by Scott Mackay
I wasn’t satisfied with this. ‘Might I remind you, sir, that her last name happens to be Reynolds, not Purcell.’
Olive Wade arrived a short while later. As a wealthy heiress, she did not have to work, but did so as a midwife and occasional nurse from time to time out of a sense of civic duty and compassion. She was a creature of ethereal loveliness. Every time I saw her, my heart contracted with passionate arrhythmia.
Her blonde hair was tied in a bun and her blue eyes were wide with concern as she entered my surgery. She offered me her hand and I, Tennessee gentleman that I was, raised it to my lips and kissed it.
‘I’m relieved you’ve come,’ I said.
‘Where’s our patient?’
‘In the exam room.’
Munroe took her coat and we went inside.
Miss Wade approached Marigold and took her hand. ‘Have no fear, my dear. Dr Deacon will have you well and on your feet in no time.’
‘You know each other?’ I asked.
Miss Wade nodded. ‘I teach Marigold piano from time to time.’
Miss Reynolds gazed at the midwife as if she were an angel descended from on high. ‘Miss Wade, I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘There, there, dear. When I heard it was you, I came immediately.’
We got the patient draped and prepped in the usual fashion, then anesthetized the theatre of activity with eucaine. Olive operated the speculum, allowing me the access I needed. I thoroughly scraped the remaining products of conception from the patient’s uterus with a curette, then applied copious amounts of tincture of iodine. Once this was done, I packed and dressed the various willow-inflicted wounds to my satisfaction, and let Olive finish with some external dressing while I wrote my note.
For all my thoroughness, time, and care, I was still worried. And when a doctor was worried, the final stop in his treatment algorithm was the hospital. I finished my note with admission orders to Sisters of Charity in Buffalo. Once I was done, I went out and told Mr Purcell my plan.
‘You must take her to Sisters of Charity by the night train.’
This distressed him considerably. ‘But the night train doesn’t pull in till just after two in the morning. And I have an important meeting with some business associates from New York at eight.
‘You’ll have to change those arrangements, sir. The situation is grave. She’s lost a good deal of blood. She needs expert medical attention in a hospital setting.’
Mr Purcell turned to Miss Winters. ‘Flora, girl, you’re going to have to manage this yourself, all right? I can’t put this meeting off. I’ve got a hundred thousand dollars riding on it. Leach will give you money. Get her on the night train to Buffalo, and then take her to the hospital. Is that clear, young miss?’
Miss Winters gave Mr Purcell a timorous nod. ‘Yes, sir.’
Later, after they had gone, I asked Miss Wade, ‘Do you have any notion if Miss Winters is up to the task of getting our patient to Buffalo?’
The midwife nodded. ‘She’s a most capable servant, Clyde.’ Miss Wade’s eyes narrowed. ‘You really think Marigold was with child? And that an Oneida practitioner might have terminated her pregnancy?’
I tapped my fingers against my desk a few times as I considered the case. ‘I’m sure of it. Has she ever mentioned a beau in her life? During her piano lessons?’
Olive looked out the window at the November mist. ‘Marigold mentions a great many things, Clyde. She’s entirely capable of carrying on a conversation all by herself.’
‘And does she talk of boys?’
‘Oh, yes. Prattles on about them ceaselessly. Which ones she likes, who’s the richest, the strongest, the smartest, the most handsome.’ Miss Wade’s pretty blonde brow furrowed. ‘But now that you mention it, there is one boy in particular she mentions often. I’ve seen him waiting by the fence during music lessons.’
‘Who?’
Outside, I heard snow falling against the window.
‘Billy Fray.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I was so sorry to hear of his father’s passing.’
I was surprised by the coincidence. Billy Fray, still not found, was now linked to two tragic events in one day, the death of his father, and the death of Marigold’s unborn baby. ‘Would you think the child was his?’
‘Assuming there was a child?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wouldn’t know. Certainly Marigold never told me about it.’
A short while later, I had Munroe bring Miss Wade’s trap around. The two of us stood at the door waiting. Olive came up to me and put her arms around me. I put my own around her.
‘Did you get your invitation to Dr Thorensen’s Christmas party yet?’ she asked.
‘I did.’ Then I chided her. ‘Do you know if Everett Howse is coming?’
She gave me a playful pat on the chest. ‘Clyde, there was never anything serious between us.’
‘Except a rather unfortunate summer romance.’
‘I believe Everett will be spending Christmas in New York.’
‘Ah. You see? The humble country doctor triumphs.’
She grinned. ‘You haven’t triumphed yet.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘But you’re getting there.’ Munroe drove up in her trap and we disengaged. ‘You’re getting there just fine.’
THREE
Mr Wilfred Hurren, the assistant manager of the Exchange Bank, was a slight man in a grey three-piece suit. He had a showy watch chain, and, incongruously, a black eye-patch. He greeted me cordially, and when he learned I was on official county business, ushered me into his private office with an air of importance he was careful to display to all the other bank employees.
Once seated, I explained to him that I was investigating Cecil Fray’s suicide, and that both the sheriff and the undertaker had indicated money troubles. I proffered paperwork. ‘This document from the county courthouse allows me access to his financial records. As Mr Fray did his banking here, I thought you might be kind enough to shed some light on the matter.’
Hurren took the document and glanced it over. ‘Of course, doctor.’ He put the paperwork down and looked at me with his one good eye. ‘Glad to be of help. And Edmund and the sheriff are right. I’m afraid Mr Fray was under considerable financial strain. He was coming every month for a loan. I did what I could for him. But in my last meeting with him I told him the bank couldn’t continue to extend him credit, and that he had best start making good on the loans we had already made. As well, Mr Purcell had been raising his rent every three months for the last year.’
‘Ephraim Purcell owns that building?’ I considered this an interesting coincidence as well, the Frays and the Purcells, tied together in yet another unexpected way.
Mr Hurren nodded. ‘He bought it a year ago. He wants to tear it down and put up a warehouse. It’s in a prime location, right across from the railway station, so putting up a warehouse there makes a lot of sense.’
I thought this through. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds like a pressure tactic.’
‘A pressure tactic? In what way?’
‘Raise the rent to get Mr Fray to move out so Mr Purcell can tear it down.’
‘It’s not a tactic, Dr Deacon. It’s a sound business plan.’
‘To force a man out of his home? He and his son live in the rooms above.’
Mr Hurren frowned. ‘I’m aware of that. But Mr Purcell has every right to raise the rent on that building. When he bought the place, it was far below average for that stretch of North Railway Street and he was just bringing it in line. He gave Mr Fray plenty of warning that he was going to raise it, and was kind enough to phase in the increases quarterly.’ Mr Hurren shook his head. ‘I was constantly advising Mr Fray to find a cheaper building because it was perfectly apparent to me that he couldn’t afford the increases, but he didn’t want to leave, and kept believing that the money would turn up somewhere.’ Hurren shrugged. ‘And so he dug himself a rather large hole, not seeming to understand that money has to be made, and that it
doesn’t just turn up.’
Ephraim Purcell’s primary Fairfield business, the New York Hard Goods and Clothing Emporium, was just down the street from the Exchange Bank. As it was close by, I thought I might glean further information about Mr Fray’s financial disarray from his landlord, and so stopped by to say hello to Marigold’s stepfather.
I made my way to the back of the emporium past bins, displays, and shelves of various merchandise. I paused at the hat display. Seventy-five percent off. Every week it was the same thing. A hat sale, and only a hat sale, as if Purcell had a tick about hats. They were good hats, too. I fingered the rim of the nearest derby. He couldn’t be making money. Why was it always hats? I shook my head. We all had our eccentricities.
I continued on until I came to his office at the back. I knocked, and Mr Purcell, dressed in his usual three-piece business suit, a scowl etched across his face, looked up at me from his desk through the open doorway as if I were a great imposition upon his busy day.
‘Doctor. Good afternoon.’ His greeting was about as friendly as a drawn pistol.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Purcell. Do you mind if I have a word with you?’
His scowl deepened. ‘I have a very few minutes. I’m scheduled to meet with Mayor Vanduzen at two o’clock about some zoning issues.’ He made an assumption. ‘You’ve had word from Sisters of Charity about my stepdaughter?’
‘No. I’m here on business of a different nature.’ I glanced into the store, taking careful survey of the curious shopgirls who had drifted to the rear of the emporium, ostensibly to dust the ceramic-ware but really to eavesdrop, then turned back to him. ‘Perhaps I could come in?’
He looked at me with some interest now. He lifted his chin, took a deep breath, and acquiesced with a wave of his palm. ‘Very well. Come in. I hope your business won’t take longer than five minutes.’
I went inside and took the seat in front of his desk.
I was surprised by how old and well-used the furniture in his office was. For a man of Mr Purcell’s wealth, I would have expected more luxury. All the pieces, except one, dated from the 1870s, and looked as if they had been repaired and reupholstered many times. The only new piece – and this surprised me even more – was a parlor organ of thoroughly seasoned oak, profusely carved and ornamented with the latest and most popular design.
He caught me looking. ‘I see you admiring my instrument, Dr Deacon.’
‘Indeed, Mr Purcell. Do you play?’
He nodded. ‘Music was my first passion. That organ is the best money can buy. I had it shipped all the way from England. It’s my one indulgence.’ His tone grew a little more expansive. ‘After the toil of the day is done, I sit and play for the girls while they do their final clean-up.’ He raised his brow. ‘I understand you’re a violinist.’
I deferred with modesty. ‘I’m a rather imperfect fiddler.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps we’ll take a few hours together one day, then?’
‘Perhaps we might.’
‘Your business, doctor?’
I gave it an appropriately solemn pause.
‘I’m sure you’ve heard of Cecil Fray’s demise?’
His brow rose and he nodded solemnly. ‘I sometimes envy Edmund Wilson his choice of occupation. There is never any lack of custom.’
‘You own the building where Mr Fray had his smithy?’
‘I do. In fact, it’s the reason I’m meeting the mayor. I want to have the property re-zoned for warehouse use.’
‘I understand Mr Fray couldn’t afford the rent.’
Purcell sat back. ‘Mr Fray couldn’t afford a great many things, doctor.’
‘So sad. It was his home. It appears you were forcing him out.’
The drawn pistol came back. ‘If you’re suggesting he took his life because his landlord was trying to make a decent return on his investment the way the rest of the landlords along that stretch of North Railway do, I resent it. I gave Mr Fray plenty of warning that I was going to raise the rent once I took deed of the building, and that I would do it gradually so he could make adjustments. It’s not my fault he didn’t go looking for another building. One must take care of one’s business, Dr Deacon. I take care of mine constantly, and I can’t be held accountable if Mr Fray didn’t take care of his.’
FOUR
Thinking it had been unfair to impose upon Olive Wade to be my nurse – it hadn’t been the first time – I placed an employment advertisement in the Fairfield Newspacket later that afternoon. I bought space for the same ad in the Buffalo, Rochester, and Syracuse newspapers, and in this way hoped to cover all of Western New York.
A few days later I had three applicants sitting in my waiting room. I interviewed all three, and found all three wanting.
Then a fourth came along. She was a lot more promising.
Her name was Henrietta Gregsby. In her letter of application she indicated she was twenty-three, and hailed from Sodus Point, New York, a beach and spa community a few miles west of Rochester on the south shore of Lake Ontario. She had an open, pretty face, brown eyes, and a white smile. She spoke pleasantly about herself.
‘I was trained in Philadelphia. When I first graduated, I worked with a private practitioner, Dr Emmett Cousins, in my hometown of Sodus Point. Unfortunately, after six months, Dr Cousins suffered a stroke.’
‘How terrible.’
She nodded. ‘It was.’
‘Naturally you couldn’t continue at his practice.’
‘No. And as Sodus Point is a small community, I had to seek employment elsewhere. I found it at Rochester City Hospital. I’ve been employed there for the last year, primarily in the birthing center, and so have wide obstetrical experience. Nothing gives me greater joy than bringing a new life into the world, doctor.’
I warmed to the young woman. ‘That’s certainly an asset in my practice, Miss Gregsby. I deliver a lot of babies. But I’m worried.’
Her lovely brow rose. ‘I quite understand if you find my qualifications insufficient. I realize I’m still in my first years as a nurse and have much to learn.’
‘It’s not that, Miss Gregsby. I just wonder why you left Rochester City Hospital in the first place. It’s a renowned hospital, one presenting a great many opportunities to an ambitious young woman like yourself.’
She looked away. For several seconds she seemed sunk in dark remembrance. She then shook herself out of it.
‘Something sad happened to me there, Dr Deacon, that’s all. I can assure you, it had nothing to do with my professional life. I suffered a loss. A dear friend of mine died. In such a case, a change of scene is sometimes advised. I availed myself of your advertisement and took the train to Fairfield. I’m pleased to say I’m charmed by your town.’
I restricted the rest of the interview to professional concerns, and was relieved to see Miss Gregsby understood the duties and privileges of a private-practice nurse well. She even had knowledge of many of the most recent medical advances, including antiseptics, X-rays, and germ theory.
Over and above that – and my ardour for Olive Wade notwithstanding – I was drawn to the young woman. Despite the sad events of her recent past, she seemed a cheerful creature, and one who would be a conscientious addition in the day-to-day running of my surgery. And if she reminded me of my poor dead Emily, so young, so innocent, I suppressed those feelings under my professional exterior and remained Dr Deacon, a town physician who was in desperate need of a nurse.
As we concluded, I told her I would take the lunch hour to think about it.
‘Take longer, if you wish, doctor. I’ll be staying at the Grand Hotel. My train doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning.’
After she was gone, I put my DOCTOR-IS-OUT sign in the window and crossed the Culver Street footbridge over the canal to Court Street, hoping to find Stanley in the Sheriff’s Office.
On my way, I felt unsettled, even noting an increase in my heart rate. No doubt about it, Miss Gregsby was reminding me of Emily. I thought of
Miss Gregsby’s smooth cheek and how it was much like Emily’s. Her hair had the same chestnut tones that Emily’s had had. Even her eyes were big and almond-shaped like Emily’s.
I found Stanley in the Sheriff’s Office labouring on paperwork.
‘I’m about to hire a new nurse,’ I announced, ‘and I want to get your thoughts on the subject.’
I told him about Henrietta Gregsby. As I waxed movingly about her dark eyes and hair, and how she made such a graceful figure in her shirtwaist, puff sleeves, and trimmed hat, Stanley put his pen down, leaned back in his chair, and locked his hands behind his head.
‘I do believe you like the young lady, Clyde.’
‘Only in a professional sense.’
‘And all this time I thought you had a decided fondness for Miss Wade.’
‘My fondness for Miss Wade is still a decided one.’
‘And that Miss Wade had a fondness for you.’
‘I believe she does.’
He unlocked his hands, leaned forward, and put them on the desk. ‘So instead of asking me what I think of Henrietta Gregsby, maybe you should ask Miss Wade what she thinks of her. At one time, I believe you planned on asking Miss Wade to be your nurse.’
I shifted in my chair. ‘What prevented me was her summer-vacation with Everett Howse. Her time away with the young assemblyman left me confounded.’
‘And not just as your nurse, but also as your intended.’
‘Yes, that’s true, too.’
‘And while I can see that you’re dang near ready to ask Miss Gregsby to be your nurse, I can’t understand why you haven’t asked Miss Wade to be your wife yet. What’s taking you so long?’
I looked out the window, shifting in my chair yet again. On Court Street, I saw a wagon going slowly by, a boy sitting on its open tailgate dragging a stick. I wondered how we had so suddenly found ourselves on the prickly subject of me dragging my matrimonial heels with Miss Wade.