Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

Kathryn

K athryn pulled the hood of the cloak closely around her face as she stepped into the dark alley. Having always crept into the small lane twice in the depths of London, she felt more confident about where to go now. She kept close to the wall, hiding with the shadows, her cloak only occasionally lit by the orange lanterns that swung outside of the inn at the far end of the street. The drunkards passed her, leaving the inn with merry spirits indeed. She smiled, hiding her face around the lip of the cloak as two men walking arm in arm down the street left, singing a happy tune.

Tucked under the cover of her cloak in a bag was the notebook that Doctor Beille had given her. She supposed she was coming for one of her lessons with the doctor, but in truth, that was not her motivation for sneaking out at such a late hour.

Try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking of how he had been at the tea party two days before and how he had run out. The memory of him kissing her hand before he left still burned in her mind.

What did he mean by such a kiss? Could it be that it mattered to him? Or was it just meant as a mark of respect?

It had certainly felt like more than respect. The heat of his hand against hers was a memory she couldn't forget, as was the burning stare of those rich eyes.

Stop it!

She halted her own thoughts, tapping her head beneath the cover of her cloak as she crept toward the doorway that led to the building of Doctor Beille's lodgings. Over the last couple of days, two parcels had arrived from Doctor Beille at the house. Each one she'd had to hide quickly, before Lady Georgiana could discover she was having parcels at all.

In each were fresh lessons from Doctor Beille. The first parcel was full of his notes on herbs related to the heart. She had read over them most avidly, before his second parcel had arrived. These notes pertained more to the instruments used to measure the blood flow in the body, and bloodletting. She wrinkled her nose at the mere idea of bloodletting, remembering what Arabella had said in her notes about her belief that it weakened the body.

Reaching for the door, Kathryn crept inside into the darkness. She didn't dare lower her hood just yet as she headed for the stairs, turning her head back and forth. There were many apartments in this building, and at any second, one of the doors could open and she could be seen, sneaking up to the doctor's rooms. At this time of night, no one would believe she was a patient.

It would be scandalous.

Yet she had to come. As she climbed the stairs, trying to avoid the creaking floorboards that she had discovered before, she thought of his panic two days before. Something was wrong at that afternoon tea, and she was determined to find out from Doctor Beille what had upset him so much.

She tapped lightly on the door. Something thudded inside the room, and then footsteps moved toward her. The door opened and as Kathryn lowered her hood, her jaw slackened at the state Doctor Beille was in.

"Miss Fitzroy?" He blinked madly, as if he thought he was imagining her.

"Doctor? What has happened?" Her eyes darted across his being.

Though she had seen him in a state of a little undress already, things were different tonight. Once more his cravat was missing, the neck of his shirt open, but tonight, his waistcoat was also undone, hanging loose, and his shirt was partly untucked. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and where they had been neatly rolled before, they were now jumbled, as if they had been put there hastily. His hair was tangled around his neck, his cropped mustache not as neat as it often was.

"Doctor?" She stepped forward.

"Ah, I didn't…" He raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. "Forgive me, I was not expecting you this evening." He slurred his words a little as he stepped back into the room and beckoned her inside.

Kathryn hurried in, taking off her cloak and laying it across the back of a chair. The table beside the chair bore an empty brandy glass. His pipe was spent beside it, the ash upturned in a small tray. The carafe of brandy beside the glass was only half full.

"Are you in your cups?" she asked, turning around as she realized the reason for his slurring words.

"A little." He closed the door and leaned against it, tipping his head back. "I am sorry, Miss Fitzroy. You should not see me like this. I didn't expect you."

"You said that already," she pointed out with a small smile.

"Did I?" He mirrored her smile a little, then it faded away. "Have you come for a lesson?"

"I suppose," she murmured. "But first, let us talk." She reached for the empty brandy glass. "Why are you drinking this? Would it have something to do with why you left the tea party so suddenly the other day?"

"That hardly matters." He moved toward her.

Kathryn raised the glass to her nose and sniffed, only to find it didn't have the scent of just brandy. There was something else mixed with it, something tart, acrid, and chemical.

"What on earth is this?" she murmured in panic.

He took the glass and put it down on the table.

"A tincture to help calm my nerves."

"I do not know what to say first. I could point out that alcohol hardly seems a wise way to do that when it's known to raise the heartrate—" She began, but he cut her off.

"Miss Fitzroy?—"

"Or perhaps instead I should just ask why your nerves need calming at all?" Her question made him fall still, blinking.

"Always so penetrating," he murmured, the smallest of smiles. He seemed to be staring intently at her.

"My questions?" she whispered.

"Those. And your eyes." He nodded at her.

Wait. Was that a compliment?

She wasn't sure what to make of it. He rubbed his eyes again and walked around the table, putting distance between them.

"What is in this drink?" she asked again.

"That doesn't matter. Now you're here, we could have a lesson." He rubbed his hands together, stood tall and breathed deeply, clearly trying to sober himself up. "Did you read the notes I sent you?"

"I did, though I had some questions about the use of leeches."

"Very well. One minute." He moved to the edge of the room and reached into a tall cupboard. Pulling out a large jar of water inside, he placed it on the table beside her.

"Charming," she murmured wryly as she stared at the jar full of leeches that were bobbing about in the water. "What a pleasant dinner companion to have at your table."

Doctor Beille laughed warmly. He leaned on the table, looking like he might fall over at any second.

"Shall we sit?" Kathryn said, gesturing to the chairs, hoping she could get him to sit before he did indeed fall over. He nodded wordlessly and sat down, gesturing to the leeches.

"What was your question about them?"

"It was about bloodletting in general, really." She grimaced as she leaned forward, her curiosity bringing her nose nearly flush to the jar as she looked at the leeches. "My aunt has always been convinced that leeches and the loss of blood makes the body weaker. Your notes said nothing of that."

"It's a practice that has been done for many years." Nigel nodded slowly, reaching for a book in one of the stacks behind him. He managed to knock the stack over with an almighty thud that made Kathryn jump. "Sorry about that."

"You're getting as clumsy as me," she jested, rather glad when he smiled a little at her words. He opened a book in front of him and turned to a page that was an illustration of the human body. Shifting his chair around the table, he dragged the book with him along the surface of the table and moved it toward her to see.

Kathryn looked between him and the book, startled and thrilled by how close he had come, though he didn't seem to notice her staring at him.

"These are the old humors of the body. It was once believed that the body was completely ran by these humors." He tapped the ink flecks on the page. "Phlegm, blood, yellow bile and black bile. It's a theory that goes right back to the Greeks and the Romans. They thought that too much blood in your system was bad, for it made the body hot, leading to fevers." He paused, his fingers trailing across the book.

"You speak as if it is not a theory you believe any more, Doctor," she whispered.

"It's not." He shook his head. "I believe these days that the body is not as loyal to these four humors as was once said. You mentioned your aunt thought the same. She thought it made the body weak? Why is that?" He looked up from the book, staring at her.

Kathryn reached beneath her cloak and pulled out a small bag, laying it on the table. She took out her own notebook then Arabella's too. When she laid out Arabella's book, Doctor Beille grew even more interested, leaning forward.

The scent of the brandy and smoke came nearer. Rather than finding it off putting, Kathryn turned toward him, rather startled by the effect it had on her.

"Here, read this." She pushed an open page to Doctor Beille, remembering exactly what Arabella had put on that page.

She had described in detail a number of patients and how they had all responded negatively to bloodletting. She also described in detail how they had weakened once leeches were applied to the skin, or when blood was drained through an implement.

"It is my belief," the Doctor began to read from the bottom of the page, "that blood may be the source of strength when fighting diseases. I vow not to take blood from the body again. I will leave my patients strong." Slowly, he placed the book back down on the table. "This is fascinating." He reached for his glass on the table, but finding it empty, he topped it up from the carafe beside him.

Before he could finish, Kathryn leaned forward and took the carafe from his hand.

"What the?—"

"What is this, exactly?" she asked, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed it. "If it's supposed to be calming your nerves, I'm not convinced it is working."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, raising his glass toward his lips.

"Your hand." She nodded at his hand around the glass. Slowly, Doctor Beille turned his gaze toward his hand. Seeing the fingers shaking on the glass, slowly, he returned the glass to the table, not taking a single sip from the liquid.

"Ah."

"Yes, ah indeed!" she declared and snatched the glass away from him. "You will not tell me what has set your nerves on edge, will you?"

He shook his head, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his body.

"Disappointing. I thought you and I were friends, Doctor." She chose the word ‘friends' very deliberately, for she longed to think it was something more, but she would not push the matter. All she wished to know was that there was some sort of connection between them, a bond that he would acknowledge.

"We are." His expression softened. "But what happens up here…" He raised his hand and tapped the side of his temple. "They are my demons to cope with."

"How interesting." Kathryn took Arabella's book from in front of him and turned a few pages. "Let me read you something else my aunt wrote." She cleared her throat before she began. "I have seen many times how the darkness and the fears in one mind can have a direct impact on the body. If we are left alone to face such fears, how can we possibly escape them? I believe it's like being plunged into deep water, to be lost in one's thoughts. Sometimes, it's impossible to climb back out, unless we have a hand offered to help us." She lowered the book, smiling as she looked up to the Doctor.

His head was angled to the side, his eyes unblinking as he stared at her.

"You're much wiser than I first gave you credit for, you know that?" he whispered.

"Ha!" She laughed warmly. "I am not sure whether to be impressed with your compliment now, or disappointed you thought so ill of me."

"I didn't think ill of you." He shook his head.

"No? You did."

"Well, I…" He laughed too, clearly tying himself into knots with his own words. "perhaps I should stop."

"Perhaps so." She smiled softly. "May I suggest something, Doctor?"

He seemed dazed and unfocused, sometimes looking at her, sometimes looking around the room. They were so close together that it was all too easy to lean forward and rest her hand on his arm, making him snap his focus to her.

"What?"

"May I make you a drink? A mixture of my aunt's creation." She softened her words, not wanting to spook him in his already nervous state. "I am sure it will help, certainly more than whatever that thing is."

"Perhaps it will." The doctor reached forward and slid the carafe away, clearly having no wish to partake in drinking anymore of the mixture. "Very well, show me what your aunt would make me."

Kathryn smiled. It was the first time the doctor had placed his trust in her so completely. She stood, her hand still on his arm in silent comfort. As she walked away, she let her hand fall and moved toward a small fire at the side of the room.

Lifting a pot of water, she placed it over the fire and started to bring it to a boil. Turning to the few cupboards he had, she reached inside, pulling out various herbs and checking with him at each stage that she had found the right ones.

She gathered chamomile and rosemary, along with fresh peppermint leaves. She ground them together with a clean pestle and mortar and dropped them into a teapot. Lastly, she found a bowl of lemons that he kept hidden away in a drawer.

"May I?" she asked, holding up one of the lemons.

"You can use it, but why do you need it?" His brow furrowed. "I'm investigating them as a possible cure for scurvy."

"My aunt believes they contain a nutrient, something to invigorate the body." She chopped the lemon in two and added a good squeeze of the juice to the teapot, then stirred the mixture together. When the water started to boil, she took it off the fire and added it to the pot, leaving it to brew for a few minutes.

Doctor Beille stood and moved away from the table, staggering a little.

"Where are you going?"

"To find cups." Doctor Beille stopped, his hand still shaking as he raised it to his eyes, rubbing it once more.

"Sit down." She halted in front of him, her hands on her hips.

"You giving me orders now, Miss Fitzroy?" he said with a smile. "Who is the teacher here?"

"Ah, do you think you have learned all you could possibly learn in life?" Her playful tone made his smile grow a little more. "Sit down, Doctor."

"Very well." Rather than returning to the rigid-backed chairs at the table, he chose a comfortable armchair instead, sighing as he flopped down into it.

Kathryn found two cups and poured out the tea for the two of them. Crossing toward the doctor, she placed a cup in his hands, all too aware of the way their hands brushed together as they passed it between them. He seemed to notice too, for his eyes flicked up from the cup, to meet her own gaze.

"Thank you," he murmured as she moved to another seat, taking the second cup with her. He sniffed the concoction suspiciously for a minute or more, wrinkling his nose.

"I have hardly poisoned you," she said pointedly and took a big gulp. "Trust me, Doctor. Just try it, I beg of you."

He lifted the cup and took a small sip. His lips softened and he allowed himself a small smile.

"Is that a smile? Do you like the taste?"

"It certainly tastes better than what I had made." He sat further back in his seat, relaxing back. As he drank more and more of the tea, Kathryn sat forward, watching him intently. It took some minutes, but gradually his body calmed. His hand stopped shaking around the cup and he drank much more easily, rather than staring at it suspiciously. "Thank you," he said after some minutes, his eyes half lidded as he laid back on the chair.

"I suppose as a doctor you don't have many people try to look after you," she murmured.

"They never do." He shook his head, his eyes closing completely now.

"Have you not been sleeping?" She stood and moved to his side, reaching for the cup in his hands that started to slip sideways.

"Barely slept a wink," he managed, yawning.

"Why, Doctor?"

"I cannot say."

She took the cup from him as his head started to loll to the side, sleep mere seconds away.

"Sleep well, Doctor."

His head stopped moving, leaning against the wing back of the chair as he inhaled deeply and sighed, his breathing growing even. Kathryn smiled as she stared at him, watching as the doctor slept.

Turning away, she placed the cups down on a nearby table and hunted for a blanket. Laying it across his lap, she tucked him in, keeping him warm. His body softened even more, and a gentle snore filled the air.

Kathryn could have left. She could have left him, but she couldn't, for she was too worried about what else was in the concoction he had drunk earlier. Instead, she returned to her seat and her tea, watching him in his peace.