Chapter 19

Of spirits’ tears. 

 

Margaret pulled at her gloves as she walked the halls of the hospital, cautiously peering through each doorway as she passed in the hopes Jonas could be found. Each room held horrors more gruesome than the last. The cries of agony, some muffled, some shrill, were easy enough to ignore but the expressions on the faces of the patients, those seeking relief from their pain as well as those wishing a quicker and more humane end to their suffering was almost too much for her to bear. It was this that made her doubt her early conviction to be a surgeon. Her brother had taught her how to detach herself from the dead, but it was the suffering of the barely living that crumpled her resolve. Since her mother’s death she hadn’t had much time to think about it, which was all the better, she told herself. She doubted she had the fortitude to challenge the establishment’s view regarding female doctors, to say nothing of the views society had for a high-ranked person going into trade.

She envied Jonas and Peter, though. They had such freedom to do as they pleased, though Peter would argue it was nothing of the kind. Margaret never wished she had been born a man—she was well-suited to her female form—but it was the lack of understanding that she could do without. She wished there could be more people advocating for the issues of women and less advocacy for control over them.

Margaret’s intent was to arrive early and find Jonas before he started with his surgeries. Her plan seemed so well-formulated in her mind that she had not considered tracking him down would be so involved. There was one final door on that floor to try and when Margaret peered around the corner she found a great beast of a woman scowling back at her, her face so sour Margaret was sure she had been raised on a strict diet of lemons.

“What ye want?” she asked hoarsely.

Margaret stammered, put off by this woman who had to be three times her size.

“Ye can’t go ’round spyin’ on all and sundry because yer ladyship wants ta. We ’ave rules, you see.”

Margaret nodded. “Yes, sir, er, ma’am. I beg your pardon. I was only looking for Dr. Davies. He’s a surgeon—”

Margaret was cut off by the woman’s cackle. “Ye and everyone else, I s’pose.” Margaret waited as the woman turned in place, rocking her excess weight back and forth from one leg to the other as she tried to pivot in place. Retreating to a desk Margaret had not even realized was there, the woman used it to hold herself up as she spoke.

“If ’er was up ta me, I’d ’ave never ’ired him. Too distracting for my girls, you see. I’ze needs workin’ girls, not swoon and giggle girls.”

Margaret nodded, for a moment feeling she could have easily been talking to a calculated madam in a den of ill-repute, instead of a head nurse at a respected hospital.

“Dr. Davies is usually on the second floor, visiting patients. Best if ye start there.” The madam gave Margaret a black-toothed grin, which did little to soften the manner of her delivery.

Margaret nodded, expressed a quick thank you and retreated with haste.

Grateful for the relative quiet on the second floor, Margaret noticed most of the doors were closed and felt less inclined to brazenly snoop for Jonas. Instead, she approached a handful for girls, nurses in training or so Margaret guessed, huddled a few yards away. Judging by their size, they could have been no more than fourteen and their matching giggles only served to reinforce that belief.

“Excuse me,” Margaret said as she approached.

The girls, all childish and ill-mannered, turned quickly at the sound of Margaret’s voice. “Shh!” one of them hissed. “It’s a right proper lady.”

“Can I help you, Miss?” a second one asked, forcing down a mischievous smile. She swatted her hand at one of them that pulled at her skirt.

Margaret smiled. Their youthful mischief made her nostalgic. “I am searching for Dr. Jonas Davies.”

One of the girls gasped and was quick to place a hand over her gaping mouth. Margaret’s smile faded as her impatience grew.

“Dr. Davies, ma’am?” the second one asked.

“Yes.” Margaret decided to use her authoritative voice in this instance. The girls seemed to respond better to it. “Where is he?”

The girls looked to each other and finally the second girl pointed to the door they had been pressing their ears against. Confused, Margaret approached, but the girls did not dissipate. They allowed her to pass between them but waited on bated breath as Margaret opened the door.

Inside, Margaret found Jonas, half-seated on the edge of a desk and a young woman, older than the girls in the hall, thank goodness, pressed against his legs teasingly. They moved quickly at the sound of the door but not quickly enough. Margaret had seen Jonas’s hand at the back of the woman’s neck as if kissing.

Margaret straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back and inching her chin slightly higher. She raised an eyebrow coolly, unwilling to allow either of them to see how much she was actually trembling.

“Good morning, Jonas,” she said. She offered a calculated smile as she looked from Jonas to the woman and back again. “I came to ask you to breakfast,” she lied. “I see you have already had some.”

Turning on her heels, Margaret left, not caring in the slightest if he ever spoke a word to her again. She imagined he’d follow, running after her, begging the opportunity to explain, but he didn’t. She pushed through the group of girls at the doorway, who feigned scandal and made for the stairs, but Jonas still did not come. By the time she reached the front doors, she realized how much she had expected his rebuttal and even thought to slow down some, and give him the chance to catch up. Once outside the front doors she looked up to the second-floor windows, wondering if she could catch a glimpse of him begging her to wait. Instead, she saw nothing and it was his silence, more than anything, which hurt her the most.

Jacob had dutifully kept the family carriage at the front doors, though off to the side. He gave a look of relief when he saw her approaching and quickly opened the door and offered a hand for her to climb in. “Where to now, Miss?” he asked.

“Home, please.”

Jacob nodded and snapped the door closed quick enough to latch. Margaret slid to the opposite side of the carriage bench, the extra half a foot giving extra distance between her and the cause of her pain. The carriage rocked into motion, easing into the traffic of the other carriages while Margaret stewed.

Her brother had been right. Jonas Davies was a rogue, a scoundrel, a womanizer, and she deserved better than that. The reality of these statements, however, did not ease the pain nor halt the cascade of tears.