The Armored Doctor (Curiosity Chronicles Book 2) (6 page)

“And your practice consists of a good number of patients. How will you have time to work on the commission? I’ve heard nothing from you on the sample of Aspasian metal I sent.”

Jacob found his spectacles on the desk. Abigail’s prints blurred the right lens. “I just completed a full report . I’ll send it to your office at COIC headquarters this evening.”

The Secretary stopped him from going on. “My point is, your schedule is full. Our agency is trying to stop Broussard from getting the best and brightest inventions. We cannot afford to wait much longer. Can you put your theory of the Aspasian metals into practice with that gauntlet gun by March?”

“I’ll do my absolute best.” How could Jacob say no, even if he wasn’t sure that he could make such a deadline?

The Secretary remained unconvinced as he tossed his gaze from one end of the floor to the next. “Why is your office in such a state?”

Jacob moved several sheets of paper into an untidy pile with the tip of his walking stick. “I was looking for my notes before the lecture.”

“How did you find them in this mess?”

He stopped attempting to make the office look presentable. “Miss Benton brought them here.”

“She’s your assistant, then?”

“No.”

“Someone needs to help you organize things. What happened to your former assistant?”

“He resigned. I’m in the process of finding another.”

“Miss Benton seems keen for the task. She’s not too bad of a markswoman, either.”

“Yes, but a woman in this line of work—”

“We’ve several female agents and affiliates within the COIC. If a woman can handle a weapon and assist you in your demonstration without prior instruction, I say she’s more than fit to help you construct this project. Unless, you have something against the fairer sex.”

Jacob did not like being referred to as a chauvinist. He had nothing against women, really he didn’t. He just found that most were unable to abide with his habits, which, he admitted, were a little unconventional. But they also did not take too well when they learned of the full extent of his battle scars. Especially that.

But Abigail did see one scar up close. And she did not recoil. In fact, her reaction was most pleasant…

He forced himself to stop thinking of Abigail and her kiss for a moment. “Mr. Secretary, does this mean you have decided to go ahead with the commission?”

The Secretary’s nod was halting. “I’ll give it my approval, but only if you show you can handle the task. You need an assistant. Miss Benton is available for immediate hire. I see no one else jumping to volunteer for the job.”

Abigail did practically jump. And stand on tiptoe. And wave.

“Hire her or find another,” the Secretary continued. “But if you don’t find someone in the immediate future, the COIC will be forced to refuse to fund you.”

Jacob acquiesced. “I will see if she’s still nearby.”

The Secretary nodded, satisfied. “Remember one of the first lessons of working with the COIC. You never do so alone.”

Jacob nodded as the agent left. He followed him out, then locked the office and left the building in search of Abigail.

Abigail pulled the curtain closed over the carriage window as it pulled away from New Britannia College of Science. There went her chances of getting employed as Dr. Valerian’s assistant.

She rested her head against the cushioned seat. What happened between the time she accidentally released the laughing gas from Dr. Valerian’s gauntlet gun and after she found herself sitting in his office? And why had her hair come undone?

She knew she fainted. The sharp whiff of smelling salts still burned her nose. But that wasn’t what made Dr. Valerian so eager to send her home. He was on edge in that office, even more so than he was in their interactions before the demonstration.

And why were her lips tingling? She touched them. Was this also a side effect of the laughing gas?

A shout came from behind the carriage. Abigail felt the force of the carriage’s forward motion as it came to an abrupt stop. She grasped her seat and righted herself.She moved over to the door and opened it. The carriage traveled less than one block from the college. Abigail looked back at the lecture hall and witnessed Dr. Valerian’s approach.

“Miss Benton, I must speak with you.” His walking stick rapped on the cobblestones as he increased his pace. He reached the carriage and thanked the driver for waiting before he climbed inside. “Thank goodness I caught up with you. I worried you would be well on your way.”

He worried? Abigail regarded him on the bench across from her as he closed the door. The carriage resumed its sojourn. “Forgive me, but you were the one who sent me on my way.”

“Yes, I know. I was somewhat hasty.”

He was always hasty, always rushing, Abigail began to realize as he pulled his spectacles off. The lenses were dark, not transparent anymore. Did he have two pairs?

“Miss Benton, what exactly is your experience in the medial field?”

The carriage hit a bump in the road. Abigail, conscious of her appearance before him, pushed the hairpins back into place where they worked their way out. “I’ve worked briefly as a nurse after I returned home from abroad. Before then, I assisted my father, as I said previously. I helped him administer medication to his patients and made visiting rounds to see them.”

“My patients are laborers. They’ve had their limbs amputated out of surgical necessity. They require considerate professionals to treat them. What I’m asking is, do you possess a strong constitution?”

She raised her chin. “Six years stationed in Calcutta hardened my nerves, Dr. Valerian, but not my compassion.”

He seemed not to notice her confident reply. He polished his lenses with detached interest. “I, too, was stationed in India for a time. As a medic, not a missions doctor. I will tell you that some of the cases here in London are much more atrocious than what you may have seen abroad.”

Was he implying that her family’s mission work was substandard to his medical practice? Abigail drew close to sputtering her indignation, but then considered that Dr. Valerian’s arrogant stance may not have been completely genuine. “You’re testing me.”

He looked up. “Sorry?”

“You’re testing me.” She repeated. “You want to see if I really possess the fortitude to be your assistant. But you must already believe I do, else you wouldn’t have rushed from the college to stop me.”

He pocketed his spectacles. The way he sat across from her and said nothing made her restless. She felt like a patient who knew she had a grave illness, but was only waiting to be told the official diagnosis. “Dr. Valerian, I’ve demonstrated my interest in the position. I’m very sorry for the misfire of the laughing gas, but I can do better.”

“It’s not that I think you undetermined. I see you as feminine.”

What was she supposed to do with that explanation? “I suppose my gender is somewhat apparent to you, but a number of women are nurses and physicians’ assistants. I’ve even heard that in some countries, a few of them are doctors like you.”

“There are no doctors like me.”

Abigail had just about had it. Did he practically run down her carriage just so he could boast of his exclusivity? “I could name several doctors who specialize in the outfitting of artificial limbs. They regularly visit the apothecary.”

“You never did explain why you left your position there.” Dr. Valerian stretched his legs, hand resting lightly on the carved handle of his walking stick. He waited for her to answer.

“I was dismissed.”

Up went the eyebrow. “For?”

“For filling an order incorrectly. A gentleman wanted something to ease his insomnia. I meant to give him chamomile extract, but I mistakenly sent him home with castor oil.”

Dr. Valerian sounded an
ahem
.

“It only happened once,” Abigail added fast. “It was an unusually hectic day.”

“The day I came into the apothecary?”

“Yes.”

The carriage slowed. Abigail surmised they were nearing the ladies boarding house. Thoughts of returning to her little room once more with no job prospects made her sigh.

“Answer one more question for me, Miss Benton. You said your father is a doctor. Why not work for him again?”

“He was a doctor. He and my mother contacted cholera during the outbreak in Calcutta two years ago. They didn’t make it back to New Britannia.”

Dr. Valerian gazed at the door. “I see. I’m sorry.”

“None of us anticipated the risks.”

“No British man or woman does until it’s too late.”

Abigail stirred to ask just what he implied, but something told her that he wasn’t speaking solely to her circumstances.

“I’m willing to take you on as my assistant on a trial basis. If you learn the operations of my practice quickly and manage to stay on for thirty days, then we will evaluate whether to proceed on a more permanent basis.”

Abigail was speechless, even as the driver announced from above that the carriage reached its destination.

Dr. Valerian went on. “But I will warn you, this is rigorous work. I have a practice, lectures, and monthly rounds at a laborer’s hospital near the St. Giles parish. I also have an onsite blast furnace where I forge the mechanical prosthetics and weapons devices.”

So that explained the residual smoke Abigail had seen wafting behind Dr. Valerian’s residence earlier. She wavered at that. She knew next to nothing about metallurgy or smithing. “Will I be expected to cast metals, too?”

“I do the forging. Struthers assists me in operation of the furnace when necessary. Your duties will remain mostly within the practice. But,” Jacob warned, “Do not expect to sit at a desk in my office all day.”

The door whipped open, bringing a gust of November chill and garish winter light. Abigail partly rose as Dr. Valerian put on his spectacles. “Thank you. I will work hard.”

“No castor oil.”

“No castor oil.” She witnessed the lenses of his spectacles darken as sunlight filled the cab interior. Happily, Abigail set her feet on the snow-dusted ground.

He escorted her to the door of the boarding house. “Good day, Miss Benton. I will see you at my practice Monday at nine-thirty sharp.”

“Good day, Doctor.”  She sailed inside, past the front desk where the landlady sat and went to her room down the hall and around the corner.

Monday, no matter what it entailed with the mysterious Dr. Valerian, had to be the start of better days. She’d give her best to make sure that it was.

#

No sooner did Abigail disappear inside the slightly worn-looking boarding house than the carriage driver’s smile deteriorated worse than its sagging front steps. “I need an additional ten pence.”

Jacob balked at the driver. “That’s outrageous.”

“I had to stop the carriage so you could get in. ‘Sides, the fare doubles for two passengers.”

“You mean triples. Take me back to the College and I’ll pay you.”

The driver grumbled. Jacob closed the door, his thoughts on Abigail rather than the driver’s complaints.

She didn’t remember kissing him before she fainted in his arms. If she did, she wouldn’t have been at ease speaking to him afterward. He had been nothing but uncomfortable in her presence, even when he feigned detachment while putting her resolve to work to the test.

Her vanilla scent lingered. Jacob closed his eyes. Could she truly be up to task for this? Abigail was determined in mind, but her demeanor was pure, unsullied. How would she handle being around his patients, or him? Once she began working at his side, she’d be privy to the pain that he dealt with for years.

No
. Jacob opened one eye and looked down at his right leg. He could not allow her to see that side of him, to know the cause of his pain. For however long her term of employment lasted, Abigail Benton could not see him for what he truly was.

#

Abigail woke early Monday. Today was to be her first day of work as Dr. Valerian’s assistant. But she had another task to tend to that morning, and it had to be done before she went to his practice. Her sister and brother-in-law should be back in London. She needed to tell them about Phillip and Winnie before the children were released from the academy.

In the dim light of an oil lantern, Abigail washed and dressed in her best work skirt and matching jacket. Once assembled, she searched for her reticule on the table in front of the bed. It lay nestled among a stack of sketchbooks and a pencil case, supplies for one of her favorite pastimes. She found the reticule, put on her coat, and left the boarding house.

Abigail braced herself against the early morning chill as she traversed the streets to reach her sister’s house. There was no money to spend on a cab or omnibus today.

Twenty minutes later she arrived at Catherine’s residence in Paddington, a location that was home to some of London’s growing middle class. Catherine and Hammond left a more humble abode and moved there last spring when Hammond’s position as a bank loan officer was promoted to branch president.

Abigail stopped before their impressive columned house. A festive holly wreath on the door beckoned her to come forward and knock, but she knew the reception she would receive when Catherine answered. After she had rejected her sister’s match in a potential suitor, she was ordered not to return again. “But I must speak to her on behalf of the children,” Abigail told herself as she pushed one foot in front of the other.

The holly wreath came in full view. Abigail peered around the layers of red ribbon and green sprigs for the chain that would sound the doorbell. She rang twice before Hammond answered.

A man below average height, Abigail was able to look him eye to eye without raising her chin. He blinked several times, as though he didn’t fully trust his eyesight. “It’s you, Abigail. I don’t think I’ve seen you in, what has it been, six months?”

Eight, but she knew to correct him would only bring more awkwardness between them. “Good morning, Hammond. I need to speak with you and Catherine. It’s about Phillip and Winnie’s school.”