And hewouldapologize. If and when he saw her again.
He clutched his pocket watch in his fist, as if that simple act could encourage time to pass more quickly.
11
The door snicked open the next morning.
Alex raised his head, wondering if Lady Charlotte had at last returned.
But it was only Michael Smithson, doctor’s bag in hand.
“How fares the patient today?” Michael’s words were the very ones Alex had said more times than he could count when greeting a patient. Michael, at least, accompanied them with an ironic smile.
“Bored,” Alex replied, stifling a sigh. “Likely to bite your head off.”
“I have heard a similar report,” Michael laughed, setting down his bag. “I’m glad to see you are honest.”
Lovely.
The servants were talking.
Or worse, Lady Charlotte herself.
Shame washed through Alex. He wasn’t this person.
Yes, he struggled to deal with the abrupt change his injury had brought, but there was no need to take his frustrations out on others.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face.
“Have a care for yourself, Alex.” Michael’s eyes were understanding. “You suffered a dreadful injury only eight days ago. Though, knowing you as I do, you must already be going mad with boredom.”
“Putting it mildly, I should say.” Alex managed a mirthless laugh. “I have come to the shameful realization that I have been abominably unfeeling toward my own patients as they recuperate.”
Michael grinned and began inspecting the cut on Alex’s head and the scrapes along his ribs.
“All healing nicely,” he declared. “How’s the leg feeling?”
“Achy. Itchy. Restless.”
“That sounds about right. Your lack of fever is reassuring, too.” Michael nodded. “I’ve been giving some thought to how to best secure your leg going forward. It would be nice to free you from the bone box. I’m sure you’ve heard about the bone-setting work of Monsieur Seutin during Waterloo—”
“His starched bandages?”
“Yes. A splint covered with bandages dipped in starch. It is said to provide excellent support for the healing limb. It could provide you with more freedom of movement.”
“Aye, I’ve heard Seutin’s bandage is strong but excessively heavy. I’d love to get about on crutches. But in order to do that, I need to have a lightweight, strong splint.”
Michael frowned, pondering the problem.
“Have you read the accounts of Benjamin Gooch and his splint?” Alex continued.
“Gooch?” Michael sat down. “Seems like he wrote one of our surgery textbooks?”
“Aye, that too. But he developed a clever splint from slats of wood, leather, and metal bands. Basically, it creates a barrel-like cage around the leg that holds it immobile but should be light enough to hobble around on crutches. Most importantly, it can be removed to clean the leg when needed.”
“It sounds fascinating.” Michael folded his arms.
“I’ve been wanting to try it with patients for a year or two now, to see if the brace will truly hold the bone immobile enough. I’ll draw up specifications for a carpenter and blacksmith to create one for me. We’ll let the bone heal for another two weeks and then move me to the lighter brace and, fingers-crossed, it will work.”
