She blinked a few times, still gripping his hand. “I thought the inspector might be present?” she said, glancing around as though Irving might pop out from behind a tall plant.
“He has done his bit,” Dr. Cecil declared. “Won’t you please sit? I must confess, I am eager to hear what you’ve brought us today.”
She glanced at the younger Cecil, who grinned at her lazily from his perch, making not a single move to adjust his posture as she placed herself politely in an armchair identical to the one he sat in. He winked at her.
She cleared her throat and turned her attention to the older men.
Stabbing a man would not serve her today.
But maybe she’d tell Roland about it later. Not for any particular reason.
She glanced at him once more then quickly returned her focus to the business at hand. She pulled into her lap the little folio she’d brought and opened it, withdrawing the list of names and the letter she and Ezra Barnett had penned and polished and penned again over the last week, and held them out across the desk to the surgeon on the other side.
“We’ve put together a proposal that benefits both our facilities,” she began as he leaned forward to accept it, turning to gesture the other doctor to come closer and read over his shoulder. “The letter outlines everything in explicit and detailed terms, but to summarize for the sake of brevity, we are overrun with many ongoing cases that take away our treatment hours from those who need emergency care or reliable ongoing therapies. From there, we are proposing a basis of recommendations outward to your learning hospitals, a sort of loan of our patients to you, especially during the High Season, when your students are in need of quotas in the pursuit of their own accreditations.”
“I see,” said Dr. Cecil, his eyes scanning her list. “Ague? What sort?”
“Pervasive, but not deadly,” she answered immediately. “Requiring overnight stays every four to six weeks due to enlarged spleen.”
“Not a sailor,” noted the other doctor. “I wonder how he came by it.”
“Marsh ague, I’d wager,” Cecil answered, clicking his tongue as he read farther down the list. “Prosthesis fitting two years post healing. Interesting. From a peg to something more functional, I’d wager?”
Mae nodded. “He works at a desk now but would like to regain better mobility.”
“A worthy endeavor. Many of these ailments are not very serious. We do not often have people bother coming to Guy’s for something as mundane as a ganglion cyst. You do, though?”
Mae gave a quirk of her lips. “They call them Bible bumps. Do you know why?”
The doctor shook his head.
“Because they rupture them themselves with the heaviest and most flexible thing they own. One good whack with the good book,” her grandfather volunteered, miming it. “It’s effective, but not particularly clean.”
“Charming,” said Cary Cecil, snickering to himself.
“I would also be happy to offer my own hands for study,” Dr. Casper said, startling Mae enough that she whipped around to look at him as he held up his rheumatic knuckles. “Quite advanced. Worsened by certain foods. I do not mind. I could teach and be the lesson all at once, if you accept my granddaughter’s generous offer.”
The two doctors behind the desk exchanged glances. “And what would you require in return?” Dr. Davies asked, raising his brows. “I hear you are mostly funded on the back of a small private charity. That must be rather lean.”
“We get by,” Mae said. “My requests, again, are outlined in the letter, but they are twofold. We would like an exchange of students from your learning roster for our night shifts, both as security and observation. They gain experience and we gain reassurance. And we would like to begin a trust for medical education, so that we may bolster and ensure our future as a practice that services the poor of London.”
“You want students?” Cary Cecil blurted out, straightening. “In your little hovel?”
“Yes,” she said, turning to meet his eye. “A student such as you would be of great use to us, Mr. Cecil, and I daresay a clinic such as ours would refine you into a better doctor, if you gave it the chance.”
There was a pause, the young man starting to sputter in amusement, but one glance at his father sobered him, making him look from person to person in the room as his pallor grew paler.
“You cannot all be serious,” he said raspily.
“Oh, I think it is a good idea, actually,” said Dr. Cecil. “Cary, I expect you to be the first of the volunteers.”
“Welcome aboard, boy,” Dr. Casper said, flashing his gap-toothed grin at the withering young man whose languid posture had now melted to something like a slump.
His father sounded unconcerned and briskly moved along to the next topic. “The scholarship trust, however, will require some negotiation. Unless Dr. Davies has objections, I am prepared to move forward on sketching out formal agreements here today, in fact. It could be folded into our own continuing education endeavors if you are amenable to such a strategy.”
Mae bit down her instinct, which was to shout the word “Truly?!” at top volume. Instead, she nodded, gave a little smile, and said, “I am so pleased to hear it.”
“Oh,” said Dr. Casper. “Tell them aboutTheLancetamendments as well, Mae. We’ve a writer, but they’ll need to cosign it.”
