She leaned towards him, voice lowered, a fine knit of lines worrying the skin between her eyebrows. “It is a bit daunting, all those glass tubes and wires and such.”
“Not to Mr. Peckwood.” Shoving aside his own earlier doubts, Graham gave her a small smile, hopefully putting her more at ease. “I assure you the doctor is in complete command. Did you know he worked with Sir Humphry Davy?”
Her eyes widened. “The famous lecturer?”
“One and the same.”
“I was told that a one-way system was put into place on Abermarle Street just to cope with the traffic his discourses generate.”
Clearly the woman was up-to-date on the minutiae of London. Exactly how much intelligence resided behind those striking brown eyes?
“That is true.” He nodded. “Though with Sir Humphry’s recent travels, he hardly has time for speaking anymore. I did have the pleasure once of attending a lecture of his, though my view was abysmal and the crush of the audience intolerable.”
“Now then.” Mr. Peckwood cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “In effort to loosen the skin so that it will more easily conform to the new size and shape the skull is soon to be, I have formulated my own special unguent, which is to be applied before every treatment.” He lifted a brown jar on his open palm and began to massage a pasty balm into Colin’s skin.
Miss Balfour leaned forward. “What ingredients make it so special?”
“Tut, tut, Miss Balfour. Your father paid me to perform my healing arts, not to give away my formulations.” Peckwood dipped out one more fingerful before screwing the lid on with a flourish.
Graham hid a smirk at the man’s theatrics. Judging by the tingling in his nose, he’d bet his pocket watch the special blend was nothing more than camphor and peppermint oil mixed into a healthy amount of goose fat. Not harmful, but certainly not an agent to loosen skin… unless the calming qualities of both suggestion and scent were his underlying goal?
While Peckwood finished his ministrations, Graham faced Miss Balfour, making the most of the opportunity to speak with her. He enjoyed this woman’s conversation, her quick mind, her willingness to speak her insights. Though he’d only known her several days, he’d come to learn she knew what she was about, yet with an air of humility, and such a quiet confidence was altogether fascinating.
“How is your foot faring, Miss Balfour?”
Her gaze turned to him. “Still grievous, but nothing I cannot live with, especially thanks to the crutch you sent over.”
“I suspected that crutch or no, you’d be ambling about.”
One fine brow lifted. “You hardly know me, Doctor.”
“No, but I do know myself. I’d rather take a bullet to the head than to have to sit still for days on end.”
Her other brow climbed to meet its mate. “So you think us kindred spirits after only a few meetings?”
“Suffice it to say I noted that you are one who is not given to warming a couch cushion for overlong. Neither am I.”
“Then perhaps we do have much in common.” A smile curved her lips, the effect at such proximity so alluring he averted his gaze lest he stare. Well. This was quite the pleasant change of pace from working with crusty seamen.
“And, now.” Peckwood set down the jar and picked up a large pair of calipers. “Before setting the conductors, it is important I take a series of measurements in order to determine the best placement. Mr. Lambert, your assistance, please.”
Leaving Miss Balfour, Graham rose and retrieved a small notepad from his pocket. As Peckwood called out numbers, he wrote them down. Through it all, Mr. Balfour sat still as a sphinx.
“Thank you, Mr. Lambert. Next I shall indelibly mark the touchpoints.” He held out his hand. “The marking device.”
Graham handed over a thick, pen-shaped utensil, then collected a squat glass bottle of thick black ink.
Mr. Balfour glanced at him and Mr. Peckwood, a wry twist to his wide lips. “I never thought to be a canvas for artwork.”
“When I am finished with you, Mr. Balfour, you will be a true source of inspiration.” Stooping, Peckwood set about drawing a series of smallXs at what appeared to be random intervals, then straightened and returned the pen and ink to Graham. “And there we have it. Now, for the first session. Mr. Lambert, pay particular attention.”
The doctor gathered the octopus of felt pads and, one by one, painted the rims with a sticky substance smelling of pine. Some sort of gum, no doubt. He placed them over each mark, until all were attached and Mr. Balfour looked like he was tethered to a monster that could siphon the soul from his body.
Peckwood turned to Graham. “Step back, if you please, Mr. Lambert.”
He retreated, close enough to be of service and observe the process, yet far enough that should something go wrong, he’d not be burned or blinded.
A series of dials lined a small control board. Graham watched intently as Peckwood twisted one after another, but curiously, the doctor’s hand paused on the last. His index finger twitched slightly, then he turned the knob nearly all the way to the right.
