She should not be in this room. Not while Dr. Smithson was slowly cutting off the boot. Not while Dr. Whitaker hissed in pain and sweat beaded his brow.
But . . . how could she leave before she knew?
Would they have to amputate his leg? When next she saw Dr. Whitaker, would there only be empty bed linens below his left knee?
Nausea roiled in her stomach. Her heart hurt in her chest. She rubbed the heel of her hand over her breastbone, as if she could somehow soothe it.
Would that she could soothehim.
It felt wrong to see Dr. Whitaker so. A weary veteran fighter out of commission, no longer able to assist in the field. He should be tending to others, not requiring healing himself.
And now to possibly face amputation?
Dr. Smithson continued working his knife slowly through the glossy leather.
Dr. Whitaker groaned and bit his lip, his hands grasping the counterpane.
Dr. Smithson paused his cutting. “I can give you something for the pain, Alex. Are you still adverse to whisky or gin?”
“Aye. No spirits.”
“Laudanum?”
“Definitely not.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Smithson bent over and looked his friend in the eye. “It would deaden the pain considerably.”
Dr. Whitaker set his jaw. “No. I willnae take any. No alcohol. No laudanum. Nothing.”
Dr. Smithson shook his head, as if he were well-acquainted with Dr. Whitaker’s stubbornness.
Picking up his knife, Dr. Smithson continued to cut through the leather.
To Lottie, it appeared as if Dr. Whitaker were desperate to remain silent through the ordeal. To bear the pain with stoic manliness. He clenched his teeth and set his jaw. But despite Dr. Smithson’s slow and careful movements, the agony of it forced out the occasional grunt.
Finally, Dr. Smithson succeeded in removing the boot. He gently untied the garter, and then gently rolled off Dr. Whitaker’s woolen stocking.
The doctor’s calf appeared, white and covered with sparse hair. Even from her vantage point, Lottie could see the sharp musculature of his leg, the purple bruising rising.
More to the point, the right side of his calf bulged unnaturally.
The sign of a serious break indeed.
Oh no.
Dr. Smithson gently probed the injured leg, feeling along the bone.
Dr. Whitaker groaned, back arching in pain, the heels of his hands pressed into his eye sockets once again.
Lottie held her breath.
Please, she pleaded.
Please let the break be clean. Please allow him to keep his leg.
Dr. Smithson continued his examination, hands running down the injured leg.
His shoulders sagged and he leaned forward, tugging Dr. Whitaker’s hand from his face.
