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“Do I look that tired?” I replied with a self-deprecating grin.
“You’re pale, is all,” he remedied. “I notice these things. It’s my job to.”
“Well, I’m all right. I’m having a little trouble sleeping, but only because it’s such a big house, and I’m not used to the noises.”
“Noises?” The doctor was keen. Ms. Dillard had reacted similarly interested, and I needed to tread carefully. I adopted a tone of mild embarrassment.
“Oh, regular, foolish things. Wind and creaking and quiet. I’m used to city noises.”
The lie was as bitter as the alcohol and twice as strong. I rethought my decision to leave it unfinished and raised the glass for another sip.
“I understand,” Dr. Hannigan said. “When I first moved here as a medical resident from New York, I had trouble with the quiet myself.”
My interest was piqued. “You’re from New York?”
“I am! I grew up in Yonkers, moved some forty-odd years ago to do my residency at the army hospital outside of Boston, Our Lady of Grace.”
Alarm flipped me upside down. The glass slipped out of my fingers, and I moved to catch it with bleary instinct, but the heavy crystal struck my plate and shattered the side, leaving only sharp porcelain to grab. The pain in my hand was immediate, and I shot to my feet as the angry red of blood bloomed on my palm and dripped onto the tablecloth.
Dr. Hannigan was at my side in a blink, holding my wrist and putting pressure on the veins there.
“Keep your head,” he instructed as he saw my eyes grow distant, distress and the pain creating a perfect combination for swooning. I took deep breaths, focusing on his face until the gray at the edges of my vision retreated. “Well done.”
“I’m so sorry,” I managed.
“It’s all right, my girl. It happens to the best of us. Felicity! Ms. Dillard! One of you ladies, if you please!” he bellowed into the house.
Ms. Dillard materialized like a magician on a stage.
“What is all this?” she demanded.
Felicity rushed in with a broom in her hands, her eyes wide and frightened.
“Miss Foxboro had a scuffle with the dinner plate. Lost, I’m afraid. It doesn’t appear deep, but I’ll need my bag. Felicity, will you fetch it? It’s in the hall.”
As she went to retrieve the bag, Ms. Dillard came clucking, grabbing a white napkin from the table to press against my hand, her attention firm but not aggressive.
“Don’t let her bleed all over herself, Laurence, for goodness’ sake.”
“I was worried I’d incur your wrath if I used the white table linens, Hellen,” he retorted.
Ms. Dillard stared at him, a fit of strong, stony-faced anger leaving the tops of her cheeks pink, then she released my hand and stormed back to the kitchen.
“That woman,” he said, shaking his head. “Face of an angel, temper of the devil.”
His cheeky comment drove away the worst of the wooziness. Dr. Hannigan thinking Ms. Dillard was in any way angelic was unexpected.
Felicity arrived with the bag, which he dropped open onto the floor next to himself and rummaged for the items he would need. Inside among the bandages, bottles, and accouterment of medicine were several white paper packets like the one I’d seen Professor Hughes turn in his fingers. Felicity stood awkwardly nearby as the doctor dressed my wound until Ms. Dillard called her sharply into the kitchen.
In all the fuss, I’d had a few moments to gather my wits again. I observed the doctor as he worked, then under the guise of needing a distraction, I asked a painful question.
“How long have you been the professor’s doctor?”
He glanced at me, clearing his throat.
“Well, let’s see, I finished training at the hospital in 1886 and moved here to be a stress-free country doctor.” This part was stated with some impish irony. “Callum’s father was a school friend of mine, and Willowfield was just becoming a sight to behold, drawing in all sorts of work and sightseers. Open your fingers. There you go. Some years later, the blasted war broke out, and I returned to Our Lady of Grace to help the best I could with all the men returning in such terrible shape. A quick pinch. Now the bandage.”
He was quiet as he wrapped my hand, concentrating on the tension and placement so that it wouldn’t slip. Suspended in anxiety, I was aware that I was shaking, my skin icy.
