The Doctor's Discretion

by EE Ottoman

  Making a decision, he led them down a narrow flight of stone stairs.

  Moss quickened his pace and leaned forward to whisper in Augustus’ ear. “Where are we going?”

  “The lower levels where the kitchens, laundry, and storerooms are.” Augustus kept his voice low. “There’s a servants’ passage that leads up into the gardens. It’s used for hauling ice from the icehouse to the kitchen in the summer, but should be fairly deserted now.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this doesn’t seem like a part of the hospital physicians usually go in, and you look like a physician, not a servant.” Augustus could practically feel Moss’ gaze taking in his finely tailored wool coat.

  “We can’t afford to encounter another physician.” Augustus paused at the bottom of the stairs and checked the corridor before ushering Moss down it.

  They went as quickly as they could without full out running, and Augustus tugged Moss around another corner.

  They could hear the chatter of people up ahead, the clink of dishes, the hiss and whistle of many pots stewing over a fire. There was a chorus of laughter, and a door slammed.

  Augustus put one arm out across Moss’ chest to keep him from stepping forward into the more populated hall. He took several deep breaths, bracing himself. They would need to walk past both entrances to the kitchen to get to the stairs that led out into the garden and close to the icehouse.

  Augustus turned towards Moss and leaned in close so he could speak as quietly as possible. “Walk fast and keep your head down. Don’t speak to anyone; don’t look at anyone.”

  He felt rather than saw Moss nod.

  They stepped out into the main hall and set off towards the kitchens.

  Several maids brushed by them, carrying baskets of freshly laundered linens. They jostled around a male servant coming out of one of the storerooms.

  Augustus glanced at Moss out of the corner of his eye and saw that Moss did have his head down, and was trying not to make eye contact with anyone as he stepped out of the servants’ way. He couldn’t tell whether the servants found their presence suspicious, but they couldn’t stop now. Augustus quickened his pace down the hall.

  They made it by one of the kitchen’s doors and then the other without anyone calling out to them, and then they were turning into the short, unlit passage that led to the outside door. Augustus all but ran to the steps and up, fumbling to get the keys out of his pocket.

  There was a tense moment as he tried to find the right one, and then the door was open, the cold hitting his overheated skin.

  Both of them stumbled out onto the path, and Augustus locked the door behind them while Moss took several gasping breaths of the frigid air.

  Augustus was acutely aware that every second they paused was a second they could be missed or found out. He grabbed Moss’ wrist and dragged him down the path to the icehouse.

  Once in the darkness among the blocks of ice, he uncovered the bundle and shoved it into Moss’ arms.

  “Change into these.”

  Moss unwrapped it, to find clothes, shoes, and an overcoat—all from the back of Augustus’ own wardrobe. Moss was a good bit taller than him, a little broader across the shoulders and chest, but these were the only clothes Augustus had been able to come up with on short notice.

  “There are also some strips of cloth...” Augustus hesitated, feeling himself blush. “...for your chest.”

  Moss touched the area in question, his own cheeks pinking. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll wait outside.” Augustus pulled the door open before Moss could answer and closed it behind him.

  He paced across the space in front of the icehouse. Hopefully, Blackwood hadn’t run into trouble while waiting, and no one had noticed Moss’ absence or paid too much attention to his own disappearance. He was already late for his morning rounds, but that wasn’t too unusual.

  But what if someone had already noticed Moss was gone? What if Blackwood had run into trouble, been accosted, or, God forbid, had the soldiery called on him?

  Augustus was not unaware of the dangers of being a black man seen loitering in a good neighborhood like Chapel. It would be risky, even for someone as obviously a gentleman as Blackwood. Another stab of guilt joined the rest already roiling around in Augustus’ chest. He’d regretted going to Blackwood with this entire business almost immediately. For all sorts of reasons, one of them being the sheer risk Blackwood was running by doing this. As Blackwood had rightly pointed out this morning, he was putting his freedom if not his life in jeopardy by being part of this.

  He should be doing this alone. It was that thought that had made sleep impossible the night before. Except, of course, for the fact that this was a two-man job at the very least. Without someone else on the other side of the hospital wall, Moss would have no hope of not being recaptured, and the entire plan, with all the risks it involved, would have been for nothing.

  The door to the icehouse opened, and Moss, in Augustus’ clothes, came out, the dress folded under one arm.

  “Come on.” Augustus turned and headed down the path towards the wall and the door that would lead out onto Worth Street.

  They paused once they got there for Augustus to find the key and unlock the door.

  “There.” He let it swing open and gestured out onto the street. “There will be a man waiting for you towards Chapel Street. He’ll know what clothes you’re wearing, and he’ll take you somewhere you can stay, with food and clothes that might actually fit. Or, if you don’t trust that, feel free to go wherever you like, as long as it’s away from here. But know Cooke won’t give you up without a fight. He’ll send people after you—servants from the hospital, the watch, soldiers—and if you’re caught, we’ll both pay.”

  He forced a small smile for Moss’ benefit. Moss didn’t return it, watching him with a wary, slightly haunted expression. Augustus thought he would bolt.

  Instead, he nodded once, stepped out onto the street, and turned towards Chapel, pace brisk but controlled.

  Augustus gave himself a moment to watch him go before closing the door, locking it, and turning back to retrace his steps towards the hospital.

  ~*~

  William had walked a loop around the back of the hospital, down Anthony and then Chapel and across Thomas Street.

  At least the sky was clear, the heavy rain they’d had the night before and into the morning having finally stopped. It was no longer as cold as it had been for the last few days but cold enough that his feet were starting to go numb, and his fingers clumsy around the head of his cane.

  He turned so he could look down Worth towards the hospital. His eyes narrowed when he saw the figure walking towards him.

  The man was walking fast, hunched over, wearing the navy-blue coat with the black buttons for which William had been looking out. A slim blond man.

  William stepped in front of the stranger. “Mr. Moss?”

  The stranger squinted at William. “That’s me.” He sounded reluctant to admit it. “Am I to assume you’re Doctor Hill’s friend?”

  William turned and fell into stride beside him. “William Blackwood.” He left off the title, guessing Mr. Moss had most likely had his fill of doctors. “And yes, Hill asked me to meet you, although I’m not claiming we’re friends.”

  “Of course not.” A faint smile touched Moss’ mouth. “I, too, commit felonies on the say-so of mere acquaintances.”

  They came abreast of the cab William had paid to wait for him on his second turn around the hospital.

  William held the door open so Moss could climb in, gave the driver his address, and swung in after him.

  “Well, better late than never,” Moss remarked.

  William turned to look at him. “What?”

  The beginning of a smile that had begun to lighten Moss’ face dropped away. “Didn’t Barlow send you, and Doctor Hill?”

  “I don’t know whom you are referring to,” William said. “No one sent us. We acted on our own, Hill and I. Were you
expecting someone else?”

  Moss’ eyes had gone progressively wider and his face paler, if that was at all possible, as William spoke. “I...” He sat back on the bench, staring at William, and then bent forward, head in hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  William wanted to reach out and comfort him somehow, try to figure out what he’d said wrong.

  Then Moss straightened and shook his head. “I’m fine. Don’t concern yourself with it. It’s just… I didn’t expect this from strangers.” He stared into the space between them, biting his lip. “Thank you. To you and Doctor Hill.”

  William shook his head and looked away, awkward and unsure what to do or what to say. “You’re welcome,” was the best he could think of to say before they both lapsed into silence.

  As they rode, William studied Moss who sat across from him, gaze fixed on the city as it passed by.

  Even for someone who was obviously always pale, Moss’ skin had the pallid hue of having spent too long inside. He held his body stiffly, his mouth turned down into a frown. Still, aside from his complexion and obvious strain, he seemed completely ordinary.

  William sat back, tightening his grip on his cane.

  Moss’ gaze flicked from the window to William, although he still didn’t say anything.

  William cleared his throat. “Do you own any property? Resources you can use now? Hill thought it would be best if you left the city, perhaps even the country.”

  Moss sighed as he uncurled his fingers to drum against one knee. “I rented...before. I did have some savings, but that’s all gone. The State seized all my property when I was arrested. I was charged with fraud and crimes against nature, so I doubt they’ll be giving any of it back. Especially not now.”

  They’d expected as much, but still, this would have been easier if Moss had had funds hidden away somewhere. Nevertheless, between Hill and himself, they’d be able to put Moss on a coach traveling upstate and then across the border into Quebec. They could even buy him a ticket on the next ship heading for England or France, but that would only be a temporary solution. Moss would still have no money, contacts, or resources once he reached his destination. Certainly, William could not think of anyone he knew in either country he’d trust with this.

  The cab came to a stop, and William climbed out and went to go pay the driver.

  Moss was gazing up at the building when William joined him.

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Blackwood?” Moss asked while William unlocked the door.

  “I’m a physician.”

  Moss snorted. “Of course you are. I have been saved from doctors, by doctors.” But he still followed William into the hall and then through to his rooms.

  William hung up his overcoat and hat, before taking Moss’ overcoat from him and hanging it up as well. “Would you like coffee?”

  Moss’ expression visibly cheered, his eyes lighting for the first time since they’d met. “Yes, please. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to have any.”

  William put the kettle on the fire to heat and filled his coffeepot with grounds.

  There was bread, butter, and jam. William turned to where Moss still stood by the door. “I’m not sure if you’ve eaten yet, but we could make toast to have with the coffee if you like.”

  “I did have breakfast this morning.”

  Moss had his arms around himself in an awkward sort of hunch that made William ache a little just looking at him.

  “Come sit down then.” He nodded at the chairs before the fire.

  Moss folded himself down into a chair as William took the kettle off the fire and filled the coffeepot.

  He looked Moss over critically. Moss’ bony wrists stuck out beyond the sleeves of his shirt and coat, both of which strained across his shoulders, and the legs of his trousers were not quite long enough for him. William was slightly taller than Hill, which meant his clothes would likely fit Moss a bit better. He could probably find something he no longer often wore that he could give Moss.

  “We’ll drink coffee, and then I’ll fetch you some clothes.”

  “I’m still not sure why you’re doing this for me. You didn’t know me until about twenty minutes ago, and now you’re risking imprisonment. For what?” Moss’ gaze was fixed on the fire.

  William crossed from the sideboard where the coffee things were laid out and came to stand beside the fire. “As I said, Hill asked me to.”

  “Ah yes, your not-friend, Doctor Hill. I’m not sure at all what his interest is aside from possibly doing what Doctor Cooke did himself and claiming all the professional credit.”

  “No.” William made a gesture as if to physically remove the idea completely. “Doctor Hill would never do that. Never. What Doctor Cooke did, what he was planning is unspeakably cruel. Hill isn’t capable of cruelty, and especially not like this.”

  Moss just raised his eyebrows.

  William let his gaze drop first to the floor and then to the fire in the hearth. It was a good question, though: Why was he doing this, putting himself at incredible risk for someone he didn’t know? Was it because Hill had asked? Hill, who he barely knew, who’d lied to him? His gaze drifted back to Moss, taking in his unhealthy pallor, and the way the fine bones of his hands and wrists were too obvious under his fragile skin. He remembered the way Moss had lit up when William offered him something as simple as a cup of coffee.

  “I’m doing this because there is a better chance than you might think of me ending up where you were,” he said to the fire. “And I would like to think, if that happened, that someone would do the same for me.”

  If it had been William in that hospital instead of Moss, would Hill have risked discovery and imprisonment to help him? William knew he would have, with an unshakable certainty. They’d barely known each other a week, and already he was sure Hill would risk his livelihood and freedom rather than see William truly suffer. But then, he’d do that for anyone, it seemed, even Moss who he’d only met yesterday.

  William rubbed his forehead and shut his eyes.

  Hill was a fool, but so was he.

  He turned away from the fire and crossed to the sideboard again to make the coffee.

  CHAPTER 4

  ~

  BY THE TIME THE CAB stopped in front of William’s building, Augustus felt like he might be ready to crawl out of his own skin.

  He’d been discussing his patient and her potential for surgery with Hobbes when they’d heard Cooke bellowing in pure rage.

  Hobbes jumped to his feet, and Augustus twisted in his chair to stare at the library door as if he’d be able to see through it to the hall outside.

  “What on earth?” Hobbes didn’t sound at all happy at the level of noise as he opened the library door.

  Augustus followed in his wake. Outside the library was sheer chaos. Doctor Cooke stood, red faced, at the foot of the stairs leading up to the lying-in rooms. He was flanked by the two eldest physicians, white-haired and portly Doctor Miller and steely-eyed Doctor Anderson.

  The groundskeeper and matron were also present, both looking grim. Medical students, surgeons, and a few other physicians crowded into the doorways leading to the wards on either end of the hall.

  “Search the entire hospital,” Cooke was bellowing. “And the grounds. She can’t have gone far.”

  “Not unless she had help.” Doctor Anderson’s voice was much more quiet and controlled, but Augustus could hear the simmering rage underneath.

  Augustus’ heart sank. He’d hoped it would take them much longer to think of Moss having had help.

  Doctor Cooke would take the loss of such an important patient as a blow to his personal and professional reputation, but Doctor Anderson would take it as an insult to the hospital. Beside the two of them, Doctor Miller wrung his hands, looking distressed.

  The groundskeeper turned towards the stairs that led down to the basement level, probably to collect some of the male servants to help with the search.

  “Take som
e of the students with you too,” Cooke called after him, but Doctor Anderson stopped him.

  “Let’s see what the servants turn up before more people become involved. Rumors will be flying as it is. Let’s not confirm any of them yet.”

  It was probably a little late for that, Augustus thought, considering the way Cooke had been yelling.

  Cooke looked ready to bellow again, but he shut his mouth and nodded once to Anderson before beckoning the groundskeeper over. When he spoke to him, he kept his voice low enough that Augustus couldn’t hear what he said.

  This would be a good chance to drift away. After all, he didn’t want to get roped into the search.

  He turned back to Hobbes. “Should we continue our conversation some other time?” He kept his voice low.

  Hobbes tore his attention away from the group with obvious effort, and looked down at Augustus. “No, we should continue.” He threw another glance at the group. “I’m sure that if Doctor Cooke needs us, he’ll know where to look.”

  They both settled back in the library, although Augustus half expected to be dragged off for questioning at any moment.

  Hobbes, too, seemed pensive and on edge. They wrapped up their conversation as quickly as possible, scheduling Augustus’ patient’s surgery for early the next week, at a time when Augustus could be present to observe.

  Augustus spent the rest of the afternoon in the wards farthest away from the main parts of the hospital, hoping to stay well clear of the search. He didn’t think he could bear watching Cooke rant and rave over being denied the opportunity to publicly torment Moss.

  Once he’d done all his rounds and seen to his patients and was sure he wouldn’t be missed, he fled the place. His mind continued to churn over the day’s events during the cab ride, the worst-case scenario becoming increasingly dire the more Augustus thought about it.

  By the time the cab stopped and he climbed out, he was feeling rather shaky on his feet.

  Blackwood came to the door almost at once, his fingertips smudged with ink. Augustus was seized with the sudden and very undignified impulse to fall into his arms.