Chapter Two
Bombay Island
February 1790
“Dr. Darcy!”
George gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain silent until the young man nicknamed “Reed” due to his lanky physique had finished panting after his sprint from the commander’s office on the far side of the compound.
“Commander Doyle wants you in his office now! He said to tell you it was of the utmost importance and haste was essential! ‘Fetch Darcy,’ he said to me. ‘Tell him to leave his ridiculous test tubes and scribbled papers immediately.’ So here I am to fetch you!”
“Well done, Reed. Your efficiency and ability to follow orders, and recall verbal insults precisely, is commendable.”
Reed’s face blanched. “I meant no disrespect, Dr. Darcy!”
George smiled and patted the young man on the shoulder, feeling paternal even though Reed was only two years younger. “I know you didn’t, Ensign Dawson,” George reverted to the stricken Reed’s formal name, turning back to the table he had been bent over before the interruption. “Allow me a moment to separate these elements first—”
“But, sir! I have taken so long first going to your bungalow, then the hospital, searching to find an orderly who knew you were not there but here, and—”
“Why did you visit those other places when the opinion was that I would be here, with my ridiculous test tubes?”
“Yes, I suppose… Well…” Reed stuttered to a halt and fumbled with the wrinkled paper he held in his hand. The names of the men he was sent to fetch were now blurred, but the paper served as a reminder of his mission. “With all due respect, Dr. Darcy, Commander Doyle said—”
“I am sure the dire emergency of Lady Burgley’s cough or Miss Marsh’s headache will not escalate to a severe crisis in the next fifteen minutes. These three ingredients, on the other hand, will lead to an explosion intense enough to destroy this table and cause a fire if left untended. My ‘ridiculous’ test tubes are, in this instance, more frightening than Commander Doyle’s ire.”
Reed frowned, clearly dubious, but arguing with Dr. Darcy was as pointless as arguing with a tree. He shifted foot to foot as the physician secured a lid on one bottle and then covered a brown-liquid-filled wooden bowl with an oiled cloth. Using careful, confident movements, Dr. Darcy organized the strange items spread across the table, fascinating Reed into forgetting his errand.
“What are you doing with all this stuff, anyway?”
“Filling the empty spaces of my time and keeping my brain active are the main purposes,” George responded with a trace of irritation. Then he shrugged, the gesture a minuscule lift of his left shoulder so as not to shake the bowl in his right hand. “Truth is, I have a fascination for chemistry. I have read everything written by Fordyce and Cullen, attended Saunders’s lectures and studied in his laboratory at Guy’s Hospital—his facility is impressive and no comparison to my ramshackle attempt—and became good friends with George Pearson at St. George’s. His lectures on organic chemistry were enlightening, let me tell you.” He glanced over his shoulder to note the serious expression on Reed’s face. “Have you suddenly developed an interest in chemistry, Ensign? Or are you merely curious?”
“Curious. We always wonder what you are doing in here.”
“We? And what do ‘we’ say I am doing?”
Reed shrugged, his gaze intent on the bizarre apparatus connected with tubes and the piles of papers jammed with mathematical equations. “Fiddling with herbs and oils and”—he waved his hand over the table—“whatever an apothecary uses to make medicines.”
George grunted. “Perfect. Years of medical training and I am merely an apothecary. That’s the extent of it? Nothing more nefarious bandied about?”
“Of course not!”
“Pity. I was hoping for something exciting. Maybe rumors of experimenting with live animals or formulating hallucinogens for spiritual rites.” George turned to a nearby chair and retrieved his jacket.
Reed gaped at the older man as if he had sprouted a second nose. “You are a very strange man, Dr. Darcy, and I don’t understand you at all.”
“Well, that’s something at least!” George clapped Reed on the shoulder and leaned closer. “Life is too short to be bored or boring, Reed. A gentleman with a scandalous past or naughty reputation is far more interesting to the ladies, trust me. Now, lead me to Commander Doyle before he has a seizure. After three uneventful months, I am anxious for a real medical emergency but would rather it not involve our fearless leader.”
George followed Reed from the room and pulled the canvas drape that served as a door down from the roof, that the extent of security to his precious instruments. The odds of thievery or mischief were slim, most inhabitants of the military compound on Bombay Island either uninterested or afraid of the makeshift “laboratory.” The label was one used jokingly by the medical staff, including Dr. Darcy, since it was no more than a bamboo and thatch hut among a cluster of similar huts located behind the hospital. In the three weeks since he took over the space and set up his equipment, he had accomplished more than the six weeks prior.
They walked through the sparsely populated waiting area of the hospital building and exited the double doors on the west end. George waved to the lieutenant stationed at the desk, the officer saluting in return. Once outside, they traversed the lush garden that fronted the entrance to the two-story medical facility, crossed an open expanse of gritty sand, and stepped onto the wooden walkway that ran the length of the barracks. The covered path was a longer route to Commander Doyle’s office, but navigating around the dozens of obstacles and hundreds of people crowding the massive courtyard of the British East India compound would take far longer.
Their pace was brisk and the long-legged physician easily kept up while also managing to observe the bustle of activity that was becoming familiar but remained fascinating. Five months on the ship had prepared George to some degree, primarily in learning the language and listening to the stories from others who dwelt in India. Yet the exotic environment had struck him forcibly the second his feet stepped onto the dock. Everything from the aromas to the garments, from the animals to the music was vastly different than England. George loved every last speck of it and his only annoyance thus far was that he had yet to travel beyond the large island of Bombay other than for one outing to Mazagaon, the island nearest to Bombay.
Newly connected by the Hornby Vellard—the causeway an engineering feat destined to lead the way in the planned transformation for the seven islands to be combined into one—Mazagaon was already established as the prime suburb and fashionable place to live. Wealthy families wishing to escape the rough, crowded fort and busy populous of Bombay settled on the rocky but beautiful coastline of the small island, building luxurious houses amid the mango trees.
George’s visit to Mazagaon had been part of a major excursion to harvest the unique mangos that fruited twice yearly, but he also managed to explore the landscape, pick an assortment of interesting plants for later study of medicinal properties, and enjoy the untouched stretches of beach.
As delightful as the adventure had been, George chafed at the restraints when he knew there was so much more to India than Bombay and Mazagaon. However, with thousands of souls, British and Indian, dwelling on the crescent-shaped landmass that was Bombay Island, and within the rustic headquarters of the British East India Company, there was a plethora of intriguing sights for the curious man who hungered to absorb his new country.
At the far end of the barracks, they jaunted over another patch of land shaded by tall java plum and golden shower trees and bordered by thick oleander hedges. George and Reed kept to the straight path with single-minded purpose and did not realize until attaining the next sheltered porch that they had company walking with them.
“Dr. McIntyre, how are you this fine day?” George greeted the physician.
�
��I was feeling verra fine until interrupted by Ensign Dawson with summons to see Doyle.”
“That’s where you’re going too? Interesting. Might be something to this ‘emergency’ after all, although his asking for the two of us is more troublesome than heartening. Who else did you fetch for the commander, Reed?” George looked at the messenger, but Reed’s reply was a mumbled “no one” and his flaming red face was averted. George glanced back at McIntyre, noted the unbuttoned waistcoat and shirt that was actively being tucked into the Scotsman’s kilt, and chuckled under his breath. “So, you went first to the bungalows looking for me and Dr. McIntyre,” he went on in a vague tone as if sorting through a tough puzzle. “You roused him before searching in the hospital and then the laboratory for me. We tarried for a good fifteen minutes and are still ahead. Whatever were you doing, Dr. McIntyre?” He ended with false innocence and wide eyes directed toward the ruddy-skinned physician.
“Something far more enjoyable than playing with sterile glass bottles and drugs, I can assure ye. Damned if Doyle or the young pup here was gonna take precedence.” McIntyre winked at George and then nudged the scarlet messenger. “Jesus, Reed, we need to find a woman so ye won’t nearly stroke every time someone mentions tupping. Now tell us what is going on that we needed to drop our activities.”
“Sir, I was simply told to fetch you both as quickly as possible.” Reed shot a quick glare at them. “A task you both made very difficult!” George and McIntyre’s brows rose at his uncharacteristic boldness, but he went on before they could reply, “All I know is that a group arrived this morning from Surat, and then a bit ago, I saw a couple of Indian couriers pass through the east gate.” He paused to wait until a loud troop of soldiers on horses cleared the avenue separating the administrative buildings from the southern portion of the complex, resuming as they continued their brisk stride. “Oh, and Commander Doyle was talking to Dr. White when I left.”
McIntyre groaned. “That canna be good.”
“Probably not,” George agreed, “although I haven’t done anything to annoy him lately.”
“Lately? As in, what, the past few hours?”
“He’s not exactly your bosom buddy either, you know.”
“Me he just ignores because I am a Scot. He hates ye with a personal vengeance. Canna imagine why, since ye are so charming and likable.”
Dr. Searc McIntyre and his wife Lileas had arrived in Bombay about a month after George, and the two men had taken an instant liking to each other. They discovered a shared enjoyment for pursuits such as dancing, billiards, and outdoor games of sport. McIntyre was a good fifteen years older and married, which set him apart in some respects, but he was an excellent physician, his skills earning George’s instant respect and Dr. White’s instant dislike.
George’s negative relationship with the Physician General of Medical Services on Bombay Island began on the ship and hadn’t improved once on land. White wasted no time in exerting his authority, George forbidden to enter the wards where the sickest patients were treated or go anywhere near the surgical rooms. Instead, he was assigned to care for certain English citizens whose ailments ran the range of gouty feet and nervous swooning with the occasional fever or skin rash tossed in. It was boring as hell but did provide direct exposure to the luminaries who were in charge of everything that happened in Bombay.
Still, it irritated him to have traveled halfway around the world to end up treating minor illnesses and enhancing his chemistry skills. His patience was at a breaking point, and as they climbed the stairs leading to Commander Doyle’s office on the third floor of the administration building, George realized he was praying fervently for an outside intervention before he exploded.
Reed led them into the busy anteroom, the clerk indicating they needed to wait for the commander to finish with another meeting. McIntyre released a rude expletive, but there wasn’t much choice but to comply. Whispered speculation as to the nature of the emergency that did not seem to be an all-fired emergency after all passed between the two doctors until George abruptly halted at the appearance of a group of people farther down the lengthy passageway.
“Reed, who are they?” George lifted his chin their direction.
“General Kendall and His Grace, the Duke of Larent—”
“Of a cert Darcy knows who the duke is,” McIntyre interrupted. “How often have ye been told ye resemble his most exalted eminence, the Duke of Cold Arrogance, Darcy?”
But George was not looking at the tall man with the dark handsomeness set into a mold of features startlingly similar to his own.
“No, I mean the others standing with General Kendall,” he clarified for Reed. “I have never seen them before.”
“They are Viscount and Viscountess Powis. They live in Mazagaon but have been away for a few months. Sailed through the southern islands, I think it was.”
“The young lady is their daughter, I assume?”
“Miss Sarah Chambers, yes.”
Reed’s voice was oddly tight but George did not notice. Lord Powis was talking to General Kendall, the Duke of Larent, and two additional English gentlemen vaguely familiar to George as prominent aristocrats living in Bombay for the fortunes to be acquired as well as the tropical climate. However, his thoughts were not on politics or business affairs. Sarah Chambers drove everything from his mind. His eyes were focused on the tawny-haired beauty standing in serene splendor to the left of her father, the fluttering in his chest making breathing difficult, but a pleasant sensation nevertheless.
“Don’t get any bright ideas, Dr. Darcy. She isn’t friendly at all. An ice princess some call her. Aloof. I have never seen her talk to anyone or even give the time of day.”
Ensign Dawson’s bitter tone was lost on George, but not the individual words. Yet, as he gazed upon her averted face, studying the tension in the corner of her eye and firm set to her jaw, he knew Reed’s report of the lady’s character wasn’t true. Just as he could often diagnose a disease through subtle signs or some other indefinable talent he possessed, George was absolutely certain that Sarah Chambers was not icy at heart.
Seconds later, the group walked out of view, Sarah trailing behind her parents and never glancing George’s direction. Seconds after, the inner door opened and the clerk called to the two doctors.
Dr. White leaned against Commander Doyle’s desk, his fat arms crossed over a round belly covered with grease-stained fabric. His tiny eyes followed the two men as they crossed to Doyle’s desk, the glint of malice discernible. George did his best to maintain a neutral cast to his face and ignored the Physician General. Instead, he bowed respectfully toward Commander Doyle, as did Dr. McIntyre, even though the commander was bent over a large map spread across the surface of his desk and not looking at either man.
“Ye sent for us, Commander?” McIntyre asked after two minutes passed without Doyle acknowledging their presence.
The gray-haired man held his palm up in the universal gesture of silence and turned instead to a soldier standing nearby. “Lieutenant, inform your captain of the troubles in Khandesh. Have him begin preparations for deployment, then report to me as soon as possible.” The lieutenant saluted smartly, pivoted on his heels, and exited the room after which Commander Doyle straightened and directed his attention to the two physicians.
“About two hours ago a messenger arrived from Poona,” he began without preamble. “Actually from Assaye, a small village in Poona not too far from Lonauli. A pestilence of some kind is infecting the citizens on a grand scale, which in and of itself would probably not concern us. However, the Maratha Peshwa has family in the area and with the request bearing his seal, and written in the hand of Dr. Ullas, I cannot ignore it. Dr. White tells me you are his finest physicians”—he nodded toward the smirking but silent White—“so I am commissioning the two of you for this task. Gather whatever essentials you need. You will be leaving within the hour.”
&n
bsp; Commander Doyle bent back over the desk, it clear to McIntyre and George that discussion was not expected or desired. They shared a brief, nonverbal exchange and headed toward the door. Neither paid Dr. White any heed nor were they aware that before crossing the threshold and reaching the passageway he left his casual pose on Doyle’s desk to follow them.
“‘Finest physicians’ my arse,” McIntyre whispered as soon as the door clicked. “More likely he hopes ’tis the plague and we’ll succumb to it.”
“At this point, it could be the plague and I would not care. As long as I can leave this island and have an opportunity to put my skills to use, it suits me just fine,” George countered. “And on the off chance it is a serious infection, it is a blessing he is sending us. Those poor people don’t know how lucky they are that we are coming to help instead of the alternative.”
“And what ‘alternative’ is that, Darcy?”
Dr. White’s growled question startled the men, and they halted midstride to turn about. White’s fat face was flushed, his eyes belligerent and hard, and his fleshy hands balled into fists at his waist. George’s desire to burst out laughing choked his throat. Did the old dog really intend to brawl with a man thirty years his junior in the corridor of a building filled with soldiers and one brawny Scotsman? It was too ridiculous to fathom, but on the off chance fisticuffs were on White’s agenda, George stifled the laughter choking his throat with a cough.
“The alternative of no additional assistance for this Dr. Ullas with the potential of the infection becoming an epidemic or a worsening sequelae for those afflicted—”
“Spare me the fancy dance and technical terms, Dr. Darcy. I know perfectly well you meant the alternative of my medical skills versus yours. Oh yes. Dr. Darcy, the brilliant young physician with the prestigious education—”
“Thank you, Dr. White.”
“It was not meant as a compliment!” He stepped closer, his face now a rather alarming shade of purple. “I know you think you are better than me, Darcy, but having a rich father who can buy your way through Cambridge and the Royal Academy in record time does not make you a better doctor!”
The Passions of Dr. Darcy Page 4
