A quick glance at her aunt suggested the interview was wearing on her, as her expression filled with relief at Amelia’s arrival. “There you are, dear,” Aunt Margaret said in a clipped tone. “I was beginning to wonder what happened to you. No obvious water closet?”
“Mrs. Greystone, I presume?” the woman asked with reproach in her expression.
“Yes, and you must be Dr. Thorne. What a pleasure to meet you.” Amelia didn’t wait for an invitation but took the empty chair next to her aunt.
The woman’s brown hair was drawn back into a smooth, tight bun, with a single streak of gray in it. She wore a deep blue gown with a black braided adornment and seemed to havea trim figure. A brass inkwell sat on the desk next to a pen, both perfectly aligned with the blotter. No papers were in sight.
“How nice of you to join us. Finally.” The doctor’s reprimand couldn’t be missed.
Amelia ignored it. “Of course.”
The woman glanced at a simple pendulum clock on the wall. “I’m afraid my time is limited. The care of our guests is my priority over those who drop by without an appointment.”
“I’m sure.” Amelia nodded, then looked warmly at Aunt Margaret. “Have you had some of your questions answered?”
“A few.” Her aunt shifted to the edge of her chair, suggesting she was ready to leave. “Dr. Thorne has been quite helpful.”
“Oh, good.” Amelia remained firmly in her seat, looking around the room and committing as much to memory as possible. A framed certificate hung on one wall but was too far away to be legible. “How impressive to meet a lady doctor. Where did you receive your training?”
Dr. Thorne stared at her for a long moment before finally answering. “I’ve studied at numerous universities.”
That wasn’t much of an answer. “And what made you interested in hydropathy and fasting?” Amelia had conducted enough interviews for her position withLondon Life, a monthly periodical for which she wrote articles about the unique and unusual, to be comfortable asking questions.
Certainly more comfortable at asking than the doctor appeared to be at answering. Again the woman hesitated, almost as if she resented both the questions and the time it took to answer.
Wouldn’t any potential patient have similar ones? It should be a matter of routine for her to provide the information. Or had she deemed Aunt Margaret an unsuitable candidate for the sanatorium for some reason?
“I’ve already shared much of this information with your aunt while you were apparently otherwise occupied, so you’ll have to forgive me for not taking the time to do so again.” The chilliness in both Dr. Thorne’s tone and expression bordered on rude.
“But you didn’t—” Aunt Margaret began, only to be quickly cut off by the doctor.
“Your aunt doesn’t appear ready to commit to the strict regimen we offer here. I think it best if we say our goodbyes now.”
“But I didn’t have a chance to share the extent of my ailments or ask all of my questions.” Aunt Margaret was obviously affronted by the doctor’s dismissal, despite her initial displeasure at their ruse.
Dr. Thorne rose. “I wish you both a good day,” she said as she rounded the desk.
“What a lovely gown you’re wearing,” Amelia commented as she slowly stood, anything to delay their departure. Surprisingly nice to wear while working in a sanatorium, in her opinion. But then, what were lady doctors supposed to wear?
“Thank you.” The woman brushed a hand along the silk skirt even as she cast a disparaging look at Amelia’s woolen gray gown. “I am a firm believer that one’s outer appearance should match the inner one.”
“What an interesting philosophy.” And an expensive one, based on the cut and cloth of the gown. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the name of your modiste?” Though she saidit partly to annoy the woman, any insight into the doctor’s life could prove helpful.
Dr. Thorne hesitated, and Amelia had the distinct feeling she’d decided she couldn’t afford her services anyway. “Madame Fortier on Bond Street. I highly recommend her to those seeking such finery.”
Amelia smiled. “Thank you. I will be sure to pay her a visit.”
The doctor opened the door to reveal both the man and the woman from before waiting for them.
“This way, if you please.” The woman gestured toward the front door, clearly prepared to escort them out and make certain they departed.
The man’s voice echoed faintly from across the hall as they walked, apologizing to the doctor for the disruption to her day. Based on Dr. Thorne’s angry tone, she was displeased with the situation, but Amelia couldn’t discern her exact response.
“Goodness.” Her aunt heaved a relieved breath once the door slammed then locked behind them. “That was one of the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of my life.”
Amelia nodded, though she’d experienced much worse—not that she had any intention of telling her aunt as much. Had it truly only been fifteen minutes?
“One thing I know for certain,” her aunt began as the coach rolled forward to return them to the train station, “I would never willingly enter Hollowgate Heights as a patient.”
