Tamar (31 page)

Tamar thought it sounded wonderful.

Myrna asked, ‘And ye said she’ll be needing … what did ye say?’

‘Ether. Yes, I couldn’t do it while she’s awake.’ He turned to Tamar. ‘You’ll see the scalpel and the needle and won’t be able to relax. Your facial muscles must be completely at rest, or the layers of tissue and muscle under the skin won’t line up properly when I suture them. Anyway, it will be very painful. Best you’re asleep, I think.’

Tamar nodded in wholehearted agreement.

John continued, helping himself to a fourth slice of cake. ‘I’ve talked to Basil Stokes, my colleague,’ he said, with his mouth full. ‘He’s agreed to manage the ether while I’m operating. But I should tell you that using ether has its own problems. Not enough and the patient can wake up, too much and the opposite can happen.’

‘Ye mean it could kill her?’ said Myrna in alarm.

‘Well, technically, yes. But we won’t be needing huge doses. After all, we’re not taking her leg off.’

Sometimes Tamar hated John’s relentlessly cheerful attitude towards his work.

‘But I trust Basil,’ John went on. ‘He’s a fine physician, and this procedure will need someone who knows what he’s doing. So, when
would you like to do it?’ he asked, looking at Tamar.

‘Ah,’ she said, dithering nervously. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Then I’ll decide for you. The sooner we do it the better, while the tissues around the scar are still pliable. They’ll stiffen eventually, which will make the procedure more complicated and possibly less successful. Friday afternoon suit you?’

‘
This
Friday?’ asked Tamar. It was Wednesday now.

John nodded. ‘I have a clinic in the morning but I can be here at one. We’ll perform the procedure in your private room, then we can avoid moving you afterwards. And it’s clean here, although we’ll have to cleanse your room thoroughly before we start. Can Eliza do that, Myrna?’

‘Aye.’

‘Right then, Friday it is. Tamar, I want you to rest, drink gallons of fluids but no alcohol, and don’t go out. I don’t want you to run the risk of catching a cold.’

Tamar nodded.

‘Until Friday then, ladies,’ said John, gathering up his things. ‘I must rush, I have an advanced case of haemorrhoids to look at, in the backside of a rather important local personage. I’ve told him to stop eating dried apricots, but has he heeded my learned advice? No, and now he has excruciatingly painful piles the size of a bunch of table grapes. Still, it’s money, isn’t it?’

‘And that reminds me, John,’ said Tamar. ‘How much will this procedure cost?’

John waved his hand dismissively. ‘Nothing. You’re my friend and I never charge my friends for my services.’

Tamar’s eyes filled with tears as he left. ‘He’s such a good man,’ she said eventually.

‘Aye, lassie, he is.’

Friday was a bitterly cold August day. Nervous and unable to sleep, Tamar rose early and busied herself lighting fires and opening doors to allow the heat to disperse throughout the rooms. Myrna had offered Tamar her private quarters at the top of the house for the surgery and her recuperation. Her own small room was at the back of the house on the ground floor, where she would be disturbed by Eliza and Sven as they worked.

John and Basil Stokes arrived at the appointed time and went upstairs to lay out their surgical equipment, while Tamar sat nervously in the kitchen. The girls sat with her, hushed and serious-looking. Polly, in a voice that was almost a whisper, said, ‘We’ll be praying for you, Tamar.’

Myrna bustled in, took one look at the long faces and clapped her hands loudly, giving everyone a fright. ‘Right!’ she said. ‘Enough o’ this doom and gloom. She’s having her scar repaired, no’ her head removed. Bronwyn, ye and Letitia have customers at two o’clock. Had ye no’ better start getting ready for them? Come on, the rest o’ ye, out o’ here.’

‘But we’re worried about Tamar,’ complained Jessica.

‘Och, but sitting around behaving like she’s already died isnae going to help her! John assures me there’s nothing to worry about, so out ye go.’

When the girls had left, Myrna sat next to Tamar and took her hand. ‘Are ye a wee bit frightened, lassie?’ she asked kindly.

Tamar shook her head. ‘I trust John implicitly. I’m a bit nervous about the ether, but no, I feel quite calm. If God intended me to die young I’m sure that would have happened back at Huia.’

‘Oh, we’re talking to God again now, are we?’

‘Let’s just say I’m considering a penny each way.’

Myrna laughed. ‘I dinnae blame ye, lassie.’

They heard a polite cough and turned to see Basil Stokes standing at the kitchen door. He was tall and thin with a long
face, slightly protruding teeth and fine, pale hands. ‘We’re ready for you now, Miss Deane,’ he said hesitantly.

He led the way upstairs to Myrna’s room and ushered them both in. John, standing next to an array of surgical instruments laid out on a cloth-covered nightstand, turned and smiled. ‘Ah, Tamar, could you change into your nightdress now, please? Will you be staying, Myrna?’

‘Aye, just until she’s asleep.’

‘Righto,’ said John cheerfully. ‘We’ll let Tamar get ready.’

He and Basil left the bedroom while Tamar undressed. Myrna’s bed had been moved to one side and a narrow table set up in the middle of the room and covered with several plain white sheets. The carpets had been rolled back and a strong smell of cleaning fluid permeated the air.

‘Eliza’s done a good job,’ prattled Tamar nervously as she slipped her nightdress over her head. ‘We could eat off that floor.’

‘I’m no’ that hungry, maself,’ replied Myrna.

John knocked discreetly and called out, ‘Ready?’

‘Aye,’ Myrna called, and John and Basil came back in. They helped Tamar onto the table and covered her with a sheet, then John took a crisp white cloth and tucked it snugly around her hairline so her face alone was exposed.

John’s surgical instruments were positioned to one side of the table, while Basil had set up his equipment on the other. He settled his skinny frame into a straight-backed chair and picked up the portable ether inhaler. It was an odd-looking contraption and Myrna eyed it doubtfully. ‘Oh, aye, and how does that work?’ she asked.

‘
Well
,’ said Basil, his long face suddenly alive with enthusiasm. ‘First I employ this reservoir bag at the side, which is filled with nitrous oxide, which puts the patient to sleep. The ether goes into this chamber here, which can be rotated around the inhaler,
this mask part which goes over the patient’s mouth and nose. And by rotating the chamber, different amounts of ether can be administered as required. The ether is what
keeps
the patient unconscious. It’s a marvellous invention; it makes the delivery of the correct amount much more reliable.’

‘Really,’ said Myrna, winking at Tamar.

John tied a small cloth mask over his own mouth and nose.

‘He’s no’ knocking
you
out as well, is he?’ asked Myrna.

‘Well, hardly,’ replied John through his mask, too preoccupied to notice she was joking. ‘This is to help prevent any bacteria I might be carrying on my breath from coming into contact with the patient while I’m operating. It’s a relatively new idea but you can’t be too careful with open wounds.’

‘Aye, well, if ye say so,’ replied Myrna doubtfully.

John signalled to Basil he was ready to begin. As Basil carefully placed the mask over Tamar’s mouth and nose, she grasped Myrna’s hand tightly, her eyes widening in last-minute panic.

‘There, there, lassie,’ crooned Myrna. ‘I willnae let anything happen to ye.’

Basil manipulated the reservoir bag into position, and as Tamar breathed in her one good eyelid began to droop. She struggled briefly against the nitrous oxide filling her lungs, then dropped rapidly into unconsciousness. Basil quickly lifted her eyelids to check she was properly out, then began to administer the ether.

Myrna was a little disconcerted at the speed with which Tamar had gone under. ‘Is she all right?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied John. ‘Basil?’

‘She’s fine. I’ll be taking her pulse every minute or so. If she goes blue around the lips I’ll ease off with the ether, and if she stirs I’ll give her more. Simple.’

‘I bloody well hope so,’ said Myrna. ‘Tell me when ye’ve finished. I’ll be downstairs in ma office. I dinnae think I can watch this.’

John waited until Myrna had gone before he tilted Tamar’s head and made the first incision above her right brow. A line of bright red blood welled up and ran down into the cloth wrapped around her hair. John began excising the scar, cutting deftly as he went. ‘Pulse?’ he asked after a minute.

‘Fine,’ replied Basil.

They worked in silence for the next forty minutes, oblivious to noise from the street or the floors below. As John cut out each thick ridge of scar tissue, he sutured the edges of the wound with fine catgut threaded through a slim, curved needle. Basil removed the mask from Tamar’s mouth and nose from time to time to minimise the possibility of her facial skin being pulled out of shape while John stitched. As he carefully removed the scar from the delicate skin of Tamar’s eyelid, he broke into a heavy sweat and beads of moisture ran down his face. Basil leaned over and mopped up the worst of it. ‘Nervous, John?’

‘A little. I’ve done this before, but never on someone I’ve cared so much about. I’d hate to cock it up.’

‘Is this the girl you were hoping to marry?’

‘Yes, but I’m not so sure now.’

‘Really? Why not?’

‘Well, for a start, I don’t think she wants to marry me. She’s changed, I don’t think she’s the girl I used to know any more. Pass me that sponge, will you? I still care very deeply for her, but perhaps we were always destined to be nothing more than good friends. She’s very dear to me, though. Very dear,’ he added softly.

Basil grunted again, knowing his friend well enough not to poke his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

John worked silently for a further ten minutes, tied off his last suture, blotted the few remaining drops of blood oozing from the fresh wounds, then stepped back to admire his work. ‘What do you think?’

Basil squinted at Tamar’s face for a moment. ‘It’s a vast improvement. Just her eyebrow being aligned again helps. And if the new scar on her eyelid doesn’t thicken up too much, she should regain full use of it.’ He looked up at his friend. ‘Are you happy with it?’

John nodded. ‘She’s young and her skin is still elastic. Providing she keeps her face still while the new scars are healing, the result should be pretty good.’

He removed the bloodied cloth from Tamar’s hair and positioned several layers of fine cotton padding over the new wounds. Folding a strip to form a pad he gently placed this over Tamar’s right eye to keep it closed, then re-wrapped her head in strips of white muslin until most of the right side of her face was bandaged. ‘Can you stay with her while she wakes?’ he asked. ‘I’ll go and let Myrna know we’ve finished.’

Basil nodded and took Tamar’s pulse again. He had not administered ether for the last ten or twelve minutes and her eyelid was beginning to flutter. She shouldn’t take long to come around, he thought. She would have a headache when she did, though; ether affected most people that way.

He looked up as Myrna and John entered the room, followed by three of the gorgeous young women he’d noticed earlier.

‘Is she awake yet?’ asked Myrna.

‘Not quite. I’d say another ten minutes before Miss Deane is fully back with us,’ replied Basil, feeling shy in front of the women and completely unable to stop himself from gazing down Bronwyn’s inviting cleavage as she leaned over Tamar. ‘John’s done a marvellous job. Some of his best work.’

‘Can I sit with her?’ asked Myrna. ‘Perhaps ye can clean yeself up and go and have a cup o’ tea. Or something stronger if ye fancy it.’

‘Thank you but no, I’ll stay until Miss Deane is completely awake. But could I trouble you for a bowl of hot water and a towel? I’d like to wash my hands.’

‘O’ course. Eliza?’

As Eliza left to fetch the water, Myrna turned to John. ‘And it went well?’

‘Yes, I’m expecting a good result. I think she’ll be pleased.’

‘Pleased enough for her spirits to be lifted?’

‘I hope so. The scars should be barely noticeable. She’s not to bend or lift anything for the next week, or laugh or cry. Or yawn. Anything that will move her facial muscles, in fact. I’ll drop in every day to change the dressings and keep an eye out for infection, and in eight or nine days I’ll take the sutures out. She’ll have a whopping headache for the rest of today, but that should have gone by late tonight. Give her some laudanum if she’s in too much pain. Her face will hurt a bit but it shouldn’t be too bad if she keeps still. And she can only eat soft food. I don’t want her chewing at all if possible. I’m sure Eliza can come up with something suitable.’

As Tamar moaned weakly and moved her head, Basil leaned forward and chafed her cold left hand vigorously between his own.

‘Miss Deane?’ he called. ‘Miss Deane, can you hear me?’

Tamar nodded slowly and licked her dry lips. As she opened her left eye Myrna stepped forward and took her other hand. ‘It’s all right, lassie. John’s done a fine job and all’s well. How d’ye feel?’

Tamar licked her lips again and croaked, ‘I’m thirsty.’

As Myrna helped Tamar to slowly sit and sip from a glass of water, John and Basil cleaned and packed away their equipment. By the time they had finished Tamar was almost completely awake. They helped her off the table and over to Myrna’s bed.

She lay back with her bandaged head against the pillows and the cover pulled up to her throat. Myrna had closed most of the curtains, making the room warm, cosy and dim.

‘Polly, can ye sit with Tamar while I see John and Mr Stokes out?’

Polly dragged a chair over to the bed, pulling a face as it
screeched painfully across the polished wooden floor. ‘Ooh, sorry, Tamar,’ she said.

‘It’s all right, I’m not made of glass. Just a bit of a headache.’

‘Does it hurt? Your face?’ asked Polly.

‘No. It feels numb at the moment.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s good then.’