The Doctor's Discretion

by EE Ottoman

  He was dressed much less conservatively this morning in a striking blue-green coat that flattered his dark hair and pale skin. “Where would you like to start our inventory?”

  William cradled his cup of coffee, allowing it to warm his fingers. “We should probably divide the work.”

  “Shall we start on either side of the library and work our way towards the middle? Or should we divide it—I taking the specimens and you taking the library?”

  “Let’s proceed as you first suggested. You take one end and I the other; we can confer when we meet in the middle.”

  “How long do you think it will take us to get through it?” Hill polished off his biscuit. “I’ve never worked on a project like this before, and you’re the expert in this sort of work. What information do you usually record for each book or item?”

  William froze, thrown off guard by the fact that Hill was willing to ask for his opinion without any apparent hesitation.

  Hill was watching him expectantly, a slight smile curving his mouth. William cleared his throat. “We’ll need to make notes of the title, author, and subject of each book at least, along with age, as best we can identify it, and condition. Given that and the size of the library, I’m not sure exactly how long it will take.”

  Hill nodded, seeming satisfied. William watched him deftly pick up the coffeepot and pour coffee into a cup one-handed.

  “So what do you do when you’re not cataloging deceased doctor’s medical collections? Do you have your own practice?” Hill had said he’d been in the Navy, but obviously no longer was.

  Hill looked up at him. “No, I work at New York Hospital generally.”

  William controlled his surprise. “That’s a very prestigious position. You must be quite the physician.”

  Hill’s cheeks pinked slightly, and he made a small gesture as if waving away the compliment. “Do you have a practice?”

  “No, my experience of medicine tends to be more academic,” William admitted. “I’ve spent most of my time since I graduated working with collections like these.”

  “Where did you study?”

  William hesitated for a moment. “University of Glasgow School of Medicine.”

  Hill’s eyebrows went up. William half expected him to ask if American schools weren’t good enough. That often happened when he talked about his education. The truth was, no American school had been willing to take him. William had applied to Philadelphia and Columbia Universities only to be turned away by both. Neither had ever educated a black doctor, he’d been told, and they weren’t going to start with him. In the end, their prejudice had meant he’d received a better education than if he’d stayed in America.

  Hill did not comment at all, though. “And where did you study?” William felt obliged to ask in return.

  “The College of Physicians and Surgeons at Columbia University,” Hill said. “Not as prestigious as your educational background, I know.”

  William glanced at him, unsure if Hill had meant that as a compliment, a backhanded slight, or just a statement of fact. An American education in medicine could not rival a British or European one, especially not the education one was likely to get at a second-rate school like Columbia. On the other hand, most of the doctors in New York had studied there, so Hill’s background was hardly exceptional.

  Hill did not look particularly self-conscious about it. He was still smiling slightly, his posture relaxed and at ease. William decided that for the sake of their working relationship, he would assume Hill had not meant his comment as a jab at William’s expense.

  Hill set aside his cup. “Should we begin?”

  William waved his hand. “Go on ahead if you want. You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll join you in a minute after I’ve finished my coffee.”

  Hill nodded and rose before picking up a leather bag he’d left by the settee and leaving the room.

  William lingered, gaze on the fire, coffee cup in hand, trying to work through what to make of Doctor Hill. He seemed friendly enough; they might be able to work well together. But William couldn’t quite shake the wariness that came from years of being underestimated and talked down to by most American doctors he’d met. It had been different in England, where he’d been able to legally stand on the same footing with any other man. It was so much more difficult here. But New York was where he’d been born, where he’d grown up, where his family was, and he needed to try to make it work here, at least for a little longer.

  He sighed and downed the rest of the contents of his cup and headed for the library.

  William was pleasantly surprised when he opened the library door to find the room also well lit. A fire blazed in the hearth here as well, and there were several candles brightening the space. Hill sat at the reading table with a stack of books and a ledger open in front of him.

  William had packed a blank ledger, ink, and his dip pen this morning. He set his things on the writing desk and then went to inspect the shelves.

  The drawing they’d seen the day before was not the only one of its kind. William undid the string and unwrapped paper from bundles of other images, each as painstakingly and skillfully drawn as the first. The vast quantity of books spanned a wide range of subjects. The bulk of them were on medicine, anatomy, and the natural sciences, but there was philosophy as well and more than a few volumes of theology.

  For a while, the only sound in the room was the wood shifting and settling in the fireplace and the scratch of two pens. Every once in a while a chair would scrape as one or the other of them stood with an armful of books and went back to the shelves to return them and get more.

  After some time, William straightened up, massaging his temples and between his eyes. There was a pain starting in his head, probably from squinting over his writing. His father had worn spectacles, legacy of a lifetime spent bending over ledgers. He’d started as a bookkeeper for his master’s business, become a clerk, and finally built his own shipping firm from the ground up. He hadn’t needed to balance his books during William’s lifetime—there were other people to do that by then—but he carried the marks of it in his poor eyesight and the pain that would flare up from time to time in the joints of his hands.

  Hill was still bent over his ledger, attention fully on his work.

  William leaned back in his chair, trying to stretch out his legs as his gaze idly scanned the room and came back to land on Hill.

  The silver threading through Hill’s hair said he was older than William had originally thought. He was slight, to be sure, but his body lacked that boyish quality some men prized so highly in their partners. William would almost say pretty, but that wasn’t quite right either. Perhaps elegant? William’s gaze swept down Hill’s form and then back up before he forced himself to look at the fire so he wouldn’t be caught staring. It was foolish: he shouldn’t be looking at a white man that way or thinking about him in those terms. Desiring men would always be a risk but desiring a white man even more so—impossibly so.

  The sound of Hill’s pen stopped, and when William looked back at him their gazes met.

  “Just taking a moment,” William said, hoping the nature of his thoughts didn’t show on his face. “The light in here isn’t particularly gentle on the eyes.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is.” Hill got up from his chair and stretched. “Although it would help if it weren’t dark as night outside most days. I always forget how dreary it can be here in the spring when all it does is rain. There should be sun and flowers, but there never is.”

  “By ‘here’ you mean New York?” William wasn’t going to pry, but he did wonder where else Hill had been during his time in the Navy.

  Hill nodded. “I was born and raised in New York, but I didn’t live here for years. It’s very different in the Mediterranean. Beautiful weather and country there, although probably even more so when you’re not on a ship having other ships trying blow you apart.” His tone was matter of fact, without any kind of shyness or hesitation. William’s gaze
flicked down to Hill’s absent left hand as he reflected that it must not be all that easy to talk about.

  William knew that the United States Navy had been involved in fighting pirates off the coast of Greece. That must be what Hill was referring to. It sounded very exciting in theory, particularly since the only context he had for fighting pirates came from the adventure stories he’d read as a boy. He doubted the images his mind conjured up were anywhere close to the truth.

  “Were you stationed in the Mediterranean?”

  Hill gave him a small smile. “Assigned there, yes. We were a police force. Part of the Grecian Navy had turned to piracy due to the war and instability in that country, and had an unfortunate habit of attacking American and British merchant ships. At other points in my career, I was assigned to ships that escorted trading vessels to the Caribbean, Africa, and India. Long journeys where privateering is often a concern.”

  William wondered if those ships had contained goods going to or from the Caribbean plantations. Goods produced by slaves. Probably yes. He watched Hill, wondering if he’d known or cared. Even if he had, he didn’t seem affected by it now. For a moment, the desire to point it out, just to see how Hill would react, was strong. William squashed it. They still had to work together after all. Better not to know Hill’s thoughts on sugar plantations and the atrocities that went on there.

  “Did you work under another physician or surgeon? he asked instead.

  “For my first year or so. Then I worked as ship’s surgeon by myself, although I got a junior surgeon when they sent us on the Aegean pirate mission.”

  For whatever reason, William had assumed Hill had always been the junior man. He clearly had not. He stood facing the hearth, giving William a good view of his profile, and William couldn’t help wonder what he would look like in uniform.

  He imagined Hill in the double-breasted, gold-trimmed blue tailcoat, white breeches, and white waistcoat of a naval officer. Very fine, if William were to judge. He’d never felt a particular attraction towards men in uniform, but he was sorry he’d missed the opportunity to see how well Hill filled his out. Or to see what Hill looked like out of uniform.

  Best not to let his thoughts linger on that image.

  He went back to his work. Opening his ledger, he dipped his nib into the ink and turned his attention to the empty page.

  For a long time, there was just the sound of the fire, the scrape of William’s pen on the page, the soft sound as Hill flipped through the pages he was still reading.

  William had worked his way through the shelf he’d begun the day cataloging and two others besides when Hill set aside his papers and rolled his shoulders back, hand going to rub the muscles at the back of his neck.

  “It’s getting late. Do you want to stop for today?”

  William consulted his pocket watch. Hill was right, and moreover they’d both missed the midday meal. He was very hungry and in need of a cup of coffee or strong black tea.

  He stood. “We should probably end our work for tonight and pick up again tomorrow.” He made sure all the papers and books were stacked neatly, and that the ink was dry on the ledger page before he closed the volume, and started tidying away his pen and ink.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to be here tomorrow; I have rounds at New York Hospital. The day after?” Hill stood as well, gathering up his things and stowing them in the bag he’d brought.

  William would have preferred to work on the project every day until they’d finished. “The day after next will be fine.”

  “Good.” Hill was watching him, smiling slightly. “Care to dine with me tonight? I should qualify the offer by saying that if you do join me, we will probably end up at the eating-house near where I board since I’ve missed the dinner the landlady provides at this point. But I would still enjoy your company.”

  William fought to conceal his surprise at the offer. He ought not be surprised: Hill had been nothing but courteous, even friendly, since they’d met. He considered it, and decided it would be nice to have a hot meal with company. “All right.”

  Hill’s smile grew wider and he nodded. William packed up his bag, and put out all the candles, save for the ones they’d brought with them from the parlor. They collected their coats, hats, and gloves, and then put out the candles in the front parlor as well. Hill locked the front door behind them.

  “Do you want to find a cab?” Hill glanced dubiously up at the darkened sky. It wasn’t raining yet, but it likely would before the night was over. It was certainly cold enough that William was grateful for his coat, top hat, and gloves. “The eating-house I have in mind is going to be too far, I think.”

  “We might need to walk a few blocks anyway to find anyone who will take us.” William glanced up and down the street without much hope. At this late hour, cab drivers would no longer be loitering around the park but would have gone to other parts of the city in search of fares.

  “Well, let’s set out on foot, and see if we can find a cab along the way.” Hill headed down the steps and onto the street.

  William followed him, feeling unease begin to unfurl inside him. Even here in these clean and respectable neighborhoods, the streets were poorly lit, and William knew he made a tempting target in his fine clothes. A target the night watch would be unlikely to aid. If anything, the watch were just as likely to be the ones doing the beating and robbing.

  He quickened his pace to keep up with Hill, hoping the two of them together would seem less like a good mark.

  They found a cab on the next street over, much to William’s relief. He seated himself in the cab as Hill gave directions to the driver and then climbed in after him.

  The carriage jolted them forward into the dark. William’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he let himself imagine the hot meal waiting for them at whatever eating-house Hill had chosen.

  Given the length of the ride, William judged them to be close to his own neighborhood when the carriage drew to a stop. It occurred to him that he and Hill might not live that far apart. They both climbed out, and William dug into his pocket for some coins, but Hill waved him off and paid the driver himself.

  Light spilled out of the building they’d stopped in front of, along with the sound of voices and laughter. William took a grateful step towards the pool of light from the lanterns hanging on either side of the doorway.

  “Come on.” Hill stepped past him, opening the door.

  Once through the door, William was hit by the chatter of voices, the crush of bodies, and the smell of food and tobacco smoke.

  The reason he’d never been to this particular eating-house became clear as soon as his eyes adjusted to the light.

  The crowd of men were mostly young, and mostly dressed in a style William associated with secretaries and clerks from shipping companies, and business and law offices. And as far as he could see, they were all white. Only the waiters weaving between tables and the boy at the back calling orders to the kitchen were black.

  William braced himself, as he always did in situations where he knew he’d be the only gentleman of color in the room. It wasn’t unusual for him; he spent most of his professional life being the only black man. When he had the choice, though, he preferred eating-houses, theaters, and parks frequented by the free black community. He should have realized this would happen if he didn’t specify a place himself. That he would have to, that it hadn’t occurred to Hill beforehand that it would be at the very least uncomfortable for him to be here, made resentment roil in his gut.

  It took him a moment to realize Hill had paused in the entryway, forcing William to stop to avoid running into him.

  Hill turned and took a step closer to William’s side. “It occurs to me that this might not have been the best plan. This is where I always eat, but I didn’t think about how you’d be received here.” He was pitching his voice low, for William’s ears only. “I’m sorry. We can go someplace else if you’d like.”

  It was on the tip of William’s tongue to say yes
, but instead, he suppressed a sigh and shook his head. “We’re here now. So we might as well eat. Unless the servers won’t serve me of course.”

  Hill looked genuinely appalled at that. “If they don’t, we’ll certainly eat somewhere else.”

  William hoped for both their sakes it didn’t come to that. But at least he was with Hill who was known here and knew others. It was less likely he’d be snubbed directly either by the patrons or the establishment because of it.

  Several men called Hill’s name as he steered them over to a table, smiling and greeting the men who sat there.

  “My colleague, Doctor Blackwood,” he heard Hill say, although he couldn’t catch the rest of the introduction.

  William let his gaze wander around the room. The eating-house was set up in the sixpenny style with tables for four, although every table seemed to be seating at least six to accommodate the sheer number of guests. Every time the door opened, letting in someone new from off the street, cries of greeting went up from one or another of the tables, a new chair materialized, and room was made for it at a table.

  In the way of sixpenny houses, no one seemed to be consulting a written menu, instead calling out their orders from memory to the waiters who wove between the tables. William hoped the food here was not the usual affair. Sixpenny houses, in his experience, served the cheapest cuts of meat and vegetables, cooked down into a sort of slurry in thin, under-seasoned gravy. This unappealing dish was usually eaten alongside equally weak coffee. At least here, everyone seemed to be drinking ale.

  Hill guided him over to one of the few less-crowded tables and greeted the men already sitting there. William sat in the only remaining chair where he could have his back to the hall. Hill settled beside him, so close their shoulders touched.

  William couldn’t help stiffen a little at the contact, even though men at every table were set this close or closer due to lack of space. He forced his shoulders to relax even as his sleeve brushed against Hill’s.