Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(64)

It was somehow worse to see a man of such robust health reduced to this condition. The morphine had taken what effect it would, but Ethan was still in obvious pain, and Garrett didn’t dare give him any more with his blood pressure so low.

Garrett had never been so relieved as she was when Dr. Havelock arrived. His capable presence made her feel that together, they would pull Ethan through. Havelock’s distinctive shock of snow-white hair had been brushed back hastily, his cheeks and chin glinting with the day’s growth of silver beard. He examined Ethan with quiet efficiency, responding to the wounded man’s incoherent murmurs with a few soothing words.

When Havelock had finished his evaluation, Garrett went with him to the far end of the library for a private conference.

“He’s on the verge of circulatory collapse,” Havelock said quietly, his expression grave. “In fact, I’ve never seen a patient with a capacity to endure such severe hemorrhage. The bullet penetrated the left pectoral muscle. I wouldn’t be surprised if an artery has been completely severed.”

“That’s what I thought—but if so, it should have been immediately fatal. Why has the bleeding stopped? If it were leaking into the chest cavity, his lung function would be impaired, but it isn’t.”

“It’s possible the artery has constricted and retracted within its sheath, thereby sealing itself temporarily.”

“If it turns out to be the axillary artery, would there be enough blood supply left for the arm if I tie it off?”

“Yes, there would be sufficient collateral circulation. But I wouldn’t advise it.”

“What would you advise, then?”

Havelock regarded her for a long moment, his gaze kind in a way she didn’t like. “Make the poor fellow as comfortable as you can, and let him die in peace.”

The words were a slap in the face. “What?” Garrett asked dazedly. “No, I’m going to save him.”

“You can’t. Based on everything you’ve taught me about antiseptic medicine, this man is so contaminated, within and without, there’s no hope. Subjecting him to unnecessary surgery is folly and selfishness. If we did manage to delay his death for a day or so, he would go through unspeakable agony. His entire body would become riddled with sepsis until all his organs failed. I won’t have that on my conscience, and I don’t want it on yours.”

“Let me worry about my own conscience. Just help me, Havelock. I can’t do this by myself.”

“Operating when the medical facts don’t warrant it—when it will only cause the patient needless suffering—that is malpractice by any standard.”

“I don’t care,” Garrett said recklessly.

“You’ll care very much if this destroys your career. You know there are many who would leap at the chance to revoke your medical license. The first female physician in England, driven out of the profession because of scandal and misconduct . . . what would that do to the women who dream of following in your footsteps? What about the patients you’ll never be able to help in the future?”

“If I do nothing for this man, I’ll never be of any use to anyone,” Garrett burst out, trembling from the force of her emotions. “It would haunt me forever. I couldn’t live with the thought that there was a chance to save him but I didn’t take it. You don’t know him. If our positions were reversed, he would do anything for me. I have to fight for him. I have to.”

The older man stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m thinking more clearly than I ever have in my life.”

“This is the man you met at Lord Tatham’s house last evening.”

Garrett flushed but held his gaze as she admitted, “He and I were already acquainted. He’s my . . . he’s . . . important to me.”

“I see.” Havelock was silent then, stroking his white whiskers, while precious seconds of Ethan’s life ticked away.

“Did you bring the transfuser?” Garrett burst out, impatient to decide on a course of action.

Havelock looked grim. “I’ve attempted blood transfusion on seven different occasions, and every case but one ended in shock, pain, and stroke or heart failure. No one has yet discovered why some blood is compatible and some isn’t. You haven’t seen what happens when the procedure fails. I have. Never again will I knowingly inflict such agony on a patient.”

“Did you bring it?” she persisted.

“I did,” he grated. “God help you and that poor wretch if you try to use it. Be honest, Dr. Gibson: Are you acting on behalf of your patient, or yourself?”

“Both of us! I’m doing it for both of us.”

She saw from his expression that it was the wrong answer.

“I can’t help you to do something against your own interests as well as his,” Havelock said. “This is madness, Garrett.”

He never used her first name.

As she stood there in stricken silence, he gave her a look that was somehow both pleading and stern, before departing the library.

“You’re leaving?” she asked in bewilderment.

He continued past the threshold without replying.

Garrett felt hollow and numb. Dr. William Havelock—her partner, advisor, supporter, and confidant, a man with the unfailing ability to discern right from wrong even in the most complex situations—had just walked out on her. He would take no part in what she was doing. Not because he was wrong, but because she was. He was sticking to his principles, whereas she . . .