The Armored Doctor (Curiosity Chronicles Book 2)

by Ava Morgan

  “You always fuss with me. This will only take a moment.” Catherine pulled a hatbox from the top shelf of the wardrobe and carried it over to the bed. Abigail expected her to present some frilly topper of flowers and silk netting. To her surprise, her sister lifted the lid and presented a tiny black hat, complete with white band, bow, and flowers that looked too small for even Winnie to wear.

  “It’s the latest in hat styles. I saw all the ladies wearing them at my neighbor’s party last week.” Catherine affixed it to the side of her own head to demonstrate. “Isn’t it adorable?”

  “It looks like a doll’s hat.”

  “You can be fashionable as well as intelligent, you realize.” Catherine removed the hat and put it on Abigail, affixing it with a comb and hat pin. Her hazel eyes danced as she set the hat to a jaunty perch.

  For a moment, it felt like no argument had ever ensued between the two of them. If a simple hat was the start to putting them on speaking terms again, then perhaps Abigail could wear it for a while. What would it hurt?

  And besides, Dr. Valerian was not one who adhered closely to the prim and fastidious clothing norms of physicians. Everything about his appearance, from the cut of his suits, his color-changing spectacles, the carvings on the handle of his walking stick, to the way he wore his hair, was different. He most likely wouldn’t blink a piercing blue eye at her miniature topper.

  “Abigail, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you contemplate an article of fashion so deeply.”

  Abigail caught herself staring into the vanity mirror. Her thoughts were not upon her reflection, but Catherine thought they were.

  Her sister beamed into the mirror. “I told you it was adorable.”

  The slight weight on the side of Abigail’s head made her feel lopsided. “Thank you, Catherine. Now I really must run or I will be late.” She paused upon reaching the door, her hand on the frame. “I hope we can talk again soon.”

  “Oh, we will. I want my hat back.” Catherine wrapped a scone from the breakfast tray in a napkin and gave it to her. “Shoo. Mustn’t keep the good doctor waiting.”

  Chapter 7

  Jacob heard the grandfather clock chime downstairs. With eyes still closed, he reached for his pocketwatch on the table beside the settee he fell asleep on the night before.

  He opened his eyes to the dim interior of his study. Morning light broke through the curtains in a vain attempt to penetrate the room. He flipped open the watch case.

  Nine o’ clock. Abigail would be there in half an hour.

  He sat upright. Blood rushed to his head, though it did little to clear the heavy drowsiness that refused to dissipate. The laudanum was to blame for that.

  Jacob rubbed his face. He hated dulling his senses with medication, but from time to time, he had no choice. The pain had gone on for two full days, rendering him unable to leave his residence.

  He moved his hands away from his face to stare at his right leg—what remained of it— beneath the wrinkled, slept-in fabric of his trousers. Strange how something that was no longer there could still make its presence known. He rolled the trouser leg up, stopping at a few inches below his knee, the site of amputation.

  His sacrifice for the India campaigns. He had been fortunate. Some men lost their lives. At least he returned home. That was what he told himself when the memory of his trial returned in full force.

  But there was no time this morning to think on it or the trace aches that lingered in his joints and bones. Abigail was coming. He must get cleaned up.

  He reached for the steel and aluminum prosthetic limb beside the settee. The series of buckles and straps presented a challenge to him in the early days when he first fashioned the device. Now he barely gave it thought as his fingers worked quickly to attach it at his knee and buckle the straps along his thigh and waist. He stood once it was on and walked from the study to the water closet in his bedroom.

  “Please.” He talked at his reflection in the shaving mirror. “Let her be late.”

  #

  Abigail arrived at Dr. Valerian’s door with one minute to spare. Struthers let her inside.

  “The doctor said to expect your arrival this morning, Miss Benton.” He took her coat. “If you will follow me to his office.”

  Abigail rubbed her arms as she trailed him down a brief hallway. A fire blazed in the front room of the house, but the adjoining corridor was cooler.

  “Dr. Valerian will be downstairs shortly.” Struthers led her into the office, a room furnished with a large desk, divan, and armchairs.

  Abigail’s eyes wandered from the rows of glass display cabinets lining the walls to an exam table with lampstand that resided in the room’s right corner. She returned to the cabinets, where items of which she could only describe as pieces of armor, occupied the shelves. One shelf held gauntlets that resembled the device Dr. Valerian demonstrated at the lecture hall. Most of them were prosthetics instead of weapons, judging from the straps inside that appeared as though they were meant to be attached to the amputation site.

  Another shelf held what reminded her of knights’ greaves, armor designed to protect the wearer’s legs. They were fashioned with gleaming plates of silver and brass. All of them resided in various stages of completion, with hooks and wires protruding from the joints connecting the plates.

  She moved to another cabinet before she saw Dr. Valerian’s reflection in the glass. She whirled as he entered the office, noticing that Struthers had left.

  “Good morning, Miss Benton.” He went to the desk, where he opened the patient ledger at once. “We have our first appointment in fifteen minutes.”

  That didn’t give Abigail any time to acquaint herself with the office and procedures.

  His eyes rested momentarily on her hat, though he said nothing. He left his walking stick by the desk and walked to the cabinet on the left which contained the gauntlets. His gait was smoother today. “The patient we are about to see is a train conductor. He suffered the loss of his hand during a derailment this past August. If I can outfit him with an artificial one, he may be able to return to work soon.” He opened the cabinet and removed one of the items. “This is a basic model.”

  Abigail didn’t think anything Dr. Valerian crafted could be called basic. The prosthetic hand was forged of silver metal, with linked joints that appeared to be able to move through a complicated series of interconnected wires extending through the wrist and up into the hollow forearm. The forearm capped off with four straps to connect it to the wearer’s elbow and upper arm.

  “The gauntlet gun was heavy. Is this made of a similar metal?” she asked.

  “The steel is hollow for the wires to go through, and I used brass sparingly. It’s lighter than you think.” He gave her the prosthetic to hold. “While the metal does weigh more than an arm of flesh and bone, the wearer will eventually get used to it through exercise and practice.”

  Abigail pressed a plate down inside the forearm’s cap, where the amputation site would depress it. She watched the fingers close into the palm. She released the plate, and the fingers unfurled once more.

  Dr. Valerian took the prosthetic hand again. “Depending on how the plate is pressed, the hand can curl into a fist, one finger can point, or the digits can be used to hold an eating utensil.” He depressed the plate to demonstrate all three movements. “But as I said, it takes practice.”

  Abigail pointed to another model in the cabinet. “You make armored devices for people who don’t require artificial limbs.”

  “I have clients as well as patients. My clients are wealthy sporting gentlemen who commission weapons that are extensions of their hands and legs. Catering to their occasional order allows me to provide services for some patients that could not otherwise afford an artificial limb.”

  Struthers came to the open door of the office. “Doctor, Mr. Carney is here to see you.”

  “Send him in.” Dr. Valerian closed the cabinet. “Miss Benton, you’ll find a brown leather-bound notebook on my de
sk along with a pencil. See that you take notes.”

  Abigail went to retrieve the items. When she turned around, a man of stocky build, dressed in a brown suit, stood at the door.

  Dr. Valerian greeted him. “Mr. Carney, do come in.”

  The man ambled into the office. Abigail saw the gleam of a metal hook extend from his right coat sleeve. “Hope I’m not late for my appointment, Doctor.” His voice belied an Irish lilt.

  “You’re on time. Have a seat.”

  Mr. Carney noticed Abigail. “I haven’t met your missus, have I?”

  She started to correct him, but Dr. Valerian beat her to it. “Miss Benton is my new assistant.”

  “You don’t say?” Mr. Carney settled into an armchair. “What happened to your old one?”

  “Mr. Pickens put in his resignation. But Miss Benton has worked both as a nurse and physician’s assistant before she came to my practice. She is very dedicated to the field of medicine.”

  Dr. Valerian’s statement sounded almost like a compliment. Abigail decided to take it as such. “How do you do, Mr. Carney?”

  The man nodded to her. “Improving bit by bit. I’ll be even better when I find something to replace what the surgeon gave me.” He displayed the hook and made it open and close. “Hurts my arm every time I move. What do you think, Doctor?”

  Dr. Valerian had him remove his coat and roll up his shirt sleeve. He inspected the hook and the straps that clamped the man’s arm. “The prosthetic is ill-fitting. See how the straps must be tightened to the point where they chafe the skin?”

  “The surgeon said that the skin would be red for some months.”

  Dr. Valerian shook his head as he removed the prosthetic. “That shouldn’t occur once the amputation site is healed. Miss Benton, bring me that model we just looked at before Mr. Carney arrived.”

  Abigail stopped writing in the notebook to go to the cabinet. She lifted the prosthetic metal hand from its place and brought it to him. She observed him adjust it to fit the train conductor’s forearm.

  “Now, Mr. Carney, in the same motion that you used to open and close the hook, I want you to move the fingers of this model.”

  He curled his new hand into a fist. “Well, look at that.”

  “Good. Try to grab your coat off the chair.”

  He was successful after two attempts. “I can go back to directing the trains, I can.” Laughing, he dangled his coat in the air by its sleeve.

  Abigail couldn’t help but smile as she witnessed the man regain some of his dexterity and much of his confidence. Dr. Valerian nodded with satisfaction, but he remained sober.

  “It will take time for you to master the movements, but after that, you can return to your work. You’ll need to have a model custom made.”

  He proceeded to schedule his patient for a second visit for measurements. Abigail recorded the date in the ledger.

  Mr. Carney reluctantly gave the prosthetic model back to Dr. Valerian and returned his hook to his forearm once the visit was concluded. “This visit was worth the trip from Birmingham. I’ll see you next week, Doctor.” He set payment on the desk. “And you as well, Miss Benton.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carney,” Abigail replied.

  The train conductor gave Dr. Valerian a conspiratorial look. “I like her better as your assistant. Much nicer to look at.”

  Dr. Valerian cleared his throat. “Have a good week, Mr. Carney.” He saw him to the door.

  Abigail hid a smile as she finished recording the last of her notes. She looked in the record book and saw that another patient was due to arrive in the next ten minutes. She straightened the chairs in preparation for his arrival.

  The second patient was a former admiral in the Queen’s navy. Having lost his left leg to a case of gangrene at sea, he arrived to get the custom artificial limb that Dr. Valerian made for him. Abigail took note of how he expertly fitted the former admiral with the mechanical limb and gave instructions on how to walk with it, a task that took patience, considering how the limb’s pressure plates and pulley mechanisms needed to work in tandem to allow the wearer to move.

  Yet, at noon, the admiral stepped out of the office a contented man, on his way to no longer being inhibited by the stilting movements of a wooden leg.

  “That concludes the morning patients,” said Dr. Valerian after he had left. “We’ll break for noonday meal.”

  Abigail followed him out of the office. She smelled something savory coming from the front of the house. Expecting Dr. Valerian to go that way, she was surprised when he pivoted in the opposite direction.

  “Appointments will resume at one o’ clock. I have four more patients and a client to see,” he said as he stopped before another door and unlocked it with a key. Without further word, he vanished behind the door and left her standing in the short hallway. She heard his footsteps descend stairs.

  Abigail went into the vanity closet to wash her hands and returned to the hallway, all the while wondering why Dr. Valerian had left so quickly.

  “Pardon me, Miss Benton. Lunch is served. Follow me.”

  She looked to the doorman Struthers after he addressed her. Abigail left the hallway. She saw that he and another domestic employee, a cheery-faced, middle-aged woman of medium height and stout build, set a tray in the dining room.

  Abigail took her seat in front of the table, stealing a glance behind her to see if Dr. Valerian would reemerge from the door of what had to be the cellar.

  Struthers introduced the other employee. “This is Mrs. Struthers, my wife. She is the cook and housekeeper.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Struthers,” Abigail greeted Struthers’ wife.

  “Call me Maria.” The woman’s warm smile was in stark contrast to her husband’s detached air. She poured tea into Abigail’s cup.

  Abigail unfolded her napkin and set it upon her lap. “Should I wait for Dr. Valerian?”

  The skin crinkled around Maria’s brown eyes as she squinted down the hallway. Struthers made a sound and she promptly shook her head. “The doctor takes his meals while he’s at work,” she replied quickly.

  Abigail thought that work was over, at least for an hour. What was he doing in the cellar?

  Maria lifted the tray to reveal soup and a Cornish pasty of beef for one person. She and Struthers departed, leaving Abigail alone with her food and the soft crackling of the fireplace. Abigail noticed that they did not venture to the cellar with a second tray of food.

  She ate and lingered over her tea for the remainder of the hour. At five minutes to one, she heard Dr. Valerian emerge from the cellar and open his office again. She folded her napkin on the tray before she stood up to join him.

  The afternoon brought more visitors to his practice. One of them was a member of a prominent London banking family, seeking to purchase a Christmas gift for his son, an avid gun collector. He chose an iron wrist cuff that allowed a hidden derringer to unfold.

  Abigail recorded in the ledger the very lofty sum he paid before proceeding to prepare the office for the next visitor.

  As the afternoon wore on, she became very tired. Dr. Valerian meant what he said about her not being able to sit longer than a couple minutes during business hours. She rubbed the small of her sore back when she was sure he wasn’t looking.

  “Business hours are concluded for this evening, Miss Benton,” he said, after the final patient departed. “I will see you tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. Tuesdays and Fridays I lecture at the college and I must be there early to assemble my presentation.”

  Abigail lengthened her stiff spine when he came to take the ledger from her. “You don’t see patients on Tuesdays and Fridays, then?”

  “In the afternoon. The office remains open for an additional two hours.” He began locking the cabinets. The day’s activity did not appear to leave him fatigued, but rather energized. He moved quickly, his back straight. Miraculously, his clothing remained starched and pressed as it appeared at the start of business that morni
ng.

  Abigail positioned her borrowed miniature hat back into place where it began to droop over her ear. “I will be here promptly at eight-thirty.”

  Dr. Valerian said not a word as he locked the last cabinet. Did he even hear her?“Have a good evening, Doctor.”

  “Yes, good evening.” Distracted, it seemed, he returned to the middle display cabinet to unlock it. He removed one of the incomplete mechanical arm models and brought it over to the desk to inspect under the lamp.

  Abigail slipped from the office and went to the front of the house, where Struthers waited with her coat. She thanked him, donned the coat, and ventured outside. Her back and feet ached as she started the walk home. She wondered what the next twenty-nine days of being in Dr. Valerian’s employ would have in store.

  Chapter 8

  Christmas Day

  Nearly a month passed since Abigail came into Dr. Valerian’s employ. In that time, she attended four lectures, straightened both his home office and the one at the college at least ten times apiece, learned how to take measurements of patients being fitted for various prosthetic devices, did the bookkeeping, and became acquainted with several of his more frequent visitors.

  All this, and Dr. Valerian still remained taciturn, as though he merely tolerated her being in his employment. Would she still have her job after tomorrow, when he was supposed to give her an evaluation on her state of permanent employment? She wondered what all he was storing up to evaluate her on.

  But today was Christmas, and she could rest from work. A week before, Abigail received an invitation from her sister to visit on December 25th. She welcomed the opportunity to see family again and celebrate the holiday.

  Hammond answered the door when Abigail came by on Christmas morning. He called back into the house, “Catherine, Abigail is here.”

  The sound of little feet pattering ensued. Instead of Catherine coming to greet her, Phillip and Winnie burst past their father and all but leapt onto Abigail like a pair of capuchins. Laughing even as she sought out her balance, she wrapped her arms around the children. Her hands clung to a tied parcel and two wrapped packages, one in red and the other in green.