“Good morning, Mr. Balfour, Miss Balfour.” Graham dipped his head at each in turn, then flipped the Open placard to Closed before he shut the door. Yet all the while his gaze lingered on Amelia. Since the night of the kiss, he’d not had a chance to speak to her, and though he knew he must, now was not the time.
Colin flung back the enormous hood hiding his face, an overbright sparkle to his dark eyes. “And so it begins, eh, Doctor?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.” He beckoned with a tip of his head. “Follow me, if you please.”
He strolled past the surgery to the next door, which opened into a recovery room. He’d laid a small fire, hoping the warmth of a hearth on this damp morn might comfort Amelia while she waited. He’d even gone so far as to have a tea tray ready for her use. Small luxuries, but the best he could manage.
“Miss Balfour, if you don’t mind waiting in here.” He stepped aside. “All in all, I don’t suspect the procedure should last much above an hour and a half, two at most. Please, make yourself at home. Have you any questions before we leave you?”
With a last glance at her brother, she turned to Graham and pressed her fingers into his sleeve, the brown of her eyes burning like dark embers. “No questions, just promise me my brother will live.”
Graham’s gut twisted. He’d do anything for this woman. Climb the highest mountain during a raging storm. Travel the length of a desert and back. Even give the last drop of his own lifeblood for her if need be. But this? How could he promise such a thing?
And yet what kind of fiend would he be to disregard the desperation thickening her voice?
He laid his hand atop hers. “I shall do my utmost to see your brother returned to you.”
Tears shimmered. Her lips flattened into a tight line. Yet she nodded valiantly and entered the room, taking part of Graham’s heart with her. She shouldn’t have to wait alone, worrying and wondering. He should be there to hold her hand. Give her strength. But all he could do was stride away and leave her in the hands of God. Yet as he was learning—albeit slowly—those were the best hands to leave anyone in.
He led Colin into the surgery, past a row of shelves containing several cloth-draped trays. After preparing the instruments requested by Peckwood, Graham had taken care to cover the tools before the Balfours’ arrival. No sense in Colin witnessing what might be construed as torture devices. The sight of a trepanation kit to an untrained eye would surely cause distress. Even he’d flinched when he’d set out the big drill that would soon eat a hole through Colin’s skull.
The room was as well lit as possible, with lamps glowing against the dreary gloom of the stormy morning. He stopped near a series of hooks on the wall, two holding long surgical aprons, two empty, and turned to Colin. “You may hang your coat, waistcoat, and shirt here. Keep your trousers on, but remove your shoes, if you will.”
Graham reached for his apron as Colin shrugged out of his coat, noting how the big man pressed his fingers against his temple once it was removed.
“Are you quite well, Mr. Balfour?”
Colin dropped his hand and fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Just a headache, but I suppose anyone facing brain surgery has a fair amount of tension to overcome beforehand. Tell me, Doctor, do you really think it will take all of two hours?”
Good question—one for which he had no sure answer. Graham wrapped the long apron strings around his back and tied them in front before facing the man. “Mr. Peckwood’s the man to ask. I am merely assisting.”
While Colin finished undressing, Graham retrieved a glass from a nearby shelf. As soon as he pulled off the folded paper he’d used as a lid, a rather astringent apple scent wafted strong enough to tickle his nose. The concoction was his own special mixture of mandrake paste and laudanum, watered down with several fingers of rum to not only deaden the pucker-tart taste but the pain of what was to come.
“Here.” He handed it to the now-shirtless Colin. “Drink this and—”
“Ho-ho! Here we are!” Mr. Peckwood rumbled in, pushing a cart with what appeared to be a series of green silk bags the size of melons.
What the deuce? Graham frowned at the nozzle-tipped balloons. Those hadn’t been on the doctor’s list of equipment.
Peckwood rolled the cart to a stop near the operating table then strode over and clapped Colin on the back. “Tell me, sir, are you ready for a new life?”
“More ready than you can imagine, Doctor.”
“Then by all means, make yourself comfortable.” Peckwood swept his hand towards the linen-covered slab at the center of the room. “We shall begin posthaste.”
While Colin ambled off, Graham pulled Peckwood aside and lowered his voice. “A few things before we begin. First, Mr. Balfour complains of a headache. Should we consider rescheduling the procedure or, at the very least, postpone an hour or two until it subsides?”
Peckwood chuckled, his fingers fluttering in the air. “A minimal concern, Mr. Lambert. Besides, any pain the man may feel now is nothing compared to the headache he’ll suffer after surgery.”
Of all the callous remarks! Graham glanced over his shoulder to see if Colin had heard the crass words, when the front office door banged open, ushering in another loud peal of thunder and several footsteps. Blast! He should’ve thought to lock the door instead of simply putting up the Closed placard. Now was not the time for a bunion removal or digestive complaint. He stalked to the door.
But Peckwood skirted him and dashed ahead. “In here, gentlemen, and thank you for coming.”
Graham gaped as three men entered, two tall and one short. Rain sluiced off each coat, producing a pool of water at their feet. Undaunted, Peckwood guided them close to the operating table. “This will be the most advantageous spot for you fellows.”
Every last one of them sucked in an audible breath as their eyes landed on the malformed giant. Though the effects of the numbing drink Colin had swallowed were surely coursing through his veins by now, a fierce glower darkened his face. And Graham didn’t blame him, for a scowl tightened his own brow. Did Peckwood seriously think to make today’s operation a spectator event? Was there no end to the man’s ego?
Graham clenched his jaw. No, he would not allow such theatrics, not at the expense of a man he loved as a brother. “Mr. Peckwood,” he boomed. “If you mean to—”
