Page 50 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

At last, Martin announced, “Dr. Faraday from London.”

“Good God, a blackamoor!” Phillips gasped, clearly shocked.

The young man appeared to be no more than thirty. He had an air of self-confidence that Abbie immediately admired, and he did not flinch at what she considered a derogatory term.

“I assure you, sir, I am neither Muslim nor from Africa. I was born in Chelsea,” the young doctor stated, his tone even.

“There must be some mistake,” Dr. Phillips prattled. “This cannot be the earl’s personal physician.” He turned to face Dr. Faraday. “What are your credentials?”

“My father is white, does that suffice? Do I have enough Anglo-Saxon in me to warrant the consideration I am due?” Dr. Faraday kept the emotion in his voice under control, but Abbie could hear the annoyance nonetheless.

Dr. Phillips merely sputtered, mumbling unintelligibly.

“I graduated from Cambridge, and am a member of the College of Physicians, which I believe are adequate credentials by anyone’s standards,” Faraday continued. “Now, is this the patient?”

“Yes, Doctor. I am Mrs. Hughes. I have no credentials except that my late husband was also a physician. I demanded that we wait for your arrival; Dr. Phillips diagnosed removal of the arm.”

Dr. Faraday sat his large satchel on the table they had placed near the chaise Garrett laid upon. “Well, we will determine if amputation is necessary; however, an examination is in order first. Will you assist, Dr. Phillips?”

The older man seemed stunned at the request, then cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”

“Mrs. Hughes,” Faraday said in a kind voice. “You may remain, as we may need your assistance. Martin as well. Allow me to see the wound.”

Nodding, she reluctantly stepped away from Garrett, and as soon as she released pressure, another spurt of blood thrust out, tricking down his chest.

“See how it pumps? Definitely an artery. A vein has more of a steady flow. I am assuming the artery is still intact or he would have bled out by now. How long since Mr. Wollstonecraft has been shot?” Faraday asked.

Abbie glanced at the mantel clock. “Two hours and fifteen minutes.”

“There is no time to waste. I will require boiling hot water to sterilize my surgical apparatus, and we will need plenty of brandy for the patient.”

“I will see to the water immediately.” Martin rushed from the room.

“Dr. Liston, at St. Bartholomew’s, is testing using ether, a compound from America. It renders the patient unconscious during operations and various procedures. Alas, we will have to dull Master Garrett’s senses with spirits,” Faraday stated.

“Ether? How fascinating,” Phillips murmured, temporarily forgetting his previous prejudice.

“Will you be able to assist, Mrs. Hughes? A warning: there will be a good deal of blood,” Faraday said as he unpacked his satchel.

Abbie nodded shakily.

“Then let us make preparations. Dr. Phillips, place pressure on the wound while Mrs. Hughes assists the patient in drinking a copious amount of brandy. I will prepare.”

Everyone went about their duties silently. With the knives boiled, and sleeves rolled up, Dr. Faraday insisted that they wash with carbolic soap before handling any of the sterile instruments.

The doctor placed a padded stick in Garrett’s mouth, and as soon as he made the first incision, Garrett moaned and passed out. Using clamps, he spread open the wound. “There. By God, he is lucky. There is a small tear in the subclavian artery. The surrounding veins are intact, and it appears that the brachial plexus is whole.” Faraday turned slightly toward Abbie. “That is the bundle of nerves controlling arm function. Whether he will have complete control of his arm remains to be seen.”

“The bullet must have passed straight through, nicking the artery on its passage,” Phillips stated.

“Yes. Will you clamp the artery closed, Doctor?”

Phillips gave Faraday an astonished look. “I have never done anything remotely like this before…”

“There is always the first time. Mrs. Hughes, pass me the curved needle.”

The next several minutes passed in silence, as more oil lamps were brought in to cast further illumination while the sun set. Abbie watched, fascinated, as the two unlikely doctors worked in tandem to close the tear.

“My word. The neatest, tightest stitching I’ve had the honor to witness,” Phillips remarked, awe in his voice.