The Witch’s Daughter (26 page)

‘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 from 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.

‘Take it,’ she said. ‘I cannot bear to hold it a moment longer.’ So saying, she forced herself to walk on with no small effort. One foot in front of the other, she made herself continue her journey to the edge of the park. She could not shake off the sensation she had experienced the night before that there was someone watching the entrance to her clinic, someone standing in the shadows. Had that person followed Martha? Eliza found herself at the front door of the Astredges’ house. She took a moment to compose herself and retrain her thoughts. It was Abigail who mattered at this moment. There was nothing anyone could do for poor Martha now. She must turn her mind to the needs of her new patient.

Number 4 York Terrace was a handsome Georgian house of white stucco with high windows, a portico supported by slender pillars, a raised ground floor, and broad steps leading up to the royal blue front door. Eliza tugged at the bellpull and heard footsteps inside. The door was opened by a smartly turned out butler, whose head was as hairless and shiny as the marble floor of the entrance hall. On seeing her card, he confirmed she was expected and asked her to follow him to the morning room. As they crossed the elegant space, Eliza thought how grand the house was for two people, with its sweeping staircase, central atrium, marble columns, and stately busts peering out from behind gargantuan ferns rooted in huge brass urns. The butler opened a door off the hall and announced her as she stepped past him. Abigail got to her feet at once and came toward Eliza.

‘Please.’ Eliza held out a hand. ‘Do not trouble yourself to rise on my account, Miss Astredge.’

‘Now I insist you call me Abigail,’ said the young woman, ‘and why would I not greet you properly, when it is so good of you to undertake the tedious task of visiting me every day?’

‘Firstly,’ said Eliza, allowing herself to be led over to the seat at the open window, ‘because you are my patient, and as such I am far more concerned with your rest and recovery than with etiquette. Secondly, please do rid yourself of the notion that it is in any way a task for me to come here. I often make house calls for patients from my own clinic, and none offer quite such lovely surroundings.’ As she spoke, she looked about the most charming morning room she had ever set foot in. The formality of the entrance hall had given way here to upholstery of fresh stripes against cheerful paisley wallpaper. There was an abundance of greenery; asparagus ferns with feathery fronds brightening every corner, bolder aspidistras on either side of the fireplace. There were two comfortable sofas, an elegant chaise longue, a deep window seat with sumptuous cushions and numerous small tables bearing pretty pieces of china or silver. There was a deftly embroidered firescreen and delicately etched glass shades over the gaslights. In the far corner was an escritoire with crisp notepaper and a silver inkwell, next to which sat a highly decorated paper knife. Every item had been chosen for its prettiness or charm, and the effect was delightful. This was a woman’s room. ‘What is more,’ Eliza went on, ‘I welcome the chance to be released from the confines of the Fitzroy for a short time.’

‘Oh?’ Abigail sat down and patted the cushion beside her, smiling as Eliza sat stiffly next to her. ‘Is it not a happy place to work?’

‘Ordinarily it is.’ Eliza hesitated, untying the ribbon of her bonnet. ‘Let us just say Dr. Gimmel is under certain … pressures at present that put a strain on him and are matters of concern to us all. Also, we have a visitor to the hospital. An observer.’ She stopped, wondering what it was that made her chatter on so to someone she hardly knew and who was a patient to boot.

‘And?’ Abigail quizzed her. ‘Don’t stop there, I beg you. I have a nose for a story; my brother says it. I can sniff one out like a bloodhound. There is more to this than you are prepared to tell me on your first visit. No matter, I shall winkle it out of you, Dr. Hawksmith. You will see, I am an incorrigible gossip. Now, shall we have tea?’

Eliza at last began to relax. The news of Martha’s death was starting to recede a little in her mind in Abigail’s presence. She slipped her shawl from her shoulders and nodded.

‘Tea would be very welcome,’ she said, ‘and, please, call me Eliza.’

‘Is that your first instruction for me, Doctor?’ Abigail’s wan face was warmed by her grin.

‘Indeed it is.’

‘Then I must obey’—she laughed—‘and after tea, you can inflict Dr. Gimmel’s horrible medication upon me as much as you please. I aim to be the least troublesome patient you have ever encountered. Though I may feel that a short game of cribbage might help my constitution. Don’t you think it might?’

The afternoon passed quickly for Eliza. She was enjoying Abigail’s easy company so much it would have been easy to forget the seriousness of the young woman’s condition. Eliza examined her thoroughly, made notes regarding her symptoms, and adjusted her diet and medication accordingly. She reflected on the cruel nature of diseases of the liver. The patient gave the outward appearance of frailty and pallor and had little energy but otherwise appeared well. In truth, she was fading away. Dying, in fact. Unless something could be done to arrest the deterioration of her vital organ, she would not live through the summer. Eliza understood Dr. Gimmel’s plan to try to treat the condition without risky surgery. To attempt to remove a tumor or indeed part of the liver itself would be highly dangerous, particularly with Abigail so weak. Their best chance of success was to first increase her vigor and health in general and try to arrest the advancement of the disease with medication. Even so, Eliza could not help wondering if Dr. Gimmel’s reluctance to operate was in part due to the fact that he would not be able to carry out the surgery himself. Was there anyone else at the Fiztroy sufficiently skilled and experienced to do the procedure? Eliza had never even observed surgery on the liver. The memory of the renal patient dying while her hands were still inside his body haunted her. How would she feel if Abigail were to die because of her inexperience?

As she was readying herself to leave, an eerie noise drifted in through the open window.

‘Good heavens,’ she said, ‘what is that curious sound?’

Abigail smiled. ‘I chose this room because it overlooks the park. Beyond those trees are the zoological gardens. What you can hear now is the wolves singing. Isn’t it the most wonderful thing you have ever heard? Listen. How mournful and yet how thrilling.’

Eliza stepped closer to the window. The wolves raised their voices in a discordant chorus of howling. The noise seemed to fill the room. It was unsettling to be standing in a town house with every comfort and modern convenience, yet to be bathed in the song of wild and dangerous animals. Eliza shivered. At that moment, the door opened and Simon appeared in the doorway. He smiled on seeing Eliza.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘our very own Dr. Hawksmith. How do you find your patient today?’

Eliza gathered herself and took his hand. ‘I was on the point of leaving,’ she told him, releasing his hand and picking up her bag. ‘Your sister’s condition remains unchanged as yet,’ she added, ‘though I am pleased to see her in good spirits.’

‘I’m sure she will do her best to be a model patient. She greatly appreciates your undertaking her care and agreeing to pay house calls. We are both of us indebted to you.’

Eliza found herself looking at him, holding his searching gaze. His gentle green eyes were still smiling. She became aware of the fact that the wolves had stopped singing, and she felt her unease lift.