Sunday morning, March 5, 1882
Pacific Dispensary for Women and Children
It was only a little past seven in the morning when Ella stood in the doorway to Hilda Putki’s room, watching the young girl sleep. For once, Hilda hadn’t awakened in the night with a bad dream, but her face looked thin and drawn in the pale early morning light, and she jerked restlessly.
Dr. Granger’s son had come by last evening, as requested, to give his opinion on Hilda’s status. He had found the girl’s rapid pulse troubling, although there was no fever to indicate any infection. He agreed with Ella that, despite the girl’s low weight, she could be only a few weeks away from term. He didn’t have any other suggestions on treatment besides trying to get the girl to eat more, build up her strength, and make sure the nurses were checking in on her routinely, especially at night.
He also stopped by to observe the woman in the next room who was in labor, simply nodding when Ella reported the steps she and the nurses had taken to turn the baby who had been presenting as a breech birth. She assumed that was a nod of approval, since he didn’t actually say anything before taking off. In any event, the woman had successfully delivered a very healthy girl near midnight, so Ella had actually gotten a fairly decent night’s sleep.
Thank goodness, since she wanted to be at her sharpest this morning when she went back to the Truscotts to try one more time to see Phoebe. Last Thursday, when Joan had stopped by with the bottles, she told Ella that Mr. Truscott and his aunt normally attended a nine o’clock Sunday service, which was why they interrupted Ella’s visit last week when she thought they would be off attending church at eleven. Ella told Joan she would try again today but that she would come to the house a little after nine. Joan said she would be in the front hall to let her in, in order to avoid alerting the parlor maid, who had strict instructions not to let anyone but Dr. Skerry in to see Mrs. Truscott.
She’d been so surprised when Mrs. Dawson and Caro Sutton had shown up with Martin Mitchell. If asked, she would have said the man thought women shouldn’t become doctors, much less run a dispensary. He’d been his usual condescending self—when he wasn’t treating everything like it was some kind of joke—just like he’d been in the clinical classes she’d taken with him last year.
Yet he appeared to be working quite willingly with Miss Sutton. Maybe it wasn’t women in medicine in general he didn’t like, but that he didn’t like her specifically.
On the other hand, Miss Sutton was quite pleasant, and she had been more helpful in their discussion of what Ella should do today. She was the one who recommended that Ella have a note prepared ahead of time to give to Joan, so she could hand it over to her mistress in case Ella was prevented from entering the house. The note could express Ella’s concern over Phoebe Truscott’s health and urge her to seek outside help from a regular doctor—even if it meant going to someone completely unconnected with the dispensary. This couldn’t be too damaging if it fell in the hands of someone other than Joan or her mistress.
What Ella feared the most was that she would discover that Phoebe’s health had deteriorated further since Thursday, although Joan had told her she would find a way to send a message to the dispensary if her mistress had another bad spell.
Mrs. Dawson felt that it was possible that—if someone was intentionally giving Mrs. Truscott poison—the purpose was not to kill her but keep her sick. That didn’t ease her fears much, given that Mrs. Truscott’s overall health was already relatively fragile from the cysts and the operation.
Ella also had penned a separate note for Joan, detailing what they had found from the bottle and telling her what steps she should take if her mistress did have another spell of vomiting—in order to counteract the effects of any poisoning. She also asked her to collect a sample of Phoebe’s vomit to test. This would be the note that she absolutely had to keep out of anyone else’s hands, entertaining the absurd vision of eating it if confronted. Ella shook her head at how fantastic the whole idea was—that someone might be poisoning poor Phoebe Truscott on purpose.
Mrs. Dawson said she would accompany Ella this morning if she wanted her to, and Miss Sutton had been so nice to say that she would have her carriage come by to take her to the Truscotts. But Ella was afraid to take either of them up on their offers in case she’d not be able to leave the dispensary this morning.
She would be so relieved when Dr. Brown and Dr. Wanzer were back in town and she didn’t feel she was shouldering all these burdens alone. At least on Monday, when Mrs. Dawson had her meeting with Mrs. Stone and Dr. Bucknell, they would take over responsibility for figuring out what to do next in terms of the finances. Truth be told, Ella hoped that Mrs. Stone, who was quite wealthy, might just offer to write a check to cover the outstanding pharmacy bill and the next month’s rent.
But that wouldn’t solve all the problems, particularly if there was a campaign to ruin the dispensary’s reputation. And what if the attempt to poison Mrs. Truscott was part of that campaign and the poor woman died as a result?
Ella had used some of her own savings to pay for the hansom cab that took her to the Truscotts’ home in the Western Addition. She arrived right at nine. If she made it into the house and past the vigilant parlor maid, this should give her plenty of time to see Phoebe.
As planned, Joan was there to open the door, even before she pulled on the bell.
Joan put her finger up to her lips then leaned close to Ella and whispered, “My mistress really wants to see you, but the master stayed behind. He’s in his study down here, so we have to be very quiet.”
Ella took the two envelopes out of her medical bag, which she had brought in the expectation of examining Mrs. Truscott. Handing them to the maid, she said as quietly as she could, “Take these right now, just in case something happens. One is for your mistress; the other is addressed to you. Please don’t let anyone see the one I have written to you.”
Joan nodded, tucking the envelopes in a pocket under her apron. Then she turned to lead Ella up the stairs.
A harsh voice stopped them in their tracks.
“How dare you try to slip into this house in this underhanded fashion, Dr. Blair? Do I need to call the police and have you charged with trespass?”
Richard Truscott stood in the doorway of a book-lined room, his voice suffused with a kind of triumphant anger. He then pointed dramatically to Joan and said, “Aunt Ruby told me not to trust you. Go upstairs to your mistress, immediately, and I will deal with you once I’ve removed this charlatan of a doctor from my home.”
Joan glared at Mr. Truscott, but then she quickly went up the stairs.
Ella feared if she spoke her voice would tremble, she was shaking so badly. Please, God, don’t let me cry! Ella took a deep breath and told herself that Richard Truscott was a bully…just like her brothers. If she’d been able to stand up to them as a child, she could stand up to him, now, as an adult. Let him make threats. She had done nothing wrong.
Let him call the police and hear Joan’s charges.
Lifting up her chin and holding her medical bag in front of her as if it were a shield, she said, “Mr. Truscott, your wife had her maid ask me to come, and you have no right to keep me from her if she would like to see me. It seems to me that we should call the police, since you seem determined to keep your wife prisoner in her own home, depriving her of medical advice from a regular doctor.”
Truscott’s face turned red, and he shouted, “That’s ridiculous! Aunt Ruby and I are only doing what is best for her. Dr. Skerry said you would try to blame my wife’s illness on her. Why would the state give her a certificate to practice medicine if she wasn’t a doctor? A damned-sight better doctor than you butchers at the dispensary—cutting up a woman, depriving her of the ability to have children.”
Ella shook her head, appalled at the nonsense he was spouting. “You are badly informed if you think that is the case. And I don’t believe that your wife agrees with you. Must I again remind you that I have come because she requested that I come?”
“She didn’t do any such thing. And if Joan, who is an ignorant, jealous, old spinster, is the one who told you that, you are a fool to have believed her. My wife does not want to see you.”
“But, Richard, I do…very much…want to see Dr. Blair.”
Phoebe Truscott stood on the stairway landing, leaning against Joan, who had her arm around her mistress, holding her up.
Richard Truscott turned and said, his voice softening, “My dear, you don’t know what you are saying. You shouldn’t be up from your bed. You will…”
Seeing the blood drain from Phoebe’s face, Ella pushed past Mr. Truscott to run up to the landing, helping Joan catch the young woman as she collapsed in a dead faint. Ignoring the shouts from Phoebe’s husband, Ella reached into her bag and grabbed her smelling salts, which quickly brought Phoebe to consciousness.
Ella said softly, “Now there, Mrs. Truscott, your husband is correct. We need to get you back to bed.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened, and she reached out, pulling Ella close as she whispered, “Please help me. Come to the back alley at midnight. I must leave this place, before it is the death of me.”