From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(43)

"Oh!" The assistant beamed. "How exciting!" He winked back. "I won't tell a soul."

"Thank you. The name of the hospital involved in hematology research?"

"I wish it were us now, but alas it's not. You need to speak to Dr. Bell from St. Bart's."

Lincoln thanked him and we returned to the coach. "Barts," Lincoln directed Gus before closing the door.

"Well done," I said, settling on the seat. "You played your part well. My skepticism was misplaced."

He stroked his mustache. "I could get used to one of these if it means I'm taken more seriously."

"Believe me, people usually take you very seriously. You only have to give them one of your looks and they cower."

"Perhaps I don't want people to cower."

It was impossible to know if he was merely spouting what he thought I wanted to hear, or whether he meant it. "Lincoln, you are who you are. You shouldn't try to change for other people."

He turned to the window.

"That goes doubly for growing a mustache and cutting your hair."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Noted."

St. Bartholomew's Hospital had the grand distinction of being London's oldest hospital still operating on its original site. It was made up of a cluster of buildings accessed via the Henry VIII gate where a heavy-lidded porter eyed us.

"If it ain't an emergency," he said, "general admission day is Thursdays at eleven."

"We're here on another matter." Lincoln introduced himself as William Humphrey, journalist from The Times, and repeated his story about interviewing Dr. Bell for the newspaper."

The heavy lids briefly lifted before plunging to half-mast again. "Bell's laboratory can be found on the second floor in the north wing. He's always there." He waved at the multi-level building behind him. "Go through the archway. Staircase is on the right."

Lincoln thanked him and we headed from the gatehouse to the north wing, but not before a stiff wind almost ripped Lincoln's mustache off. He flipped up his collar as if to ward off the cold and pressed the false hair against his upper lip.

A nurse dressed all in white greeted us on the second floor. "Dr. Bell is very busy," she hedged with a glance along the corridor. "Would you care to wait?"

"Not particularly." Lincoln repeated his story about a financial grant. "Where can we find him?"

A gentleman walked past and the nurse hailed him. "Dr. Fawkner will assist you. He's Dr. Bell's assistant."

Dr. Fawkner looked far too young to be given any authority, let alone be a doctor. His curly blond hair ended high up his forehead and his childlike face sported rosy cheeks and cherubic lips. The cheeks grew even rosier as Lincoln repeated his story.

"Marvelous!" Dr. Fawkner declared. "It's about time Dr. Bell's work was taken seriously. He's a genius. His research is ahead of its time, but so few in the medical profession will acknowledge it. All the money's in infectious diseases, you know, and surgical equipment. Hematology is very much the beggar's specialty around here. Come with me. I'll introduce you."

He led us down a long corridor, past dozens of doors, one of which was open to reveal two long tables against the side walls. Two gentlemen in white coats peered through microscopes and another took notes.

Dr. Fawkner knocked on the next door along and a voice ordered us to enter. A bald gentleman with a neatly trimmed white beard looked up from the paperwork covering most of his expansive desk. His blue-gray eyes pierced his assistant, pinning him to the spot so that he didn't enter beyond the doorway.

"What is it, Fawkner?" Dr. Bell snapped. "I'm busy."

Fawkner cleared his throat. "Dr. Bell, this is Mr. Humphrey and his assistant. They're from The Times and have some rather exciting news for you." He was so enthusiastic that I felt a little sorry to be misleading him.

"I'll be the judge of that." Dr. Bell turned his sharp gaze onto Lincoln. I did not receive an acknowledgement of any kind. It was probably best that Dr. Bell not really see me. Even with the veil covering much of my face, it was safer to remain somewhat invisible.

Lincoln held out his hand, but Dr. Bell didn't take it. "I don't shake hands when I'm not wearing gloves," he said.

Dr. Fawkner shifted behind us. "My apologies," he muttered. "I failed to mention that."

Lincoln held a chair out for me and I went to sit.

"I didn't offer you a seat." Dr. Bell flicked his fingers and Fawkner left us. "What is it you want?"

"My editor wants me to interview you," Lincoln said.

"I fail to see how that is of benefit to me. Bloody typical of Fawkner to get excited over something as banal as an interview. I don't read the papers, Mr. Humphrey. I'd rather spend my valuable time perusing medical journals."

"The article will coincide with an announcement of a grant awarded to your department, and funded by the paper's owner."

"How much is the grant worth?"

"Two thousand pounds."

Bell's white brows shot up. He leaned forward and steepled his hands on his desk. "Why my department?"

"Personal reasons, so I'm told."

Bell leaned back again. "I see."