The Gilded Hour (27 page)

“I saw no indication of pregnancy,” Sophie said.

“But I could be,” Mrs. Campbell said. “He’s been at me morning and night. I could be. And if not now, then next week.”

Sophie spread out a hand. “It’s not likely, Mrs. Campbell, but it’s possible. In any case, there isn’t any way for me to diagnose a pregnancy at such an early stage.”

“I know what I know.” There were tears in her eyes.

Women often did know very early that they had conceived, but in this case it was hard to say. Mrs. Campbell might still be feeling the aftereffects of pregnancy and birth, or in her anxiety and fear—because she was terribly afraid, without doubt—she could convince herself of something that simply wasn’t true.

But she could be pregnant. Children born ten months apart were not all that unusual.

“Would you like me to write a letter ordering no intimacies for health reasons, until further notice?”

“He wouldn’t credit it,” Mrs. Campbell said, bitterly.

And that was certainly true; Mr. Campbell would ignore what she had
to say. The situation was simple and familiar and heartrending, because Sophie had no solutions to offer. She could not even ask if Mrs. Campbell had received the pamphlet she had sent, because she still could not be absolutely sure of the woman’s true purpose.

Mrs. Campbell spoke under her breath, as if giving Sophie permission to ignore her. “I cannot, I cannot have another baby so soon. It will kill me.”

Sophie could simply send the woman on her way with a few carefully chosen platitudes; it would be the safest and soundest thing to do. But it would also be cowardly and worse, a violation of the oath she had taken. She must try, at least, to pass on information the woman could use to help herself.

For a moment she imagined Anthony Comstock standing out in the hall, a smirk on his face, and then she looked at her patient and all other concerns had to be set aside.

“You realize the importance of attention to hygiene while you are still healing?”

Mrs. Campbell’s expression shifted, something of hope there now. “I have heard something about that, but I don’t know where to start.”

“Let me explain to you about the most effective ways to maintain personal hygiene. If you have time?”

“I do,” Mrs. Campbell said. “For this I do have time.”

•   •   •

A
N
HOUR
LATER
as she was getting ready to leave, Janine Campbell paused as if she had something she needed to say but would leave unsaid without encouragement.

“Mrs. Campbell, I can’t promise to have an answer to every question, but I will do what I can for you.”

“If scrupulous attention to personal hygiene is not enough, if I am already pregnant—”

The silence drew out for a long moment.

“Mrs. Campbell,” Sophie said quietly. “I have given you all the information I have to share.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking resigned.

“But I can come back to see you?”

“Normally I would be happy to have you as a patient,” Sophie said. “But
I am just about to leave on a longer journey. I may be gone a year, or possibly more.”
Or far less,
she added to herself.

It often fell to Sophie to give a patient very bad news. An imminent stillbirth, malignant tumors that could not be excised, a child who would not survive the night. She had seen all manner of grief and sorrow and anger, raging and tears and those who fell away into unconsciousness rather than face tragedy. She was seeing many of those things on Mrs. Campbell’s face along with a cold resignation, and the force of it struck her.

“I have a number of colleagues who would give you excellent care,” Sophie said. “Shall I give you some names? Female physicians, women I went to school with?”

“No,” Janine Campbell said, her voice low and soft and hoarse. “No. I’ll figure something out. But thank you.”

•   •   •

A
NNA
GOT
TO
the hospital at dawn just as a cab pulled up. The door flew open and Sister Mary Augustin jumped down before the cabby could even get off the box. She was so intent on helping Sister Francis Xavier step down safely that she didn’t notice Anna, standing a few feet away.

What Anna saw was that the older nun and the cabby wore almost identical expressions.
Crankit
, Aunt Quinlan would have called it, a bit of Scots left over from her first marriage.

While Sister Xavier fussed at Mary Augustin, the cabdriver dumped their satchels on the ground and turned to stalk away. Anna called after him.

“Take those inside, please,” she said. “And leave them with the porter.”

He gave her a long and speculative look, which Anna took to mean that he had been paid but not tipped.
Nuns might not know about what a working man has coming,
his look seemed to say,
but you should.
Anna produced a quarter dollar from her pocket and held it up; the cabby retrieved the bags with a surly grunt.

“Dr. Savard.” Sister Xavier’s voice was hoarse and brimming with impatience. Anna didn’t expect pleasantries from people in pain, but then again she was glad that Mary Augustin had been sent along as Xavier’s private nurse.

Now she smiled at both of them. “Good morning,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you to your room and you can make yourself comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” sputtered Sister Xavier. “I’m too old for fairy tales, and so are you.”

•   •   •

M
ARY
A
UGUSTIN
DID
what she could to put her very agitated patient at ease, but by the time Sister Xavier was settled in the bed, all color had drained from her face and her complexion was the texture of candle wax.

It was very wrong, Mary Augustin told herself, to be so happy under these circumstances. To take pleasure in an opportunity that existed only because of Sister Xavier’s pain was something she would have to confess, but absolution required repentance, and that was something she could not manage. She had been hoping for this ever since the day in Hoboken when she learned that women could be doctors and surgeons. She had tried to put that idea—that outrageous, impossible, unattainable idea—out of her head, without success.

There was a soft knock at the door and things began to happen very quickly. Later she would have trouble sorting it all out: nurses and medical students came and went, sometimes, it seemed, with the sole purpose of irritating Sister Xavier, which wasn’t very hard to do anyway. Then Dr. Savard came in pushing a cart full of equipment, trailing two assistants behind her.

Under other circumstances the look on Sister Xavier’s face might have struck her as funny, but it was only later that she could smile about it to herself. Fortunately Dr. Savard didn’t seem put out by the tone of the questions that came her way in such rapid fire. She introduced her assistants as medical students and explained the purpose of the different objects on the rolling cart: the stethoscope made it possible to listen to the heart beating and blood moving—Sister Xavier shot Mary a sharp and questioning look, and she nodded.

“And that?” she pointed to a contraption that was quite odd, with multiple arms and pads and bulbs of India rubber. “There’s a needle in there somewhere, I know it.”

“No needles,” Dr. Savard said calmly. “This is a sphygmomanometer—”

“A what?”

“A sphygmomanometer.” She pulled up the single stool in the room and sat on it. That simple act seemed to make Sister Xavier relax.

“Your heart beats to push blood through your arteries. The blood brings
oxygen and nutrition to the cells,” she said in a tone of voice that had nothing schoolmarmish about it. “The force of the pulsing of the blood puts pressure on the walls of those arteries. This machine”—she touched it almost gently—“measures that. Your blood pressure.”

“And why do you need to know about my blood pressure?” Sister Xavier was trying to sound irritated, and failing. Dr. Savard had tapped her curiosity and disarmed her completely.

“It’s useful information for a surgeon,” Dr. Savard said. “It will influence the kind and duration of anesthesia we use.”

“Anesthesia?” Sister Xavier grabbed onto the word. “Anesthesia?”

At that moment Dr. Savard seemed to realize the source of Sister Xavier’s agitation.

“Did you think you would be awake for the procedure?” Dr. Savard said. “I should have made clear to you, and I apologize.” She turned to her assistants.

“Bring in one of the gas-ether regulators, please,” she said. “So I can explain the way it works to Sister Xavier.”

“S
O
,” M
ARONEY
SAID
, sliding into his desk chair and leaning back with his hands behind his head. “I see you got a private letter this morning.”

Jack let out a whistling breath. “Here,” he said, and tossed it onto Oscar’s desk. “Read it yourself.”

It was the path of least resistance, Jack told himself. Maybe he should have done this weeks ago, and saved himself the henpecking.

“Mezzanotte,” Oscar read aloud, and paused to raise an eyebrow in Jack’s direction before he went on.

Sister Mary Augustin will be here in the hospital for the next three or four days looking after a patient from the convent. Today between one and three would probably be best if you want to talk to her. Ask the porter to send for me, and I’ll arrange it.

“She signed it ‘Savard.’” Oscar looked at the back of the sheet of paper as if he’d find some explanation for such oddness there. “From this it sounds like she doesn’t like you much.”

“She likes me just fine.” Jack’s tone said that he would entertain no more questions in that direction.

Which Maroney ignored. “Is that so? And what about you?”

Jack picked up the newspaper and snapped it open. “I like me fine too.”

“Ass,” Maroney said. “What’s this about a nun?”

“She’ll make it easier to get answers at the Foundling.”

After a long moment Oscar said, “It’s a damn odd way to court a woman, chasing around the city looking for orphans for what, almost a month. You don’t think you’ll find them, do you?”

Jack considered, and then lowered his paper. “It’s unlikely,” he said. “But it’s important to her.”

“Hmmm,” Oscar said, and picked up his own paper. From behind it he said, “Tell me where you’ve been so far.”

Jack pulled out his notes and slid them across the desk. It had taken long enough to get Oscar to ask for them.

•   •   •

A
NURSE
IN
training who looked to be all of fifteen showed Jack up to the third floor of the New Amsterdam Charity Hospital, casting glances over her shoulder when she thought he might not notice and then dropping her gaze to study the floor. He might have asked some questions, but he had the idea that she would have been too nervous to answer. Because he was with the police or because he was male or both; it was impossible to know.

She stopped outside a room with wide double doors and spoke to him without meeting his gaze.

“Dr. Savard said that if you would come in and sit at the back of the classroom, she’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

She hesitated as if she had something else to say, then fairly sprinted away down the hall.

For almost a month now Anna had been setting up little tests, as though she couldn’t decide how to feel about him until she had put him through his paces. If she had grown up in an Italian family, her father would have gone after the same information in one fifteen-minute, sweat-soaked interview. Jack didn’t know much about her own father, but maybe he would have let her handle things this way, feeling her way forward, step by step.

He knew already how her mind worked. She was sure that sooner or later she’d reveal something about herself that would scare him off; he would decide that she was too forward, too opinionated, too educated. She would never defer to his opinion in anything except the law; she had no interest in keeping house. She was tough and uncompromising when it was called for. While she had never said it openly, he understood that she had no use for religion.

She could be irritable, but she was usually willing to let herself be distracted. In the middle of a sharp commentary about the traffic or something in the paper he would sometimes kiss her without warning. She
always seemed surprised at first and then, suddenly, pleased, and she always kissed him back. They never discussed any of this, what it meant that she came to him gladly when he pulled her into a doorway and kept her there until she was soft and warm and pliant in his arms.

Sometimes at night, hovering between sleep and waking, Jack asked himself the very question she seemed determined to force: What would it take to make him see that they were not, in the end, suited? Thus far he hadn’t come up with an answer.

Now he slipped into the classroom and sat in the back row to observe Anna as she taught.

The room was not very large, three rows of chairs arranged in a semicircle around a center worktable crowded with books and papers, beakers and covered bowls, and three microscopes. Eight young women were standing at the table, bent forward to watch as Anna described something she saw on the slide. One of them was Sister Mary Augustin, whose white bonnet and habit stood out against the dark blackboard as though she were lit up from the inside.

Anna straightened and turned to the blackboard where she had already printed
necrosis
,
epithelial
, and something in Greek. And she teased him about Italian.

As she spoke she wrote out instructions. “I want you to spend at least an hour preparing slides and then examining and documenting the tumor under the microscope. Your drawings and notes should be very specific, from the gross anatomical to cellular. You must discuss the tissue types as a foundation for your diagnosis. For tomorrow I’d like you to write up a prognosis and treatment plan. You may work in pairs if you like. Questions?”

Sister Mary Augustin said something very soft and low, and Anna turned to her. “You certainly are welcome to participate. Your patient will sleep for a few hours more, and a nurse will be sitting beside her until she wakes. Now you’ll have to excuse me while I speak to Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte.”

The little nun’s head came up suddenly and her gaze fixed on Jack. He nodded to them both and left to wait in the hall.

•   •   •

J
ACK
SAID
, “A
RE
you poaching souls from the Catholic Church?” And was surprised to see that she was a little embarrassed.

“If you like,” she said finally. In her office she sat on the edge of the desk
directly across from Jack, who was leaning against the door. “Though I’d characterize it more as responding to intellectual curiosity. She hasn’t taken final vows yet, has she?”

“What makes you think that?”

“She’s wearing white. Most of the other Catholic nuns I’ve seen wear black habits.”

“She wears white because she’s a nursing sister,” Jack said. “At the Foundling all the nuns wear white. All the nursing nuns.”

Anna’s expression shifted, irritation drawing a line between her brows. Apparently she didn’t like this particular fact about the Sisters of Charity.

“Why are you here, anyway?”

Jack took some pleasure in flustering her, there was no denying it.

“Because you sent for me.” And before she could work up any more of a temper he said, “You are very good in the classroom. Very much in control but not overpowering or unaware. You had their interest and attention.”

Now he had embarrassed her, but she was pleased, too. “Thank you,” she said quietly. When she raised her head again she was smiling. “Do you still have time to go to the Foundling on Sunday?”

He nodded. “Sister Mary Augustin?”

“There’s something going on there, but I have no idea what. She seems subdued. The only way to know if she’s willing to help is to ask her.”

They were silent for a long moment, just looking at each other. “Then Sunday at noon, if that suits. But tonight, if you’re still interested—”

She was waiting, her eyes on his face, her expression a study in hard-won composure.

“We could go up on the new bridge. We need to do it today or tomorrow, as I’m leaving Monday and I’m going to be away for a week or ten days.” Watching her expression closely, all he saw was a vague fluttering of her eyelids.

“I see,” she said finally.

“I was hoping you’d be able to visit the Catholic agencies with Sister Mary Augustin while I’m gone.”

“Of course,” she said, quite stiffly. “I’m quite familiar now with the way things work. I’m sure I can handle further inquiries without you. You’ve spent too much time as it is—” She was pivoting to go around the desk and sit down, but Jack stepped forward to take her wrist. She turned back to
him with a jerk and looked at his hand as if it were contaminated. He couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Mezzanotte, please let go of me.”

Instead he pulled her closer and then, holding on to her upper arms, swung her around so that her back was against the door. He put his hands flat to either side of her head, but she was looking down, all her muscles tensed.

“Look at me.”

She raised her head, her eyes flashing with anger and what he thought might be disappointment.

She said, “I see I amuse you. Do you want to let me in on the joke?” Her gaze fell to his mouth and then jerked away.

“I’m not leaving to get out of helping you.”

“It’s none of my business why you’re—”

He leaned down and caught her mouth in midlie. After she gave in with a small sigh, he kissed her again.

“Do you remember I told you about the swindle the Deparacio brothers were running?”

Her expression cleared. “The train tickets. To—Chicago?”

“Yes. They sold somewhere around five hundred forged tickets from Grand Central to Chicago for ten bucks apiece.”

She nodded, curious now.

“We put out a bulletin. Today we got a telegram from the Chicago police; all three brothers are sitting in their jail. You know how they caught them?”

“They spoke Italian to them.”

“That’s my trick. No, the mopes were hanging around the train station selling fake tickets to Grand Central.”

“You have to go to Chicago to bring them back here.” Her color was rising. “And it’s still none of my business, but I wish you a good trip.”

Jack gave her a narrow look and then, bending down, put his mouth to her ear. “It is your business, Savard. And I can prove it.”

She stiffened. “I have a reputation to uphold here.”

“Then stop lying to me or face the consequences.” He pressed his mouth to the soft skin just beneath her ear.

“I forbid you to take advantage of me in this office.”

He touched his tongue to her throat and felt her shiver.

“If kissing your neck is forbidden, how about—”

She grabbed his ears and pressed her forehead to his. “I have work to do. Let me go.”

“Just as soon as you admit—”

“Yes, all right. It’s my business too.”

He kept waiting and after a good while, she relaxed against him.

“Now that you’re listening I have a couple things to say. First, if you get word from Baldy—”

“Ned.”

“Ned. If you get word from Ned, don’t go anywhere with him alone. Wait for me to get back. Are you going to be stubborn about this?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I know better.”

She did know better—she regularly saw hard proof of the damage done to vulnerable women. And yet he had needed to say it.

“Second, there’s one advantage to this assignment. I’ll have a couple extra days free over the summer. In June sometime I want you to come with me to Greenwood.”

Her expression went blank as she tried to place the name.

“Greenwood is where I grew up. My father’s farm is a few miles south of the village.”

“You want me to come to Greenwood,” she said, a hitch in her voice so that she swallowed visibly before she went on. “You want me to meet your family?”

“I’ve met yours, Savard. Seems only fair.”

She was studying him. “Why?”

“Why do I want you to meet my family?” He gave her his best frown. “That’s a question for a longer conversation.”

Jack stepped away just as someone knocked on the door. He watched Anna gather her thoughts and remind herself who she was. Then she opened it to find the same student nurse standing there.

“Dr. Morris and Dr. Sweet need a surgical consult on a patient who just came in,” she said, her eyes darting to Jack and then away. Anna looked at him over her shoulder as she left the room.

“I’ll come by for you tomorrow at seven,” he said. “As soon as I’ve finished my shift.”

•   •   •

“J
UST
GO
AWAY
,” Sister Xavier said to Mary Augustin. “And leave me to my headache.”

“A headache is quite common after surgery, but it can be treated.” She added two more drops of laudanum to the glass of water she had ready, aware that her patient was watching every movement.

“I see now how it is with you,” said the older nun, refusing to take the glass Mary Augustin offered. “Meek as a mouse until you’ve got the weak and vulnerable to bully.”

Mary Augustin allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, you’ve figured me out. I’m here to bedevil you. You can suffer in silence, or you can take the medicine that will relieve some of your discomfort and let you sleep. Which do you think I’d prefer?”

“Insolent,” Xavier snapped. “Give me the glass.” When she had drained it she sat back against the pillows. “Disgusting.”

Mary Augustin poured another glass of water from the pitcher.