Chapter Three

I spent the next two days studying all I could find about common treatments required on a steamship. I'd be dealing with illnesses like cholera and typhus and bandaging such burns and broken bones as were commonly suffered by the crew. In addition, I managed to talk my way on board so I could make an inventory of those medicines and dressings I'd have on hand.

Not as much as I'd like, so I spent a miserable afternoon fighting my way through a crowded souk, purchasing many of the things I might need.

And all the while, I alternated between remembering the capers Randall and I had once pulled off and doing my best to forget my current state of affairs.

Though the heat wouldn't let me truly forget; the glaring sun, the oppressive heat, the babble of foreign languages, and the pervasive scent of unfamiliar spices kept me firmly rooted in the present. Somehow, I'd have to steal a valuable icon from a person who might not be wholly human, while keeping as many of my fellow passengers alive as possible.

Before dawn on the morning of the eighth, I left my luggage and all my various purchases on the dock to be brought over with a porter and boarded the ship. When my things arrived, Randall's man Will came with them.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his tone jovial.

"I'm just surprised. Randall needs you more than I do." I also couldn't help but wonder where he'd sleep, since my room and the infirmary were barely big enough for one. I had half a mind to insist he return to the dock, and would have said so, but he stopped me.

"He'll have help, and he knew you'd never agree if we told you ahead of time." Will's smile became sadder. "Our task is the only important thing."

I had no answer for that. While we waited for the tide, Will took charge of distributing the medications and bandages I'd purchased and I stowed my trunk and other personal belongings. In that tight space, we had to slide past each other like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, but we managed.

Luck smiled on me, and I had no patients that first afternoon. A steward visited to make sure I had everything I needed and to invite me to sit at the officers' table for dinner. I politely accepted.

Despite my protest, Will insisted on brushing out my frock coat and assisting me with my cravat.

"You're not a valet."

He ignored me, continuing to adjust the folds of silk at my neck despite my efforts to break free of his grasp. Will was a good six inches shorter than me, and he stood on tiptoe to do the job.

"You're supposed to be a man of some stature, so you'd obviously be accompanied by an assistant, and that man would obviously aid you in dressing. Now stand still and let me finish."

His tone brooked no opposition, so I gave in and allowed him to continue fussing. "Of the two of us, you're the one most likely to be a gentleman. I hope, at least, that you have a private room in which to sleep." If I sounded petulant, he'd have to forgive me.

Instead, he laughed. "My arrangements are quite satisfactory."

I narrowed my gaze at him but his smile didn't falter. He stepped back, giving me a critical look. "You'll do. Now, while you're at dinner, do your best to discover what you can about this Fr. Dominic."

Father Dominic . Randall had given me such information as they had so far collected, enough to know that the priest, Fr. Dominic Mancini, was my target. He was not an ordinary cleric, as evidenced by the fact that prior to 1849, no priest by that name existed. He had arrived in Alexandria as fully formed as Venus on her shell, with no history that Randall and Will had been able to discern.

"Just because you couldn't learn much about him doesn't make him a criminal."

Will patted my arm. "After dinner, reread Randall's notes. Fr. Dominic only came to our attention after his name was whispered in some strange places."

"I hope we're chasing the right man." I offered a wrist for him to attach a cufflink. The trinket had a mother-of-pearl lozenge the size of an almond and, like my frock coat and silk cravat, was on loan from Randall. He'd sent me with two pairs of boots and a selection of silk waistcoats as well, having determined that my London wardrobe was insufficient to the role I was assuming.

They'd arranged for me to be the ship's doctor, yes, but they'd also made it clear I should be treated as a gentleman.

I could only hope I was equal to the task.

"And while you charm the officers' table, I'll work the other side of the room. A cleric as prestigious as Fr. Dominic will have a retinue." Will's smile held more confidence than I could have gathered on my own. "Someone will tell us something."

"I hope so."

"They will. To hear Randall tell it, you were always the smart one. You'll figure this out."

I smiled despite myself. "Randall's memories are faulty. My primary function was to keep us out of trouble."

"You can apply that here, as well."

I extended my hand, and after a brief hesitation, Will shook it. His grip was strong, his touch light, and if in public we had to act the part of master and servant, here we were equals.

I had no patience with those who would have it otherwise.

The ship itself was larger than the one that had carried me to Alexandria. There were three levels: first class, second class, and a lower level for storage. All the first-class passenger rooms opened onto the deck, a polished rosewood expanse lined with reclining chairs and space for shuffleboard and other games. Depending on the heat, it was likely passengers would sleep on those reclining chairs, as would the crew.

And if, God forbid, the engine failed, there were three masts with sails and rigging to keep us on course.

My room was on the second level, with only the smallest porthole known to man for a window. A steward let me know I'd be responsible for seeing first-class patients in their rooms, rather than requiring them to descend to the second level, but that all others would come to me as long as they could walk.

My practice in London had followed similar lines. I saw a few members of the ton in their homes, but otherwise, patients came to me. There the similarity ended. At home, I had an office, a room for examinations and procedures, and separate rooms for my living quarters.

Here, I didn't even have a curtain to separate my bunk from my desk. If I had to bleed someone, I'd have to use care not to dirty my own sheets.

The stairs to the upper level were narrow, grimy, and steep, no fancier than I'd expected, though the hum of the steam engine lessened with every step. They opened onto a graceful hallway, however, and while I had yet to explore much beyond my own room, I easily found the dining salon.

A hundred candles shone down from three large chandeliers, bathing the salon in a warm glow. The scent of paraffin and ladies' perfume drowned out the salty smell of the ocean. Most of the first-class passengers were mingling, the women seated at table with delicate glasses of an aperitif, while the men coalesced around a broad man in a nautical uniform. I hesitated before approaching them, unsure of how to introduce myself.

I shouldn't have worried. A man in a similar uniform strode toward me with an efficient air and a warm smile. "You'd be Dr. St John, then? Right. I was asked to keep an eye out for you."

"Yes, thank you. I am Hugh St John." I held out my hand to shake his, and after a brief pause, he took it.

"I'm Second Officer Prentice. If there's anything you need while you're traveling with us, don't hesitate to ask."

"Of course."

"It's not often we have such a qualified medical doctor on board. Usually we make do with Army surgeons, you know."

My forced smile was more of a grimace. "I shall endeavor to provide you and your passengers with the best of care."

"You brought the Holloway's Pills, I take it." He nodded with the enthusiasm of a small child. "Those fix almost everything that ails us."

"Certainly," I lied. I was more likely to treat patients with ipecacuanha, calomel, or morphine, but this wasn't the time or place to debate the virtues of various medications. "I also brought some chloroform in the event anyone requires suturing or other procedure."

"That's just spiffy. Hope we don't need it, but glad you've got it at hand."

His enthusiasm boiled over, and I allowed him to take hold of my elbow and lead me in the direction of the captain. We burst through the circle surrounding him, interrupting whatever point one of the men was trying to make.

"Captain Thornton, sir, this is Dr. St John, our doctor. He'll be joining your table tonight."

The captain gripped my hand with rather more vigor than I'd anticipated, leading me to surreptitiously shake out my fingers when we were done. "Very pleased to meet you, sir."

"The pleasure's all mine." Thornton made an expansive gesture with both hands. "Gentlemen, this is Dr. St John. He'll be taking care of all of us this fortnight. Dr. St John, Prentice will introduce you around. We should be seating in some fifteen minutes."

"Thank you very much, sir." I eased away a step or two, allowing him to continue the conversation we'd interrupted. Prentice stayed at my elbow, nodding at the various gentlemen while murmuring the corresponding names.

A man caught my eye. He wasn't with the group around the captain. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for someone. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, lips in the shadow of a smile. He was pale, too, his skin creating a stunning contrast with the dark aubergine of his frock coat. His hair was dark and his stance had a sense of coiled anticipation, as if he was a lean jungle cat poised to leap at his prey.

For a moment, our gazes met, and held, and I knew what it might feel like to be that prey.

His smile deepened, causing my cheeks to burn. I turned away and forced myself to attend to Prentice's conversation.

"To the captain's right is a businessman named Mr. Leopold, and on his other side is a solicitor named Mr.…um…"

"Yes?" I prompted him, following the direction of his gaze. Directly behind Mr. Solicitor Um stood a short, dark man wearing a black suit with a clerical collar. The man who'd been waiting against the wall approached him, his smile so patently false it made my skin crawl.

Fr. Dominic—for the man in the collar could be no other—raised a hand, muttering something low and harsh. The younger man continued toward him, laughing.

Still muttering, the priest made a sharp gesture. Two men appeared from out of the crowd, stepping between him and the young man. Bald except for a ring of hair circling their brows, they underlined their singular hairstyles with black, monkish robes. They grabbed him by the arms and the man's laughter faded, though his smile did not.

"You've already reneged on your part of the bargain," he said, his voice carrying over the happy chatter. Though, in fact, most people had stopped talking and were watching him instead.

"You don't know that," said one of the priest's lackeys. "Now get back to yer post afore you get in even more trouble."

The priest broke off his muttering. "I made no bargain with you."

"Hassan is dead." The bitterness in the man's tone was at odds with his roguish grin.

"If you do not return to your post, you'll find yourself in the same circumstances."

That last comment was delivered into dead silence as we all gaped at the two of them.

"Father, please." Captain Thornton bustled over, reduced to the position of a nanny. "It's nearly time to take our seats."

The man broke free of the two men holding him, shaking them off with no more effort than if they'd been children. "We'll talk more, Father," he said, then strolled in the direction of the door, moving with that same predator's grace despite the uproar he'd caused.

Fr. Dominic inclined his head toward the captain. "Apologies, sir. This should not have happened here."

Not have happened here? I eased toward them, even though it took me away from Prentice.

"Come, Dr. St John." Prentice again claimed my elbow. "The steward has given the signal for the guests to take their seats."

"Of course." Frustrated, I allowed myself to be led away. If the confrontation should not have happened here, where should it have happened? And who was that man, besides being part of the priest's retinue? Maybe Will would have answers.

Meanwhile, I found myself seated several places down from Thornton, near the end of the table. Mr. Solicitor Um sat across from me, Prentice sat at my right, and on my left was a family of four. They were spread around the end of the table, with the children sitting at the very end between their parents.

Fr. Dominic was on the opposite end of the table, sitting with one of his black-robed associates on either side of him. The solicitor across from me introduced himself as Peter McAdam, and the family was the Beasleys. Once introductions were made and the first course passed, I settled in to listen.

McAdam might have been content with listening, too, however Beasley seemed determined to grill me on my scientific beliefs. "But you've read about John Snow, surely," he said, waving his wineglass at one of the waiters.

"Yes, and I've heard him speak. His ideas are most interesting."

The waiter refilled Beasley's glass, though I covered mine with my hand. Never much of a drinker, I certainly couldn't afford to get drunk in these circumstances.

"Interesting, my eye. He's preposterous. To think that there are bugs in the water. I don't understand where he gets his ideas."

Mrs. Beasley wore a patient smile, indicating she was quite familiar with the things her husband couldn't understand.

I endeavored to keep my tone mild. "His map of cholera cases makes a compelling argument that the pump at Broad Street is the source, and I don't have a better explanation for what could be contaminating the water. Have you?"

Mrs. Beasley grinned into her dinner plate.

"It's in the air, a miasma. Even you know that, right, Margaret?"

He nodded at his wife, who answered with a subdued, "Of course, dear."

"I don't know much about science," McAdam interjected, "and I'd rather discuss just about anything else. What about you, Mrs. Beasley? What was your favorite part of your stay in Alexandria?"

Thus rescued, I eased back in my seat, nursing my wine. Beasley took the liberty of answering for his wife, and soon he and McAdam were arguing over whether a trip to Cairo was an essential part of any young man's Great Tour. I used the time to mentally review the story Randall had provided me, in case any questions came my way.

I was a physician from London—that much was easy enough to remember—who'd come to Egypt to study their medical practices. My visit had been interrupted when the doctor with whom I studied had been called to serve in the Ottoman Army, which was currently at war in Crimea. Once I returned home, I intended to volunteer for the same conflict.

There was enough truth in those few lines to make them easy to remember. I had volunteered to serve in Crimea, though my application had been denied for reasons I did not understand. I'd meant to investigate when the notice from Randall had sent me charging down another path. Could the two be related? I didn't think so. Still, the timing made me wonder.

McAdam and Beasley were content to continue their argument regardless of the topic, leaving me free to observe the others at our table. Prentice began a very subtle flirtation with Mrs. Beasley, whose children's good behavior reflected well on her. Thornton was boisterous, the other diners were cheerful, and Fr. Dominic only spoke to his associates, his sotto voce comments too low for me to hear.

I could only hope Will's dinner conversation was more fruitful than mine. Otherwise, we'd return to Randall empty-handed.

Assuming he was still alive to see us.