She frowned. For the sake of them all, how she wished they were already on the other side of the potentially deadly procedure. “Could you not shorten the time by performing the surgery tomorrow? You said yourself my brother is more than fit.”
“And so he is.” Mr. Peckwood nodded. “But I have a rather important engagement tomorrow evening, one that requires preparation.” He pulled a watch from his pocket, snapped open the lid, and sniffed. “An event I should like you and your brother to attend.”
She pursed her lips. Colin never—ever—went out in public, and the grim line of his misshapen jaw declared he wasn’t about to start doing so now, even for a doctor who would soon hold his life in his hands.
Colin crossed the rug to a cut-glass decanter. He poured a tumbler of the liquid and, clasping it in his monstrous fingers, faced Mr. Peckwood. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Doctor, but I do not attend social events.”
“There is nothing social about it.” Mr. Peckwood swung out his arm, indicating the glass towers and conduits on the side table. “I shall be demonstrating the very technique I have been employing upon yourself, and so you see, it is more of a treatment than an appearance.”
Colin eyed the man over the rim of his glass, then drank the contents in one big swallow. “Will there be members of the public in attendance?”
“Yes.”
“Then my answer stands.” He slammed the glass onto the tray, rattling the others and leaving behind an awkward silence.
Amelia exchanged a glance with Mr. Lambert, the press of his lips as tight as hers.
“That’s quite the quandary,” Mr. Peckwood grumbled. “Though I suppose I could use one of the inmates in your stead.”
Amelia angled her head. “Inmates?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Mr. Peckwood grumbled again, this time striding over to the machine that had tortured her brother these past five weeks. Piece by piece, he began dismantling the thing, clearly done with the conversation.
Thankfully, Mr. Lambert answered for the doctor as he snapped his bag shut. “Tomorrow evening, after a dinner party of a select group of investors, Mr. Peckwood is performing a demonstration at St. Peter’s Asylum. He hopes to increase funding for his research, which in turn would allow our practice to grow. It is his expectation that the procedure he’s developed to help Mr. Balfour might also aid those who suffer from other diseases of the brain.”
Colin folded his arms. “Are you to be in attendance at this event, Mr. Lambert?”
“As Mr. Peckwood’s partner, yes, I am.”
“I see.” Colin’s big brown eyes turned her way. “Well then, Amelia, you shall go in my place.”
She clenched her hands to keep them from flailing about in a most unladylike fashion. “Don’t be ridiculous, Colin. It wouldn’t do Mr. Peckwood any good to hook me up to that machine.”
“No, it would not,” Mr. Peckwood agreed. “Though…” Carefully setting down one of the coils of wires, he turned to them, a strange light in his dark eyes. “It might work. Actually, itcouldwork, and very nicely, I might add.”
Amelia’s blood ran cold. The man wasn’t seriously considering experimenting on her, was he? But why not? He’d certainly had no qualms about employing unknown methods on her brother. She shuddered. Should she have been so insistent that Colin subject himself to Mr. Peckwood?
“Now see here, Doctor. I meant my sister may attend the dinner.” Colin strode to her side. “But I will not have her submitting to any of the treatments I have been receiving.”
“Nor will I stand for it.” Mr. Lambert turned a malignant eye towards Mr. Peckwood. “Your investors will have to be persuaded in some other fashion.”
“Of all the misguided notions. You surprise me, gentlemen.” The doctor leaned back against the table. “Of course I would not endanger Miss Balfour. I shall use an inmate to exhibit the procedure, one who will benefit from the process. Miss Balfour’s words of witness as to the success of the technique should be sufficient to sway the minds of the gentlemen I intend to solicit.”
Amelia glanced up at Colin. Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the abnormal brow that overshadowed his eyes. Casting an orangish hue on his olive skin. Accentuating the crooked offset of his cheeks and nose. A horrific sight to the unfamiliar eye, but to her, he was still her younger brother, albeit malformed. “He doesn’t look any different to me,” she murmured. “So how can I publicly say the treatment was successful?”
“Did I not just get done assuring you your brother is now ready for surgery?”
“Yes, but—”
Mr. Peckwood’s cheeks swelled as he puffed out air. “Then the procedure was a raging success, and so it is settled.”
Not true. The only thing settled was the unease sinking heavy in her chest. It didn’t seem right, this circular logic. But what did she know? A woman given to travel writing was no match for the intelligence of a renowned surgeon twice her age.
She crossed the rug and poured her own glass of water, stalling for time. “Even so, Mr. Peckwood, you heard my brother. He will not attend, and it is not proper for me to appear alone at a social event.”
“You won’t be,” Colin rumbled beside her, then faced Mr. Lambert. “Did you not say, Doctor, that you will be in attendance?”
He nodded slowly, curiosity sparking the green flecks in his eyes. “I did.”
