by Sara Donati
* * *
• • •
IN THE OPERATING room Elise watched closely while Anna examined the Kozlow boy, who had already been anesthetized and restrained, his arm secured over his head to expose the surgical site, and his whole upper body washed and painted with an antiseptic solution.
“You made a note of this on the chart,” Anna said to Elise, pressing her fingers into the pad of muscle below his collarbone. “This mottling of the skin. Do you know what it means?”
“The infection has spread. The circulatory system is involved.”
“His temperature?”
Elise recited the boy’s vitals: temperature of 102, rapid heartbeat, and accelerated respiration. After a moment she added, “His urine output is very low.”
“Bowel sounds?”
Elise felt the first trickle of sweat moving down her nape. Bowel sounds. She should have listened for bowel sounds.
“I didn’t listen for bowel sounds.”
“Do you know why I’m asking?”
“Yes. Sepsis is causing his organs to fail. His kidneys are shutting down and probably his intestines as well. There’s no jaundice, so his liver is still working.”
Dr. Savard gestured to a nurse to bring the tray of sterilized surgical instruments. She said, “And so why bother operating?”
It was a question for any student in the room, but all of the others looked at Elise.
She said, “Ubi pus, ibi evacua.”
Dr. Savard flashed her a small smile before speaking briefly with the nurse who was monitoring the anesthesia. Then she paused to look around the room.
“You, are you a new nursing student?”
The student bobbed a little in place, like a girl learning to curtsy. “Lydia Huff, Doctor.” Her voice was hoarse with nervousness.
“Translate ubi pus, ibi evacua.”
“‘Where there is pus, evacuate.’”
“Exactly. I’ll evacuate what I can and flush it out with sterile water, that might give him a couple more days. He’ll be more comfortable to start, at least. What crucial things must you remember especially before a surgery like this?”
“Ma’am—”
“Doctor,” Anna corrected her.
“Dr. Savard, I’ve never seen a surgery like this before.”
“Fine. What do you imagine will happen when I make an incision?”
The small mouth in a pale face tightened and then went slack. “A great deal of foul matter will come out.”
“Candidate Mercier, can you be more specific?”
“There is a lot of pressure built up in a confined space,” Elise said. “It may spray out, like water from a hose.”
“Which means?”
“That we should stand clear,” Elise said.
“Because?”
“Purulent material is infectious.”
“Correct. Highly infectious, in fact. If it comes in contact with even the smallest rent in your skin, it will infiltrate and try to do to you what it is doing to this young boy. Do you understand, nurse?”
The nursing student’s complexion had taken on a green tinge, but she answered calmly. “Yes ma—Yes, Dr. Savard.”
Anna raised her head and looked at the student, who flushed. “Good. Now I will need a great deal of gauze and a gallon of sterile water, the biggest syringe you can locate, and also longer-handled forceps. Somebody see to it that those things appear, immediately. And nurse, if the smell makes you sick to your stomach, make sure you do not vomit in my operating room.”
* * *
• • •
ANNA AND JACK had their supper at Roses that evening, and found that for once Ned, Bambina, and Elise were all at the table. Elise looked weary but not undone, while Bambina was trying very hard to ignore Ned, who sat across from her.
To Elise, Jack said, “I hear you had a difficult day at the New Amsterdam.”
Elise drew in a deep breath and let it go, nodding. “It wasn’t pleasant, but I got through it.”
“You did very well,” Anna said, and saw some of the tension go out of the younger woman’s shoulders.
Mrs. Lee put a tureen on the table.
“Is that oyster chowder I smell?” Ned said, breaking into a broad smile.
“It is. And you won’t be seeing it again until the fall, so get your fill now.” As she picked up the ladle she turned to look at Jack. “That Mrs. Louden show up yet?”
“The younger people weren’t here when we heard about the Louden case,” Anna reminded Mrs. Lee. “Better catch them up first before you start with the inquisition.”
“Please do,” Jack said. “I’d like to hear the story from somebody else’s point of view.”
It had come as a surprise and relief when Anna first realized that Jack didn’t mind being interrogated at the dinner table by curious old ladies. Just the opposite, he seemed to take some satisfaction in the opportunity to talk his cases through.
Mrs. Lee and Aunt Quinlan recounted what they knew of the Louden disappearance, pausing every once in a while to make sure they were remembering the details correctly.
“Why is this so important?” Bambina asked. “I’m sure rich ladies go off shopping or visiting friends all the time. I know I would.”
“She wasn’t in the habit,” Jack told his sister.
“Maybe she was bored,” Bambina said.
“I imagine I’d get bored sitting around counting my money all day long,” Ned said with a grin. “But maybe not. One day I’ll let you know how that works.”
Bambina rolled her eyes and Mrs. Lee gave him a light cuffing on the back of the head as she passed.
Aunt Quinlan only laughed. “I look forward to your report.”
Bambina said, “I still think she might have just left out of boredom.”
“That’s one possibility,” Aunt Quinlan said. “Mrs. Lee and I spent some time talking it through today and it is true, sometimes people do remove themselves from their families and everything familiar with no warning, but it would be unusual for a woman in Mrs. Louden’s situation. The other possibilities are that she was abducted, or that she met with an accident and is either dead or in such poor condition that she can’t identify herself. Jack, are we right in assuming you’ve inquired at all the hospitals and dispensaries for someone fitting her description?”
“We had six coppers doing just that all day today,” Jack said.
“And no likely bodies at any of the morgues nearby?”
“That’s right.”
Elise had been following this back-and-forth with interest, and now she cleared her throat. “You’ve checked with the ticket offices, I would guess.”
Jack grinned at her. “Of all kinds. And the hotels.”
Elise considered. “If Bambina is right, she could be traveling or staying in a hotel under a name other than her own. If I didn’t want to be found, that’s what I’d do. And I’d wear a wig and”—she touched the bridge of her nose—“spectacles, and clothing very different from what I normally wear. So that if there’s a description sent out, the hotel clerk or ticket clerk would be less likely to recognize me as the person of interest. A poor woman couldn’t do all that, but Mrs. Louden could.”
“It sounds as if you’ve given disappearing considerable thought,” Ned said. “You aren’t planning on abandoning us, I hope.”
“No, I’m where I want to be,” Elise answered with a soft grin. “But I wasn’t always. The thing is, if Mrs. Louden did go off and is in hiding, there will have been a reason. I should think the reason is the key to finding her.”
Jack was enjoying this; Anna saw it in his expression. At the same time he was truly interested.
He said, “What possible reasons might she have for going into hiding? For not wanting to be found?”
“There’s somebody
she’d rather be with than her husband,” said Bambina. “Someone she likes better.”
“You mean a man,” Jack said to his sister.
“It could be,” Bambina said, drawing up, her back stiffening. “But I agree, it’s not likely. She’s old, after all.”
Mrs. Lee was standing near the kitchen door, her arms crossed, head bowed as she listened, but now she let out a laugh. “Old?”
“Well, yes,” Bambina said. “She has grown children, didn’t you say?”
“She must be around forty-five,” Mrs. Lee answered for Jack. “Bambina, that is young enough to get yourself in all kinds of trouble. You think a woman of that age is past foolishness, you had better think again.”
Anna had seen Bambina offended, angry, and wrapped in layers of righteous indignation. Now she saw Bambina embarrassed.
Elise said, “To me it seems more likely that she didn’t mean to stay away. She didn’t take anything with her, no luggage or trunks of any kind. Isn’t that what you said?”
Jack nodded. “No large withdrawals from the bank, either. Which is something to be expected if she was planning a longer trip away.”
“But she might have been making plans for a long time,” Elise said. “She could have been hiding clothes and money away for a good while. No idea yet where her lady’s maid might have gotten to? She could probably answer all these questions.”
“No sign of her,” Jack said. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. Until we figure out why she left that day—whether or not she meant to stay away—we are unlikely to make any progress. So I spend a lot of time asking myself and everybody else what could have been wrong in her life. Still no answers worth a hill of beans.”
“There’s part of the answer, right there,” Ned said. “Nobody knew her very well. Maybe nobody really knew her at all.”
Anna caught Jack’s eye and grinned at him.
“This is why I come to your table, Aunt Quinlan,” he said. “For oyster stew and lessons in the obvious.”
* * *
• • •
THE NEW YORK EVENING SUN
CRIMES AGAINST NATURE
MISS VICTORIA STEVENS
The trial of Drs. Bradford and Baker, on an indictment for having caused the death, by criminal malpractice, of the young girl Victoria Stevens, commenced today. Assistant District Attorneys Bell and Rollins conducted the prosecution. Among those in attendance was Anthony Comstock, who once arrested Wallace Bradford for selling medicines for illegal purposes.
Dr. Bradford was cross-examined for over three hours, in which time he admitted that he had attended the Eclectic Medical School. He denied the school’s unsavory reputation among medical men and further denied that he had paid $300 for his diploma rather than attend classes. He had no explanation for the dozen blank death certificates found in his possession, and denied that he had secured the burial of many of the malpractice victims of Dr. Benjamin Loveless, who is currently serving a sentence of fifteen years.
Dr. Bradford denied ever having met Miss Stevens but could not explain how she came to have his name and address written in a notebook found on her person.
Miss Stevens, a comely young lady with stenographic skills, engaged to a young man of excellent reputation and prospects, died as a result of an illegal operation. When asked to identify the father of her child she claimed to have been assaulted by a stranger. She procured the procedure with the help of her mother, Mrs. Constance Stevens. Mrs. Stevens’s trial will commence tomorrow.
Such are the wages of sin.
24
BECAUSE MR. LEE hadn’t yet found anyone he trusted enough to hire to look after Sophie’s property, he came by every day to see to the chores himself.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sophie said to Laura Lee. “But it seems to me that your grandfather is dragging his feet on this because it would mean seeing less of you.”
“And less of you,” Laura Lee said. “You know they read your letters out loud in the evening while you were gone. He missed you.”
Sophie believed that she was growing more resilient and better able to keep her emotions out of sight, but this brought tears to her eyes. She loved both the Lees, but Mr. Lee was especially dear to her. When she first came from New Orleans he had made her understand that she could really be at home on Waverly Place.
“He does too much,” Sophie said, her voice coming thick. “This is his second visit today and it’s hardly past lunch.”
But there was a specific reason for this visit: Mr. Lee came first and foremost to issue a summons from Aunt Quinlan, one that could not be ignored without inflicting serious displeasure. It was a long-established family tradition that on the first spring day the temperature hit seventy-five degrees by noon, the pergola would be opened and they would have their supper in the garden.
“Is it really seventy-five degrees?” Sophie asked when she found him in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“At noon it was, right on the nose,” he assured her. “A couple degrees warmer now.”
“Well, then,” Sophie said. “I’ll be there at—”
“Half past six,” said Mr. Lee. “Unless you want to risk your auntie’s mood.”
“I would not dream of it,” Sophie said, quite truthfully. “This was always one of my favorite days, too. Though it’s early this year.”
Mr. Lee pursed his mouth and raised one brow, as close as he came to challenging her as an adult. Because it wasn’t early, not really. Sophie simply didn’t like the way time moved, like a train that never slowed or stopped, taking her farther and farther away from Cap. He would have been irritated by such a fanciful and silly notion, she knew; Cap loved Aunt Quinlan’s garden in spring and the first supper under the pergola as much as Sophie did. He had often changed plans or cut trips short for fear of missing the event.
“We miss him too,” Mr. Lee said. As ever able to read her thoughts, whether she wanted him to or not.
He said, “The other thing I come to say is that I have found you a man of all work. Garden, grounds, stable, horses, carriage. You only have to approve him.”
“Mr. Lee,” Sophie said, “if he meets your expectations and Mrs. Lee’s”—she paused, and he nodded—“then I am satisfied.”
“That is good to know,” he said. “But you still have to meet. His name is Noah Hunter. I checked his references and then he worked for me for a day. He knows horses and he’s an expert landscaper. Smart, skilled, good judgment.”
“He wants the work?” Sophie asked. “He’s aware—”
Mr. Lee raised a palm to stop her. “He knows the lay of the land.”
This surprised Sophie, but it was also a relief. “Certainly I’m happy to talk to him before we finalize the agreement.”
“Good. That’s fine. Now something you need to think on is, those rooms above the stable—”
Sophie turned to look at Laura Lee, who shrugged. Apparently she had never explored that building either.
Mr. Lee was saying, “Let him have those two rooms for his own. A man takes better care of a place if it’s home, and your Aunt Quinlan will sleep better knowing there’s a man nearby looking after things.”
“That is sensible,” Sophie said. “But furniture—”
“All ready to go, soon as you give the word.”
She was a little taken aback by the forcefulness of this, but then again, it was unfair to let Mr. Lee continue to bear the burden. She said, “When did you want Mr. Hunter to stop by?”
Mr. Lee turned his head to the sound of the bells at St. George telling the hour.
“Any minute now,” he said. “You give me an hour to show him around, explain things, and then we can sit down and talk, the four of us.”
* * *
• • •
SOPHIE WENT BACK to her correspondence and might have been ab
le to concentrate if not for Laura Lee, who knocked softly and slipped into the study.
“And?”
Laura Lee leaned back against the door and, crossing her arms, put a hand on each shoulder. “Looks capable.” And then a grin split her face in two.
“Somebody you’d like to cook for?”
“That would be a good place to start.”
“Why Laura Lee,” Sophie said, sitting back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before. Is he a younger man?”
“Young or old, beside the point,” Laura Lee said. “But you will have to see for yourself.”
* * *
• • •
BECAUSE NOAH HUNTER had turned Laura Lee’s otherwise very sensible head, Sophie was prepared to be impressed by the man. At the same time she was unsure of herself and how this meeting should be handled. There was no doubt that she must hire people to run the household for her, but she had never had a hand in that process before, and it worried her.
This thought was in her mind when she walked down the terrace steps into the garden and saw Mr. Lee talking to the man who must be Noah Hunter. What had Laura Lee said, exactly? Young or old, beside the point.
The uncertainty about his age had to do with the fact that he was tall and straight of back, but the hair pulled into a long queue at his nape shone a pure silver in the sunlight. It was all the more remarkable because of the contrast to his skin, a deeply burnished copper in color. She saw all this in the few seconds it took for the two men to turn. Then she realized that Pip was perched on the man’s shoulder and looked very pleased with himself.
“Dr. Savard,” Mr. Lee called, as they walked toward her. “This is Noah Hunter.”
Somehow Sophie managed to say the right things, striking a tone that she hoped was welcoming and polite without either undue familiarity or pretension. His hand was large and callused, the grip firm, and the gaze he leveled at her calm and impenetrable. Beneath sharply defined brows that were the same silver as his hair, his eyes were so dark that pupil and iris could not be told apart.