by Ava Morgan
Abigail’s eyebrows curved in confusion. “I feel as though you told me some of this before, but I can’t remember when.”
Jacob remembered. She had been in his college office, where the effects of the nitrous oxide still coursed through her system. He didn’t think she would be able to recall aspects from that day a month ago.
What if she remembered that kiss she gave him while under the laughing gas’ influence? Or worse, that he returned it while completely sober? Surely it would disrupt their current arrangement. Abigail would be beside herself for embracing him, a near stranger at the time and now, since she learned of his amputated leg, a disfigured man.
She could extend sympathy towards him, yes, but Jacob thought it impossible that she would ever exhibit such passion towards him again in her right frame of mind.
He’d spare her the indignity of resurrecting the memory. And himself from experiencing her rejection if she were to find out. He changed the subject. “Abigail, you should eat. I’ll see if Maria can cook something.”
Abigail played with the thread of a missing button on her sleeve, probably lost from the scuffle. “You often call me by my first name when you’re tense or excited.”
“Oh.” He grew embarrassed. Her presence was making him forget himself more often than not these days. “I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You may call me Jacob in private, but we’ll maintain formal titles in front of patients.”
Her eyebrows lifted high. “Does that mean my evaluation went well? I’m to stay on?”
Is that what he just told her? He supposed he did. “Yes, but the choice is ultimately yours. I can’t ask you to accept the dangers inherent with visiting the laborer’s hospital.”
Hesitation and a note of caution swept her face, but then it disappeared in resolve. “You explained the work to me before I started. I accepted that there would be risks. We’ll simply have to be more careful next time.”
Yes, they would. Jacob began to think of ways to ensure Abigail’s protection. She needed a device to defend herself. He should get on that right away.
“Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“You have that faraway look again.”
He shook his head to clear it. “I’ll see what’s keeping Maria.”
Out in the hallway, he heard Struthers descend the stairs. He met him at the bottom.
“Have you kindled the fireplace in the guest room?”
“Yes, sir, and Maria put fresh linens on the bed.”
Maria came down the stairs. “How is the young lady, Doctor?”
“She has a cut and some bruising on her forehead, but it will heal within a week.”
“How did she come by such a brutish injury?” Struthers asked.
“We were met by three men close to the laborer’s hospital near St. Giles.”
“That area is no place for a lady,” Maria scolded Jacob. “What were the two of you doing there at such an odd hour?”
“Maria.” Struthers was clearly embarrassed by her outburst.
Maria caught herself too late, putting her hands over her mouth. “Pardon me, Doctor. I meant no harm.”
“You’re concerned for Miss Benton. I take no offense.” Jacob put her at ease. “Miss Benton’s injury was due to my negligence. We left the laborers’ hospital later than we should because I didn’t mind the time.”
“Please have care for her, Dr. Valerian. She might be capable and brave enough to do a man’s job, but she’s still a woman.”
“You have my word.”
“Will Miss Benton be staying on as your assistant?”
“She will.”
“Wonderful.” The housekeeper beamed. “I’ve never seen that office runnin’ so smoothly or you so…” She averted her gaze. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Struthers’ composed, austere appearance was in the process of unraveling as his wife left. “I must apologize for her, Dr. Valerian. I ask her not to speak every thought. It’s the Celtic blood that makes her so inquisitive.”
“It’s quite alright, Struthers.” Jacob casually wondered if Abigail possessed a similar ancestral line as Maria. The two women were high-spirited and apt to speak their minds to whoever would listen. Which, in Abigail’s case, especially, he was beginning to find refreshing. “We’d better see to Miss Benton’s supper.”
Chapter 12
Abigail awoke in a room that she didn’t recognize.
“Good morning, dear,” Maria’s voice sounded from a wooden chair by the door. Abigail then remembered where she was, in a guest room at Jacob’s residence. The night before, Maria brought her supper to the room and lent her a nightgown to sleep in after she had a bath.
“The doctor told me to keep an eye on you during the night.” Maria yawned as she stood up to stretch, still attired in her gray dress and white apron. “He came to peek in on you around six this morning.”
Abigail shifted under the blankets. “What time is it now?”
“Eight. Time for me to bring you breakfast and let Dr. Valerian know you’re awake.” Maria slipped out the door.
Abigail sat up in bed. An ache began at her temple. She tested the area. The swelling had gone down, but it was sore and would be for some time. But things could have turned out much worse if Jacob hadn’t been there to prevent those men from doing her further harm.
She sank back into the pillows, recounting all that she had learned of him last night. If she had not seen the mechanical limb, she would never have guessed Jacob lost his leg. Due to a small limp and his use of a walking stick, she assumed that he sustained a field injury, but nothing as he had described to her the night before.
And it made her respect him all the more. From what she knew of amputations in the field, not many people survived them. The fact that Jacob returned home and opened a practice to help others who had lost their limbs was nothing short of admirable.
She hoped that her initial surprise upon seeing his prosthetic leg didn’t convince him that she felt otherwise.
A tap sounded upon the door. Jacob entered, bearing his walking stick. “How do you feel today?”
“The ache is bearable.” She burrowed under the covers until only her head and neck were visible. Being abed and in a nightgown made having a conversation with him quite awkward. “How are you?”
“It’s been some years since I’ve had to employ martial skills, but I’ll be fine. Not to worry.” A bit of humor crossed his face as he chased away her concern. He dragged the wooden chair Maria previously sat on and put it by the bed. “Let’s see how your temple looks today.”
Abigail stilled as he untied the knot of her bandage. Her skin heated where his fingers touched. Was she turning red? Oh, she hoped not.
He leaned close. The smell of soap and green, lingering notes of bay leaf aftershave pleased her nose. A temptation emerged, a subtle coaxing to reach up around the back of his neck and draw his face down, where she could feel his skin against hers, press her lips upon his.
Where did such an ardent notion come from? Abigail pressed both hands into the mattress. And why was the thought of it so vivid, as though she had once engaged in such an exchange with Jacob before?
Perhaps her head injury was more serious than she thought.
“Your injury looks better today,” Jacob said.
She watched the sun’s soft rays filter through the curtain to shine on his hair. Pale blond strands mixed with a touch of silver produced an intriguing, otherworldly coloring. Angles of shadow and light formed along the clean planes of his face. He was a handsome man, even with the faint scar that patterned over his left eye. In a quiet way, Abigail thought it grounded his refined features.
“You won’t be assisting me today,” he said, while he tied her bandage again. “You’re to rest here. Then, if you feel better, you can go home in the afternoon.”
She gave him no argument. Even if her head didn’t hurt, his patients wouldn’t k
now what to think if she were to appear before them all bandaged up.
“I also want you to refrain from work for a while.”
“How long?”
“Until Friday. In the meantime, since you’re the better artist, you can start sketching the COIC project. We need to find the best place to embed the Aspasian metals into that gauntlet gun.”
She liked that he said we. At last, he included her in every aspect of his practice. “I’ll get started as soon as I can.”
“But not until you feel up to it.” The clock chimed downstairs. He rose. “A patient will be here early. I’d better go. I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.”
He left as Maria returned with breakfast.
#
Abigail did feel well enough to leave that afternoon. After Maria was kind enough to lend her a hat that concealed most of the bandage, she took a cab back to her boarding house. Struthers accompanied her, at Jacob’s insistence.
Despite putting on a brave face for Jacob, Abigail was left somewhat unnerved by last night’s attack. Even from the safety of the cab, she felt compelled to watch the street closely. An odd feeling settled about her as she tried to relax. She got the feeling that she and Struthers were being watched.
“Your residence, Miss Benton,” Struthers announced, after the cab stopped at the corner. He saw her to the door.
Even as people hurried by on their late afternoon jaunts, she still felt eyes on her. It had to be her nerves. Struthers hardly looked discomfited. “Thank you, Struthers. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She went into the boarding house, tugging the hat brim over her brow.
The chair at the front desk was empty, but a cup of tea sat steaming beside a ladies domestic magazine. The landlady must have only gotten up a moment before to tend to an errand.
Good. If Abigail didn’t have to suffer through looks as to why she was just now coming home after nearly thirty-six hours, in the same dress she had on yesterday, then she would count it a blessing. She kept her head down as she passed another female tenant and tiptoed around the hall to her room.
Her room was the same as she left it yesterday morning. The bed was made. The washbasin and pitcher were arranged neatly on the stand. Nothing looked out of place.
She picked up a charcoal pencil from the floor and return it to the case on the table. The afternoon sun got in her eyes. She went to the window to draw the curtain.Abigail’s fingers halted on the curtain as she took in the view across the street. Below the sign of a storefront, a man dressed in a well-worn suit and brown topper flicked his cigar stub in the gutter before walking away. Abigail found herself shying away from full view in the glass.
Goodness. She pulled the curtain closed. Was she to be spooked at the sight of every man she saw on a street corner from now on?
She removed Maria’s hat from her head and sat at the table. A quick sketch would calm her before she had to rearrange her hair to conceal her wound and change clothes for supper in the dining hall. She took the charcoal pencil out of the case and put it to her sketchpad.
Only then did her unease subside, but traces of it remained, hiding, in the corners of her mind.
#
January, 1838
Roughly one month passed since Jacob offered Abigail permanent employment. Once month since she suffered an injury at the hands of the street gang. He resolved to maintain the former and prevent the latter from happening again.
The overhead lamps provided light in the cellar as he watched his assistant inspect the newly refurbished gauntlet gun. Abigail turned it over and saw where he embedded a steel plaque into the forearm portion and inserted the Aspasian iron and copper alloy. The plate connected to wires above the wrist.
“It looks just as how I sketched it,” she talked, as she admired his handiwork. “I’m glad that I was able to illustrate the concept you described to me.”
“The gauntlet couldn’t have been completed without your help.” He was pleased when his sincere compliment brought a smile to her face.
She turned the gauntlet over again. A flash of copper peeked out from the sleeve of her blouse. Jacob was glad to see that she wore the cuff with the retractable pocket pistol that he fitted for her. The pistol it contained was discreet enough to be hidden beneath a shirtsleeve, but capable of injuring a would-be assailant if he got too close. All with the press of a button.
He hoped she would never have to use it, but if the situation occurred, she had a weapon to protect herself.
“Now that you have the voice-responsive metals and copper wires affixed, how exactly does the gauntlet work?” Abigail caught one of the wires between her fingers.
“That, I’m still working on.” And with less than two months before he was scheduled to present the device to the COIC, he had little time for extensive experimentation. “I did some tests before you arrived this morning.” He directed Abigail’s attention to the wires again. “When I put the gauntlet on and spoke aloud, the wires moved. They conducted the sound of my voice, but nothing registered with the device. I wonder if I need a larger amount of the Aspasian metals.”
She eyed the steel plate. “Perhaps the metals don’t register voices when they’re worn close to the body.”
“That would defeat my theory, then. And my chances of getting the commission from the COIC.”
“Perhaps not.” She tucked part of her lower lip between her teeth and placed a hand on one hip as she continued to study the gauntlet. She looked so charmingly deep in thought that Jacob’s dismay over his potentially debunked theory was temporarily eased. “The Aspasian metals might register other sounds besides your voice.” She brought his attention back to their work, “What if it heard your heartbeat instead?”
“My heartbeat?”
She nodded, moving the wisps of hair that escaped the bun at the nape of her neck. “This may seem far-fetched, but if the metals are worn close to or on the skin, can it be possible that they’re, I don’t know, able to sense pulse and muscle movement?”
“It’s possible, but even if that’s the case, the weapon is useless if it can’t be activated by speaking.”
“It may not be. Would you mind putting the gauntlet on again?”
Jacob rolled up his shirtsleeve. “What are you hoping to find?”
“I’ll know in a moment.” She held out the gauntlet for him to put his hand through the glove. She cinched the cuff around his wrist and buckled the straps along the inside of his forearm. Her soft, light fingertips tickled as they moved quickly over his skin, adjusting the steel plate containing the Aspasian metals over the pulse point of his upper forearm.
The connecting wires began to move. Jacob turned his arm over and saw the wire’s movement carry upward to the small unit containing the spring release mechanism for the pistol. He turned away from Abigail and went to depress the switch to make the firearm unfold. His fingertips barely flanked the switch’s surface before the unloaded pistol sprang from its compartment to land in his hand. “That didn’t happen before.”
Abigail moved to his right. “You didn’t have the plate lined up on your brachial artery.” She looked up flittingly and provided, “Your pulse point.”
“I know what it is.” He retracted the gun. “I’m just surprised that veins and arteries found their way into our discussion of sound-conducting metals.”
“I suppose it was bound to happen when you hired an assistant with a background in vascular medicine.”
“I’m glad I did.”
The tawny glow deepened in her cheeks. Jacob felt a nervous clench in his stomach. He spoke too freely. What if she took that to be a flirtation? Was it?
Abigail smoothed her hair and resumed with the original topic. “But as I was saying, I wonder if the gauntlet gun would work better if you incorporated more pulse points on the body for the wires to connect.”
“That’s going to be a challenge. The COIC commissioned a weapon and light armor for its field agents.”
Her light green eyes darte
d to his torso and her brow immediately furrowed.
Jacob followed the path of her gaze, wondering if he spilled tea on his waistcoat at breakfast. “What is it?”
She tilted her head, now appearing to disapprove of the color of his necktie. “My sister once said that gentlemen don’t concern themselves with fashion as much as women because their clothing hasn’t changed much in the past two centuries.”
“Come now. I’ve had this tie and waistcoat for a couple seasons, but they don’t look that old.”
She chuckled. “No, but your waistcoat is descended of the iron breastplates men wore to protect themselves in battle. What if you made one now, using light steel? Would it hold up against a weapon?”
“It could deflect a knife and possibly a bullet from a small gun fired at medium range. But how would the Aspasian metals detect pulse if an armor plate is in the way? ”
“You could embed a second set of copper wires in the plate here.” She touched two fingers on the pocket of his waistcoat, over his heart. “They could extend to your scapular artery.” The fingers of her left hand traced a pattern across his chest to his right shoulder. “And finally travel to connect with the wires and steel plate of the gauntlet.”
Jacob’s pulse sped in every place that she touched. What was wrong with him? Abigail’s touch was not as a lover, but merely to show how the armor was to be crafted. Had he been without a woman’s affection for so long that he began to imagine that she could feel that way about him?
He pleaded with the gauntlet’s wires, hoping they didn’t jump to match his heart’s erratic beat. Sure enough, they were moving. “This has all been very interesting.” He pulled his arm away from Abigail and pressed it to his side. “Should we get to work, then?”
Abigail dropped her fingers from his chest. “Pardon me.” She rushed to speak, her voice sounding flustered. She rubbed the creamy skin of her neck. “I got carried away.”
