Dr Hitchingham gave a non-committal hum.
Ephraim endeavoured to interpret it charitably.
“Still,” said Dr Hitchingham, his eyes on the roast he was carving rather than on Ephraim.“Perhaps the hour has arrived to hire an office boy.If only to tide you over.”
“I can scarcely contrive work enough to keep Mr Hull busy,” Ephraim replied, honestly enough.“I cannot imagine I could find enough to occupy a third pair of hands.”
Privately, he had no wish for more prying eyes into the queer household he and Hull had built together.It certainly wasn’t clerking that kept Hull occupied most evenings.But he could hardly admit as much to Dr Hitchingham, his old friend’s tolerance for confirmed bachelors notwithstanding.
“Fair enough,” said Dr Hitchingham, further adding, to Ephraim’s surprise, “An office boy wouldn’t keep such good company over dinner.”
Ephraim blinked at his friend.On the surface it was a simple remark, easily spoken and just as easily cast aside.Any gentleman might say it of any one of his fellows.
And yet.
While Ephraim knew Hull possessed an effervescent and ebullient quality to his presence that brightened even the most dour evening, a subtle art of conversation that amplified and reflected his fellow guests rather than dominating centre stage himself, and any party no matter how small or large was thus benefited by his presence—he had in part credited his opinion to his own (not inconsiderable) bias in the man’s favour.
Dr Hitchingham could have no such bias.He had, indeed, often groused that his hitherto private dinners with his friend had been intruded on by the clerk.Just two evenings hence he had expressed his relief at Hull’s absence.
And yet…such good company over dinner.
Ephraim could only conclude, to his own bewilderment, that the physicianmissedthe clerk.
His surprise did not by any means vanish.But it ignited a certain warm glow beneath his breast-bone, to know that his oldest friend sympathised with his own plight.
The end of the se’en-night brought the bone-setter’s return.
To Ephraim’s mind, her arrival heralded immense relief.Despite his tender ministrations, Hull had not improved.
Dr Hitchingham had declared six weeks must pass before one could expect the break to heal, but Ephraim had hoped to notice some positive change by now.However, he had noticed nothing of the kind.
If anything, Hull’s condition seemed to worsen.
Ephraim told himself he was imagining things, his anxieties obscuring his memories of the recent past and conjuring the appearance of a decline when reality drew an even path.Yet the colour had not returned to Hull’s countenance since the dreadful day of the accident, and while he smiled through his agonies, his pallor remained an ashen grey.Ephraim, intimately familiar with the form of Hull’s flesh, likewise fancied that the circumference of his limbs had suffered, and his beloved had withered, fading away before his very eyes.
He had forcibly laid his concerns aside until the bone-setter’s return.After all, she would know better than he what warranted worry and what did not.And if his worries were well-placed, she alone could set Hull to rights.Therefore to wring his hands over any of it for more than a minute before her arrival would prove ineffectual at best.
Still, it was with quiet rejoicing that Ephraim heard the door-bell ring and hastened downstairs to let her in.He thanked her profusely for coming, which seemed to bewilder her, but she accepted his gratitude with stoicism and followed him up to her patient.
Ephraim had braced for the possibility that he might be sent away for the examination.But once again to his great relief, Hull bid him remain.More likely to spare Ephraim’s nerves than for any possible comfort his presence could grant his beloved, but even so, Ephraim greatly appreciated it, and perched on a chair with breath abated to await the bone-setter’s verdict.
The examination proceeded normally, as far as Ephraim could tell (which admittedly was not very far).Grytha unwrapped the splint and examined the break.Possibly she frowned; possibly that was merely the natural cast of her severe features.She splinted his leg anew and wrapped it tight again, nonetheless.Then she turned to Hull with a gravity of expression that would do any magistrate proud.
“Have you fed?”asked Grytha.
Ephraim, who’d brought Hull black pudding, a boiled egg, and toasted muffins with sloe preserves and plenty of butter for breakfast that very morning and watched to make sure he ate every crumb, expected to hear an affirmative reply to the bone-setter’s simple enquiry.
Instead, an awkward silence arose.
And Hull looked unaccountably abashed as he admitted with evident reluctance, “No.”
Ephraim, bewildered, glanced between his beloved and the bone-setter.
Grytha appeared nowhere near as confused as Ephraim felt.Rather, she looked annoyed.“And why not?”
Hull shot a glance at Ephraim, the significance of which remained a mystery to its subject.To the bone-setter, he replied, “I’d rather hoped to wait until my leg had healed.”
“And you expect your sundered bones to knit themselves with no strength to draw upon?”Grytha asked, doing nothing to disguise her exasperation.
