THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-ONE
Even before Henry’s carriage stopped in front of Lady Bixbee’s London residence, he was out the door and sprinting up the front steps. He prayed the doctor would be in attendance. If not, Henry wasn’t above begging the old matron for his whereabouts.
As he pounded on the door, absolute fear and remorse twisted and burned inside his chest. He knew he’d find no relief until Arabella was safely in his arms. Where she belonged.
He had been a fool to believe she’d accept his decision. Her stubbornness was proving to be more of a detriment to herself than his fears of his family ever were.
The moment the door opened, Henry barged past the unsuspecting butler and demanded to see Dr. Stafford. It took the butler a moment to collect himself, but then he led Henry to a nearby room.
“Wait here,” the butler said sternly.
Struggling to keep an appearance of calm, Henry paced as the clock on the mantel ticked away more of his precious time. He’d no idea how long Arabella had been inside Bedlam, but a single moment was too long.
Your sister has been in there for much longer, the voice inside his head whispered.
Henry pressed his eyes shut against a heavy rush of guilt.
The door to the sitting room opened, and Henry moved to the doctor before he even had a chance to fully enter the room.
“We need to go,” Henry said, grabbing Dr. Stafford by the arm and attempting to pull him back into the corridor and out to his waiting carriage.
With swift movements, Dr. Stafford twisted out of Henry’s grasp, reversing their hold until Henry’s hands were pinned behind his back and the side of his head was pressed to the doorframe.
“Forgive me if I do not seem eager to be forcibly removed from my grandmother’s home,” Dr. Stafford said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Do you use that move on your patients?” Henry ground out through his teeth, his temper rising. They were wasting time.
Dr. Stafford immediately released his hold, and Henry pushed himself off the doorframe, his cheek throbbing.
Dr. Stafford walked fully into the sitting room, removed his evening jacket, and threw it over the back of a chair. “I have never in my life intentionally hurt a patient.” He began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “But I have no qualms about fighting a man who so easily breaks the heart of a woman as remarkable as Miss Latham.”
The last hold Henry had snapped, and he charged for the doctor.
“Do you think that was easy for me?” Henry growled, swinging one fist for the doctor’s face, anticipating the block. When his fist met the doctor’s raised forearm, Henry swung low with his other arm and connected with Dr. Stafford’s abdomen. “I was gutted.”
Dr. Stafford doubled over, one arm wrapping around his stomach. Slowly, he straightened, shooting daggers at Henry. “You are a coward.” Then he charged.
His shoulder rammed into Henry’s chest, robbing him of breath and driving them both to the floor. Dr. Stafford remained on top, evading any attempt Henry made to knock him off.
“You could have accepted my help,” Dr. Stafford grunted, taking a swing for Henry’s face.
Henry raised a hand in time to partially deflect the blow, but it still hit the side of his head and left a ringing in his ear. With all his weight, he kicked upward and rolled to the left, unbalancing Dr. Stafford.
Moving quickly on his hands and knees, Henry dove for the doctor. They tumbled, crashing into a small table and knocking it to the ground. More furniture crashed to the floor as they both fought and failed to remain the victor. After another round, they lay side by side on their backs, completely out of breath.
“I need your help,” Henry said, his voice ragged.
Dr. Stafford tilted his head to look at him, blood dripping from one corner of his mouth. “I know,” he said in a dry tone.
Henry pushed himself up on one elbow, his earlier panic ripping through him again. “Not that. Arabella has gone inside Bedlam.”
Dr. Stafford sat straight up. “What? Are you certain?”
Henry nodded. She’d managed to get herself inside Brooks’s; he dared not doubt she’d found a way to get herself into Bedlam.
She was there because of him, and he needed to get her out, body and reputation whole.
Dr. Stafford cursed, shooting to his feet. He offered a hand to Henry. “Why did you not say so? How long?” he asked, retrieving his jacket.
Henry moved quickly toward the door. The pain in his side made it difficult to draw a full breath, and his jaw ached with every movement.
“I do not know,” he replied, entering the corridor where the butler waited by the front door, hats in hand, one brow inconspicuously raised.
“Thank you, Wilkinson,” Dr. Stafford said, taking his hat.
Henry took his hat, finding it odd that the butler would be waiting for them.
Wilkinson nodded. “Of course, sir.” He moved to the door, then stopped, blocking their exit.
“What is it?” Dr. Stafford demanded. “We are in a hurry.”
Wilkinson cleared his throat. “Your grandmother asks that the next time you decide to fight a man over a woman, you take it to the Park at dawn like every other respectable gentleman and not her sitting room.”
Henry stood in stunned disbelief while Dr. Stafford grumbled something about“his meddlesome grandmother.”
“She also told me,” Wilkinson continued, “that I was not to let you leave without securing payment for her damaged furnishings.”
“Send him the bill,” Dr. Stafford said in a droll tone as he pointed to Henry.“He is the one getting the girl.”
“I will inform your grandmother,” Wilkinson said, moving to open the door.
Henry followed Dr. Stafford to the carriage and was stepping inside when a boy came running up to him.
“Letter for the doc.”
Dr. Stafford poked his head out of the carriage and took the note from the boy.
Standing in the light of the carriage lantern, Henry recognized the boy as the one who’d seen to his horse that day at the new Bedlam. He was hunched over, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
Henry cursed; that was a long way for a boy to run.
“Hip flask,” he called up to his coachman, whom he knew always carried one full of water during the hot summer months.
His man tossed it down, and Henry handed it to the lad. The boy tipped it back for several seconds.
“Thank ye, sir,” he said, wiping a dirty sleeve across his mouth.
“We need to go,” Dr. Stafford said with some urgency, ducking back into the carriage.
“Hop up with my coachman,” Henry said to the boy, who looked relieved. “We will take you back.”
The boy jumped up onto the bench, and they were on their way.
“What was in the letter?” Henry asked, restless and fearful that it held something about Arabella.
“It was from my mother.”
“Your mother?” Henry asked, not at all understanding her connection with their situation.
“You have met her before,” Dr. Stafford replied as the carriage jerked and swayed. “Twice, actually. She was the nurse who walked you out the day you visited Sarah at Guy’s Hospital. And she was the one who brought Sarah in when you came to the new Bedlam.”
Henry nodded, remembering the woman who’d referred to his sister as “my Sarah.”
“Why is your mother at the hospital?” Henry asked.
“She is a nurse. I brought her in to be my eyes and ears when I could not be there,” Dr. Stafford replied.
Henry blew out a breath and shook his head, amazed at how resourceful the doctor was proving to be.
“A new patient was just admitted,” Dr. Stafford said. “But our requirements state that new admissions occur only during the daylight hours and with at least two doctors’ approval. If this new patient is indeed Miss Latham, she may have just given us our chance to catch whoever is taking the bribes.”
“Who is the doctor on staff?” Henry asked.
“I believe it is Gladstone,” Dr. Stafford replied. “And he is the worst of the bunch.”
Henry’s blood ran cold as he recognized the name of the pompous doctor he’d met at Guy’s Hospital. The one who’d drugged his sister until she was nothing but a shell of herself.
Henry prayed they’d get there in time before Gladstone could do the same to Arabella.