That was the life she’d chosen for herself, though, and she really couldn’t complain. Easing a patient’s burdens and seeing to their needs was much more satisfying than parties, especially knowing that she was doing something that would change the quality of life for these people forever.
She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and studied herself in the mirror. She looked well enough, she supposed, although she was clearly tired. The harsh lighting at the ball might accentuate the dark circles under her eyes, or it might wash her out entirely. Both possibilities seemed unfortunate, but there was nothing she could really do about it.
A soft knock sounded on her door a moment later, and she opened it to find Laura standing on the other side, resplendent in green. “You look beautiful, Miss Cantrell,” she said, the awe in her voice making Irene wonder if she looked bad as a general rule.
“Thank you. So do you.” Irene turned to grab her things from the small table by the door.
“I saw Dr. Russell just now in the lobby. He was pacing back and forth, muttering something about cavorting. Is he all right?”
Irene chuckled. “He’s perfectly fine. He just dislikes going to balls.”
“How could anyone dislike a ball?” Laura said, her eyes wide. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“Well, you’re about to see evidence of it for yourself,” Irene replied. “Let’s go find the bear and soothe him, shall we?”
Dr. Russell did look very much like a bear, the way he was lumbering around as he waited for them. When he caught sight of them, however, he straightened and gave a smile. “You certainly look lovely tonight, ladies,” he said. “Perhaps this evening won’t be quite so dreadful after all if I get to spend it in your company.”
“That’s entirely dependent on you,” Irene replied, returning his smile. “Let’s decide now that we won’t look upon this as sheer torture.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Dr. Russell held out his arm and Irene took it, saying goodnight to Mrs. Everett as they passed through the front door. The carriage stood ready just down the steps, and after handing both the ladies in, Dr. Russell climbed into the driver’s seat. He chuckled at Irene’s look of astonishment. “I can pay one of the other drivers to keep an eye on our rig while we’re inside. No need to hire a driver when I’m perfectly able to maneuver this contraption myself.”
“I just thought . . . that on such an elegant evening . . .” She didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence. It wasn’t her intention to criticize him, but she’d imagined that he’d a little more … circumspect. This was probably his way of expressing his displeasure with the whole evening yet again. “I’m quite satisfied to stay home if you’re this out of sorts, Dr. Russell. Or better yet, I’ll drive the carriage over to Mr. Washburn’s hotel, and he can escort both myself and Miss Montgomery.”
He turned and gave her an incredulous look. “What on earth would you do that for?”
“You’re obviously not interested in attending this event, and I see no purpose in asking you to do it. I’m sure we can find ways to entertain ourselves that don’t involve making you miserable.” Irene folded her hands on her lap and waited for his reply.
“I . . . well, I . . . Good heavens, Miss Cantrell, I never meant to imply that I wouldn’t take you.”
“We’re perfectly content to leave you tucked up here at home, Dr. Russell. Whatever suits you best.”
He picked up the reins and gave them a sharp flick. The carriage moved forward so quickly, Irene jolted forward and had to grasp the seat to keep from sliding off. “I’m going to the party, Miss Cantrell.”
“As I see.”
He didn’t say anything else as they drove to the hotel. The firm set of his jaw told Irene he was holding back some rather sharp words, and she smiled with satisfaction. The best way to get him out of one of his rare moods was to provoke him into realizing just how ridiculous he was being. It wouldn’t be long before he’d mulled over whatever it was that was at the cause of his behavior and would be ready to move past it.
They reached the hotel and found Mr. Washburn waiting for them on the front steps. He certainly looked sharp for a man who was traveling—Irene guessed his suit hadn’t been carried in a satchel. He tipped his hat to everyone before climbing into the carriage next to Laura.
“Evening, everyone. Thanks again for inviting me to come along tonight. It will certainly make me feel less awkward.”
“Not at all,” Dr. Russell replied, startling Irene. “It’s a pleasure. Are you settled?”
“I am. Thank you.”
With that, Dr. Russell gave the reins another flick, but this time, he started the horses out at a gentle trot. Irene turned her head slightly to hide the smile on her face.
“What is it you do, Mr. Washburn?” Dr. Russell asked as he turned the carriage at the next intersection.
“I’m in business. My company is poised to purchase one of the stores here in the city, and I’ve been sent to analyze the situation and see if I think we can turn a profit on it.”
Irene raised an eyebrow, impressed, just as Dr. Russell echoed her thoughts. “That’s quite impressive. How long are you in town?”
“That all depends. I’ve spent the last three days examining the store’s inventory and observing their clientele, and the owner is quite eager to move forward with the purchase, so we’ll be going over the books together on Monday. I have a feeling that this gentleman has very little knowledge or experience in this field and I’m leery of his accounting, but if I think I can turn things around, I may be moving here permanently.”
“And if you don’t think it’s a good investment?” Dr. Russell asked.
“Then I go back home and see what the office has for me next.”
“And does that suit you, the unpredictability?” Laura asked, the first words she’d spoken since greeting Mr. Washburn. Irene knew the girl was a bit starry-eyed over her escort for the evening, and was glad that she’d finally managed to find her voice.
“I enjoy the feeling of adventure as I visit a new place, but I must admit, I’m getting ready to settle down and find a home I can call my own. I’ve been to New York City several times now, and I can see myself being quite comfortable here. If I do end up taking over this store, perhaps those of you who live here could help me learn the best places to furnish a home and so forth.”
“I’m sure we’d be more than happy to,” Irene replied.
The sound of the horses’ hooves on the road was rhythmic and soothing, and she found her mind wandering as Laura and Mr. Washburn began to chat quietly in the backseat. She remembered him as Patrick, the tow-headed young man who had stolen the hearts of nearly every girl in town, but didn’t realize the power he wielded. A smile from him would send a girl into a tizzy for weeks. At first, Irene had disliked him for that, but as she grew to know him and realized that he truly was oblivious to the whole thing, she came to like him quite a bit. He was outgoing, eager to try new things, and always ready to have a good laugh. He also knew when to be serious, an important trait.
Dr. Russell pulled the carriage up in front of the large mansion where the ball was being held, and he and Mr. Washburn helped the women alight. “I’ll be in after I’ve seen to the horses,” he told Irene, and she gave a quick nod before turning and entering the building. It was this part that she most disliked about his choice to drive—the fact that she’d be walking in unescorted, like the old maid she was. But Mr. Washburn held out one arm to each lady, and they entered together, a curious trio.
Mr. and Mrs. Golding, the couple who were hosting the ball, greeted them inside and looked at Irene with confusion. “Isn’t Dr. Russell attending tonight, my dear?” Mrs. Golding asked, the white feather in her hair waving as she bobbed her head.
“He’s just outside for a moment. He’ll be in shortly,” Irene explained.
“Oh, good. He’s always such a favorite at these events. Why, I simply adore asking him questions about anythi
ng and everything. He has such a good head on his shoulders—he always knows what he’s about.”
“Yes, he does,” Irene replied with a smile.
“And you’d know that better than anyone, being his head nurse. Tell me, my dear, what is it like working in the presence of such genius every day? Do you just marvel all the time?”
Irene tried to hide her smile, but it was impossible. Mrs. Golding was easily fifteen years Dr. Russell’s senior, and married besides, but it was obvious that she’d taken a fancy to him, however innocent it might be. “I do feel very fortunate. I doubt I would have learned nearly so much from any other doctor.”
“Oh, and here he is now!” Mrs. Golding went up on her tiptoes and waved. “Dr. Russell! Dr. Russell, over here.”
He looked around, and when he caught sight of who was hailing him, he worked his way over to where they stood. “Mrs. Golding, you look breathtaking tonight.” He bent over her hand, and she tittered—genuinely tittered. Irene had read of ladies doing that in books, but until that moment, she’d never seen it for herself. Then he turned to their host. “Mr. Golding, I have yet to discover how you bested me in that chess match. I may have to challenge you to another to restore my dignity.”
“Any time, young man. Any time.”
With his hosts thoroughly charmed, Dr. Russell turned to his party. “Shall we go inside? That music is very tempting.”
Irene slid her hand through his arm. “Yes, let’s.”
Mr. Washburn led Laura onto the dance floor, and Irene couldn’t help but notice what a striking couple they made.
“Your Mr. Whitewash seems like a decent fellow,” Dr. Russell said in her ear as he guided her into position as well.
“He’s not my Mr. Whitewash, and he’s not Mr. Whitewash at all. You know his name—I heard you use it plenty of times on the drive here.”
He smiled down at her merrily. “You must allow me some fun, Miss Cantrell. It’s been a trying week—am I not entitled to some laughter along the way?”
“I don’t believe in entitlement, sir. I believe we should earn what we receive, and yes, I would say that you have earned some laughter. I just think it’s unfortunate that poor Mr. White . . . er, Mr. Washburn should suffer for it.”
Dr. Russell threw back his head and laughed. “See? I’ve even made you forget his name.”
“And that should prove that he’s not mine. If he were mine, I’d be a lot less likely to get confused by your silly game.”
He looked down into her eyes, and she was caught up in their deep brown depths. The sudden familiarity caught her off guard, and she looked away. “I’ve upset you, Irene. I’m sorry.”
Again, her name. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second and then met his gaze. “I’m not upset. You’re right—it has been a long week.”
She thought that would be the end of the discussion, but before she knew it, he had whisked her off the dance floor and out onto the veranda that ran around the mansion just through the double doors. The evening air had turned a bit humid and sultry, and didn’t offer the breath of coolness she’d hoped for when she saw where they were heading.
Dr. Russell led her over to a bench, then sat down beside her. “I’ve been a brute today, and I owe you an apology. Please, allow me to explain.”
“I wouldn’t say you’ve been a brute exactly . . .” she hedged.
“But I have been petulant, and you were right not to accept such behavior from me.” He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. “In nursing school, did they teach you about a man named John Fothergill?”
“He was briefly mentioned, and I was curious and did some additional reading.” Irene sat up straight as she made the connection. “He did a great deal of research into neuralgia.”
“That’s right, he did. He was the first to discover neuralgia of the face, and his other work—well, the man saved countless lives. I wish I could have been one of his contemporaries—he was a genius, and I would have loved to watch him work.”
“You believe you have neuralgia in your hand,” Irene said, needing to arrive at the point of this discussion. It was all well and good to discuss Dr. Russell’s medical heroes, but she wanted answers to his strange symptoms.
“I do, and so does Dr. Wentworth. After I left his office, he looked through his books, and I looked through mine, and we have reached the same conclusion.”
“But what does that mean? How can it be treated?”
“That’s just it—we don’t know.” Dr. Russell ran a hand through his hair, which was unfortunate because he’d had it so nicely brushed just a moment before. “John Fothergill’s work was focused primarily on the face, and researchers are just now linking neuralgia to conditions in other parts of the body. It seems there may be no cure.”
Irene took a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling slowly. Her mentor in nursing school, a rather ornery older woman named Nurse Stevens, had taught her that trick to help her maintain calm in stressful situations. If ever a situation had been fraught with stress, this was it. “Is there a way to confirm this diagnosis?”
“Dr. Wentworth is currently making a list of all known symptoms, and I’m making a list of all the symptoms I’ve experienced.”
“And when did you arrive at this theory?”
“He sent me a note late this afternoon.”
“And why didn’t you tell me?”
Dr. Russell exhaled long and loud. “Because . . . oh, I don’t know why. Perhaps I wanted more answers before I burdened you with it.”
She rose from the bench, her sudden feelings of anger overwhelming her. She couldn’t sit there another moment. “If you’ll excuse me.” She turned and took a step toward the doors, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Irene, please. Just wait a moment.”
She turned back to him, unable to keep a tear from rolling down her cheek. “You promised you’d be forthright with me, Dr. Russell. You agreed that I should know what was going on. I believed you respected me enough to keep that promise, and now that I’ve been proven wrong, I just need a moment.” She walked as quickly as she could back through the doors and down the hall until she found a quiet corner where she could bring herself back into control. It might take several minutes, but she would do it.
Chapter Five
Frank had never wanted to kick himself so badly in his life. He’d made a promise, and he’d broken it. At the time, he’d thought his reasons were sound—there was no point in worrying Miss Cantrell when they hadn’t finalized their diagnosis. There would be time enough later to discuss all that once they were sure. But even as he justified his actions, he knew there truly was no justification. He had made that promise just the day before, and he’d already broken it. What kind of man did that make him?
Certainly not one with any kind of integrity.
He walked over to the railing that edged the veranda and leaned on it. His hand seemed fine at the moment—perhaps a little numb, but nothing to cause him concern. And nothing that would give him a reason for his behavior.
Miss Cantrell was one of the strongest women—no, one of the strongest people he knew, and the fact that he’d made her cry was more than he could bear. He wished he could somehow go back twenty-four hours and redo everything. He’d choose the right words, he’d tell her everything—in fact, he’d even take her with him to visit Dr. Wentworth. If anyone deserved to know what was going on with him, she did. She deserved every courtesy he could ever extend her.
Now remained the problem of making up to her all he’d done wrong.
He turned to go back inside, but he’d only taken a step or two before Dr. Ashby and Dr. Sutton came through the doors and greeted him.
“Dr. Russell, you’re just the man we’ve come to see,” Dr. Ashby said. “Do you have a moment?”
Frank wanted to say no and excuse himself, but these men looked serious. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
Dr. Sutton sat down on the bench and regarded
Frank with sober eyes. “How familiar are you with the research Dr. Sims performed to develop his surgical procedure?”
“We haven’t spoken about it much. Our time together has been spent in teaching and then actually performing the procedure. I know that not all of his colleagues approve of him, but I’ve never considered that any of my business.”
“That’s what we’ve come to speak with you about,” Dr. Ashby said. “We believe it should be very much your business.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why.”
“You work at Woman’s Hospital. You’re a student of his. Your name is linked with his for good or for bad, and I’m sorry to bring you such disappointing news, Dr. Russell, but it’s more bad than good.” Dr. Ashby took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose before continuing. “Dr. Sims developed his fistula repairing procedure by experimenting on slaves he kept on his plantation for that express purpose.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Frank began.
“And he operated without anesthesia,” Dr. Sutton interjected.
Frank took a step back, bewildered. “Why . . . why would he do that?”
“He believed that slaves are less capable of feeling pain,” Dr. Ashby said, derision in his voice.
Frank took another step back and leaned against the rail. How could a person of reason and intellect consider the slave to be less human than a white individual? They were obviously of the same race—the race of man. Of humankind. There was no evidence to support the idea that they were anything but parts of the same whole. “And how did he arrive at that conclusion?” he asked after a long moment of trying to comprehend what he’d just been told.
“Perhaps it was because of their uncomplaining natures,” Dr. Sutton suggested.
“Their uncomplaining natures? They don’t complain because they’re whipped if they do!” Dr. Ashby curled his fists at his sides. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. You must understand, I was raised in the South, and my father owned a plantation. I fought for the South because I believed in the rights of our state, but I’ve seen the way slaves have been treated by their masters, and it’s the most horrid, despicable . . .” He paused. “Some masters. I don’t mean to paint all men with the same brush.”
Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4) Page 3
