The Doctor's Discretion

by EE Ottoman

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Acknowledgments:

  I would like to thank those who made this book possible. Michele Howe who listened to me ramble my way through early ideas and versions of the story. KJ Charles whose hard work and patients go me through edits. C. Morgan Kennedy for her great historical knowledge and insights. Phoebe Hogeland who designed and created a beautiful cover. Along with everyone else who read and worked on different version of the book. Finally so much thanks to my author’s group for always supporting and encouraging me wholeheartedly.

  CHAPTER 1

  ~

  New York City

  March 1831

  It was raining when he stepped out of his building that morning, with a chill wind coming off the harbor even this far from the waterfront. The wind picked up mud and dead leaves, hurling them at people, carriages, and carts as they passed by on the streets. William shrugged deeper into his heavy overcoat and unfurled his umbrella. The rain and mud would probably not be kind to his boots and the legs of his trousers. He could at least try to protect the rest of his apparel, though, particularly his new overcoat, with its collar, lapels, and cuffs of black velvet.

  It had been an unseasonably mild and wet winter, making the air feel heavy and thick. There had been talk of sickness, made more likely by the warm weather, and fear that the cholera epidemics sweeping through Europe might come to their shores soon.

  A carriage rattled by him on the street, its wheels throwing up muddy water. Even after only a few minutes, his trouser legs were soaked through with icy rain. William tilted his umbrella, looking for a cab or even a horse-drawn omnibus to take him to Washington Square North.

  Washington Square North was lined with large town houses, the front entrances bracketed by pillars in the Greek and Roman style.

  William stared up at the imposing stone house as the carriage stopped in front of it, and double-checked the address from the letter he’d received. He indeed seemed to be at the right place. He climbed down from the cab and paid the driver before making his way up to the front door as quickly as he could.

  He rang the bell and waited. The rain was seeping through his coat and trickling down the back of his neck to soak his collar.

  A round faced man about William’s age but too well dressed to be servant opened the door.

  “Yes?” His gaze on William was cool at best.

  “I am Doctor Blackwood. I was given this address by the law firm Young and Collins and told I would meet a representative of that office here.” William blinked water out of his eyes, hoping his hat wasn’t ruined, and held out one of his personal cards for the man to take.

  The man’s eyebrows went high. He studied William for a long moment and then took the card and examined it minutely.

  From one white man to another, this delay would have been considered unbearably rude. It was unbearably rude, but William bore it anyway. He wondered if he was going to be turned away, or if this man would demand some kind of proof that he was who he said he was. A potential employer could require William to show written proof of his standing as a free man even now, years after slavery had been abolished in New York.

  Finally, the man nodded. “I’m Mr. Peterson of Young and Collins. Please come in.”

  He stood back from the door and let William step into the hall. Inside, the house was cold and a little bit musty, the furniture swathed in drop cloths.

  “We’re in the parlor down this way.” Mr. Peterson waved him down the hall and into a small, less formal room to the left. Here at least, a fire was burning in the hearth, and the drop cloths had been removed from the furniture. A table was laid out with papers, and a dark-haired man sat on the settee close to the hearth. He looked up when William and Mr. Peterson came in.

  “Doctor Hill,” Mr. Peterson said after a moment’s hesitation. “This is Doctor Blackwood.” He sounded unconvinced.

  “Doctor Blackwood, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Doctor Hill stood with a smile.

  He was even shorter than William, who was not a large man. Small, dressed in rather severe black, with a fine-featured face and hair that swept over his forehead in gentle curls.

  He offered his hand, which William shook, and it wasn’t until Doctor Hill had reseated himself on the settee that William realized something was not quite right about the man.

  Mr. Peterson settled himself on a chair in front of the table, and William sat as well, trying to place what it was about Doctor Hill that was causing unease to curl at the back of his mind.

  It took him a moment longer, and then he saw it with a jolt. Doctor Hill’s right hand, the one he’d offered to William, was now folded in his lap. The left sleeve of his coat clearly contained an arm, tapering down to a neat enough cuff, but beyond that nothing. The hand was missing completely.

  “Well, since we are all here, we should begin.” Mr. Peterson took a pair of spectacles out of his waistcoat pocket and put them on before shuffling some of the papers. “I am here representing Mr. Collins, who in turn represents the late Doctor Russell and his estate. You both should have received letters from Mr. Collins’ office relaying to you the contents of Doctor Russell’s will in regards to his collection of medical specimens, books, and writings?”

  William nodded. He’d received a series of letters, in fact, sketching the nature of Doctor Russell’s professional collection, amassed over the many years of his service to science.

  Mr. Peterson bent to read from one of the sheets. “Doctor Russell’s will stipulated that his scientific and medical collections should be inspected by two learned gentlemen working within the field of medicine. In due course, the collection should be deposited with whatever professional organization or university body the doctors would recommend.” He hesitated for a moment and then went on. “After some consideration, Mr. Collins decided on you, Doctor Blackwood, based on your work with the College of Physicians in Philadelphia and the Royal Society in London. Doctor Hill was named by Doctor Russell himself to assist.”

  William inclined his head at the acknowledgement of his work, even if Mr. Peterson sounded as though he was questioning that decision. He’d been surprised to receive the first letter from Mr. Collins. It was rare for anyone, especially the sort of prosperous white men who became New York attorneys, to recognize that he’d done any work of worth at all.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Doctor Hill turn to look at him more fully. William wondered if he was offended at the idea of having to work with a black man.

  “You gentlemen have as long as you need to go through the collection, confirm its worth, and find it a suitable home, but please be aware that Doctor Russell’s estate cannot be fully dealt with until you complete your task. There will be a fee paid to both of you, of course.” Mr. Peterson shuffled the papers again. “Mr. Collins has received your correspondence on the matter. If you are both amenable to taking this on, there are some papers here that will require your signatures. Please make sure the amount stated is the amount you agreed upon with Mr. Collins.”

  Doctor Hill stood and came over to the table to go through the stack of paper Mr. Peterson set in front of him. William paged through his own stack of documents, which said that he’d be paid for his work and that he would not claim Doctor Russell’s property as his own or leave the project unfinished. He read through all of them dutifully and then signed his name where indicated.

  “Thank you,
gentlemen.” Mr. Peterson took the sheets back and started going over them himself.

  Doctor Hill turned to William as they waited. “You worked with the College of Physicians and the Royal Society? Were you engaged in a particular area of research?”

  William couldn’t detect any hostility in his tone.

  “I wasn’t conducting research per se. In both cases, I helped organize and structure their libraries and medical collections.” As always when he explained this, pride warred with self-consciousness. He was well aware what an honor it had been for him to be offered either opportunity, especially since the College of Physicians had been reluctant to hire a black man for the job. They had done so in the end mostly due to the reputation he’d built for himself while working in Britain. It was a reputation he was proud of, but at the same time, explaining what the work entailed always made him sound like he’d spent the last few years as a clerk or a secretary. It opened the door for the assumption that he was some sort of glorified servant, not intelligent or educated enough to practice medicine.

  He cleared his throat. “There is a movement within the medical community, as I’m sure you know, toward greater education and study. I and others think that if books or specimens could be more readily accessed, they’d have a greater chance of being used. In the case of both organizations, there hadn’t been a full inventory done of their books, manuscripts, specimens, and other items of interest in quite some time.”

  “So you conducted one for them?” There was the faintest hint of amusement in Doctor Hill’s voice, but it was enough to make William’s back stiffen.

  He inclined his head a little. “I did, and will be doing another one, it appears.” From what Mr. Collins had written, Doctor Russell’s collection was extensive, but it could not match the amount of things the Royal Society had managed to accumulate. William had worked with several other men of science and a small army of clerks while he’d been there. The College of Physicians’ collection was modest in comparison, but still significant. As far as challenges went, William could not imagine Doctor Russell’s collection would be anywhere close.

  He cast Doctor Hill a sidelong look. Doctor Russell had requested Doctor Hill by name. Did he too have some sort of experience in this area? William doubted it.

  “Did you know Doctor Russell, before he passed?” he asked.

  Doctor Hill had been gazing at the fire, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He turned back to William.

  “No, we’d never met or corresponded. I barely knew of his existence, in fact, before Mr. Collins contacted me.” He frowned. “I was aware he was a very rich man and a well-respected scholar of medicine but nothing beyond that. I can’t imagine how he knew of me—it’s not as if we mixed in the same circles—unless it was through one of the papers I’ve published. One, at least, was widely read within the medical community.”

  “Oh yes? What was it on?”

  “outbreaks and epidemics” Doctor Hill said. “I served as a physician in the Navy, you understand, and saw firsthand the ravages of cholera and typhus in Europe and Asia, not to mention yellow fever here in New York.”

  It was an unsettling subject, and not one William would have chosen to study. “Did Doctor Russell have a particular interest in the topic, I wonder?”

  “I believe later in life he developed an interest in public health. In fact, I think he was one of the more powerful voices calling for the city to form a commission on the prevention of epidemic diseases,” Doctor Hill said. “I’ve been involved in that conversation as well, but to a lesser extent.”

  “Gentlemen.”

  They both turned back to Mr. Peterson, who had straightened up.

  “Everything appears to be in order. Thank you for your time and attention to this matter.” He gathered up the papers and stowed them back into the leather bag by his chair. “Mr. Collins has instructed me to give you both keys for the front door so you can come and go as you please.”

  He handed them each a small envelope. William tipped the house key into his hand.

  “There are certain rooms in the house that have their own keys. Those will be provided to you as well, although only one set that you will have to share.”

  “Could we see at least part of the collection before we begin?” Hill asked.

  “Of course.” Mr. Peterson stood, picking up the candle that sat on the table, and led the way back into the hall.

  The house was as large as it had looked from the outside. Obviously it had been well looked after, probably by a large staff that had left things clean and neat after the death of their master.

  “Will the family be taking possession of the house?” Hill was looking around them with open interest as they moved from room to room.

  Mr. Peterson shook his head. “No, Doctor Russell had no heirs or living relatives. So the house will be put up for sale after the collection is sold or rehoused.”

  He paused before a heavy wooden door and then opened it, holding his candle high to allow them to see the full scope of the room.

  The room beyond was not overly large, but it was lined from floor to ceiling with bookcases. The shelves of books were interrupted only by a large fireplace. There was a writing desk in the center of the room, a reading table, and a collection of chairs close to the hearth.

  Beside William, Doctor Hill sucked in a sharp breath, and then they were both moving forward to examine the shelves.

  As well as the books there were quite a few bundles of papers folded up in brown paper and tied up with cotton string. Doctor Hill was undoing the string on one, balancing it half on the shelf as he undid the knot apart one-handed. William came to watch over his shoulder.

  Doctor Hill unwrapped the brown paper to reveal the pages within. They were drawings, in full color, of beautifully rendered anatomical studies and illustrations of disease. The top one was of a man, chest cut open to show the structure of organs, tissue, and bone underneath. The man’s face was tranquil, turned to the side, eyes closed as if in sleep. Doctor Hill took the page and laid it aside to show the next one.

  Drawn as if for a portrait was a girl in a white dress, hands demurely folded, long dark hair braided and coiled on her head. There was a growth on her face, huge, bulbous, and swollen-looking, which took up most of the available space, twisting her nose and shutting one of her eyes. Her remaining eye was a bright clear blue, her gaze at the viewer level and almost defiant.

  “These were done by someone with incredible talent.” Doctor Hill’s fingers traced the edge of the page, searching for an artist’s signature.

  From several paces away, Mr. Peterson cleared his throat. “Yes, well, as you can see there will be plenty to keep you both occupied.” There was a forced note to his voice, and when William looked round at him, he saw the man had averted his gaze from the drawing.

  “Yes.” William watched Doctor Hill wrap the pages back up and retie the string. “Is this the entire collection?”

  Mr. Peterson gave a weak chuckle. “Not all. This was Doctor Russell’s library. There are, er, specimens, I suppose you’d say, upstairs.”

  “Thank you. I would like to begin inventorying the collection tomorrow, if that’s all right with your office,” William said.

  “Quite all right, Doctor Blackwood. The sooner we can set Doctor Russell’s estate in order, the better.”

  “Tomorrow sounds fine.” Doctor Hill turned towards William. “Shall we say seven-thirty?”

  Well, that was early; William had intended to wait until eight, but he nodded.

  They paused in the parlor they’d first occupied so William could collect his umbrella and hat. Doctor Hill shrugged on a greatcoat before heading back out into the cold.

  It was still raining. William turned up the collar of his coat once more and unfurled his umbrella while searching the street for a cab. Unsurprisingly, there were none loitering on a street where most residents owned their own carriage. At least it wasn’t dark yet.

  With a final farewell for
Doctor Hill, who had paused to speak with Mr. Peterson, William started down the street towards the park, where hopefully there would be more ready transportation.

  ~*~

  When William woke the next morning, he half expected to find a letter from Young and Collins informing him that they’d hired another doctor to survey the collection, and his services would not be required.

  It would not have been the first job he’d lost in that manner. But there was no letter or note waiting for him, just the morning paper.

  William shaved, dressed, drank the coffee his landlady had brought up to his rooms, collected his hat and overcoat, and went to catch a cab.

  The first cab he tried to hail passed him by without stopping. Not an unusual occurrence for a black man, William had learned since being back in the city. The second cabbie he flagged down was willing to take his money.

  It was no longer raining, but the sky was still dark with a sort of early morning gray as William climbed out of the cab in front of Doctor Russell’s house. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t late and then went to unlock the front door.

  He could feel warmth coming from the parlor they’d occupied the evening before as soon as he stepped into the front hall.

  A fire had been laid in the parlor hearth and more candles brought in to bathe the room in golden light. The table where Mr. Peterson had organized his papers was now set with a coffeepot and full service, including biscuits and a pot of fruit preserves.

  William stripped off his overcoat and gloves, folded the coat over the back of the settee, and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning.” Hill came through the doorway, already divested of his greatcoat, gloves, and hat. His tone was cheerful, his cheeks a little pink from the cold outside.

  “Do I have you to thank for this?” William gestured to the breakfast laid out.

  Hill shook his head. “Courtesy of our employers, I think. A servant comes in the mornings to light the fire and the candles. They must have brought breakfast as well.” He stepped around William, so close their shoulders brushed for a moment, and reached for the coffeepot.