The Witch’s Daughter

by Paula Brackston

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he told her. ‘There really was nothing more you could have done.’

  As Eliza shook her head, she noticed the tiers of seats were not completely empty. Sitting in the top row, still as a stone and with an expression as unreadable, was the new student she had noticed the day before. What was he doing sitting in to observe a private operation? Everyone knew the theater was closed to students when fee-paying patients demanded it. Eliza grabbed Roland’s arm.

  ‘Who is that?’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ Roland was understandably surprised that she should be concerned with a stranger at such a moment.

  ‘Up there, sitting in the top row.’

  Roland glanced up just in time to see the man leaving via the rear exit.

  ‘Oh, that fellow. New student, I think. Italian, as I recall. Name of Signor Gresseti.’

  * * *

  An hour later, Eliza sat with Dr. Gimmel in his room. Mr. Thomas had brought them tea, but it was scant comfort. Eliza thought she had never seen the doctor look so old.

  ‘The fact of the matter is, Eliza, my eyes are troubled. And lately I have been experiencing severe headaches. They come on with frightening swiftness, as you saw today. And when they do, my vision is seriously impaired.’ He placed his cup on its saucer and sat back in his chair. ‘In short, my dear, I am losing my sight. I think I have known it for some time, to be perfectly candid with you. I confess I was afraid to speak the words out loud.’

  ‘I am so very sorry.’

  ‘You are a kind girl, Eliza. And an exceptionally fine doctor. You will make a splendid surgeon when the time comes. But it is I who am truly sorry. My stubbornness in refusing to accept my condition has just cost a man his life. No’—he held up a hand—‘don’t try to convince me otherwise. We both know the truth of it.’

  They sat in silence awhile. It seemed a cruel blow for such a talented man to be robbed of his skills when all his life he had used them to heal others. Now there was no one to heal him.

  ‘What will you do?’ Eliza asked.

  The doctor shrugged and shook his head. ‘I cannot work as a surgeon, that much is certain. I may continue in my capacity as a consultant until such time as that too becomes … untenable.’

  Eliza opened her mouth to offer some words of comfort, but they were interrupted by Mr. Thomas at the door.

  ‘Excuse me, Dr. Gimmel, but your next appointment…?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Of course. Show them in.’ He stood up and cleared his throat, extending a welcoming hand as two figures entered the room.

  Thomas presented them. ‘Mr. Simon and Miss Abigail Astredge, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Thomas. Come in, come in. This is my assistant, Dr. Eliza Hawksmith. Please, be seated.’

  While pleasantries were being exchanged, Eliza watched the new patient. She was a slender, delicate girl, barely out of her teens, with skin the color of candle wax and hair of autumn gold. Her pallor and two spots of color on her cheekbones suggested she was indeed unwell. Her brother, a broad-shouldered yet angular man with soft green eyes was quietly solicitous, helping his sister to a chair before placing himself to stand behind her. Eliza was touched by this protective behavior, but when she offered him a smile, she gained none in return. Embarrassed, she turned her attention to what Dr. Gimmel was saying.

  ‘Now, my dear Miss Astredge, please be assured, we will do all in our power to cure you. I have had details of your condition from your own doctor and I am happy to welcome you into the care of the Fitzroy.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr. Gimmel, you are most kind. I am sure you are just the man to heal me,’ said Abigail in a small voice that lacked conviction.

  ‘My sister has withstood her illness with uncommon courage.’ Simon Astredge placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘But, well, let us say she has lost confidence in the medical profession’s ability to help her.’

  ‘Now, Simon…’

  ‘No, no, Miss Astredge, let him say what you yourself must surely wish to tell us. It is absolutely understandable,’ said Dr. Gimmel, ‘that you should feel this way. There can be nothing more alarming than to find oneself in failing health with no proper diagnosis and therefore no correct treatment. Please, allow me and my staff to restore your belief in what medical science has to offer you.’

  ‘For myself, Doctor’—Abigail smiled, but there was a sadness about her eyes that would not be lifted—‘I admit I would happily go to my bed and let the good Lord take me in my sleep. My brother, however’—she glanced up at him and patted his hand—‘will not have it. Indeed, he has such determination that I will make a full recovery I feel it my duty as a sister to oblige.’

  Now at last, Simon smiled too. Eliza could see that it was his fear for his sister’s life that so clouded his face.

  Dr. Gimmel was full of optimism.

  ‘Then we must not disappoint, must we? I propose that, after a thorough examination in which, with your permission, I will be assisted by Dr. Hawksmith, we admit you to one of our private rooms so that we may observe your health under a strict diet and regimen of medication for some weeks before deciding on any surgical procedures.’

  ‘Oh’—Abigail looked alarmed—‘I do not wish to appear for a moment unhelpful, Doctor, but the idea of staying in a hospital…’

  ‘She is set against it, Sir.’ Her brother finished her thought.

  Eliza sat next to Abigail and did her best to reassure her.

  ‘We have several very pretty rooms, Miss Astredge. All are light and well ventilated, and you would be encouraged to walk in the hospital gardens. It may not be as disagreeable as you have feared.’

  Abigail turned to face Eliza.

  ‘Please understand, Dr. Hawksmith, it is not that I doubt the quality of the facilities at the Fitzroy. It is simply that I am happiest at our home overlooking the park. That is where I believe I will heal best, and that is where I wish to be. With my brother. Whatever the future may hold.’

  ‘I should explain,’ put in Simon, ‘that Abigail and I have no parents living. We are all and everything to each other. I am as keen as she that we not be separated. Our minds are quite made up.’

  Dr. Gimmel nodded. ‘It may well be that home is more important in this case than the unfamiliar walls of an institution, however well equipped. The fact remains, however, that for treatment to be effective, there must be regular monitoring and observation. Only by such means can we ascertain the nature and progression of the illness and therefore acquire prognosis and prescribe the most efficacious treatment.’

  ‘Could not such observations be made at our house?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘By a resident nurse, you mean?’ Dr. Gimmel was unconvinced.

  Simon shook his head. ‘Forgive me, I do not think a nurse sufficient to the task. If a doctor could be found, perhaps?’

  ‘A doctor’s time is hard put upon, Mr. Astredge.’

  ‘If I might suggest…’ Eliza spoke up, ‘Regent’s Park is very near. I would be more than willing to undertake to visit Miss Astredge on a daily basis and to undertake any examinations or tests that may be necessary.’

  Dr. Gimmel considered the idea.

  ‘It would be a solution, that is clear, but, Dr. Hawksmith, your clinic in Whitechapel places many demands upon you, as do your duties here assisting me.’

  ‘My clinic will not go neglected. And I recall, Dr. Gimmel, that you had considered taking a break from surgery for a short time, is that not so?’

  Dr. Gimmel struggled to adjust to what Eliza was telling him, then smiled and nodded.

  ‘Quite so, Eliza. You are the voice of cool reason, as always. Well, Miss Astredge, Mr. Astredge, will Dr. Hawksmith do for you?’

  Abigail’s smile illuminated the room and she squeezed her brother’s hand.

  ‘I think she will do very well indeed,’ she said.

  Simon looked at Eliza directly now, his green eyes holding her own gaze. She felt herself blushing a little and was surprised to find the
experience a pleasant one.

  ‘Dr. Hawksmith,’ he said slowly, ‘we would be delighted to welcome you into our home.’

  That night, well after nine o’clock, Eliza finished her clinic feeling even more exhausted than was usual. The hot weather had turned close and thundery, with distant drums sounding out a warning of the approaching storm. She followed out the last of her patients, Lily and her friend Martha, who had come to support her. The women exited the little yard laughing. Though she was seriously unwell, Lily’s spirits had been raised by the care Eliza had shown, as well as by the draft she had made her drink. This was not something she might have found in the local apothecary. This was a remedy of Eliza’s own concoction and was not for treating the poor girl’s disease but for lifting the malaise that came with it. Eliza took the sign from the narrow gate at the back of the yard. As she did so, a noise in the shadows of the alley made her heart race.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she called out, attempting to sound bold even if she did not feel it. ‘Mary Ann? Sally, is that you?’

  There was no answer, but Eliza was certain somebody stood concealed in the darkness. She waited, but whoever it was chose not to reveal themselves. Once again, she began to feel cold dread seeping into her body. She wanted to run inside but was too unnerved to turn her back on the unseen figure. All at once, she heard a sharp double snap. The small sound, which might have been a watch being closed or the top of a hollow cane being pushed home, jolted her from her state of immobility. She slammed the gate shut and raced across the yard, not looking back. Once inside, she bolted the door top and bottom and leaned against it, her breath ragged, her mind refusing to form the idea that yet again her place of safety might have been discovered.

  3

  That night the weather broke into a wild but short-lived storm. Less than an hour of cacophony and lightning gave way to steady rain, which lightened to drizzle and then fog by the time the gray dawn came. The damp coolness was a relief after the sultry days that had preceded it, but the streets were now awash with dust turned to mud by the rain. Gutters overflowed so that small rivers ran beneath iron-clad hooves and leather-soled boots, bearing all manner of flotsam that clung to ladies’ long, broad skirts. Eliza found that even the floor of the omnibus had become a filthy mess of wet straw, mud, and crushed rubbish. The smell in the crowded wagon was enough to turn the strongest of stomachs. She was thankful to reach the tended cleanliness of the Fitzroy. It was her habit in the mornings to go directly to Dr. Gimmel’s rooms. She entered without knocking, took off her bonnet, and set about removing her shawl and shaking the water from it. She was on the point of hanging it up when she realized she was not alone in the room.

  ‘Oh!’ She took a step backward, her mind momentarily rendered empty of polite words as she recognized the man who stood in front of her. He whipped his top hat from his head and bowed low.

  ‘Forgive me, madam, it was not my intention to startle you.’ His accent was full of sharp consonants, dancing vowels, and misplaced stresses, but his English was excellent. ‘May I present myself, in the absence of another to provide introductions? My name is Damon Gresseti.’ He remained bowed and reached forward to take her gloved hand and plant the driest of kisses on it. Eliza snatched it away far more quickly than manners dictated.

  ‘Who let you in?’ she demanded. ‘These are Dr. Gimmel’s rooms.’

  Signor Gresseti straightened up unhurriedly, returning his hat to his head and leaning slightly on his black cane. His silk-lined cape was flicked back over one shoulder, revealing exquisitely tailored clothes. He was tall, and his features were curiously inexpressive. Even now the faint smile he wore did not appear to reach his eyes.

  ‘Mr. Thomas was kind enough to admit me. I am early for my appointment with the eminent doctor. You would surely not wish me to be late and keep him waiting?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’ Eliza moved to her desk and placed her bag by the chair. ‘Naturally, if you have an appointment, Mr. Thomas would want you to wait in comfort. It is more usual, I must say, for visiting students to remain seated in Mr. Thomas’s room.’

  ‘Quite so. Once again, I can only ask your forgiveness—it was my suggestion that I be allowed to enter before Dr. Gimmel’s arrival. I would not wish Mr. Thomas to be upbraided for granting me my wish.’

  At that moment, the door opened, and Phileas Gimmel fair bounded into the room.

  ‘Ahh! My good friend, you are here already. Must I always be late for every appointment?’ He grasped his visitor’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. ‘But, no matter, I know you would not have noticed my tardiness whilst in the company of my invaluable assistant, Dr. Eliza Hawksmith. Eliza, allow me to present Signor Gresseti.’

  ‘I would have arrived earlier myself, Doctor, had I been aware a new student was to be joining us for this morning’s surgery.’

  ‘Student?’ Dr. Gimmel gave a bark of a laugh. ‘My dear me, no. This is Damon Gresseti of the Milan Institute of Medical Research, here for an exchange of insight and methodology at the suggestion of the senior surgeon of that great place himself.’

  Eliza felt flustered. Not a student but a medical scientist of no small standing, judging by Dr. Gimmel’s regard for him. ‘The Milan Institute? We are honored.’

  ‘Indeed we are,’ said Dr. Gimmel.

  ‘The honor is mine,’ Gresseti insisted.

  ‘Please, be seated, let us not stand on ceremony.’ Dr. Gimmel ushered Gresseti to a chair. ‘We are to be working together for some weeks. There will be no time for formal niceties in the operating theater.’

  ‘But, Doctor’—Eliza remained standing—‘I understood you were to take a short break from surgery.’

  ‘Yes, yes, quite so. Dear me, Dr. Hawksmith, I always believed it to be my wife’s affair to fuss over me, not that of my colleague.’ He shot her a reproachful look. ‘I intend to oversee procedures and guide the junior doctors who have proved themselves equal to the task. I count your good self as the first of these, Eliza, naturally.’

  ‘Dr. Hawksmith will make a fine surgeon, I think,’ said Gresseti. ‘I have already observed her work. Yesterday morning. The removal of the kidney stone…?’

  Dr. Gimmel was silenced, his jaw dropping. Eliza was both shocked and angered. How could the man be so unkind as to raise the matter of the procedure that had proved fatal for the patient? What possible reply could Dr. Gimmel be expected to make? It was unforgivable of Gresseti to be so insensitive. Eliza stepped forward, putting herself between Gresseti and her mentor.

  ‘I recall you were present during that particular procedure, Signor Gresseti. Regrettably the outcome was not what any of us would have wished for. However, as a man of medicine, you will appreciate that no surgery is without its risks. The fact remains that under Dr. Gimmel’s care many more patients have survived to make full recoveries than might have done so at the hands of a less gifted surgeon.’

  ‘I do not doubt this.’ There was that shallow smile once again. ‘And I must add that you acquitted yourself admirably, Dr. Hawksmith, in your attempts to correct the … risk that occurred. Valiant efforts, sadly unsuccessful.’

  Dr. Gimmel looked as if he had been struck. He sat down heavily. Eliza felt fury rising. On first seeing Gresseti, she had been unnerved and suspicious, as she always was of a singular stranger. She had believed him alone and unknown, a combination that invariably caused her alarm. Now, however, his credentials had been revealed, so that she no longer feared him. He came recommended by a surgeon Dr. Gimmel had known for many years. His provenance could not be questioned. Fear, then, had been removed and was now replaced by a fierce dislike coupled with anger at his treatment of the doctor. How could either of them be expected to work with such a man?

  Dr. Gimmel was struggling to recover himself. ‘Well, let us hope you will observe happier conclusions to those procedures we have before us today.’ He shuffled through some papers and found his appointments book. ‘Ah, yes. I see there is the removal of a malignant tumor f
rom a young woman this morning. At ten o’clock. Dr. Hawksmith and Roland Pierce, one of our finest students, will be assisting. I trust you will find the operation interesting, Signor.’

  ‘I am sure of it, Doctor.’ He rose, picking up his cane. ‘Until then,’ he said, bowing low.

  After he had gone, Eliza and the doctor sat in silence for a full minute before Thomas entered with a tray of tea.

  ‘Ah, Thomas.’ Dr. Gimmel tried a small laugh. ‘You are as always the master of intuition. If ever refreshment were needed…’

  Eliza poured the tea and handed some to Dr. Gimmel. His hand shook slightly as he took it, causing the cup to rattle in its saucer. He hastily set it down on the desk.

  ‘Dr. Gimmel, you called Signor Gresseti “good friend”—did you meet him on one of your trips to the institute?’

  ‘What? Oh, no. Merely a figure of speech. Professor Salvatores, the senior consulting surgeon at the Institute is, of course, a dear friend of mine. But I had not met Signor Gresseti until this morning. He is not, I will admit, what I had been given to expect by the professor’s letter of introduction.’

  Eliza saw weariness dull the doctor’s features. These were dark times for him. It seemed a harsh twist of fate that had decided this was the time the odious Gresseti should be sent into their midst.

  Later that day, to the collective relief of all present, the scheduled surgery went smoothly and was declared a success. Roland proved a diligent student and did well, assisted by Eliza, with Dr. Gimmel directing. The inscrutable Signor Gresseti stood a few paces from the table. Eliza found working under the unsympathetic scrutiny of their visitor deeply unsettling and was glad Roland had not been present for the meeting earlier in the day. As soon as the operation was over, Eliza changed her clothes, made her excuses, and left the hospital. She set off on foot across Fitzroy Square in the direction of Regent’s Park. This was to be her first visit to Abigail Astredge, and she found she was looking forward to it. It was certainly a relief to be out of the strained atmosphere of Dr. Gimmel’s presence. More than that, she realized with some surprise the thought of seeing Simon Astredge again pleased her. The weather was gray and damp and the streets still wet, but the air was fresh now that the earlier fog had lifted. She turned the corner out of Cleveland Street onto Euston Road. At a stand on the pavement a boy was selling newspapers. Ordinarily she had neither the time nor the money to spare for a paper, but the headline he was calling out made her stop and pull a coin from her purse. She stepped out of the stream of pedestrians to stand against the railings of a garden and study the front page. A lurid banner read: WOMAN BRUTALLY SLAIN IN WHITECHAPEL. She read on. A girl had been attacked and murdered. Her body had been found on the first floor landing of a tenement block in the Whitechapel area. There were nearly forty stab wounds and slashes on the poor girl’s body. She had been found drenched in her own blood. Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. The girl’s name was Martha Tabram. The same Martha who had accompanied Lily on her visit to the clinic the night before. Eliza had seen her only a few hours before her death. She might have been one of the last people to see her alive. She recalled the girl’s laughter as she left the clinic. And now she was dead. Cut to ribbons and horribly mutilated. Eliza folded the paper and thrust it into the hands of a passerby.