The Five Step Plan

by Elizabeth Welsford

She laughed even harder now. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Dr. Whitcraft quit speaking and frowned. “You know, I never would have brought this up if I’d known you would react this childishly. Usually you are unaffected by my professional talk.”

  She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I had no idea this was even an issue. How long have you been working on this?”

  “For the better part of three weeks now, and I’m afraid I’m no closer to a solution than when I began. I’ve read everything on the subject, conferred with other doctors, I’ve had female test subjects queued up in my office, but still…no results to even speak of. The contraption I built to manage the job fell off of my desk and is in pieces. I don’t think I can bear to reconstruct it, as it never seemed to work, anyway.”

  “Well, you have been going about this all wrong. The first person you should have come to when you began this endeavor was me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. Me.” She threw off the sheets and stepped out of the bed making no effort to cover herself. She walked to the dressing table and poured herself a glass of brandy. She held out an empty glass. “Are you still abstaining?”

  “Where is your dressing gown? You just got over a serious illness and now you are parading around without a stitch of clothing on! Good Lord!”

  “I’ve been perfectly fine for at least two weeks…and do you know that out of the few gentleman acquaintances I see, you are the only one who complains about my candid nature. You are really very stodgy for a young man,” she teased, with one hand on her hip.

  Mrs. Minnock was a petite woman, fair and freckled, unquestionably impressive for her natural, unembellished beauty. It seemed impossible that someone so young was already a widow. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-eight years old.

  She shook her head before taking a long sip. “I can solve your problem, you know. I happen to know how to guarantee a successful…what did you call it, again?”

  “Paroxysm?”

  “Yes. That. I know how to assure one every time, and in less than ten minutes.”

  Dr. Whitcraft laughed and shook his head. “Would that were true…”

  “I’m serious.” She dropped her hand from her hip. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that I make it my business to know such things?”

  “We are talking about medicine, for goodness’ sake. Medicine! Not the amorous pursuits that are within your domain of expertise.”

  “Oh, I see. Isn’t medicine the reason you’re here? Don’t you love to tell me that you partake in my services out of a medical need to keep the humors of your body in balance?” Mrs. Minnock rolled her eyes then walked to her door. She leaned out into the hall. “Lilly? Would you come in here, please?”

  After a moment, a sleepy young girl wearing nightclothes entered the room, completely unfazed by the nude state of Mrs. Minnock.

  “Lilly would you object to being part of a demonstration here for the good doctor?”

  Lilly shrugged, watching the red-faced doctor pull the blankets up to the underside of his chin. She giggled. “I thought he was a conventional sort of fellow.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that. This is medicine, right Dr. Whitcraft?” Mrs. Minnock winked and turned to Lilly. “Have a lie down next to the doctor, dear, so I can show him something.”

  ****

  “Extraordinary!” Had he been clothed, Dr. Whitcraft would have jumped to his feet. “You are telling me that with those five steps you can achieve this exact result every time?”

  “Of course. I said you should’ve come to me first. Lilly, my dear, you can leave us now.”

  Lilly’s face was still flushed. She swallowed hard before sitting up on the edge of the bed. She tossed her hair back and staggered her way to the door, picking up her discarded dressing gown and dragging it behind her.

  As the door shut, the doctor blurted, “Where on earth did you learn that?”

  “From my husband, of course,” Mrs. Minnock sat herself down on the bed. “I’ve told you about him. He was a sea captain and traveled extensively, the darling, all over the world. God only knows where he picked it up, but he returned from an expedition one year and surprised me with that.” She smiled at the remembrance. “Most men would have brought back a trinket of some kind, I suppose… I never dreamed it had a medical application.”

  “My goodness! How often did he do that to you? It could have been dangerous! Something as forceful as that could put the inner workings of the female anatomy into complete disarray. Repeated paroxysm in an otherwise healthy patient could induce strangulation of the uterus and possibly cause hysteria. You are lucky to have escaped your husband’s whimsy intact.”

  “Oh please! There’s nothing dangerous about that. You saw Lilly. She’s happy as can be. She’s probably going back to bed.”

  Dr. Whitcraft sat up, his bare chest exposed now, his hands interlocked while he puzzled and calculated. “Regardless, I must be able to reproduce those steps. Frankly it looked a bit complicated…but you must teach me to do it!” He shook his head. “You get that same result every time? In less than ten minutes?”

  “Of course. I can get the job done under five, actually, but that would require the introduction of an object—one your society women may not appreciate.”

  “Oh good Lord, no!” He reduced his tone to a whisper. “If I were to attempt this…there must be no….infiltration, you see…of any kind.”

  “You saw for yourself, there was plainly no inner access. Good gracious.” Mrs. Minnock climbed back under the blankets. “Give it a try on me if you like…I’m not afraid of the dangers.” She brought herself closer to him. “Oh, you’re right. I was cold.”

  She shivered, but the doctor’s expression was impatient. “All right, all right...” She threw off the covers and looked at him with a bemused smile. “Give me your hand, and I’ll show you…”

  ****

  Dr. Whitcraft dashed into his office and flung himself into his chair. He had knocked over a stack of books on the floor, but he didn’t care because he must begin writing at once, while it was all still fresh in his mind. He scribbled a few crude diagrams at first, with a paragraph of explanation after each. But he must make certain to accurately delineate each of the five steps. He could go back and redo the drawings, adding more detail later.

  As he wrote, he laughed out loud in the empty office. It was too good to be true! It would change the practice of treating hysteria…it would change his entire life. But he had to test it, and rigorously, too before he dared publish anything.

  He must reproduce the maneuver on his patients tomorrow. He had two hysterics already booked as it happened, but he needed more. Perhaps he could call on Dr. Vorago and Dr. Scamble. They would certainly give him a crack at their hysteria patients if he let them keep the fee…oh he couldn’t wait! He paused, tipping his chair back to gaze up at the ceiling. After a moment of giggling, he spoke out loud with deliberate enunciation.

  “The Maneuver. The Whitcraft Maneuver.”

  Chapter Six

  Dr. Whitcraft smiled at his first hysteric of the morning. She was a rather thick woman in her late forties who had been cursed with melancholy since the sudden death of her husband several years ago.

  “That’s it, Mrs. Junters.” He spoke in his most cheerful voice as he helped her onto the table. The woman had a tendency to be suspicious of anything novel, so he would have to approach her with extra sensitivity. “There you are. Now, Mrs. Junters, your treatment is going to be a little different, today.”

  “Different?” Her eyes followed him as he made his way around the examining table. “Should …should I be nervous, doctor?”

  “Why no, not at all.” He pulled the drape over her legs, struggling to couch his excitement in well-rehearsed professional detachment. “There’s a little something new I’d like to try…something that may make this whole business go very much faster. But remember, relaxation is key.” He sat at the foot of the table and took a de
ep breath. “So let’s just give it a go, then, shall we?”

  Truth be told, Dr. Whitcraft was even more nervous than she. He desperately wanted this to work on an actual patient like it had so astonishingly well last night on Lilly and Mrs. Minnock.

  He began to roll up his sleeves, but then stopped. It was all there, right in front of him, but the five steps. What if he got them out of order? Once you began you couldn’t stop, and starting over could ruin the whole process.

  “Just a moment, please, Mrs. Junters.” He jumped to his feet and hurried to the basin where he had left his notes. He shuffled through them, mouthing out each step. Yes…that was it, he thought, glancing at his patient who was staring at the ceiling.

  Then an idea occurred to him. Surely she would never know if he cheated and used his notes. He only needed one hand for the maneuver, and perhaps it wouldn’t be too unprofessional if he held his notes with the other. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see what he was up to, anyway.

  Decision made, he tucked the notes behind him and strode back to the table. He leaned over and smiled at his patient, even as his heart thundered within his chest. “All right then, Mrs. Junters. Let’s have at it.”

  He sat down, studying the first page. With renewed confidence, Dr. Whitcraft drew in a breath, reached out and began step one, which was probably the easiest step. Step one was never the issue. Step two had him more concerned, but regardless, the first step appeared to be going exactly as it had last evening. He glanced at his notes and then back to the patient. Those elaborate diagrams had really paid off.

  He couldn’t see Mrs. Junters’ face. Her silence had him a bit concerned. Nevertheless, a few more goes and it would clearly be the moment to commence step two.

  He needed to flip the page, but managing the notes with a single hand proved to be more difficult than he had imagined. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed the first page with his teeth and then eased it free with his little finger.

  He exhaled and leaned around for a quick peek at his patient. All appeared well in order. Then, just as Mrs. Minnock had showed him, he silently counted out four beats, and with quick inversion of his wrist, began step two. Perfect.

  He brought the notes to his mouth again and bit at the top page, but it crumpled between his teeth, and the two sheets behind it slipped away. One went right…the other left, both drifting underneath his chair. He cursed to himself. Now when it was time for step three, he may have to play it by ear!

  All right, he breathed, trying to calm himself. He could do this, but he had to relax. It was all going so well. He just needed to focus.

  ****

  “Dr. Vorago! Man, I’ve done it! I’ve really done it! Tell me you have some hysterics scheduled this morning for pelvic massage! You have to let me at them!” Dr. Whitcraft was still breathing hard. He had run all the way from his office after his second hysteric, Mrs. Fussock, had been successfully dispatched…and in such a grand fashion!

  “Well, no, I only do mine in the afternoons, to save the wear on my—”

  “Oh, well you won’t have to worry about that anymore! I’m coming back after luncheon and you have to let me do it! I did two this morning already, and they each took less than ten minutes!”

  “Oh now, come on…” The loose skin under his chin wagged as he shook his head.

  “I’m telling you, you’ve got to see it! The Whitcraft Maneuver! It’s going to revolutionize this whole business!” Dr. Whitcraft clapped his hands together, rocked forward on his toes and then back onto his heels, beaming with the sheer delight of it all.

  Chapter Seven

  Dr. Whitcraft had been performing The Whitcraft Maneuver for nearly three weeks, and had already acquired ten new hysteria patients. He purchased four additional reception room chairs, as the women had begun complaining about the standing-room-only condition of his office. It was an extraordinary expansion of his practice, and he and Miss Faffle were only just managing to keep up.

  There had been victims of his success, however. Mr. Lask, one of his original patients, struggling with severe gastric distress, had appeared in his office without an appointment. Because the doctor had been fully booked with hysteria patients, Mr. Lask was forced to wait for his paregoric. The man’s discomfort became so urgent that he had no choice but to make a run for it and relieve himself in the street.

  He had returned to the waiting room shame-faced, pale and dejected, his hosiery irreparably soiled. All the strewing herbs in Miss Faffle’s possession were of little use to adequately freshen the lingerings of Mr. Lask’s inner disharmony, and the mood in the doctor’s office had become dour, indeed.

  That situation aside, Dr. Whitcraft managed remarkably well. In addition to his mornings filled with hysterical women, he still had responsibilities in The London Hospital every other afternoon. Any free moment in between was reserved for house calls, often to even more prospective hysteria patients. It was a frenetic, yet exhilarating pace.

  On this afternoon, he had just entered the house of another such patient: a hysteric recommended to him by Mr. and Mrs. Wedfellow.

  “Would you care for anything, doctor?” Mr. Pannade stood in an open posture as if on stage, a hand placed on his right hip while he swirled a brandy glass with the other.

  “Oh, no thank you, sir,” Dr. Whitcraft said, surprised he’d been asked. He selected the most reasonably placed chair in the parlor and sat on its edge. He smiled and nodded at Mrs. Pannade.

  She was a bony, colorless woman dressed in a bland, high-necked frock and sat with her knees locked together. Her eyes darted from her husband to the floor, then into her lap and finally to Dr. Whitcraft, until agitation forced them elsewhere.

  Her husband, in contrast, strode across the room while his brandy splashed over its brim. He sank his large frame into the settee and smiled at their visitor, cocking his head just enough to make his wavy blond mane ripple. His frockcoat, waistcoat, and blousy shirt were in descending shades of violet; a patterned green and yellow silk was tied around his neck and bundled into a bloom, obscuring his double chin. He grinned at Dr. Whitcraft.

  How had this unlikely couple ever found their way into matrimony? Dr. Whitcraft adjusted his spectacles.

  “Now, Mr. Pannade. I understand that your wife has been under the care of a physician for the last several years, is that correct?”

  “Yes, the man’s name is Hurple. In fact, I feel almost dishonest having you here, like we are going behind his back, but I am at my wit’s end with Mrs. Pannade’s suffering.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with seeking a second opinion, Mr. Pannade. I’m not personally acquainted with Dr. Hurple, but I’m certain that any man of science understands the necessity of seeking different opinions. He has diagnosed Mrs. Pannade as suffering from hysteria?”

  “Yes, of course. A most severe case.”

  “I see. How long has she been ill?”

  “Hmm. I believe the symptoms began at least five years ago, isn’t that right, dear?”

  Mrs. Pannade nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “The man has tried numerous remedies. She has a specific diet that she must follow, and the purgatives, of course. Pelvic massage treatments and such. She’s even taken in the waters at Tunbridge Wells, which seemed to lift her spirits, I’d say, but that ended shortly after she returned.”

  “And you accompanied her, then?”

  “No, of course not. I have important business that keeps me in London,” he said into the glass just before draining its remaining drops.

  Dr. Whitcraft looked at Mrs. Pannade. Her agitation seemed to have waned, but now her shoulders hung in a listless slump. Poor woman. She looked exhausted.

  “Please explain, as best you can, what symptoms you have observed in your wife, Mr. Pannade.”

  “Take a look at her now and see for yourself. She’s miserable. Cries day and night, you know, over nothing at all, although I do believe she has headaches on occasion. Believe me when I tell you that she ta
kes no joy in life. No joy at all.” Mrs. Pannade’s pale features shrank into her face as her husband spoke.

  “No joy?” Dr. Whitcraft’s brows furrowed.

  “If I wish to partake in even the tamest social occasion, I must go alone. I do have many male friends of course. I’m an avid theatergoer, you know…historical recitations and reenactment. Pantomime, mimicry…dumb shows and whatnot. Of course I never turn down a late evening soiree.” He seemed wistful as he described these events, looking off to the side and pausing at their remembrance. His smile diminished as he refocused on the doctor. “Not that I enjoy leaving her behind, mind you, but if she would make just the slightest effort, maybe I’d consider bringing her along a time or two. Oh, but I shouldn’t judge.” He drew in a breath as he studied his wife. “Isn’t it true, dear, that you’ve also had difficulty sleeping? She cannot seem to sleep, doctor—at least that’s what she’s told me.”

  “That is correct.” Her voice sounded brittle, as if it hadn’t been used in ages. “I can’t recall the last time I had a good night’s sleep.”

  “How is your appetite?”

  “I have no appetite.” She looked at the floor.

  “How long has that been an issue?”

  “Oh, since I’ve known her.” Her husband rolled his eyes and adjusted the lace around his right cuff. “And she’s liable to expel anything she does manage to get down.”

  “I see.” The doctor rose. “If it would be all right, Mr. Pannade, I’d like to have a moment to speak to your wife…in private.”

  “Oh. Why of course.” Mr. Pannade stood as well. He set the empty glass on the side table. “I know she’ll be in excellent hands.” With that, he turned and sauntered past his wife, exiting through the double doors.

  Dr. Whitcraft followed his path and pulled the parlor doors closed. He turned and watched Mrs. Pannade pick at the handkerchief in her lap, lacing it in between her fingers.

  “Mrs. Pannade,” he began in his most gentle tone. “I want to reassure you that I’m very familiar with women suffering these types of symptoms. There is nothing you could tell me that would shock or surprise me. If I am to take you on as a patient, you must feel absolutely free to be honest with me about your symptoms, or anything else, for that matter.”