Page 5 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 5

S TEPHEN —S UMMONED TO S OMERSET H OUSE

Y awning, I sit back in my carriage—or, should I say, my traveling office. Beneath the onyx cloth tufted seats are compartments for the tools of my profession. There’s even a freshly laundered shirt and cravat. Practicing medicine in London is often one part wisdom and two parts acting like a wise, fancy gentleman.

This existence is a far cry from my humble beginnings as a bone sawer, tooth puller, and elixir fixer. So many hands-on tasks that ordinary doctors around the world do daily. In London, a doctor is not respected, not like a physician. The distinction of book learning is supposed to be preferred to getting one’s hands dirty. I shake my head at the foolishness. I’d rather save lives.

In Britain, a decent wage and prospects center around being part of the genteel, slightly useless class. I follow the rules to get ahead. Knowing I help is what helps me sleep, when I get the rare opportunity to rest in my own bed.

My carriage slows as we come closer to the river.

This part of the Thames is tame. Nothing like the chaos and hubbub on the other side. If I weren’t so tired, I would go over to Ground Street. I need to see why Scarlett Wilcox has stopped speaking to me.

My carriage stops before I fully nod off. Out the window is the beautiful courtyard of Somerset House, one of the loveliest places in London. The architecture is perfect, with marble and limestone facades. The grass that surrounds the pavement squares seems lush and green. My aunties would have a glorious time making a communal picnic here.

Benjamin, casually known as Benny, my man-of-all-work, opens my door. “Weh here, sir.”

The fellow is laughing, and I’m aching. “What’s so funny?”

“At de mews, Mr. Carew, I heard a bit of gossip. It seems Lord Clapper has resigned from leading de Court of Chancery. The Lord Mayor walked in on him wit comp’ny.”

I yawn and try to focus on Benny’s dark bronze face. “Why did that make the man resign?”

“Sir, seems de company was de Lord Mayor’s wife.”

Benny’s laughter grows, but my foggy brainbox thinks that’s the second or third resignation from the court in the past year. And every time over scandal. Hmmm.

Chalking this up to rich people doing stupid things, I force my limbs to move, all while Benny giggles and shakes his head. I’ve known him eight years. He started out as my hackney driver taking me about town, even waiting for me during patient visits. I’m pretty sure Benny was enslaved at some point and made his way onto ships from there to here. We never talk about the hows and whys of his freedom; he’s a London resident now, part of the immigrant community. He’s free, and I’ll fight anyone to keep him that way.

Stepping out, I reach into a compartment under my seat and tug out the fresh shirt and the special rinse of peppermint that will make my mouth feel alive.

Changing quickly and letting Benny fix my cravat, I notice maybe for the first time that Benny is about Scarlett Wilcox’s height.

When he’s finished, I yawn loudly, then say, “The crowds are coming. The Annual Exhibition will draw many.”

“Mr. Carew, yuh don’t look so good. Perhaps yuh go home.”

“We just got here.”

Benny has his hand on the carriage door. He hasn’t closed it. Then he says in a loud, proud voice, “It’s good to see yuh doing somet’ing other than work, but yuh visited with patients all ’cross London, two days straight. I know yuh have no slept.”

This is true. “Sick people need a physician.” Admission into the existing hospitals is still lacking. Regretfully, I’ve been so busy that I’ve not gotten much further finding funding to build a new hospital. “I have lying-ins to check on and hands to hold to bring comfort.”

“Yuh do too much, sir. Yuh know how yuh get.”

I tug on my jacket and am surprised at how it and my jet striped waistcoat lack wrinkles. “Last night, I stayed with an old woman who passed away waiting for her son to come home from the military. I read her Sense and Sensibility . She went in peace. If not for me, who’d provide this care and, upon occasion, hope?”

“Can’t do all those t’ings if yuh fall over. I don’t think yuh eaten.”

“Benny, I nibbled here or there.”

His eyes are small and call me on my exaggerations. “Make it a short meeting. Meh do stay close, sir?”

“Park in the usual place.” It should be a short meeting with the Duke of Torrance, but then it could go long. “Once this is done, I promise I’ll do nothing else but go home and sleep.”

He shrugs, shuts the door, and levels his black hat. “Yuh know, if the aunties ask if yuh working too hard, meh won’t lie.”

Who can get a word in with them? “That reminds me, I need to check on my cousin.” Maryanne is very pregnant and almost due, but that baby hasn’t turned. I believe Maryanne’s mother, my blood aunt, wants to retain another physician, one with more gray hair on top and perhaps less of a tan.

Some days, I think I’ll never be more than a bone doctor to everyone, even to those in my own community. Maybe that’s why, on a day that I should be resting, I insist upon answering the duke’s request to meet.

Benny catches my arm when I start to turn. “Mr. Carew, yuh get lightheaded when yuh miss eating, especially wit no sleep. Yuh fainted at de last aunties’ picnic. Meh carrying yuh home. Actually carrying yuh.”

That was highly embarrassing. I wonder if that’s why my own aunt wants to get another physician. “I’ve diagnosed myself to be fine. I won’t miss meeting with Torrance.”

“He hasn’t been sick again, has he? He’s a good one.”

I glance at my driver, my friend, and realize I talk to Benny too much. Yet, what else can be done? My profession is a lonely one and being able to express what I’ve seen—the shock and violence and worry of it all—helps. “No. He’s been fine as of late, but let’s keep our voices low and not mention His Grace’s welfare to anyone. It’s not something he wishes to be known.”

“That’s right,” Benny says. “Sure, Mr. Carew. Yuh keeper of the ton’s secrets.”

Wouldn’t necessarily say what I’m the keeper of such, but I know many things. “Discretion is good. I need you to be discreet too. You are loyal, but your friendly demeanor can sometimes get us into trouble.”

More crowds filter past, heading for the stone steps and neoclassical columns. “I’ll find enough here to keep myself occupied. Go to the regular mews. Hopefully, I’ll be done around two.”

“Very good, sir. Yuh rarely take time off. Seems yuh will win de argument with Miss Wilcox after all.”

“Argument, Benny?” Does he know what I’ve done to make her so mad that she now avoids me? “What are you talking about? Start slowly.”

Benny raises a brow. I see skepticism radiating in his attempt to keep a serious face. “Well, yuh two are always arguing. I believe the last time, a month ago, she said that yuh weren’t a serious physician. Or was it yuh too serious of a physician? Yuh coming here to prove something to her?”

“That couldn’t have been our last words. But you are right. She hasn’t talked to me in a month. Or is it two months?”

“Truly?” He rubs his jaw. “Can’t have been that long.”

My hands fall to my coat, the pocket with my blade, my best scalpel. You can take a kid from the streets of Port of Spain, but the streets will always be a part of me. A thief doesn’t care if you are in the wrong part of town on a mission of mercy.

Easing my palms to my sides, I look again at Benny as he makes himself comfortable in the driver’s seat. “You don’t remember, either?”

He shakes his head. “But yuh will, and yuh always tell me. Yuh always do.”

Watching my carriage drive away makes my head feel even lighter. Since when does Benny track my disagreements with Scarlett? And why doesn’t he do a better job at it, so I know why she’s no longer speaking to me?

Puzzling over this, I decide to get out of the sun and go into Somerset House. I see a woman in a bonnet, a soft blue one. I saw Scarlett wear one like it months ago. I speed up to catch her, but then I see it’s another miss.

Disappointment rocks me. It’s difficult to breathe. This lack of sleep is getting to me.

Yet, I know this ache is Scarlett. She’s my friend. Well, we’ve been friendlier, less argumentative. Now, there’s nothing. I’ve been so busy that I hadn’t noticed how I miss her barbs. The loss of not speaking with her has finally struck. And it’s horrible.

I walk a little faster up the gray pavement. Then, I charge up the stone steps to get to Torrance. The duke is close to her. Sometimes, they look as thick as thieves. He’ll know what I’ve done to offend her. Then I can fix things. A grand gesture, perhaps?

At the top of the steps, I can see the banks of the Thames. The sun beams down on the river and makes it like a mirror. The reflection floods light onto Somerset House. May it guide me to enlightenment, or to an enlightened miss.

Even I groan at my terrible humor. Scarlett . . .

Shaking my head, I tip my hat, this way then that way, and walk into the south entrance. A statue of the River God sits there, stretched out with cornucopias. I’ve passed this statue tens of times to partake in a Royal Society meeting. Yet this time the marble face looks ominous. It feels like a warning.

My hand goes to my pocket. My fingers trace the outline of my surgical tool. Then I shake myself. My exhaustion and lack of eating has vexed me. The River God is not sending me a warning. My stomach is.

The air is stale inside Somerset House. Beginning to perspire, I whip off my gloves and head through the maze of opulent marble statues and crowds before passing the smattering of apartments or offices of state that have permanent residence here.

My steps slow.

My stomach churns as I see art and tapestries welcomed to these shores by British colonial aspirations. Many of these pieces bear the label tribal art, but these stolen pieces are conquests of the East India and West Indies Companies.

With a queasy stomach, feeling even more tired, I slow. Will London always look at its immigrants as tribal, less than? As an old woman and her husband take extra paces around me, I realize the sacrifice to assimilate seems less and less worth it.

“That is special. In St. Petersburg, we have many.” The light Russian accent of the Duke of Torrance echoes in the corridor. I see him a little way down with a gaggle of geese surrounding him. The birds—very pretty women and their equally feather-adorned mamas—have him cornered.

I’ve never seen him hold court in public.

Of course it’s rare to find him outside of Anya House. The closer I get, the more I notice a rainbow of women. It seems ambitious mothers from my Cheapside community, as well as some from Mayfair, are out at the Annual Exhibition in fine pinks, greens, and yellows, making eyes at Torrance.

The ladies are trying to catch his attention. Who can fault them? Torrance is amiable, well-traveled, rich, and based on the sighs and fan waving, the ladies find him handsome.

The duke seems amused, but not enough to pay closer attention. I notice his gaze move from the ladies to surveil the hall. He’s looking for someone. Could it be me? I’m early.

I almost wave, but that instinct in me for trouble rears. It’s near, and Torrance is on alert, looking for something to manifest.

I wonder if the duke has called me here to provide medical support for the wounded, or to help in an attack.