He took her arm and drew her aside, away from the sick bed and Lady Lyndmouth and Lady Morpeth.
“Some die. Some get better.”
“How many get better?”
“Many. But I dinnae ken how many get well when they are as ill as Lord Morpeth is.” Alasdair kept his voice and face very neutral but Arabella could sense that the situation was grave.
“What is the treatment, Dr. Andrews?”
“Morphia and laudanum. We keep his fever down with cold compresses made with snow and ice.”
Lady Lyndmouth spoke, “There must be something that can be done!”
Alasdair turned to her. “We will redose the morphia.”
“I do not mean easing his pain. I mean curing him.”
“There have been ... but ’tis dangerous.”
“Tell us, Dr. Andrews!” said Lady Lyndmouth.
“There have been attempts to remove the appendix with surgery.”
“Where has this been done?” This was Lady Morpeth.
“In London, but the appendix had herniated into the scrotum. A much easier surgery. In France, but the patient died.”
“Giles is a man who thrives on risk. He will not turn away from risk now, I believe. Not when the stakes are his life on either side,” Lady Morpeth said.
“I am not the man for it,” Alasdair said. Arabella admired his mild voice, his calm expression.
“We will send for another doctor,” said Lady Lyndmouth, her own voice tinged with panic.
The butler Andrews spoke up then, “The roads are still impassable.”
“I dinnae ken there are many doctors who are familiar with the history of the surgery and disease,” Alasdair said. “I am because I had a patient die this way five years ago.”
“Did you operate on him, Doctor?”
“I did. The surgery was a failure. And I caused him a great deal of pain before he died. I should have let him alone.”
“Primum non nocere,” Arabella spoke without thinking. Alasdair looked at her and she tried to show him with her eyes the compassion she had for him in this moment. How bravely he faced death every day in his profession.
“I do not understand,” said Lady Lyndmouth angrily. “He is going to die, I believe.”
Lady Morpeth stood, clutching her nurse’s arm. “I must tell my husband something and we will see what he wants you to do.” She approached the bed. She leaned forward and spoke in Giles’ ear. No one else could hear what she said.
Giles’ eyes opened and sought out his wife’s face hovering above him.
“Dr. Andrews said that?” he asked and there was a smile even as he gasped in pain.
“The doctor said maybe. From ... that time three months ago. Maybe.”
Giles’ hands fumbled at Lady Morpeth’s and grabbed them and he held them to his lips and kissed them. Arabella was strangely moved by this. The man who was the villain in her own life, so tender with his wife.
“Giles, you must listen now,” Lady Morpeth said gently. “Dr. Andrews says you have a problem with your bowel. There is a surgery to cut away the bad part. Very few people have had the surgery. Even fewer have survived.”
“None,” Alasdair’s voice cut through. “None, not of the type of surgery that Lord Morpeth requires.”
