Mae took a steadying breath and pushed forward into the room where the patient awaited, a shoreman who had lived in a tenement that collapsed at the end of the summer.
He would have been fine if he had not insisted on returning to work so soon. The injury on his foot had been reopened thrice since the original tenement disaster, and even so, Mae had been able to clean and re-stitch it over and over again.
The problem had happened when another doctor had doubted her work and slapped leeches— filthy, unsoaked leeches—over the sutures because he had spotted a little bit of pus and thought the leeches would clear it up.
It had made everything worse. So much worse that the foot was now necrotic. She couldn’t save it, and worse, if she didn’t take it from him, death was going to climb up the remainder of his leg as well.
Mae had thought it a godsend when the doctors from London’s prestigious institutions had deigned to finally acknowledge and assist in their plight, and in many ways, it still was one. Just not for this man. And not for his foot.
“Miss Casper,” said the shoreman, grimacing up at her over his black-streaked foot. He wiggled his toes a little and grimaced in pain at the effort. “Just doing it a few more times while I still can.”
She glanced a little helplessly in the mirror, noting how gaunt she looked, how tired. It had been a trying time riddled with guilt and sleeplessness after she had realized the mess those fine doctors had made, even with their engraved diplomas and superior educations.
She wrapped a cloth a few times around her hairline to keep the springy little curls at bay and tossed her apron onto a nearby chair, closing her eyes and drawing herself up, telling herself that this was just another procedure. It was just like setting a bone. Itwassetting a bone, in a way.
Wasn’t it?
Oh, God.
She took to rolling up the linens Sally had stacked and placing them in rows around the bed where the patient was lying. “Just so we can grab them easily,” she said to him, all the while wedging them under his torso so that he would not buck off the bed when they started to cut into him.
Her grandfather took out a tray to lay out the tools, praising the cleanliness of the instruments and the sharpness of the saw to a dazed-looking Sally.
He could not perform it himself, despite having a fully credentialed and storied medical background, due to the arthritis in his hands. His knuckles were the size of walnuts and limited his dexterity, even without the additional obstacle of the pain that came along with it.
“I’m still here, though,” he told Sally. “I’ll still help where I can.”
She only nodded and joined Mae with rolling up the towels and bolstering them on either side of their patient.
She could hear Mr. Beck and his thug approaching, their heavy, masculine footfalls sounding from the hall, and breathed a sigh of relief.
When she’d gone to him for help this morning, she hadn’t known how the man would react, but he’d forced her to eat something and assured her that she’d have any help at all he could give. He was a big, intimidating sort of chap, but he had an exceedingly good heart.
“This is my grandfather, Dr. Casper,” Mae said as soon as the door opened, gesturing over to where he was arranging the sharps and thread on the tray. She didn’t bother to look up from where she was currently wedging a towel into place. “And this is Mr. Beck and his associate.”
“Don’t worry,” her grandfather said with an obvious trace of amusement, flexing his arthritic hands with a series of faint snaps and pops. “I’m just here to advise.”
Mae sighed and braced herself, avoiding looking anywhere near the foot for just one more blessed second before the time came to take action. She gripped her hands against her hips and flexed the muscles in her arms, reminding herself to be present in her body.
“All right,” she said, letting her eyes open and focus on the patient’s face. “Do you want me to walk you through what’s going to happen, or would you rather just lie back and get it over with?”
“Over with,” the man immediately blurted out. “Please.”
She gave a brisk nod and glanced back at Mr. Beck. “All right. Pour our friend here a few drinks first and we’ll get started. And once you’re nice and warm, we’ll have this other gentlem…” She trailed off as her gaze slid over to his enforcer, the man who was apparently here to choke the consciousness out of her patient.
She supposed she had expected someone quite a lot like Mr. Beck in form, truth be told. Someone large and hulking and scarred, but perhaps not quite as fashionably dressed as Mr. Beck often was in mixed company.
This man wasnotthat.
In fact, he might have been the most beautiful person Mae had ever set eyes on. He was tall and lean, with pinkish-gold hair that was tied back from his face with a vibrant green ribbon. He had freckled skin and high cheekbones and the most perfect, gentle mouth.
She was, for likely quite a lot longer than was appropriate, stunned.
She swallowed and shook herself, tearing her eyes away as her cheeks heated. “What is your name, sir?” she asked, as briskly as she could summon as she looked around for something to occupy her hands with and settled on snatching her apron up and dropping it over her head. “Can you explain to me what you’re going to do?”
There was a long pause before he answered, though Mae could not account for why. Perhaps he was horrified to find that the people performing this procedure were women? Perhaps he had noticed her gaping at him and was offended? She refused to turn around and find out, instead busying herself with tightlysecuring the apron strings into place and making sure her dress was fully covered.
“His name is Reed,” Mr. Beck announced, so loudly, Mae jumped a little.
