He abruptly turned back to his newspaper. “How many patients do we have this afternoon?”
“None.”
His head popped up. “None?”
Abigail couldn’t help but take a vengeful pleasure in his dismay. He had hurt her with his blunt dismissal of everything she’d said, when she had anticipated something so different from him. “You sound surprised, but surely you’ve been aware that we’ve slowed down considerably. We haven’t gone to any events lately. We’ve not made any new contacts.”
“It’s true I’ve been a bit preoccupied, but so many of the ladies are away for the summer anyway. All right, why don’t you place another advertisement in the New York Clipper. A few more of those theater types wouldn’t be such a bad thing in a slow season.”
“As you wish,” she replied grudgingly as she rose from her chair. “I’m going to straighten up the reception room—if anyone cares.” She left him engrossed in his paper, shutting the door behind her with a bit more force than necessary.
She made her way down the narrow hallway, feeling so terribly let down, as thoughts of her father flooded her mind. She couldn’t remember him ever refusing to treat a patient, regardless of the circumstances. There was a time when Abigail had wanted so much to be like him. The urgency of her desire to help Riana proved that at least part of her still did. But she was not a doctor. She could do nothing on her own. There were people who needed her, yet she was unable to help them. As for the twins, they would go under the knife tomorrow—unless there was someone who could stop it . . .
“Lillian, can you hear me?”
Abigail pulled the Strowger close, leaning forward in her desk chair until her lips were nearly on top of the mouthpiece. Franklin was still reading his paper in the next room.
“I hope this isn’t a bad time to call, but I desperately need to talk with you. It’s about the twins—”
The line was full of static.
“I couldn’t hear you, Abigail.” Lillian’s voice sounded faint. “You’d think they could do better with these connections.”
“How about now?” Abigail asked, cupping her hands around the mouthpiece, afraid to speak any louder for fear that Franklin might hear her. “Now?”
“Much better, yes. You know, it’s funny that you telephoned. I was planning to call you! I’m having a little party tomorrow night in celebration of Joe’s fiftieth birthday. I was hoping that you and Frank could make it. I realize it’s awfully gauche to invite you on such short notice. But please say you’ll come. I know Joe would be devastated if you didn’t join us.”
Though the invitation seemed suspiciously like an afterthought, it was a godsend. If she and Franklin were off to Scarsdale tomorrow, surely it would be impossible to operate on the twins.
“I’m certain there’s nothing else on Dr. Rome’s schedule for Saturday. And even if there were, neither of us would think of missing such a special occasion.”
“Then it’s settled! You’ll stay with us overnight.” Lillian paused as the interference on the line crescendoed, then faded. “But you were calling me about something?”
In light of the twins’ temporary reprieve, Abigail decided to approach the matter of their surgery with a bit more finesse. “I never had an opportunity to offer my congratulations. I understand that you and Joe are planning to assume guardianship of the twins. I just wanted to say that if there’s anything I can do to help—”
“Abigail, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Valencia and Melilla—”
“Yes, I assumed that’s who you meant. But this business about guardianship—where did you ever get such an idea? Joe has procured them for the Radcliff Institute.”
Procured them! And what exactly was the Radcliff Institute? “Are you referring to Joe’s museum?” Images flashed through Abigail’s mind—twisted babies in bottles, the giant and the dwarf and the two-headed skeleton, keeping their silent watch over the dark room where Joe’s growing collection of human oddities resided.
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Lillian said lightly. “Joe has decided to combine the museum with a research laboratory. I’m sure you remember those gentlemen you met at our house—Dr. Genworth and Dr. Sorrel? They’re going to help him set everything up. Joe thought to call the whole enterprise simply the Radcliff Institute. So it will be the Radcliff Institute and the Rome Institute—each in its respective wing. After all, north is north and south is south, and never the twain shall meet!”
“But Lillian—” Abigail felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “I thought you were very fond of the girls. And Dr. Rome said you’d always wanted children.”
“My goodness! You really couldn’t have thought I would want to take on a responsibility like that—not at my age! Or any age, for that matter. The Siamese twins are fascinating, but that’s why they need to be studied. The doctors from Indiana seem intrigued by the opportunity. Joe is quite excited about it as well.”
“Does Baron Rutkowski know about this?” Abigail said, barely able to speak. The word laboratory had sent shivers down her spine.
“Ludwik? Obviously, he doesn’t care. Joe must have offered him a lot of money for the twins. My husband wanted them badly. But I don’t get involved in those things, Abigail. It’s not my place.”
“But do you know where he went?”
“You mean Ludwik? To London, so I heard. But dear, don’t you worry about the twins. Joe still plans for Frank to have them for his grand opening. He’s excited about their surgery. He says it will help make a name for both institutes—Radcliff and Rome.”
Abigail closed her eyes, trying to grasp the enormity of all that Lillian had just revealed. It was certain that Ludwik would never have given up the twins if he understood why Joe wanted them. Either Joe had lied, or Ludwik hadn’t given up the girls at all.
They’d been stolen from him.
“You wouldn’t happen to have an address for Ludwik in London, would you? There was something he asked me to look into for him—something to do with his photography. I never had the chance to tell him what I’d found out.”
“I have no idea how you’d locate him. But I could ask Joe—”
“No, please don’t! It’s not that important.”
“Very well, then. Maybe you can ask him yourself tomorrow night. We’ll look forward to your company. The festivities begin at seven, but please get here early. Oh—and tell Frank not to say a word to Joe. The party is a surprise.”
“No, not a word.”
CHAPTER 19
Abigail sat at the dressing table in the Radcliffs’ guest bedroom, Lillian’s young maid deftly styling her hair in marcel waves.
Her eyes wandered to the tall window that overlooked the meadow and the horse pastures. Low clouds hung like powder puffs in the gray-blue sky of early evening, the plaintive cooing of a mourning dove heralding the day’s end. Such a peaceful setting and yet her thoughts were anything but tranquil.
She should have talked to Franklin, told him what she knew and what she suspected, but somehow she could not bring herself to do so. Was she so afraid of what he would say? Afraid of being disillusioned yet again?
She had seen a side of him yesterday that profoundly disappointed her. That he should find Riana undeserving of care simply because of her unfortunate circumstances went against everything Abigail had always believed about a doctor’s moral duty. Yet Franklin’s lack of charity should not have come as a surprise. She’d known all along the nature of his ambitions. What right did she have now to suddenly find them unworthy?
Regardless, she had already resolved that tonight she would tell him everything—about Paddy, the stolen purse, the dog bite. She would explain why she was so worried about Ludwik and the twins. Perhaps he would be able to make sense of what she could not.
She supposed it was even possible she might be wrong about Ludwik. Could he have deceived her, convincing her that he was a man of compassion and loyalty when actually he had always intended to pr
ofit from the twins? Perhaps he had only been trying to drive a harder bargain when he first threatened to leave Scarsdale with the girls. Perhaps—and this was the most difficult of all to accept—his injuries might really have been an accident.
This sudden attempt to reverse her intuition felt uncomfortable. She did not believe she had misjudged Ludwik. Yet, if she intended to approach Franklin with her concerns, she must be prepared to be flexible. Otherwise, he would surely be unwilling to reconsider everything on which his mind already was so firmly set.
“Would you like me to help you dress now, ma’am?”
Abigail came back to herself with a start. “Yes, thank you.” Dressing for the evening was such an ordeal, and tonight she wasn’t in the mood. But it must be done—and quickly. It was already six thirty.
The maid helped Abigail with her corset and corset cover, then her petticoat, and finally her gown. It was an exceptional dress fashioned from chiffon and lace in spring green, with an intricately beaded waistband and flowing train. It would have been impossible without assistance to fasten the tiny covered buttons that ran all the way down the back.
When they were finished, the young woman said shyly, “You look very beautiful, ma’am.”
Abigail hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “Do you know what the countess is wearing tonight?”
“No, ma’am. I wasn’t called to help.” The young woman smiled. “But I’m sure everyone will be noticing you.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a nod, grateful for the boost to her confidence. Tonight she especially needed Franklin’s approval—and his undivided attention.
Abigail hovered at the edge of the drawing room, impatient for Franklin to join her. While she waited, she took stock of whom Lillian had seen fit to include in such a special evening. She had assumed the Radcliffs to have a wide array of friends and acquaintances, but there were actually very few present. A couple of minutes earlier, Lillian had come over and provided a brief summary of the guests, promising that once Franklin arrived she would introduce them properly.
There was Sheriff Ray Hunter, a short, bullish-looking fellow with fat jowls and a thick neck, who oversaw the entire police department of the neighboring county seat, White Plains. The very patrician-looking Mr. August Means, president of the Scarsdale Town Club, was accompanied by his wife, whose thin, drooping face wore an expression of perpetual complacency. Mr. Frederick Eaton was Joe’s attorney. Observed from afar, his abrasive manner made it easy to imagine him intimidating some poor, confused witness on the stand. Finally, and disturbingly, Dr. Genworth and Dr. Sorrel were among the select few; they had brought with them another man, similarly grayed and bespectacled. His name was Dr. Cornelius Whittaker.
“Sorry I’m late,” Franklin said, coming up behind her.
Before she could ask what had taken him so long, she saw that Dr. Whittaker was making his way toward them. She sensed by the directness of his approach that he had some serious purpose in mind.
“Dr. Rome, a pleasure,” he said, giving Franklin’s hand a light shake. “And this must be Miss Platford, your assistant. I’ve heard quite a bit about both of you. All of it fascinating.”
Abigail nodded her acknowledgment, uncomfortable at the way he squinted at her from behind his round eyeglasses. What could he possibly have heard about her, and from whom?
“You’re involved in the same kind of research as Drs. Genworth and Sorrel?” she asked cautiously.
“I’m a psychiatrist, Miss Platford. I run the state asylum in Indiana.”
She remembered well what Dr. Genworth had said: at the urging of eugenicists, the Indiana legislature had passed a law providing for the involuntary sterilization of inmates at state institutions. She could only assume that Dr. Whittaker must have approved the plan as well.
“I understand that tremendous strides are being made in your field,” Franklin said amiably.
“Yes, that’s true. Of course, there are many facets to psychiatry. My particular interest is psychopathic personalities. Such defects, whether congenital or acquired, present a huge problem.”
“Forgive me, but exactly what kinds of defects are you talking about?” Abigail asked, curious as to how wide a net he would cast.
“There are several classifications, actually. Born criminals are one, but also pathological liars and those driven by what we call basic compulsions. One of the most interesting, in my view, is pedophilia erotica—the unnatural sexual attraction of adults to young children. It has been well known throughout history, but we are only now beginning to recognize it as a true psychopathology. I’m working on a paper dealing with this very topic, which I anticipate will be published within the year—a series of highly unusual case studies.”
Abigail was unexpectedly pleased to hear Dr. Whittaker speak of the abuse of children as pathological behavior. Society too often was accepting of it, or at least had not done nearly enough to combat it. Still, she couldn’t help but mistrust him. It was enough that he had come here in the company of Dr. Genworth and Dr. Sorrel.
“But what about you, Dr. Rome? Have you published any of your work in the field of—”
“Transformative surgery.” Franklin had fallen out of the habit of using the more formal term, but he clearly wished to make a favorable impression on Dr. Whittaker. “No, I’ve not published. There remains a very strong bias among the medical establishment against the kind of work I do; I imagine you must be aware of it. While I’ve developed a number of exciting new techniques, so far they remain proprietary.”
“That’s a pity. I do feel that knowledge, especially in the medical field, should be shared openly. It’s to the benefit of our patients that we do so.”
“I agree. As a matter of fact, I’m in the process of designing an operating theater that will be able to accommodate up to thirty spectators in the gallery. In time, the Rome Institute will be world famous, and transformative surgery will be recognized as the important advance that it is.”
“And when do you think this institute of yours will be completed?” Dr. Whittaker asked, raising one brow as he stroked his pointed beard.
“It’s only a matter of a few months, I’m sure. Mr. Radcliff and I haven’t set a date yet for the grand opening, but he’s as anxious as I am to bring our ideas to fruition.”
“And you’re still planning to operate on the conjoined twins from Spain?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Hmm, interesting . . .” Dr. Whittaker took a sip of his champagne, which he’d not touched until now. “By the way, I’m going to be in Manhattan on Monday morning for a conference. I wondered if I might stop by your office around three to meet the twins.”
“If I might ask, Dr. Whittaker, what is your interest in the girls?” Abigail interjected, mindful of Franklin’s quick scowl in her direction. “Not professional, I assume.”
Dr. Whittaker turned to her with a subtle smile. “I hear you’ve developed a certain interest in them yourself, Miss Platford.”
“Yes, I’ve become quite fond of them.”
“Miss Platford is a most compassionate young woman,” Franklin added hastily. “If it were up to her, she’d turn my office into a charity hospital.”
The two men chuckled, both of them regarding her with patronizing smiles. She smiled back, silently fuming.
“Society already has enough charity cases on its hands,” said Dr. Whittaker. “Just imagine if all the resources devoted to caring for those with degenerative disorders could be used to further improve the health and education of the fittest and most productive among us. What a boon it would be for the human race.”
“But then your services as a psychiatrist would no longer be needed,” Abigail said. Clearly, Dr. Whittaker shared the views of his colleagues from Indiana, which was enough to make her dislike him intensely.
“Very true, but there’s no chance of that happening in my lifetime, I assure you.” He turned back to Franklin. “So are we settled on three o’clock Monday, at your of
fice?”
“That should be fine. The best place for your interview would be my apartment. It’s just above the office. There will be no interruptions there.”
She was about to ask Dr. Whittaker again why he wanted to meet the twins, but just then Ronnie rushed into the room, holding her finger to her lips to signal quiet. A minute later, Abigail heard heavy footsteps in the hall, and then Joe came into view, seemingly on his way somewhere else until a resounding “Surprise!” stopped him in his tracks.
He turned toward the drawing room, throwing his arms up in the air. “What in the name of . . .” He started to laugh. “My dear Mrs. Radcliff, what have you been up to? Didn’t I tell you I’d decided not to get any older?”
“But you rejected the alternative as well,” Lillian replied with a smile. “Age has its rewards, and one of them is the companionship of like-minded people. And so I thought to console you on the eve of your fiftieth birthday with a little gathering of friends.”
“And what a fine job you have done!” Joe exclaimed, glancing around the room with a benevolent expression. When his gaze finally fell on Abigail and she tried to smile, she found that her lips were immovable.
“If you’ll both excuse me,” Dr. Whittaker said, “I think I’ll go over and wish Mr. Radcliff a happy birthday.” He turned to Franklin. “I’ll look forward to stopping by your office on Monday.”
“By all means.”
She was glad to see him leave—and terrified at the idea of his meeting with the twins. She turned to Franklin with an air of urgency. The time had come to reveal what she knew and ask for his help in finding out the rest.
“Franklin, we have to talk. I heard something yesterday from Lillian that—”
Suddenly, the butler appeared in the doorway to announce that dinner was ready to be served, and, like an obedient herd, the other guests began moving en masse into the hallway.
The Beauty Doctor Page 27