“Yes, that was it.” His gaze shot to Graham’s. “Now, release me, or there will be the devil to pay.”
Graham dropped his hand, already weary from the late-night walks that were in his future. But this time he wouldn’t be wondering if Peckwood were a killer. Apparently he was, whether he’d meant to or not. No, the real question now was why Peckwood had combined a cold and fever drug with diethyl ether. Each was highly addictive in its own right. Had the combination been a simple mistake?
Or was Peckwood carrying out research on a helpless population to establish his own name in the annals of medical history?
TWENTY
“Great God! what a scene had just taken place!”
For a groundbreaking display of curing the insane, the room Amelia entered was surprisingly stark. No operating table. No vials or tubes or medical apparatus of any sort. Even missing were the glass towers and conducting pads used daily on Colin. The space was made up of four whitewashed walls lit by enormous candelabras, a bare wooden floor, and at center, Mr. Peckwood, anchored near a chipped-paint stool supporting two bottles, a spoon, and a glass of what appeared to be water.
Amelia pressed her lips flat, ashamed of the disappointment sagging her shoulders. What had she been expecting? Did an unknown morbid gawker live inside her heart? If so, then apparently the same ghoulish spectator resided inside the ten gentlemen fanned out around Mr. Peckwood. If the whispered consensus were any indication, they were as decidedly unimpressed as she.
Peering up, she searched Mr. Lambert’s face to see if he was as underwhelmed. His eyes gave nothing away. Neither did the placid set of his jaw.
She frowned. “I thought Mr. Peckwood was going to demonstrate the procedure he uses on my brother.”
“As did I.”
She angled her head. “Then what is he going to show us?”
“I don’t know. He must’ve changed his mind at the last minute. Knowing him, it’s likely to be something more grandiose…though the setup appears to be anything but.”
A sharp clap rang out, preventing any speculation he might have given. Every head turned towards the white-haired doctor.
He smoothed his coat proudly. “Let us begin. As you know, I have had the good fortune to work with many a medical innovator, drawing a wealth of wisdom from some of the keenest minds in all of England. After years—nay, decades—of devoted study and research, I have made several innovations, yet none so great as that which I am on the cusp of developing.” He paused long enough to draw a deep breath, then plunged in again. “This, my friends, is why I have requested your presence here tonight. To ask you to join me in changing the world.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced over to the gentleman at the farthest side of the room. He continued his methodical gait, making eye contact with each person in the semicircle as he spoke. “Now, gentlemen, I realize a certain amount of trust must be established before you part with any coins. As with religion, I believe there is no better way to fan the flames of faith than with testimony and corroboration. So this evening you shall all be witnesses to the mending of a broken mind.” He moved to Amelia and offered his hand. “But first, allow me to present to you the testimony of the lovely Miss Balfour.”
His fingers were cold, rigid, and somewhat moist, like sticks that’d been left out in an autumn mist. His touch sent a shiver up her spine. Or perhaps it was just nerves. All the men’s gazes locked onto her as if she were the specimen he intended to experiment upon. Her blood really did run cold with that thought. Surely he didn’t mean to do so, did he? She cast a wild look at Mr. Lambert, seeking—and blessedly finding—strength in his hazel eyes.
“Miss Balfour.”Mr. Peckwood stationed himself at her side.“Would you please explain the treatment I have provided for your brother these past six weeks?”
Panic fluttered in her chest. Why did he not have Mr. Lambert up here, elaborating on the medical intricacies she didn’t understand? Any explanation she might attempt would leave her sounding like a fool.
She patted her pocket, glad now that she’d given in to the last-minute temptation to carry her Ibis feather. Feeling its familiar shape, her anxiety seeped away, and she squared her shoulders. She could do this. Besides, these men likely didn’t even care about complicated details.
“You must pardon me, gentlemen,” she said, smiling, “for I am not fluent in the language of therapeutic procedures. What I can say is that Mr. Peckwood, with the aid of his associate, Mr. Lambert, has been preparing my brother for what is to be a life-changing surgery of his own design.”
She paused, once again uneasy. How much should she reveal about Colin? Too much and she might open a Pandora’s box of curiosity seekers. Not enough, and she’d let down Mr. Peckwood. But after two more days, would either of those concerns even matter anymore?
She drew in a breath. “My brother suffers from the rare disorder ofacromegalia, which is exacerbated by some extreme scarring he received from a burn as a child. These treatments, devised by Mr. Peckwood, break down the weave of my brother’s skin, which will make the removal operation not only more efficient, but lessen the recovery time. Leastwise, that is my understanding. If you would like a more technical explanation, I am certain Mr. Peckwood or Mr. Lambert would be only too happy to supply it.”
She glanced at Mr. Lambert, who simply nodded in agreement.
“However, gentlemen, what I can speak of intelligently is the hope that Mr. Peckwood has imparted to my brother and myself. In only a few days, my brother begins his journey to entering society, a journey other doctors have laughed at or scorned. I know naught of what the doctor intends to show us tonight, but I have no doubt it will be unlike anything another physician or surgeon can or will offer. Mr. Peckwood is one of a kind, of that I am sure.” She dipped a small curtsey. “Thank you.”
Mr. Peckwood bowed in return. “And thank you, Miss Balfour.”
A polite round of applause escorted her all the way back to Mr. Lambert’s side.
He leaned close, his breath warm against her brow. “Very well done.”
The admiration in his eyes, the affirmation of his words, sank deep. She all but forgot about the room, the presentation, everything really, save for the attractive doctor caressing her with his gaze. He stood inches from her, with his hair slicked back and clean-shaven face just begging for a touch. She tucked her chin lest he see the heat flushing her cheeks. Until this summer, she’d never blushed so much in all her life.
Thankfully, Mr. Peckwood’s voice once again drew all eyes to the front of the room. “For the past year, I have been working with some of the inmates here at St. Peter’s. During the course of my labours, I have nearly perfected a radical new treatment to soothe the troubled psyche, remove the oppressive fog of confusion, and revive the tranquility of rational thought. In short, I have discovered the secrets of mending a broken mind. And so tonight, I would have you witness the restoration of Miss Caroline Safie.” He swept out his hand, directing everyone’s attention to the door.
Shuffling feet and a few grunts accompanied the two men who entered the room, hoisting a squirming woman between them. Her arms were pinioned, a straitjacket tied firmly at the small of her back. She was a wild-eyed creature, her mouth wide yet issuing no cry. No words. Just huffy little breaths and an occasional whimper. It was a jarring effect. Like she desired more than anything to speak but her tongue would not obey. Her hair had been braided, though with the erratic swing of her head, several hanks broke loose and cascaded over her face.
