by Julia Tagan
“And what does that do?” she asked, pointing to a burner.
Urswick was about to reply, but William cut him off. “We don’t have time for queries, Miss Farley. Please take a seat by the door.”
She stalked off with a huff. “‘And other of such vinegar aspect that they’ll not show their teeth in way of a smile.’”
“I’m sorry, what?” Urswick looked around, perplexed.
“Merchant of Venice,” offered Harriet with a disingenuous smile.
“Never mind.” William threw her a warning glance and encouraged Urswick to carry on. He shared his own theories and calculations and was delighted to find the apothecary was able to effortlessly incorporate them into his own experiment. Yet a half-hour later, both were at a dead end.
“It’s no use,” said Urswick finally. “Nothing we’ve tried will isolate the neutral sulphate.”
Before William could respond, an unfamiliar woman came barreling through the doors.
“Come quick, Mr. Urswick, we’ve got an accident.”
Without hesitation, Urswick dashed out and William followed him into the foyer. Several men carried in two stretchers and Urswick motioned the men to follow him into the surgery, where they gently lifted the patients onto side-by-side examining tables. On one, a young man who appeared to be about twenty years of age writhed in agony, while the other held a young woman about the same age who was still and pale, her eyes closed.
“What happened?” asked Urswick.
“Runaway horse. Their carriage overturned on Church Road,” offered one of the men. “They tumbled right out and it fell on top of them. Nasty accident.”
“I’ll need your help,” said Urswick to William. “My surgeon’s out on a call.”
The room swayed and William took a deep breath. He’d studied the human body and its miraculous functions at school, but he’d only had to help someone so gravely injured once before. And he’d failed.
“I’m a physician, not a surgeon,” he said quietly.
“And I’m an apothecary, but I don’t let it stop me.”
William nodded and hoped he didn’t look too pale.
Harriet was standing nearby. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He wasn’t sure what to say, when he didn’t know what he himself should be doing. Luckily, the woman who’d first fetched Urswick introduced herself as the dispensary’s midwife. She pulled Harriet to her side and together they began preparing the patients. William opened his medicine bag, his hands shaking. He didn’t want Harriet to see him like this, ineffectual and incompetent. What if he made a terrible mistake?
“This leg is broken and will need to be set,” said Urswick, pointing to the man.
William drew close. He recognized the bones and the muscles from his textbooks, but the difference between looking at an illustration and the actual tissue was staggering. And fascinating. Before he knew it, he and Urswick had pinpointed the exact location of the break.
“We’re lucky it was in the lower leg, as the femur is much harder to set,” said Urswick.
He instructed William to hold the man’s knee still while Harriet soothed the man, who groaned and muttered even though he’d been given a dose of opium for his pain. Urswick moved around to the end of the table and grasped the man’s foot with both hands and, without warning, pulled hard. The man gave out a harsh cry and fainted.
“Better that way, poor bloke.”
Amazingly, with one more sharp tug the tibia was realigned and reset. From there, they worked together, stabilizing the leg with a splint and checking for any other injuries.
Once finished, they moved on to the woman.
“It’s mortal, I’m afraid,” said Urswick, gently probing her head. “Her skull has been fractured. You can feel it here.”
William touched the woman’s hair, soaked scarlet with blood. A dozen memories came flooding back to him. He heard again his brother’s cries for help after they’d brought him back to the London house after his accident, the shock of white skull beneath his wound, the furiousness of the bleeding.
“My lord?” asked Urswick.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” William blinked and brought himself back to the present moment. “There must be something we can do. She’s still alive.”
The woman gasped a couple of times and opened her eyes. “Please help me.” Her voice was weak and hoarse.
The midwife leaned over the woman. “You’ll be fine, you’re in the surgery and being taken care of.”
“My husband?”
“He’s got a broken leg but he’ll recover,” said Urswick, his voice kind. “You should rest now.”
Urswick turned away and put away his tools.
William approached him, panic rising up in his chest. “Can’t we do more? Why don’t we examine her more fully?”
He put his hand on William’s arm. “It’s the skull. You know as well as I do it’s a deep fracture. It’s a miracle she can even speak.”
“She’s gone,” announced the midwife.
William returned to the patient. Her eyes were still open, her skin a translucent pallor tinged with blue veins. He reached out and closed her eyelids, and the softness of her skin almost made him cry out.
He must pull himself together and get control of his emotions. He was a physician, after all. Again he heard the awful words his brother had said to him the evening of the accident. The allegations and lies. And the terrible things he’d said back.
William’s stomach lurched. He was an embarrassment, as his father had always declared.
“I feel dizzy,” said Harriet.
William stared at her in surprise.
“You’re not used to this, of course,” said Urswick. “The kitchen’s around the back and we have tea. I’ll show you the way.”
“No need, his lordship will accompany me.” She clutched William’s arm. “Thank you, Mr. Urswick.”
William pulled himself together, gave Urswick a quick nod, and led Harriet out of the room.
* * * *
In a small kitchen at the rear of the building, Harriet poured a cup of tea and handed it to William. The room was pleasant and cozy, with an open window and lace curtains that danced lazily in the breeze. Outside, a large yard had been cultivated into a lush herb garden, where plants and flowers of all sizes and colors flourished.
“Thank you for pretending to be ill for my sake,” said William. “I’m not sure what came over me.”
“Are you all right?” She took a seat at the table and motioned for him to do so as well. His color was slowly returning, but he still seemed shaky. He’d been so analytical in his examination and treatment of the man’s leg she’d been surprised by his strong reaction to the death of the woman.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“William, you must be honest with me. What happened back there? One minute you were fine and the next you were about to tip over.”
His answer was stilted. “The woman, her passing, brought back certain memories.”
She studied him. Medicine no longer held a cold, scientific connotation for her. She had been amazed at the grace in William’s hands as he’d worked with Urswick to set the man’s leg, and the gentleness with which he’d closed the woman’s eyes forever. Putting on a play seemed trivial in comparison. “It must be difficult, seeing people die in your line of work.”
“I’m new to this.” His voice was quiet and vulnerable. “The training we received at Oxford was theoretical. Our examinations were in Latin, for God’s sake. I’ve rarely had the chance to truly help someone. I’m a farce.”
“Why couldn’t you become a surgeon instead of a physician?” She already knew the unwritten rules of the peerage, but she wanted to keep him talking and confiding in her.
“It’s not proper. Besides, my father always told me I was wasting my intel
lect and my abilities by going into medicine. He didn’t see the point.”
“What would he have you do?”
“What my brother did. Politics, gamesmanship.”
“Sounds awful, if you ask me.”
William laughed and she was relieved to see his eyes were no longer dull and glassy. He took a sip of tea, his hand enveloping the fragile china.
She stifled the urge to reach out and touch his arm. “What you did was wonderful. You worked like a surgeon, not some over-educated leech. You were a real help to Mr. Urswick, so you see, it doesn’t matter what your father thinks.”
“My father, my brother. It was not an easy household.”
“I’m sorry neither one is around to see how you’ve done, what you can do. I’m sure they’d change their minds.”
He didn’t respond for a moment. “My brother died in a carriage accident. I’m sure you’ve heard. It was the talk of the town.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I did.” She held her breath, hoping he’d continue.
“The carriage overturned, crushing him and his passenger. Like today. Unlike today, neither one survived.”
“How horrible. You must miss him terribly.”
“Unfortunately, we argued the last time we spoke, and I regret it terribly. Later that evening, they brought him back to the residence, his body a mass of broken bones and blood. I was unable to help.” He rubbed his face with his hands and looked up at the ceiling. “Earlier, with Urswick, I’d hoped to do something to improve my sister’s health. And once again, I’ve failed my family.”
So perhaps he wasn’t an arrogant ass after all. Even Lord Abingdon suffered like the rest of them. All of his money couldn’t bring back his dead brother, or cure his sister. In fact, in her eyes, he was a hero. If she could only make him see it.
“It’s a small setback, one you’ll figure out eventually. And look what you’ve created with your donation. The dispensary is a remarkable place.”
“It’s easy enough to throw money at a good cause. I’d like to do good as well. To make some kind of tangible contribution.”
He pushed the teacup away and stood, making it clear he was finished with the conversation. Her sympathy and encouragement had embarrassed him, her tone was all wrong.
“I’d like to take a look at the medicinal garden,” he said.
“Of course.”
He ventured outside and she followed, not sure whether or not he wanted her company. The plantings seemed unruly and in need of pruning, a far cry from the deliberate patterns in the garden beds of Hyde Park.
William pointed out the various species. “Urswick’s got quite a good collection. Here you have woolly foxglove, which strengthens the heart, and over here’s meadowsweet, which relieves pain.”
Harriet nodded as the beauty, and utility, of the flora revealed itself.
“And comfrey, here, which will help our patient’s broken leg heal quickly.”
“Your knowledge is astounding.”
William shook his head. “I wish I knew more.”
Harriet knelt down and fingered a bright yellow flower.
“Calendula,” he said. “It’s edible and good for wounds.”
She popped it in her mouth and a tangy, peppery sensation spread across her tongue. “Not bad.”
“You’re quite daft.”
At least she’d made him smile.
He looked back at the dispensary. “We should be getting on. There’s nothing more I can accomplish here with Urswick in terms of the ague treatment.” He sighed. “It does feel as if calamity follows us wherever we go.”
She couldn’t help but warm at his use of the word “us.” As if they were a team. She wagged a finger at him. “It’s the curse. I warned you.”
“You’re not going to go on quoting Shakespeare at me, are you?”
“No. I’m through quoting Shakespeare.”
“Wait a moment.” He froze. “That’s it. Quote Shakespeare.”
“What?” Harriet wasn’t sure if he’d taken ill again.
He put his hands on her shoulders. His touch was firm and he stared into her eyes with an unexpected fierceness. “Tell me exactly what you said before, when I was working with Urswick.”
“I asked about the burner.”
“No, after that. You recited something from Shakespeare.”
“Right. From Merchant of Venice. ‘And other of such vinegar aspect that they’ll not show their teeth in way of a smile.’ If I remember, you were being rather peevish at the time.”
“Thank you!” He placed his hands on either side of Harriet’s face. Was he about to kiss her?
No. Instead, he ran into the dispensary, Harriet following close on his heels. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but he seemed awfully excited.
“Mr. Urswick,” he shouted.
The man came running.
“What is it?”
“We need to try again. I think I know what will work for the extraction. We’ve been going at it all wrong.”
As they returned to the table, they bandied around unfamiliar phrases like alcohol extractions, weak washes and hydrochloric acid but she couldn’t follow their conversation or make out what their hands were doing. She kept out of their way, happy to see William re-energized.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Urswick held up a glass vial and peered at it intently. He passed it to William, who examined it and let out a long, slow exhale. Were they pleased? Or disappointed? Their scientific demeanors were maddening to the uninformed spectator.
Urswick took off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then carefully replaced them.
“We’ve done it.”
William beamed with pride. “I believe we have.” He called out to her. “Miss Farley, do you want to see?”
A layer of delicate crystals, white as snowflakes, coated the bottom of the vial.
“They’re beautiful.”
“This is the isolate alkaloid,” William explained. “We’ll need to do some testing, but I believe it’s the essence of what makes cinchona bark so effective against malaria.”
Urswick put the vial down and slapped him on the back. The two men shook hands. “Well done.”
“It was a group effort.” William was beaming. “In fact, it wasn’t until Miss Farley mentioned vinegar I realized an acid was the key.”
She couldn’t help herself. “Once again, Shakespeare reaches beyond the grave with his brilliance. I think we see here an example of art trumping science.”
“Art assisting science,” said William with a growl, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Chapter 10
The moment she stepped onto the stage of the Theatre Royal, Harriet’s heart soared. She was thrilled simply to be standing there. Three tiers of highly polished walnut soared above the pit, which was lined with dozens of benches. The seats in the boxes were upholstered in velvet the color of claret, the ceiling bedecked with chandeliers that looked as if they were made from twinkling pieces of ice. The idea that the Farley Players had made it this far, and were about to appear in one of England’s most beautiful theaters, brought tears to her eyes.
By the time she’d arrived, the cast was assembled onstage in costume and was marking their way through the second act. They were making good progress, but her joy was tempered by the sound of arguing in the wings.
“I don’t see Mr. Farley here,” said a deep voice.
“I’m sure he’s coming, he’ll be here any minute,” answered Adam. “There’s no need to interrupt rehearsal.”
The man whom Harriet presumed to be the producer at the Theatre Royal, a Mr. Wilkinson, hurried onto the stage, with Adam not far behind him. Wilkinson was a large man with short legs, and she was struck by how many steps it took to carry him forward, like a duck paddling furiously belo
w the water’s surface.
She stepped in front him and spoke in an authoritative tone. “We’re in the middle of rehearsal. May I help you?”
He squinted at her. “I’m Wilkinson. You must be the daughter everyone’s telling me I need to see.”
“Yes. I’m Miss Farley.”
“I have a contract here with Mr. Sam Farley.” He pointed to the paper in his hands. “I don’t see him anywhere, and if he’s not here, we don’t have a show.”
“I’ve told him he’s coming,” said Mrs. Kembler, almost baring her teeth at the man.
Harriet held up her hands. “I’ll handle this. Everyone please change costumes for the beginning of the third act.”
Her father had somehow disappeared into thin air between the pub and the theater. Although he might not have been able to slink off if she’d been with him, she wouldn’t have missed the opportunity of seeing William’s discovery for the world.
She waited until the group had shuffled off. “Now, Mr. Wilkinson. I assure you my father will be here, I spoke with him earlier today. We’re thrilled to be at the Theatre Royal and I understand Mrs. Ivey is excited as well. I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint an actress like Mrs. Ivey.”
Harriet hadn’t even met the woman yet, but Wilkinson didn’t have to know.
His expression was guarded. “Are you sure your company can handle this? It’s an educated crowd here in Birmingham, but they’ll show their anger if they feel the entertainment is sub par.”
“We’ve played to grander houses.” That made two lies. All part of the job of theater manager. And without her father here, she was indeed the manager. Freddie was nowhere to be seen, yet again. Having a Farley of the male persuasion present would have no doubt helped matters. She’d have to speak with him about that.
Wilkinson cleared his throat. “Farley has fifteen minutes. If he’s not here by then, it’s off.”
