“Thisispreparation, and I insist you absent yourself from this day on.” He removed his spectacles and pulled out a handkerchief, rubbing a lens as if his glasses were of the utmost importance.
“I will not be told what to do in my own home, sir.” She clenched her hands so tight her knuckles ached. “Neither will I stand for your condescending—”
“Enough!” Colin pulled off the tethers attached to his head and rose, towering above them all. “It is the four of us who began this process, and it is the four of us who will see it through to the end. I will have it no other way, nor will I brook any further discussion about my sister’s presence. If she wishes to be at my side, so be it.”
Mr. Peckwood peered up at him, his jaw clenching rock hard. Did the short fellow really think to stand up to her fearsome brother? Colin could break him in half without exerting any effort whatsoever.
“As you wish,” Mr. Peckwood ground out, then shoved away his cloth and reseated his spectacles. “Whatever puts you most at ease.”
“Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall go lie down. I feel a bit jittery.” He pivoted, but hardly a step later, his left foot dragged and he stumbled.
Before Mr. Lambert could reach him, the older doctor rushed to Colin’s side, shoring him up with a strong arm. An odd sight, that, the pygmy supporting the behemoth. “I will accompany you, Mr. Balfour. A sleeping draught is in order today, I think. The first treatment is always the worst.”
Amelia watched them go, heart squeezing. Had she made the right choice in enforcing her father’s wishes, or was this all a horrible mistake? And if the latter, could she even talk Colin out of it, now that his mind was set on the course?
“Here, Miss Balfour.” Mr. Lambert’s low voice tugged her gaze away from the door. He stood inches from her, crutch in hand, worry in his eyes. “Are you quite all right?”
She reached for the crutch. “Nothing a stout cup of tea won’t cure.”
But that was a falsehood. Not even a cup of tea would soothe the underlying worry. She tipped her head towards the towers and cables on the table. “Must my brother endure such violent spasms?”
The doctor shook his head. “I fear Mr. Peckwood, in all his enthusiasm to bring about great change, neglected to begin at a more temperate level.”
Hmm. Would such exuberance transform Colin or ruin him?
“Perhaps this was a bad idea,” she murmured.
“Pardon?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. There was no possible way she could explain such double mindedness to this man of science. She barely understood such conflicting thoughts herself. Turning her face, she limped over to the contraption and touched one of the tethers. “Will you show me how it works?”
“Of course.” He joined her side, his scent a curious mix of sage and lemon. “These glass towers are voltaic piles, sometimes called electrical cells or batteries. When two metals and brine-soaked cloth are arranged in a circuit such as this”—his finger followed from tower to tower—“an electric current is produced.”
She bent, her gaze skimming the discs behind the glass. “Light and dark,” she murmured, then straightened. “Copper and zinc?”
His eyes widened. “Very astute, Miss Balfour.”
“I am no great mind, sir. My travels have simply taught me to pay attention and absorb as much as I can.”
“Then I revise my opinion.” Pleasure deepened his tone. “You are astuteandhumble.”
His kind words went deep, and it took an effort of will to keep her eyes on the glass-and-metal puzzle before her. Most men scorned her intellect. Ridiculed or outright shunned her for speaking of anything other than needlepoint or flowers as proper ladies must. Even Mr. Moritz, her champion at Krebe Books and Journals, ofttimes slanted her a demeaning frown when she let too much information pass her lips. What made Mr. Lambert so different?
“So, now that you know where the power originates, you can see that it travels via this wire, which attaches to the conductors that connect to your brother’s head. It is actually a pretty simple machine.”
“Yes, not as formidable as it looks, I suppose.” She looked from the silk-wrapped wire to the doctor. “Yet I fail to understand how it prepares Colin for his upcoming surgery.”
“Besides the issue of your brother’s scarred skin, it is Mr. Peckwood’s belief that his yellow bile is out of balance and must be brought back into harmony before the surgery can be safely performed.”
“Air. Water. Fire. Earth. Yellow bile is…” She bit her lip, searching her scant knowledge of medicine, then glanced at Mr. Lambert. “Fire?”
He flashed an approving smile, altogether handsome and addictive. “You are familiar with the four humours, then. Yes, it is fire that associates with yellow bile. And electricity is a far safer form of heat, more concentrated, easier to pinpoint. And this, right here, is where the intensity is adjusted.” He pointed at the farthest dial of three.
The information surged fresh hope through her veins. Perhaps Colin didn’t have to suffer after all. She stared at Mr. Lambert, fearful yet compelled to know more. “Then might not the intensity be turned down? Would Mr. Peckwood agree to such an alteration?”
The doctor said nothing as he brushed his knuckles back and forth along his jaw, his fingers bristling his shorn beard. Each pass, each consecutive moment of silence shaved layers off her newborn hope. And rightly so. After the way Mr. Peckwood had berated Mr. Lambert for interfering earlier, she doubted he’d be the man to persuade the older surgeon to do anything he didn’t wish to do.
At length, Mr. Lambert dropped his hand and met her gaze. “Mr. Peckwood was here today for setup and the first treatment. It is his wish that from now on I administer your brother’s treatments…which means he need never know what adjustments I make.”
