Charlotte had decided that after turning in her resignation letter and leaving the hospital she would go to Sally at the Gazette. Sally would provide the right amount of sympathy, enough that Charlotte would feel heard. Sally wasn’t in, so she and Dirk took a cab to a café for an indulgent treat of meringues and hot tea. Charlotte sat by the window where she could watch passersby and wonder how long she should wallow in her sad thoughts. She would need to meet with John to speak with him about the current state of her career, and now that she felt a little less tired and teary, she was more than ready to see him.
She knew John would be angry on her behalf, and she didn’t want to have to defend her decision to resign rather than fight. The hospital simply couldn’t afford to function without the money, and that was more important than her new career. She would work something out.
Overall, she was angry. Angry at the injustice of the system, angry at individuals who could control a person’s future on a whim, angry that her mother wasn’t alive to lend a listening ear. She wanted to put together a plan, a list of steps she could take to pull everything back under her own control.
Shortly before noon, she and Dirk stepped outside the café into a light drizzle. Dirk popped open an umbrella, scanning the street. He frowned.
“What is it?” she asked.
He took her elbow and began walking down the row of shops. “We’ll catch that omnibus up ahead. This traffic is keeping it slow.”
She caught her reflection in storefront windows as they walked, and only after they’d gone a fair distance did she realize a man was following them. Light complexion, brown hair, nearly six feet tall.
She stumbled as they walked, and Dirk held her up. “Keep going, and do not turn around. I take it you have seen him before?”
“Yes.” She swallowed, forcing away her memories of having been attacked in an alleyway. It was different this time; Dirk was with her. “How would you handle this if you were alone?”
“Plant my fist in his face and drag him to the nearest police station.”
“Would it help if I run ahead? I can catch the bus, and—”
He shook his head, quickening their pace. “If we separate, he’ll go after you, not me.”
“While he’s doing that, you can—”
The streets were busy, and amidst the traffic, which was growing heavier by the minute, she heard people calling out and pointing.
When she looked behind her, she saw not only the same man, who blended into the crowd between them, but smoke rising in the distance. Something at the docks was on fire. Frowning, she turned around as Dirk urged her on, trying to find an open path despite the increasing traffic of pedestrians and vehicles alike.
“Almost there,” Dirk said, as a loud pop filled the air. He grunted and stumbled, dropping to one knee.
Charlotte stared at him, first in confusion and then in horror as she spied red spreading against his light-colored waistcoat. She cried out and struggled to right him, throwing her arms under his, attempting to help him stand. Looking over Dirk’s shoulder, Charlotte saw their pursuer pocket something and begin elbowing his way through the crowd toward them.
It wasn’t much work for him, as by now people had screamed and scattered, which only spooked the horses in the street and added to the melee.
“Go!” Dirk yelled as he braced himself against her, trying to stand. He gained his feet and shoved her toward the omnibus. “I’ll stop him. Go find John!”
“Dirk!” she cried out. “We must get you to the hospital!” She reached for his side where the blood continued to spread.
He shoved her hard and spun around to step in front of the man who was gaining steadily on them.
She reluctantly turned and ran toward the bus. She looked back to see their attacker hitting Dirk in the ribs. The big Scot hit the man hard in the jaw, and Charlotte thought the stranger might go down, but another punch to Dirk’s midsection dropped him to one knee.
He is going to die, and it is my fault. Everything is my fault!
She told herself to stop the useless litany running through her brain. She fought the urge to run back to help Dirk and instead picked up her pace, closing in on the bus. She grabbed the railing along the back stairs and swung up onto the bottom step. The driver shouted for her to pay the fare, and she nodded, even as she climbed up a step. If she could just get to John, he would send the cavalry, and she could examine Dirk’s injuries. Delaney was the closest hospital—as long as she kept Stanley’s hands out of the wound, Dirk would have a chance.
She heard footsteps running behind them, and to her frustration, the omnibus slowed in traffic. Shouts rang in the air, mingling with the clop of horses’ hooves and creaking wagon wheels. Over her shoulder, she spied her follower closing the distance and was relieved when the omnibus began moving again.
She didn’t want to climb to the top of the vehicle—it was the purview of men, mostly because it was cumbersome to climb up and down in women’s clothing—but she reassessed her decision when her follower lunged for the railing and pulled himself up behind her.
“Leave me alone!” Charlotte scrambled up two steps but stopped short when the man stepped on her skirt. His impassive expression was somehow more worrisome than a leer. He climbed the steps between them but kept a hand on her dress, preventing her from climbing to the top.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked him through clenched teeth, tugging at her skirt. Four gentlemen seated atop the conveyance turned their attention to her in confusion.
“Thought you understood your instructions the last time we met. You and your people have been putting your noses where they don’t belong.”
Her heart pounded. “What is that supposed to mean?” Surely he wouldn’t accost her further in full view of the busy city street.
“It’s a message, Dr. Duvall.”
“From whom?”
“My employer.”
She tried to tug her skirt free, but he remained firm. “Who is your employer? Blast it all, stop speaking in riddles!”
“Is anything amiss?” One of the gentlemen moved to the end of the bench.
The American pulled her attention back to him with a tight grip on her arm. “Should’ve returned to New York when you had the chance.” He moved so quickly that she didn’t see it coming. He grabbed her shoulders and turned, lifting her and hurling her down the back of the vehicle. She hit the ground on her shoulder, her skirt caught in the bottom steps. The omnibus dragged her several feet before the other passengers screamed at the driver to rein in the horse.
Charlotte’s shoulder burned with stabbing pain, and her vision blurred as her attacker leapt from his perch on the stairs to the street, and, despite several shouts and pointing fingers, disappeared into the crowd. One man scrambled down from the top of the vehicle and gave chase, while two others quickly followed to free Charlotte’s dress from the wheel.
“Are you well, miss?”
“Where d’ya live?”
“She needs a hospital!”
Voices came at her from all sides as she tried to stand, leaning heavily on a gentleman who braced under her arm. Another man placed an arm under her injured shoulder, and she cried out in agony. She knew without looking that it had popped out of its socket and would have to be shoved back into place. She’d helped perform the procedure on a boy who had fallen out of a tree in Pennsylvania.
“Come, love,” a woman said, “let’s get you a cab.” She stepped aside and looked down the street. At the insistent yelling coming from those stopped in traffic, she hollered back, “Get us a cab, then!”
“My friend,” Charlotte told the woman. “My friend was shot!” She pointed to the crowd gathered in the middle of the street where she’d seen Dirk fall.
The yelling continued as Charlotte’s vision dimmed against the blinding pain.
“Here, love,” the woman said and motioned to the gentleman holding her uninjured arm. They walked her back to a cab already occupied by a woman holding a small child.
The passenger moved aside to make room for Charlotte. As she climbed inside, she gasped, “Please, please get my friend!”
Her helper shouted out to others in the crowd, and she dimly registered the driver protesting that he wasn’t an ambulance as an unconscious Dirk was lifted up into the small cab.
“Take them to Delaney, straightaway,” the woman told the driver. “Unless you want him dying in yer cab.” The woman clasped Charlotte’s hand. “It’s just around the corner, love, and they’ll help. Good people there—took my Tommy last week with a broken arm.”
Charlotte squeezed the woman’s hand, tears falling freely. “Thank you,” she managed, and the driver clicked at the horse, maneuvering to the side before taking a street off to the right.
She knelt on the floor between the seats and shoved against Dirk’s weight with her good shoulder to take stock of his wound. Her head buzzed, and she was nauseated with the pain of her dislocated shoulder.
The woman handed Charlotte a scarf, which she shoved against Dirk’s side. He groaned softly, and she nearly cried with relief that he was still alive.
“Almost there,” she told him.
The cab came to a stop, and Charlotte fumbled with her reticule, which dangled awkwardly from her wrist. She managed a coin for the driver and shoved three into the other passenger’s hand before calling out to a hospital orderly standing at Delaney’s receiving door. She recognized the young man, and when he saw her face, his eyes opened wide.
“Dr. Duvall!” He yelled for help, and two other orderlies maneuvered Dirk from the cab, got him to a stretcher, and carried him inside.
“He needs Dr. Corbin,” she told the young man, clutching his arm. She bit her lip hard as her shoulder was jostled. “Or Mr. Leatham. Do you understand me? If Mr. Stanley goes anywhere near him, come and find me. Will you do that?”
He nodded and swallowed, running to catch up with the stretcher as they carried Dirk down the hall.
Charlotte’s energy was spent, and she leaned against the receiving room wall. Her clothing was filthy, her hair disheveled, and she feared she was developing a limp from having been dragged along the road.
A nurse caught sight of her, and her jaw dropped. “Dr. Duvall?”
“Hello, Sister Thelma,” Charlotte mumbled. She tried to smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace. Pain and terror battled within her, and she felt like laughing and crying at the same time. She didn’t think their attacker would return, but she didn’t know. Everyone in his path was in danger.
“Come, Doctor. Exam room one,” the nurse called out. “Dr. Stevenson?”
“Dr. Stevenson,” Charlotte murmured. “Good. I like him.”
Sister Thelma nodded and guided Charlotte into the room and onto the examining table, taking stock of Charlotte’s injuries. She tried to remove the coat, but at Charlotte’s gasp, left it in place. Instead, she retrieved a basin and cloth and began cleaning the smudges on Charlotte’s face and hand. The scrapes stung, and when Sister Thelma touched the cloth to a spot above Charlotte’s eyebrow, she pulled back.
She managed a smile for the nurse and said, “Apologies.”
Sister Thelma chuckled. She was a practical girl in her early twenties, and Charlotte had gotten on well with her. “It looks rather awful,” she said. “The doctor will say, of course, but I do not believe it will require stitching.”
The door burst open, and Matron Halcomb rushed in, her face a mask of shock. “Charlotte!”
She was followed by Dr. Stevenson. The middle-aged doctor had been among those who had first wondered about Charlotte’s abilities, but he had come to respect her as a colleague. “What has happened?” His face was grim as he took in her appearance.
“My shoulder,” she said, tilting her head to the left. “I was thrown from an omnibus.”
“You were . . . thrown?” Matron Halcomb took the basin and cloth from Sister Theresa and continued the cleaning herself.
“It’s become dislocated. You’ll have to set it,” Charlotte gritted through her teeth to Dr. Stevenson.
He reached inside her jacket and gently probed the area. Charlotte braced herself for the coming pain. She was turning to ask Sister Theresa for something to bite on when Dr. Stevenson took her shoulder between his hands and wrenched it hard back into place.
Charlotte’s scream dissolved into a coughing fit of sobs, and she cried until her vision went dark for lack of breath. Matron Halcomb held Charlotte’s face in her hands, her eyes filled with worry, and Charlotte dimly registered Dr. Stevenson instructing Sister Theresa to fetch him a glass of water.
He gently put the glass into Charlotte’s right hand and patted her knee as she gulped in a huge breath of air. She rested her forehead on the matron’s shoulder.
“Apologies, doctor,” she whispered between sobs. “I thought to be brave.” She lifted her head, tears still streaming against all self-recrimination she could muster.
“Sip the water,” he instructed her, wiping his hands on a cloth and giving her a small smile. “Surely you must have suspected that was coming.”
Charlotte sipped the water, coughed, and then drank again. She gasped out a sigh and glared at her former colleague. “I did not suspect it, thank you, sir.”
He chuckled quietly and examined both the cut above her eye and her scraped hands. When the matron pulled aside Charlotte’s skirt to reveal her leg, he prodded gently at a darkening bruise on the outside of her knee.
“You should stay off this leg for a time,” he said. “Ice will help. As for your shoulder, we’ll place it in a splint you’ll wear for a week.”
He paused, frowning, and then as a precaution she’d have taken herself, he listened to her heart and lungs through his stethoscope. He nodded to himself, and then folded his arms, leaning back against the counter. “You seem to be attacked on a regular basis. Who threw you from a moving omnibus?”
Charlotte blew a quiet breath between pursed lips and tried to gather her thoughts. “I was being followed by someone I don’t know.” She described the man and added, “I do believe I know at whose behest he acted, though.”
The matron withdrew pins from Charlotte’s hair and deftly braided it into an orderly plait.
She thought of Dirk and felt sick again. “My friend, my shadow here these last weeks—he was shot and is being taken to the surgical theatre.” She clasped the matron’s hand. “Please do not let Stanley operate or administer anesthesia. I can do it myself if there’s nobody else available.”
The matron nodded grimly. “I’ll get Dr. Corbin.”
“We should call the Met,” Dr. Stevenson said.
“As it happens, I was on my way there when I was attacked. When I leave, I’ll go there and give them a report.” She sniffed and winced as she reached for a handkerchief with her aching left arm.
Matron Halcomb handed her one and then studied her face. “Do you give your word you will report it?”
Charlotte nodded. “Immediately.”
“Do you require official signatures?” Dr. Stevenson asked.
“If I need them, I’ll return.”
They studied her for another moment, and Dr. Stevenson said, “Sister Theresa, give us a moment, please.”
The nurse left, and Charlotte tensed. She’d hoped to avoid speaking with any of her colleagues regarding her resignation.
“Perhaps you’ll consider returning as a physician,” Dr. Stevenson said. “Your departure was rather abrupt, and you offered no explanations to any of us.”
The matron watched her quietly. A flicker of something crossed her face—hurt? Disappointment?
Charlotte nodded. “I . . . I am . . .” She cleared her throat. “There are stipulations tied to the future success of the hospital that require my, erm, absence.”
They both frowned, and Dr. Stevenson said, “What the devil does that mean?”
Matron Halcomb’s eyes widened. “You—” Her mouth dropped open, and she shut it again. “Charlotte Duvall, are you suggesting the funding—”
Charlotte held up her hand. “I plan to seek avenues of redress, but not until the fundraising gala is over and the budget for the coming year is in place.”
Dr. Stevenson shook his head. “What sort of enemies do you have, Doctor?”
“Wealthy ones,” she muttered and sniffed again, trying to laugh.
“This isn’t right,” the matron said. Her face was red and angry.
“Give me some time,” Charlotte said. “It was a temporary solution, and I’m hoping to broker a more amiable, permanent one. Please do not speak of it to anyone else. Not yet.”
Dr. Stevenson nodded reluctantly. “Return straightaway if you experience further injury or pain. Send for me if you cannot come here yourself.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He patted her hand and offered a partial smile. He pointed to her shoulder. “Apologies about that bit of trickery.”
“I do not think you’re sincere in the least,” Charlotte grumbled.
“Of course, I am. I’ll check in on Mr. Dirk.” He winked at her and left the room.
Matron Halcomb sighed, but rather than defend herself again, Charlotte gingerly stretched her leg to the floor. The matron eased her down, and to Charlotte’s relief, she was able to stand and walk, although the knee bothered her when she put her full weight on it.
“Where are you going now?” the matron asked.
“Upstairs, to be sure Dirk is well. Then I have someone to see at the Yard.”