Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “I’m not certain what you want to do with this information,” Frank said slowly. “Yes, it’s horrible, and I don’t condone it in the slightest. But this was years ago—what has it to do with us today?”

  “You don’t find it reprehensible at all to work with a man who values life so little?” Dr. Sutton asked, coming to his feet.

  “I work for the good of my patients. I don’t work to build up Dr. Sims or anyone else,” Frank said. “Before that procedure, these women were unable to live normal lives. Think of all the good he’s done. Am I appalled at how he arrived at them? Of course I am. A person would have to be made of stone not to feel sorry for those poor women. But gentlemen, I repeat, that was in the past. What are his practices today? How does he conduct himself now? Perhaps he regrets what he did. Should he be judged forever based on things that happened years ago?”

  “I wouldn’t want my past held against me, but then again, I’ve never done anything like what Dr. Sims has done,” Dr. Ashby said. “He operated on one slave thirty times. I have to ask, did she need to endure that kind of pain thirty times, or was he practicing for practice’s sake? Was he eager to try a new experiment and had no one else to try it on?”

  Frank held up his hands. “It’s dangerous to conjecture as to a man’s motives. We weren’t there. We have no way of knowing. And I ask again, what are you planning to do with this information? How did you come upon it, anyway?”

  “I met an old colleague of his while I was out of town last week,” Dr. Ashby said. “When he found out I was somewhat acquainted with Dr. Sims, he thought it best to warn me.”

  “An old colleague? Who is to say that this man doesn’t have some sort of grudge against Dr. Sims and is seeking to ruin his reputation?”

  “Dr. Russell, you seem more eager to defend Dr. Sims than you are to hear the truth,” Dr. Ashby said, his tone suddenly patronizing.

  “I will defend the truth wherever it can be found,” Frank retorted. “I simply wish to be sure that it really is the truth before I fall on my sword for it.”

  “If we were to come up with evidence, would you help us?” Dr. Sutton asked.

  “Help you do what?”

  “Expose Sims for the monster he is.”

  “What? To what end?” Frank looked back and forth between the men. They seemed determined to see this through, and he couldn’t imagine why. “You have no personal stake in this. You have no personal witness to his wrongdoing. Why have you taken this battle upon yourselves?”

  “If we allow one doctor to undertake barbaric practices to further the cause of medicine, we are no better than Neanderthals who slice people open for their own pleasure,” Dr. Sutton replied.

  “I wasn’t aware the Neanderthals did any such thing. Gentlemen, I appreciate that you want to preserve the noble name of doctor, and that you feel your cause is just. However, I have no reason to join you in it. I must consider myself a bystander, and that is how you must consider me also. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have a rather charming companion for the evening, and I’ve been gone from her side for too long already.”

  As Frank walked back into the mansion, he clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, trying to contain the emotions building inside him. Those two men were planning a veritable witch hunt, and he had no idea what they hoped to accomplish by it.

  ***

  After bringing herself back into composure, Irene stepped into the ballroom and edged her way toward the refreshment table. She could use a cool drink to help restore her previous good mood. As she arrived at the punch bowl, Mr. Washburn appeared at her elbow.

  “May I get you a plate?” he asked, nodding toward the assortment of fruits and cheeses that were laid out on display.

  “That would be very kind of you. Thank you.” She glanced around, but didn’t see Laura anywhere. “And Miss Montgomery?”

  He chuckled. “She was all but snatched out of my arms by a Mr. Wilhite. He seems like a nice fellow, but I haven’t seen her since, and I’m beginning to wonder if my companion for the evening has been lured away, never to return.”

  Irene took a sip of her punch. It tasted of berries and sugar, and far too much water for her liking. “That’s rather unfortunate. She and Mr. Wilhite struck up an acquaintance not long ago—he’s the brother of another one of my students.”

  “Is that so? Why don’t you take a seat over there in that unoccupied alcove and I’ll bring your plate. Then I’d like to hear about this school of yours and all your fascinating students.”

  She took a seat where he indicated and watched the couples circle past on the dance floor. It wasn’t hard to remember another party years ago when he had fetched her a plate and stayed at her elbow the entire evening. She felt so much older now, and yet, not any more sure of her place in the world. She was secure enough at the hospital or with her students, but out here, in society, she often felt adrift. It didn’t help matters any that her actual escort for the evening had told her a lie and then disappeared.

  She took a deep breath. He hadn’t lied—he’d simply neglected to tell her something. No, that wasn’t fair either—he’d chosen not to tell her something. That was a lie of omission, was it not? Whatever it might be, she didn’t want to dwell on it. There would be time to discuss it later, away from the crowd and the music and the gaiety. And here was Mr. Washburn, handing her a very tempting plate of little cakes and plump grapes.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting it and placing her glass of punch on the table at her side.

  He took the chair on the other side of the table and popped a slice of cheese in his mouth. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “Now, I’m very eager to hear about your life in New York.”

  She gave him a more detailed version than she had outside the concert hall, including a brief, comical description of each of her students. It felt good to share her success and talk about her work, where she truly felt comfortable.

  When they’d both eaten, he gathered their plates, then offered his hand. “Would you care for a turn about the floor? I remember how much you like to dance.”

  She took his hand and gave him a slight curtsy once she was standing. “I’d be delighted.”

  He caught her up and swirled her out into the midst of couples in their bright gowns and crisp suits. His arms were as strong and sure as ever, and she recalled why she’d liked dancing with him better than any other young man she knew. If she faltered, he’d carry her through it, making her seem much more graceful than she actually was. It was a skill, really, adjusting to your partner and balancing out their weaknesses with your strengths, and she appreciated that skill in him.

  As they passed the west side of the ballroom, she caught sight of Dr. Russell. He leaned against the wall, looking a bit grim, but he didn’t seem to see her. Instead, his focus was on something else, but what, she couldn’t tell.

  Ah, there was Laura, dancing with Mr. Wilhite. The handsome young musician certainly had caught the eye of all the students at the house, much to the embarrassment of Meg, his sister. It bothered her that all her friends considered him such a catch. The thought made Irene smile. She supposed it would be odd for a sister to see someone flirting with her brother, especially when she knew all his embarrassing habits and saw him not as a romantic suitor, but an ordinary person.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Cantrell? Your mind seems somewhere else.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Washburn. I was thinking about a great many other things, actually. Am I too clumsy a partner?”

  “Of course not. Although, I do recall a time when I was Patrick, and you were Irene. What changed?”

  She managed a smile. “Time and distance, I suppose. It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen each other, almost as if we’re strangers again.”

  “But we’re not. Looking at you, it’s like we’re young and carefree again, going on sleigh rides and ice skating on the pond.” He tilted his head. “You came, but I’m not sure you enjoyed yourself overly much. Thi
nking about your books, I suppose.”

  “You figured me out.” She gave a short laugh. “I did have fun on those outings. I just wondered what the purpose was—where was the value.”

  “The value was in the memories it created, memories we can now relive together and fan up the embers of our friendship.”

  His eyes grew serious, and she glanced away. “Is that what you’d like to do? Become friends again?” She made her voice light, almost as though she teased him.

  “I’d like that very much.”

  She met his gaze just as the music came to an end. “You may stop by the house in the evening on Monday, if you like.”

  “I’d like that very much. And there’s Miss Montgomery. You’ll allow me to return you to Dr. Russell, will you not?”

  “Of course.”

  He delivered her with a bow, then stepped away to speak with Laura and take her back out onto the dance floor. Irene stood next to Dr. Russell rather awkwardly, not sure what to say or if she wanted to say anything at all.

  “You looked rather well with Mr. Whitewater,” Dr. Russell said after a moment.

  “I’m sure I did. This dress does flatter me,” she replied, deciding not to let the evening be spoiled. She probably felt out of place in society because she spent so little time in it. Well, that was something she could remedy.

  “Indeed it does. Come now—let’s go out.”

  She took the arm he offered and once again found herself swept out into the swirling mass of couples. Dr. Russell’s steps were not as sure as Mr. Washburn’s, but she found herself supported nonetheless in his strong arms. How long would they be strong before his illness overtook him? She had no idea, but she wasn’t going to think about it. Tonight wasn’t for medicine or diagnoses or prognoses. It was about music and dancing and merriment.

  “I take it you’ve forgiven me? Or perhaps, you’ve chosen to put our differences aside for the evening?” he asked in her ear.

  “The latter,” she replied, not allowing her smile to drop. “We have time enough to discuss it on Monday.”

  “Oh, so I get a Sunday reprieve as well, do I?”

  “It’s the Lord’s day, not yours.” She looked into his surprised eyes. “Surely you can’t disagree with that.”

  “Of course not. I’ve just never known you to be so . . . religious.”

  “But you don’t object.”

  “Of course not,” he said again. “Especially when it plays out in my favor.”

  “I don’t do it to favor you, Dr. Russell. I merely want to spend my day thinking about something higher than a petty disagreement.”

  “That’s a church I could attend wholeheartedly.”

  “And why don’t you attend more often now? I hear there some lovely things called commandments, and if one keeps those commandments, especially the one that reads, ‘Thou shalt not lie,’ one does not get in trouble with one’s nurse.”

  He spun her around particularly fast. “I thought we weren’t discussing this until Monday.”

  She gave him her best innocent look. “Whatever do you mean? I’m simply discussing the merits of church attendance.”

  The dance came to an end, and he led her off the floor. “I find myself thirsty, Miss Cantrell. Will you join me for some punch?”

  “Of course.”

  There wasn’t much of a crowd milling about the punch bowl, so they were able to help themselves rather quickly. They had just stepped aside to allow the next couple a turn when Mr. Farnsworth and his wife approached.

  “Dr. Russell, Miss Cantrell, what a pleasure it is to see you.” Mr. Farnsworth beamed at both of them. “I can’t tell you how indebted we are for the help you gave my dear sister. Why, she’s quite a different woman altogether. I don’t know what you did, but it certainly gave her back her life.”

  Mrs. Farnsworth coughed delicately into her handkerchief. “I hinted that perhaps he didn’t need to know the particulars of her treatment,” she all but whispered.

  “Oh, yes. Quite right. Never mind all that—my thanks are in order.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dr. Russell replied. “She did respond well, and we were pleased with her recovery.”

  “You’re certainly worth every word of your reputation,” Mr. Farnsworth said. “Now, I mean to ask you . . .”

  The men headed off into some long, drawn-out conversation about politics or some such. Irene’s mind instantly wandered. She liked to keep abreast of the current news, but tonight, she was far too tired and distracted to be more than a smiling face in the middle of such talk.

  “I wonder who made your lace, Miss Cantrell,” Mrs. Farnsworth asked, pulling her back to the moment.

  She touched the bit of lace that edged her sleeves. “My mother, actually. She’s quite skilled.”

  “Yes, I can see that. I’ve tried to learn, but I’m afraid I’m not that talented.”

  Irene smiled. “It’s taken my mother years of practice—” A splash of red punch flew across the front of her dress, stopping her midsentence.

  “Oh, no! Your lace!” Mrs. Farnsworth cried.

  Irene stared at her skirt for a protracted moment, then glanced at Dr. Russell. His arm dangled at his side, and his expression was utterly stunned.

  “My lace is fine,” Irene assured the woman. “I should just be more careful with my cup.”

  Mrs. Farnsworth looked confused. “Your cup? But I thought . . .”

  “It’s quite all right. I’ll go freshen up.” Irene set her glass on the nearest table and escaped to the hallway. She hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Dr. Russell caught up to her, taking her by the elbow.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t even explain what happened. There was a sudden jolt of pain and I wasn’t able to control my movements. I can’t believe I flung my punch on your lovely dress.”

  “It’s only a dress,” she replied, looking down at the stain. She didn’t think it would ever come clean, but then again, Mrs. Everett proved herself every day, and she didn’t doubt the woman would have some sort of remedy at hand.

  “Still. You didn’t have to cover for me.”

  Irene touched his arm and spoke firmly. “What’s done is done, and it will be all right. Now allow me to go sponge it off as best as I can.”

  Dr. Russell blinked. “Of course. I’m keeping you. Please, go ahead.”

  Just as Irene had thought, she couldn’t budge the splatter, and now she was not only covered in punch, but in water spots. There wasn’t a way to salvage the situation, so she tucked herself into a darkened alcove, hoping to avoid scrutiny as she watched the dancers.

  Moments later, Dr. Russell appeared. “There you are. Allow me to drive you back to the house. I can return for Mr. Whistlewhite and Miss Montgomery once you’re safely home.”

  Irene opened her mouth to object, but then realized the wisdom of what he was saying. She couldn’t hide out in this corner forever, and it made no sense to try. “All right. I would like to say goodnight to our hosts first, though.”

  “Of course. I believe I saw them by the front door.”

  He led her in that direction, and Mrs. Golding gasped in horror when she saw the state of Irene’s dress. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry! I’d lend you a gown of my own, but I’m easily twice the size of you, and you’d simply drown.”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Golding. I’m just sorry to leave your lovely party.”

  “I do hope you enjoyed yourself before this unfortunate accident?”

  “More than I can say.” Irene smiled, hoping that would be enough to convince Mrs. Golding, and it was. The woman bid them goodnight, and they headed outside.

  Once in the carriage, Irene turned to Dr. Russell. “Now, what exactly happened? You had a burst of pain in your hand?”

  He looked down and flexed his fingers. “It was like a miniature lightning bolt accompanied with numbness. I fumbled my punch cup and was able to catch it with my other hand, but not before it splattered your dress.” />
  “You’ll be wanting to consult with Dr. Wentworth immediately.” Irene didn’t like the sound of this at all.

  “Not immediately. After all, tomorrow is Sunday, and it’s the Lord’s day, not mine,” Dr. Russell returned lightly.

  Irene’s face burned. “I was being flippant. I don’t know why I said half the things I did.”

  “So we’re in the same boat—both being asked to face things we’ve never faced before, and not having the faintest idea how to go about it.” Dr. Russell rested his hand on his thigh and drove with the reins in his other hand. “I realized something tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. It was while you were dancing with Mr. Waddlesworth. I believe I’ve been taking you too much for granted, Miss Cantrell. We see so much of each other day after day that I believe we’ve become rather commonplace to each other, and tonight I looked at you for the first time in a long time. You’re quite an accomplished young woman—bright, articulate, and quick. I made myself a promise, and I make you the same promise now, that I’ll be more mindful of you and express my thanks more often.”

  “I appreciate that.” Irene didn’t know what else to say, and so she looked at the buildings they drove past. He was anything but commonplace to her, but she had no idea how to voice it.

  Chapter Six

  Frank let Miss Cantrell off at the side entrance to the house and watched to make sure she got inside safely, then drove back to the ball. He didn’t feel like going in again, so he stayed with the horses and chatted with the other drivers, finding their conversation much more lively and interesting than anything he’d find inside.

  He met up with Mr. Wiggleswright and Miss Montgomery at the appointed time and drove them to their various locations, then circled around to the back of the house to put up the carriage. He took his time with the buckles, willing his fingers to move, and after a while, everything was put away and the contented sound of horse teeth on hay filled the air. His stable boy had hitched everything up earlier and he supposed he should have had the lad put it up as well, but he’d wanted to see if he could do it, and now he had his answer—if he got a call in the middle of the night and it was too far to walk, he’d need help.