The Five Step Plan

by Elizabeth Welsford

  His mouth twitched a bit and he turned back to the girls, considering the notion with a raised eyebrow. After a moment, he spoke. “Well, that is different.”

  He scanned each of their lovely personages now with intense deliberation, like a man who had finished his meal and been presented with an assortment of sweets on a tray.

  “I think I’ll take…hmm. Why don’t I take that piece over there. The little one with the auburn hair. Yes. And which one of them did you say was from Marseilles?” Three ladies pointed to a girl with long dark hair standing on the stairs. “Yes, I’ll try that one. And I’ll not pay a penny above my normal price.”

  “Yes, of course.” Mrs. Minnock made no attempt to hide her disgust as Missy and Michelle made their way to either side of the gentleman, and escorted him up the stairs. She sighed and took Corrine by the arm, pulling her toward the hall. “How long has he been in there?”

  “I don’t know. At least a few hours. You cannot imagine the state he is in.”

  They arrived at the door to her room, but the lock had indeed been engaged. She knocked softly. “Dr. Whitcraft? This is Mrs. Minnock. You are in my room, and I need you to let me in…this instant. Do you hear?”

  There was a slight scraping from the interior, and perhaps too the sound of labored breathing, but it was difficult to make out anything else.

  “Dr. Whitcraft?” She knocked again, but there was nothing. She turned to the girls who had gathered behind her. “Sally, would you be a dear and go fetch the key ring from the top middle drawer in my desk?”

  A young girl wearing too much rouge dashed off. Mrs. Minnock put her mouth right next to the door, managing to keep her tone constant and calm. “This won’t do, doctor. Whatever is troubling you, I’m sure there’s a solution.”

  Sally returned with a jingling ring of keys. Mrs. Minnock sorted through them, finding just the one.

  “Ladies, please leave us.” She unlocked her door with a sharp click. The door swung open, but the ladies stood in place, each holding her breath as they rose to their tiptoes with choreographed synchronicity. What they saw was appalling.

  Dr. Whitcraft lay facedown on the floor, his arms flung out to the sides, his naked legs white and exposed, his trousers collected in a bunch around his ankles. He sported a rumpled and torn hospital gown where his waistcoat should have been, and had a ragged bandage loosely encircling his head like an unwound turban. An uncorked and nearly empty bottle of brandy lay just beyond the grasp of his right hand.

  A variety of gasps escaped the audience of girls.

  “Oh my goodness, Corrine, help me!” Mrs. Minnock rushed in and dropped to his side. She shook him. “William! William?”

  She rolled the doctor over and was shocked to see his eyes open and blinking behind his glasses. He had a ridiculous smile plastered on his lips.

  “Mah darling,” he crooned upon seeing her. The alcohol content in his breath made her eyes water, and she pulled away and turned her head. “Corrine, get on his other side and help me. Can you stand, William?”

  He cackled as he attempted to sit up, squinting at her. “Can I stand? Ssssstand? You know what I can’t sssstand?” His words were thick, his movements slow and his bruised face distorted with emotion. “I can’t ssstand that awful, aud-audacioussss teller of lies.”

  “Let’s put him on the bed.” Mrs. Minnock struggled to lift one side of his dead weight while Corrine puffed and heaved with the other.

  “Yes, l-let’s put him on the bed,” he echoed while the cluster of enthralled girls watched from the doorway, a most receptive audience.

  After several steps, he seemed to become cognizant that it was Mrs. Minnock’s lovely form that he leaned against. A wry smile spread across his face. He rolled his head toward her and began nibbling at her neck, all the while cooing, “Mahhh dahhhhling.” His legs gave way and he dropped to the floor with a thud.

  “Oh!” Corrine yelled, appalled at the unnatural position in which he now lay, the top half of his body folded over the bottom, the way a manservant might fold a suit to fit it into a valise.

  “Stand him back up! We’ve almost made it,” Mrs. Minnock managed to say, perspiration adding a pleasing glow to her already flushed face.

  For a moment, they all believed him to have fallen into unconsciousness because his eyes were shut and he had ceased moving. But as they hoisted him onto his feet once again, his eyes snapped open. “I won’t stand for it, I tell you. I’ll not—” He stopped speaking and seemed puzzled now that he had managed to focus on the exhausted Mrs. Minnock.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” he inquired.

  “Drop him,” she said, and down he went, on the bed.

  “All right. Out! Everyone out this minute.”

  The girls recognized their mistresses’ tone, and promptly evacuated the scene.

  Mrs. Minnock sat on her bed, feeling it shake while he jerked himself into a comfortable position. She kicked off her shoes and noticed his soiled waistcoat draped across her dressing-table, next to the empty decanter toppled on its side.

  She reached behind herself and skimmed her fingers over the doctor’s bandage and through his disheveled hair, but her voice was stern. “What a sorry display, William. Would you care to tell me what this is about?”

  She waited for an answer, but turned to see that it was pointless. His body was drained of all animation, other than the deep, guttural snores emanating from his open mouth. She sighed, rising and making her way to the foot of her bed where she paused for a moment and contemplated each bruise, tear and bloody smear on his clothing. With the lightest touch, she slid the doctor’s bunched trousers over his battered feet and smacked the garment with her hand as she held it in the air, waving the dust cloud away. She folded them once, then twice and set them on her side table. Next, she eased off his glasses with her fingertips, and placed them next to his trousers.

  Considering the man in her bed once again, she lifted his bandage away from his forehead. She winced at the ugly gash that it hid, and bit her lip as she dropped next to him on the bed. He didn’t move when she held his hand.

  Clearly, she would have to wait several hours to find out what in the world had happened to cause this most extraordinary transformation of her stodgiest client.

  ****

  Mrs. Minnock was the very picture of gentle encouragement as Dr. Whitcraft confessed every excruciating detail of what had caused him to regress into such a pitiful state. His recitation of events would periodically slow to a trickle and then stop, at which time he’d rise from her bed and reveal a most unhealthy complexion. Then he’d dash out of the room and stagger back a few minutes later, his ashen face now flushed, his filthy hospital gown hanging over his body, the partially unwound bandage dangling in a strip from his head; the doctor looked like a wretched and abused patient as he dropped back down beside her and continued his pathetic tale.

  After a half an hour of this cycle, he concluded by describing how he had come there to find her, and became distraught at her absence, thus proceeding to drink every drop of her brandy straight out of the decanter. From that point on, he could remember nothing.

  Having purged himself of his tale, as well as a great many of the impurities from the night before, he lay motionless, sprawled flat like an empty shell atop her blankets, utterly drained and staring into the ceiling.

  She wasn’t sure if he was conscious as she lay next to him, letting the astonishing details of his story hang in the air like smoke from an explosion. Finally, she spoke. “William, that has to be the most unbelievable thing I have ever heard. What kind of a man would do such things…to you of all people? And I thought I’d heard everything.”

  The doctor groaned in reply, and tossed his arm over his face, wincing at the pain he had reignited in his forehead.

  After some time, she asked, “Weren’t there other professionals, other doctors who knew that it was your maneuver? Why didn’t anyone speak up on your behalf?”

  He
was silent for a moment. Finally he said, “Dr. Vorago knew it was mine, of course, but he was with me in Paris, and probably still doesn’t know about all this. And the others…that fiend listed me as a research assistant in the article. Maybe they assumed we were working together, I don’t know. Who knows what he’s been telling people?”

  “What if you contacted the editors of The Lancet and told them about his treachery? Surely they would print a retraction.”

  He put his head in his hands. “You know, I thought the same thing, when I first heard. I wanted to run over there with all of my notes, my work, prove that it was mine, but while I was gone…” He choked on the words. “Miss Reave. Apparently, she came to my office when I was gone and collected everything. Every last reference to the maneuver is missing from my cabinet.”

  Mrs. Minnock’s frown turned into a wide-eyed look of rage, but she said nothing.

  He shrugged. “They know him at The Lancet, anyway, and would probably believe him over anything that I might say.”

  She was quiet. After a moment she whispered, “I suppose you’re right.”

  They lay there in silence and stared at the ceiling. Mrs. Minnock, though, wrinkled her forehead and chewed her lip. “William, I hesitate even to tell you this, but in deciding how to handle that wretch…well, I believe it is important that you know all the facts.”

  He turned to her with the face of a man being led in front of a firing squad. “Oh, oh no. Not more—”

  “While you were in Paris, Dr. Marplot…well, he came here. He sauntered into our parlor there, introduced himself to everyone and asked to see me. When I approached the man, he looked me up and down in the most lascivious of ways and said…well, he told me that you had referred him, to me specifically, and asked to engage my services.”

  At that, Dr. Whitcraft leapt off the bed, spun about the room, and shrieked as he dropped to his knees.

  “William! Get hold of yourself!” She jumped up as well. “He didn’t! Do you understand? He didn’t…I didn’t! It’s all right!”

  It took over ten minutes of repeated assurances before she was able to convince him that indeed nothing had happened. When he calmed down enough to formulate a sentence, he wheezed through his hands, “How could he possibly know about you? I never breathed a word to anyone.”

  “Oh William, there are no secrets in this town. You’d be shocked if you knew. I’m sure all he did was ask around.” She rose from his side and began to pace, her arms folded across her chest. “You know, when he mentioned your name, it was very odd, come to think of it. He called you the creator of the…I believe he said the illustrious three-step Whitcraft Maneuver, which I found odd…very odd.”

  “Three step?” he murmured from the floor, his face still covered by his hands.

  “Yes. I didn’t correct him,” she whispered, almost to herself, but then added, “oh, but Lilly did. She giggled about the five steps. Oh William, William.” She brought her hand to her face and suddenly looked concerned. She knelt beside him again. “Did he ever ask you how you came up with the maneuver?”

  He squinted at her. “I… What?”

  “Think, William! He must have asked you about your process…how you developed the maneuver.”

  “Yes, he did, actually,” he said, coming around. “On several occasions.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Well what could I say? I certainly couldn’t tell him I learned it from you! So I made up some nonsense about trial and error.”

  “Don’t you see?” she said. “That son-of-a-bitch figured out that you’d probably learned the maneuver from me, and came here to confirm his suspicions. That’s why he tried to get me to correct him about the number of steps, so he could be certain that you couldn’t defend yourself against his treachery.”

  He stood up, took a few steps and flopped down on the bed. “Brandy.”

  Mrs. Minnock got to her feet as well, and sighed at the defeated man on her bed. “I’m afraid your stock is gone and you drank all of mine.”

  “Get more.”

  She hated to abet the already-compromised doctor, but what else was there to do to provide the man some comfort? She walked into the hallway and spoke in a hush to the girls lurking by the door.

  When she returned, he was sitting up, legs swung over the bed, looking determined.

  “William? Are you all right? Are you going to be ill again?” She rushed over and at once contemplated the curious look of decisiveness in his eyes.

  “No. I’m simply going to kill him. That’s really the only thing to do, then isn’t it?”

  “Oh, now let’s not be absurd.”

  “I’ll challenge him to a duel. Or better yet, I’ll shoot him right through the skull as he lays there in bed.” His eyes were unnaturally wide as he spoke.

  “That’s ridiculous.” She put her hand on his arm. “Have you ever even fired a weapon?”

  His face sagged at that, and then the doctor threw up his hands and deflated back toward despondency. After a moment, he turned to her and asked with pleading eyes, “If he told you I sent him, why…why didn’t you?”

  She took a breath and patted his hand. “Well, now. There are two reasons for that. I knew when he strutted into our parlor that he was not to be trusted. Something about his eyes. And he was so pompous and full of himself. I never deal with men like that.”

  “Yes,” he said, eyes searching the floor, “I can see. What was the other reason?”

  Mrs. Minnock grasped his chin and lifted his face so that his gaze would meet her own. “William, I have been at this business for a long time. Too long, frankly. And in that time I can count on one hand the number of truly decent men that I have come across. You don’t treat me like a plaything…you treat me like a human being, and you never, ever would have recommended me to anyone, especially to someone like that. Never! I just knew you never would’ve done that.”

  Dr. Whitcraft sighed deeply, leaned over and withered in her lap. She steered his body back down on the bed just as Lilly opened the door.

  “Ah, look, William. Here’s our brandy. Two glasses, Lilly dear. Pour two, if you please.”

  Lilly did as she was told. Mrs. Minnock left the doctor’s side to collect the glasses. She took them and gestured with her chin for the girl to leave.

  “Here is your brandy,” she whispered, sitting back on the bed.

  But he didn’t take it. Instead he turned to her with tragically miserable eyes blinking wet behind his glasses. “I’m so glad you knew. God knows, I would never have done that.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ahh, look who is awake.” Mrs. Minnock smiled as she set down a tray at the foot of her bed. Dr. Whitcraft lay silent, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

  “I sent Lilly to pick up some of your clothes and a pair of shoes from Miss Faffle, who was beside herself wondering what became of you, by the way. They are over there on my dressing table. She assured Lilly that Constable Fettle has the crisis well in hand, and has talked his superiors out of charging you with the assault of… Well, of course you know who. And apparently Mrs. Pannade has been hovering around your office as well, but I suppose you don’t want to hear anything about that, do you?” She paused and studied him lying there unchanged and lifeless.

  “Today you are going to eat something, clean up, get dressed, and leave this room. That’s the plan,” she said with what she hoped would be a contagious optimism. He had been in a stupor for the last several days, too depressed and embarrassed to leave.

  “Look, I made you soft-boiled eggs and toast. I haven’t done that since my husband was alive, so count yourself among the privileged few who can elicit such a domestic response.”

  He sighed and continued blinking at the ceiling. Undeterred, she went over to the window and drew up the shade, causing golden morning light to flood the room. He winced and threw the sheet over his head. At least she had gotten a reaction out of him. Mrs. Minnock picked up a piece of his toast and gnawed on i
t.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking. I think you should let the bloody bastard have the maneuver. Let him have all of it.”

  He threw the sheet off of his head. “What? What the devil do you mean let him have it? Let him have all the credit that should be mine? I should just, just…let him take away my patients, too, I suppose. My livelihood, m-my house, not to mention my fiancée. And you? Even you?” His face had turned dark and he glared at her.

  “Oh come now,” she said with the firmness of a school marm. “First of all, that thing you call the Whitcraft Maneuver was never actually yours, as that bastard so cleverly discovered. It was mine. Where’s my name in your precious journal? Where’s my husband’s name? I like the sound of The Minnock Maneuver.”

  “Oh, don’t be absurd. You both couldn’t have dreamed of its importance to science.”

  “No, of course not, but if it wasn’t for me showing you the damn thing, you wouldn’t be lying there right now. None of this would have happened, and that ungrateful, capricious, spoiled young woman would have ended up as your wife. You should consider yourself lucky that he got her instead of you!”

  She put her hand on her hip and paused. She had meant to get him out of his stupor, but perhaps not like this. She eased her tone, and began again. “So here’s my plan. Let him have the damn maneuver. Let him have all the glories, but let him have the responsibilities, hazards and liabilities along with them, too. You yourself said it could be dangerous if performed inappropriately.”

  Dr. Whitcraft’s glare melted into a look of intrigue. “What are you getting at?”

  “How about this? Suppose women start dropping dead, and there is some speculation that it’s because of that bloody maneuver. I bet his practice would likely suffer as a result.”

  “No one is going to drop dead…except maybe me.”

  She picked up a piece of toast and handed it to him. “Sometimes it only matters what people think. So much so that it isn’t long before what people think eventually becomes the truth.”

  He chewed as he reflected on her words. “I am not sure if I follow you.”