Page 34 of Courting Trouble
“Very little,” Nora replied, not even turning her head to address him.
“Is the mobility improving still?” He stabilized her shoulder with one hand, and lifted her elbow with the other, testing the movement. She winced a little, but not until they passed a threshold of motion greater than she had been previously capable.
“I see no sign of recurring inflammation and it seems the wound itself has achieved proliferation, at least superficially. I should think we could remove your stitches tomorrow.”
“That is, indeed, a relief Dr. Conleith.”
They were both so serene. So polite.
It was beginning to drive him mad.
“What is proliferation?” Mercy’s inquisitive voice cut through the building tension as she leaned against the wall facing both him and Nora. She’d been tracing the cheek of an articulated skeleton he’d displayed in the corner, but dropped her hand and turned her full attention upon him.
“It’s the stage of healing where new tissue forms along with vessels and sinew. It’s too early for comprehensive proliferation, but we are well on our way. It will take the nerves the longest to heal, in my experience. But I’d say we are completely out of the woods.”
Nora merely nodded her understanding.
“That’s marvelous news,” Mercy declared, adjusting her slim chocolate-colored vest and fluffing her cream lace cravat. She’d obviously spent a great deal of money to adopt the appearance of a student or an intellectual, including the adornment of wire-rimmed spectaclessansany lenses. A castoff of Felicity’s, he’d wager. However, the garnets in the comb adorning her intricate coiffure, the matching ear bobs, and the sparkle of her watch undermined the effect. As did the fact that she was obviously educated more in the feminine arts than anything else.
She was a lovely girl if one was drawn to the wholesome vigor of youth, complete with wide oceanic eyes and gestures so animated as to be considered violent in some parts of the world.
“Felicity is pretending to take a nap as herself so she can accompany Mrs. Winterton on an errand as me, so I could come here alone,” she announced, her wide mouth quirking with her specific sort of mischief.
“Why alone?” Nora asked her sister. “Mrs. Winterton is not so insufferable, as chaperones go, and seems to allow you both more freedoms than anyone they hired for Pru or me.”
“Yes, well…” She darted an awkward glance to the far wall. “In light of recent events, Papa’s rather put the lid on anything resembling freedom, I’m afraid. And today I’m intent upon attending a suffragist meeting.”
At the mention of the scandal, Nora’s bare shoulders visibly sagged, though her sister didn’t seem to notice.
So that he didn’t succumb to the temptation to comfort her, Titus said, “I don’t know why you’d want to vote; politics is a terrible business.”
Mercy’s gasp conveyed a startling pitch for a surgery. “You don’tvote?”
He shrugged. “You forget, I’m Irish and have no love for the government here. Besides, the parties are all corrupt and self-serving. In the end, they’ll all send you to war to line their pockets. They’ll all vote to occupy countries we have no cause to be in, whilst ignoring the immigrants and denizens of their own empire, who live in squalor and pain. Politics is a waste of my time, Miss Goode, when I have lives to save without much help from any politician.”
At that, her lips twisted sardonically. “Well… if women voted, I’m certain there would be a great deal less war and a great deal more help for those in such need.”
“Would that were true,” he muttered. “But I don’t see men allowing that to happen anytime in the near future.”
Her eyes turned to chips of ice as she balled up her lace-gloved fist and punched her other palm. “Then wemakeit happen. We crush their opposition and bend their will until—”
“Careful. You’re starting to sound like several warlords I know,” he teased. “That’s not verymercifulof you.”
Instead of taking offense, she threw her head back and laughed. “All of us are rather ironically named, it seems. Prudence is often impulsive, Felicity is serious, I’m merciless and—” She stopped, gulping back the next words.
“And I am without honor,” Nora finished without inflection.
“No!” Mercy knelt at her feet and snatched her hand. “No, no, no, that’s not at all what I was—” Her features crumpled. “Oh, Nora, Idon’tthink that about you. No one does.”
Nora squeezed her sister’s hand. “It’s all right. Honor is…well it’s difficult to define.”
“At least none of us were named Chastity,” Mercy grimaced.
Before Titus could consider her statement, Nurse Higgins charged into the examination room, saving anyone from having to reply. Her cap was uncharacteristically askew, and her cheeks as red as a ripe apple as she visibly seethed with wrath. “Mr. St. John is here again,” she huffed. “He’s demanding to see his wife. Has some papers she needs to sign, apparently, and when I told him she’s not to be disturbed, he dispatched me to find my betters.” She eyed him with mock disdain. “I suppose he meansyou.”
Titus chuckled, used to the ribald banter he and Higgins enjoyed.
Elias St. John was a solicitor of no small means who’d often donated to the hospital. His wife was frequently ill and was often at the surgery being treated for a variety of ailments, from intestinal to nervous. One time, he had to operate a forearm snapped clean through.
