Graham lowered his voice, speaking for Peckwood alone. “The aniscoria is more profound today. His vision appears to be worsening.”
“A temporary side effect, Mr. Lambert. Nothing more.” Straightening, Peckwood handed back the candle then faced Amelia. “Has he taken any broth since yesterday’s exam?”
“Not much, but yes.”She nodded.“He’s swallowed a few mouthfuls.”
The twinkle in Peckwood’s eye was strangely out of place with such a ruined man lying in the bed right in front of him. “There. You see, Lambert? That’s a magnificent improvement.”
An improvement, yes, but magnificent? Graham clamped his lips shut, stemming a sneer.
“Ought not my brother be eating more?” Judging by the pinch in Amelia’s tone, she hardly thought the improvement was monumental, either. “It was not his stomach you operated on but his head.”
“Perfectly normal. Surgery stresses the entire body, not just the portion that is directly impacted.”
She took a step closer, hands spread wide. “But his restlessness—surely that cannot be normal. He doesn’t sleep save for a half hour here and there. Not even at night. How can his body heal if his mind is not at peace?”
“Take heart, Miss Balfour; this is all part of the process. I realize that to your untrained eyes, his progress may seem nonexistent, yet I assure you, your brother’s recovery is moving along quite swimmingly.” He began collecting his instruments, clearly done with not only the examination but the conversation as well.
Colin put his hands to his ears and swayed back and forth, moaning. His thick lips rippled as he clenched his mouth tight.
Gently—yet firmly—Graham grabbed the man’s shoulders, stilling the movement. “Your head hurts, which is to be expected, yet can you tell me where the pain is, exactly?”
Colin leaned towards the right, nestling his big cheek against his palm. “Thissh shide.”
Interesting. The opposite of and quite a bit lower than where Peckwood had drilled into the skull. Graham carefully pulled Colin’s big hand away from his face. “I shall mix a draught to help with your pain. You’ll be better in no time.”
Rising, Graham glanced at Peckwood. “With your approval, of course.”
Peckwood snapped his bag shut. “It is best to keep him calm, a state which will speed his recuperation.” His gaze drifted to Amelia. “Some tepid tea would benefit as well, I think.”
“I shall see to it at once.” She hurried out the door, skirts swishing.
Just as well. Not that Graham didn’t already miss her sweet presence, but it would be easier to discuss the gravity of Colin’s situation without her in the room.
But first he stirred a dose of laudanum into a glass of lemon water and turned back to Colin. “Here, my friend. Let’s—”
Colin smacked the drink from his hand with a roar. Liquid splattered. Glass crashed. Graham stared, perplexed by the outburst. Fire he could understand, but water? Why such a strong reaction to something so benign?
“Now, now, Mr. Balfour.” Peckwood wagged his finger at the man. “We cannot have such brutish conduct. Do you understand?”
Heavy snorts shushed out of Colin’s nose, his chest heaving wildly. Whatever was going on inside that broken head of his would not be helped by the wagging of a finger. And what exactlywasgoing on? Fear? Rage? Definitely confusion. Graham blew out his own sharp breath. This must be fixed—and soon—but how? He’d be scouring every medical journal he owned tonight…when he wasn’t praying for a miracle.
For now, though, he dropped to his knees at Colin’s side and collected the big man’s hand in his own. “Listen, my friend. I want to ease your suffering, and you want the pain to go away, do you not?”
Colin’s mouth opened. No sound came out, but his breathing evened somewhat. The glaze in his eyes lessened by increments. Not huge changes, but good enough. Rising, Graham poured another glass of water.
Next to him, the floorboards creaked. Peckwood drew near, speaking for him alone. “Double whatever you’d intended.”
A bit extreme, but he stirred in eight drops of laudanum instead of four, and this time, Colin drank it down without a fuss. After returning the glass to the nightstand, Graham tipped his head towards the window. “A word, please, Mr. Peckwood.”
Bag already in hand, the white-haired surgeon followed him, and after a glance at Colin to see he relaxed against the pillows, Graham faced the older fellow. “These extremes in Mr. Balfour’s behaviour worry me. Have you dealt with this before?”
“Posh!” A fine spray of spittle flew past his lips, glistening in a ray of sunlight. “I am not fresh from the womb, sir. Naturally I have experienced such oddities after brain surgery. You know as well as I it takes time to heal.”
“Yes, but ought we not expect to see daily improvement rather than such marked declines?”
Peckwood chuckled. “You exaggerate, sir.”
Hah! He exaggerated? This from the man who claimed the broken-headed giant on the bed was showingmagnificent improvement?“I hardly think—” He bit back a retort as Amelia’s light footsteps tapped into the room.
