A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(13)
“Well, clearly the poor woman is a clairvoyant,” Sarah said immediately, a frown of annoyance on her face. “And it is a shame he didn’t speak sooner instead of tinkering with drugs. Instead of making her less sensitive, it is likely he had the opposite effect.”
Nan kept her thoughts to herself for now. But it seemed to her that parts of this story were not fitting up with others.
She also had some vivid memories of the time before she had been taken into the Harton School; people in the poorer parts of London would do anything to avoid hospitals and doctors; there were rumors of things they would do, experiments they would make on those who were too sick, injured and poor to object. . . .
Would the same thing happen if you’d been consigned to a madhouse?
“I thought as much myself,” Watson agreed. “Do you think you can do anything for her?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not I. But Nan might be able to reach her.”
Nan shrugged. “I can try,” she offered. “But no promises. If this was caused by drugs . . . I’m not sure what I can do.” She frowned. “If he’d said something to someone when he first realized he had a clairvoyant patient on his hands, he wouldn’t be in this situation now.”
I’d bloody well like to know why he kept all that to himself, if he could prove it all. . . .
Mary spoke the moment before her husband could. “This might seem like a case of physician’s arrogance to you, and indeed, it might be that very thing—but it could also be simply because he was afraid of being accused of either knowing the criminal who was guilty of the crimes, or being involved somehow.”
But Sarah frowned. “I know that you want to excuse him because he is a fellow physician, but this is not fitting together properly,” she said, with some reluctance, echoing Nan’s thoughts on the matter. “Sherlock has taught us all not to take anything at face value, not even the honesty of a physician. I believe we should tread cautiously. Things may not be what they seem.”
For a moment John Watson looked offended . . . but then he took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You are correct, and I would be a poor example of an adductive reasoner if I did not follow your advice.” He pondered a moment. “The truth is,” he added, somewhat reluctantly, “I call this fellow a colleague, but it is only in the sense that we are both doctors. So I don’t know anything about him. We’ve spoken at social occasions, but no more than that.”
“It’s hard, dear,” Mary patted his knee with a gloved hand she slipped out from under her sable cloak for a moment. “You naturally want to think the best of him.”
“Yet we all know there are bad physicians, unscrupulous ones, and physicians that take advantage of their patients.” He nodded, as if making up his mind. “We must not forget that among the selfless, there are also the Thomas Creams, and the William Palmers.”
Nan held her peace, but exchanged a speaking look with Sarah. It had occurred to her that they were placing a great deal of faith in not very much evidence, and all of it was the few notes written by a single man. She was very glad Sarah had managed to shake Doctor Watson out of his unthinking faith in a fellow doctor.
Mary Watson changed the subject before an awkward silence could grow. “And what is Suki planning for today? I would imagine that after the excitement of tea shops, Panto, and a full formal dinner, it might be hard to entertain her.”
“You would be mistaken,” Sarah said merrily, readily seizing on the opportunity to talk about their charge. “Suki has the admirable capability of being entertained by almost everything, equally. She takes a lively interest in everything around her, and today, she is especially excited to be learning how to make gingerbread, how to preside properly over a tea table, and to be making decorations for our Christmas trees.”
Mary smiled, then her smile faltered. “I do not wish to spoil anyone’s fun—but the practice of lighting candles on a tree—”
Nan held up a hand. “Mrs. Horace forbids it. And if she did not, we could not chance an accidental flap of a bird wing ending in tragedy. We have strings of cut German crystal beads, an entire hatbox full of bits of polished tin, and a great deal of tinsel. That will make the trees sparkle without courting a fire.”
The practice of setting up Christmas trees had arrived with Queen Victoria’s German husband, Prince Albert. Most people illuminated their trees with dozens of tiny candles set in holders on the ends of the branches. Memsa’b had never liked this practice, especially around two or three dozen excitable children, and she had passed her caution on to Nan and Sarah.
“You relieve me greatly,” Mary replied, her smile returning.
“And me,” John Watson agreed. “As a doctor . . . I have seen the victims of far too many Christmas fires. So what else have you planned for Suki’s school holiday with you?”
They were only too happy to describe what they were planning for the days leading up to Christmas, the extent to which Lord Alderscroft was “spoiling” her, and the presents they had planned for Suki. That filled the conversational void all the way to the establishment on Hampstead Heath.
Nan had not been sure what to expect—perhaps a large farmhouse, converted for use as a medical establishment—but it was quite clear as the growler passed the wrought iron gates in the substantial brick wall, discreetely marked by a small bronze plaque announcing that this was the “Hampstead Hospital and Sanitarium,” that a great deal of money had gone into the building of this place, and that it had not been converted from anything. The enormous, four-storied, pale stone building at the end of the well-graveled drive had clearly been purpose-built, and was no more than twenty or thirty years old. From its state, this was one of those discreet private facilities that catered to the needs of the wealthy, those who, for whatever reason, could not be tended at their own homes. From an inconvenient and potentially scandalous pregnancy, to an equally scandalous addiction, to . . . well, just about any medical or physical condition that a family did not want bruited about, a place like this was where the unfortunate sufferer was sent.