The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(3)

"We want to speak to Dr. Hale," Matt said.

The porter clicked his tongue and muttered something about demanding toffs before hailing a nurse who entered from a side door. She drew us aside as the porter dealt with a man cradling his arm against his chest.

"Is he in surgery?" Matt asked when the nurse said Dr. Hale wasn't available.

"He's not a surgeon," she said crisply. "He's a physician. He's on his rounds now. He won't be long, if you'd like to take a seat."

"I read about the doctor in this morning's paper," Matt told her. "Did you see the article?"

The nurse rolled her eyes. "Dr. Hale made sure that I did. He made sure we all saw it. Is that why you're here?" Her face softened as she regarded Matt. "To have him perform a miracle for you? I knew this would happen. I told him it would. Mark my words, you'll be the first of many through those doors today, hoping for a medical miracle." She spat out the two words as if they tasted sour. "The reporter shouldn't have written that, and Dr. Hale should have had more care."

"In not letting anyone see him perform his miracle?"

"In not letting the reporter think he performed a miracle and saved that fellow's life. Oh, sir. You haven't gone and got your hopes up, have you?"

Matt went still. "Are you implying he didn't save that patient?"

"He died again, shortly afterward. Or…not again, not really. He died for the first time, since he couldn't have been dead before, could he? The dead don't come back to life for a few minutes—only to die a second time—do they?"

"He's dead," Matt said flatly.

The nurse nodded. Matt lowered his head and crushed the brim of his hat in his hand. My mind turned with possibilities and questions. It wasn't so much that the patient was now dead that intrigued me, but the fact that he'd been alive for a few minutes between his two deaths, if that were indeed what had happened.

"Start at the beginning," I urged the nurse. "Who was the patient and what was his condition?"

She folded her arms. "I'm not at liberty to divulge patient information. But, sir, madam, I want to urge you not to put any stock in that reporter's claims. There was no miracle here." She leaned forward, glanced toward the door, and lowered her voice. "Dr. Hale's just a jumped up apothecary, so the other doctors say. He certainly didn't cure anyone of anything. That patient's well and truly dead, now. I am sorry if you came here hoping the doctor would help you. If you tell me what ails you, I'll send for the appropriate doctor, one who specializes in your type of complaint."

"We want to speak to Dr. Hale," Matt said tightly. "We'll wait."

She sighed. "Very well. I'll have one of the nurses send for him." She indicated two empty chairs near where the porter stood by the door. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait out here. Patients are directed through to either the men's or women's reception room, but since you're not patients, you have to remain here."

Another patient entered, a bloody cloth tied around his head. He eyed us as if we were intruders, not supposed to be there. The London Hospital was located in the heart of the city's roughest areas. Patients were working class at best. It wasn't a hospital for the likes of Matt, or even me. I felt conspicuous in my best blue and cream day dress and smart hat with its blue satin ribbon.

We didn't have to wait long before a white-coated man greeted us, smiling broadly. He was much younger than I expected, perhaps in his late twenties, with thick brown hair that flopped over his forehead, and spectacles perched on a Roman nose. His features were a little familiar but I couldn't place him.

He extended a slender hand to Matt without breaking his smile. "I'm Dr. Hale. You wanted to see me about the medical miracle? Are you a reporter?"

"I am," Matt said, without pause. "My name is Matthew Glass and this is Miss Steele, my partner."

Partner! I wished he'd apprised me of the plan before he launched into it with both feet. He might be good at playing roles but I was not. I needed to prepare.

"Partner?" Dr. Hale said. "That's odd for a reporter to work in teams. And with a woman, no less."

"I'm more of an assistant, really," I said.

"It's as much her article as it will be mine," Matt countered.

Dr. Hale clicked his heels together and nodded at me. "Well, how intriguing and utterly delightful for me. It's a pleasure to meet you both. Shall we talk in my office?"

He led us up the stairs, past a desk staffed by a nurse who greeted Dr. Hale with a benign smile. "Keep up the good work, Nurse Benedict," he said.

"It's Nurse Barnaby," she said.

"This way, Mr. Glass, Miss Steele. Ah, Dr. Wiley." Dr. Hale hailed an elderly man with a quick step and eyes that narrowed upon seeing Hale. "These two reporters from the, er…"

"The Times," Matt said.

"The Times!" Dr. Hale's step faltered. "My, my, I had no idea. Did you hear that, Dr. Wiley? They're from The Times!"

"I heard," Dr. Wiley bit off.

"These two reporters from The Times wish to speak to me about my medical miracle. Perhaps you ought to join us, since you played a role." Dr. Hale leaned toward us. "My esteemed colleague originally declared the patient deceased on arrival."