, sir, would be to ascertain that a lady actually needs her honour defended, and WANTS YOU to defend it, before taking it upon yourself to do the deed.” He took the pad of gauze Alimah handed him, placed it over Phillips’ entire nose, then took a full roll of gauze and wrapped it around and around Phillips’ head to hold the dressing in place. He finished off by pinning down the gauze, just behind Phillips’ left ear, so it could not unwind. “There. We’re finished.”
“How’b I s’bosed doo breade lig dis?” Phillips demanded to know.
“Through your mouth, until I say otherwise,” a terse Watson informed him. “Wahbiyah, please prepare some pain pills for Mr. Phillips. Laudanum, tincture number 23, please. Standard dose. No more than half a dozen to take with him, and one for dosing right now.”
“Yes, Doctor.” She moved to the medicinal cabinet, unlocked it with a key on her chatelaine,48 and started the work of compounding the medication.
“Mr. Phillips,” Watson addressed his patient, “these pills should ease your pain. They will make you very drowsy, however, so I should strongly recommend you return to your bunk for the rest of the day, and remain there until you have finished the course of medication. I will notify Professor Whitesell personally of your indisposition. You are to take the medication every eight hours for two days. By then you should be able to make do with a salicylic acid powder.”
“Bud whad ib de paid geds worse?” Phillips asked. “Id does dod feel ady bedder daow.”
“You deal with it, and you take a powder in addition to the pills,” Watson declared, stern. “Or come back to me. Under no circumstances do you take the laudanum any more frequently, else you may become addicted.”
“So?”
“Have you ever seen any of the poor unfortunate frequenters of opium dens, Mr. Phillips?”
“Ub, yes?”
“Laudanum is tincture of opium. Do you want to end up like them?”
“Oh. I see your poidt; do, I doo dod.”
“Good. Then do as I say, and everything will be fine. Trust me on this.”
“All righd.” Phillips sighed.
“Here you are, Doctor,” Wahbiyah said, coming to Watson with a tray on which was a small dark glass bottle; inside were just discernible six tiny pills. Next to it was a small dosing cup containing one additional pill, and a glass of water.
“Excellent, Wahbiyah, thank you,” Watson said, picking up the bottle and handing it to Phillips. “Here we are. Tuck this into your pocket, Phillips, then take this pill. It is…” He pulled out his pocket-watch and checked it. “It is nearly eleven o’ clock in the morning. Your next dose is due at seven o’ clock to-night.”
Phillips tucked the bottle into his waistcoat pocket, placed the pill in his mouth, then washed it down with the glass of water.
“Very good,” Watson said. “Sati, can you see Mr. Phillips back to his tent? I expect he will be more comfortable there than in a hospital cot, but if he is unused to it, the laudanum may take effect much faster than he expects. Chances are, he is already mildly concussed, and with his nose broken as well, it would not do for him to pass out halfway there.”
“I should be happy to do so, Doctor,” Sati replied, and escorted Phillips out of the hospital tent.
* * *
After Phillips left the infirmary, Leighton returned from the back, where she had put the linens she’d dropped into the dirty hamper to be picked up and washed by the camp launderers. Then she had folded towelling. Now she placed the stack of clean towels into their proper shelf. She turned as Watson came up to her.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she decided with a sigh, leaning lightly against the table. “I could have done without that, however.”
“Holmes said much the same thing last night after the fight.”
“I’m sure he did,” she said, and giggled.
“Well! That sounded good, if unexpected,” Watson noted.
“I suppose,” she considered. “John, tell me something.”
“If I can, of course I shall.”
“Were, um, weren’t you just a, a little hard on poor Landers’ nose?” she wondered. “They might have heard him scream in Cairo!”
“No, my dear, I did not take out my feelings on Phillips, I assure you,” Watson chuckled. “No matter what I may have thought, what I may have said—and I freely admit to dressing him down. But I have too much respect for my chosen profession for such as that. No, setting a nose is not fun in any event, either for physician or patient, though it is rather harder on the patient! Every nose I have ever set—and there have been a few—and every nose I have ever seen set—and those have been even more—the patient has reacted in the same fashion. Though if it makes Phillips think before leaping in next time, I am glad of it!”
Leighton fairly doubled up in giggles, and Watson grinned.
“I take it, you approve of him using his head for something more than a hat rack, next time?” Watson asked.
“Oh, John! Indeed I do!” she agreed. “Oh, do understand—he is a nice enough man, and quite smart in his own way. But… he was reared in a bit, um, less refined an environment than you and I,” she explained. “I just…”
“No, it’s all right, I see,” Watson cut her off. “Is he trying to court you without your permis
sion, then?”
“Didn’t Sherry tell you?”
“Oh no, not unless you told him to, or gave him permission to do so,” Watson said. “That would not be respecting your privacy.”
“Well then, yes, he is,” Leighton confessed. “That was part of the reason for staying so close to Sherry, you see, to ward off Landers’ attentions. And Sherry knew, and, and agreed. Now, with everything that has happened—I just don’t know. I don’t mind being friends with Landers, but—” She broke off abruptly with a sharp inhalation.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Watson asked, concerned. Leighton gave him a rueful grin.
“Let us just say I suddenly understand Sherry’s point of view a lot better,” she offered, wry. “While I’m not of a lower, um, class than Sherry, I know he’s very, very smart, and so learnéd. Me? Well, not so much, I suppose. I… guess I can understand why he wouldn’t be interested, even if he was ‘so inclined,’ as I think he put it.”
“Do not denigrate yourself, Leighton,” Watson advised. “You are a lovely woman, with intelligence, wit, and fire. Just because you were not able to catch Holmes’ eye—and I have yet to see any woman who could do so—does not make you incapable of catching another’s.” At that remark, Leighton scrutinised him intently, and he suddenly realised the way his statement might be taken. “Oh, I, um, that is, I didn’t mean…”
“Hush, John,” she told him with a gentle smile. “Sherry already told me you found me attractive, and I’m flattered. I just wondered if you realised beforehand how you had phrased that statement.”
“I… did not,” he said, sheepish. “In light of that, I am no longer certain I should make the offer I was about to…”
“What was it?”
“Well, since Holmes is no longer available for the purpose, I was going to offer to keep you company, so as to help you avoid Phillips. But perhaps you had rather I didn’t.”
“Really? You were going to do that? Just to help me avoid Landers?”
“I swear,” Watson averred, putting his hand to his chest. “I had no ulterior motives behind it.”
Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse Page 14
