Chapter Nine
A paper bag of hot madeleines in hand, Alfred pushed the door open to his friends’ practice at 87 Harley Street. Wendy always put on some tea at this time and he could truly use the company of his friends. As he’d hoped, he found Wendy pouring two cups of tea. The madeleines were laid out on a plain white plate and had absorbed the powdered sugar with which they’d been sprinkled when he bought them.
“Thank you for the biscuits, Alfred. I didn’t have time to eat.” She helped herself to one and pushed a cup of steaming amber liquid toward him.
“They’re madeleines. French. Not biscuits.” She wasn’t like Ada. A good friend, but Ada had been on his mind in a way that Wendy would never be.
“Stein!”
Alfie Collins, the pharmacist, walked in, picked a madeleine from the plate, and retrieved another cup from the cupboard. It was like in old times when they sat together and enjoyed a few pastries over tea. They discussed ailments, treatment options, and patients… except that Alfred had a lingering feeling that he was the one in need of a cure this afternoon.
“Who was the beauty who carried your bag the other day?” Collins said nonchalantly.
“A beauty?” Wendy clapped. “Oh, Alfred! Tell me all about her!”
“There’s nothing to tell. We just kissed.” He dismissed the subject.
Collins plopped in the chair and waved his hands palms up. “You’re jesting!”
Wendy raised her brows. “Kissed?”
Alfred groaned and downed his tea. It burned in his throat, but he welcomed the distraction.
“Alfred Stein. I don’t think you’ve ever merely kissed a woman. That means you really like her!” Collins said, blinking at Wendy.
“There’s a lady present.” Alfred hoped he’d stop the line of questioning.
“This lady has worked as a midwife far longer than we care to admit. She may be virginal but not na?ve.” Wendy cast him a pointed look, holding his gaze when she asked, “Do you like her?”
Alfred didn’t know how to answer the question. He quite liked Ada, but he was going to meet his bride in less than two weeks.
“Of course, he likes her. He kissed her. I saw the girl. She’s gorgeous!” Collins said.
“Well, if she captured your heart, she must be truly special,” Wendy said, then got up and left the kitchen.
“What’s the problem?” Collins asked once Wendy was gone. “She’s not Jewish, is she?”
Alfred shook his head. “Even if she were, it wouldn’t matter. I went to The Lyon’s Den for the down payment of number 91 at the corner.”
Collins threw both hands over his head. “Are you mad?”
“No, I’m not mad. I’m tired of living like a peddler. I don’t have wares to sell. I’m a doctor.”
“So, you sell your freedom to the Black Widow of Whitehall instead?”
“I’m finally getting the down payment. What does it matter if I am vershadchet , matched, by her or a rabbi? My mother has been trying to find me a bride for months already.” He sighed in defeat. “What have I to lose?”
“A choice in the matter, my friend,” Collins said. “You may think you found a shortcut to your practice, but believe me, there is no such thing as a shortcut. You’ll pay the price, if not with time, then with your heart.” He rose from his chair. “You’re throwing your life away because you are too proud to wait until you’ve saved enough. I’m disappointed.” He too left the room, but unlike his sister, he slammed the door.
Alfred sat alone in his friends’ kitchen. The sun hung low and it was soon time to gamble for his down payment.
His friend was right. He was looking for a shortcut.
For the next few hours, Alfred sat alone and second-guessed the deal he’d struck with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. His parents generally didn’t mind a few friendly card games, but gambling with his future was not something he could explain to them. He wanted to show his gratitude for his education. In a way, they were still paying even though he’d graduated. It was time to turn his profession into a lucrative business. Had he been greedy and impatient to consider accepting a wife with money after only two weeks?
Alfred cleared his teacup and ate the last madeleine. It had gone stale, like his idea of a practice. Suddenly, the cost of 91 Harley Street seemed steeper than it had when he entered into the agreement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He hadn’t known Ada then and convinced himself that he could manage to live with any wife, as long as he could finally achieve his goal of the practice and repay his parents’ debt. Not that they’d ever asked for it, but he wanted them back in London in their old house, enjoying the home they had so willingly relinquished to pay for his education.
Except that he’d experienced an excitement with Ada that changed his heart. The best kiss of his life. Although she seemed to have been kissed before, her innocence was palpable. The way her breath had hitched sent a shot of heat through Alfred’s body. She was willing and had expected the kiss, but her enthusiasm and softness had surprised him. Her tenderness had captivated him unlike any before. Ada had stirred desire within him as she yielded sweetly to his embrace that had caught him off guard.
The deal with Mrs. Dove-Lyon trapped him in a position that would keep him from exploring his feelings for the fiery blond beauty who spoke French as well as she spoke English, who loved pastries, and played cards better than any man he’d ever met.
Was he exchanging the life of a door-to-door medicine man for a slave to a wife he didn’t love just to have a practice now rather than wait? Was he no better than some of his patients, pitying himself for slight injuries turned into tragedies by their overdramatic mothers?
None of it mattered as long as he had a goal in life and a debt to his parents, he told himself. Without their sacrifices, he wouldn’t have had a stellar medical education in Edinburgh. He wouldn’t have adapted to London society and looked the part of a doctor for the Ton. All he needed now was a first point of call for his patients. Doctors were not meant to be peddlers, and he couldn’t possibly fit enough supplies in his leather bag. An office across from Alfie Collin’s apothecary would be ideal. He needed a nurse like Wendy or a secretary to help keep his appointments. A bookkeeper he had in his brother, a trustworthy partner. But even Seth would need a desk and cabinets to file documents. He needed patient charts with their addresses to mail bills for Alfred’s service. Accounts to receive payments. Being a doctor was not only about medicine as they’d made it seem in university. He needed a place to run a business.
He remembered his mother’s gloom when she rolled up the rugs and unhitched the curtains to sell everything piece by piece to purchase his instruments. When he came home to London after his second year of study, his father had rented out the top floors of their house. By the time he’d graduated, his parents had sold his childhood home.
“It’s an investment in your future,” his father had said. And despite her reluctance to pawn off his grandmother’s fine china, her wedding band, and even the feather pillows, his mother always had a smile for Alfred. No matter how somber her expression grew, when she looked at him and Seth, her eyes sparkled with pride and love.
“To me, you shine brighter than the sun!” she used to say.
“But my education is making you live in poverty,” Alfred had protested when his parents moved to the country. A position as a country estate manager had promised his father free housing.
“Some parents cannot make anything of their children, no matter how much they invest.” his father said. “But you and Seth are full of potential. We couldn’t find a better way to spend the money.”
“And grandmother’s china? Her brooch?” Alfred couldn’t help the bitterness of letting the family heirlooms pass out of their hands to pay for books on anatomy and diseases.
“My mother was always very practical and rarely used the fine china. She’d never forgive me if you missed out on the materials for your studies for me to fill the display cabinet with old porcelain.”
So, the time passed, and his parents left Town. He’d returned to London after he graduated from Edinburgh. Within two years, Seth followed with a degree in finance and accounting. They shared the rental facing Green Park on the corner of Berkeley Street and Piccadilly. It was an old three-story building, but there was enough room for both of them. Seth mostly worked at home, and Alfred wandered the neighborhoods in search of work. He was building a client base, Seth said, and he had to do it where his future practice would be.
Until he’d met Ada, Mrs. Dove-Lyons’s solution seemed worthwhile. With a little luck, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s choice would at least trump his mother’s because the chaste girls from the local Jewish community bored him. They’d never been anywhere, or done anything, and were taught to devote their lives to the house. If he hadn’t been conditioned for the same, he’d look for a pirate’s daughter who could tell him wild stories of faraway lands. But Collins was right, a shadchan merely meant meeting a potential bride. Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s deal forced him to marry the candidate.
Nonsense, he chastised himself. With his success, his brother would be successful, too. And by the time he might have children, his parents could retire and finally enjoy the dawn of their lives in their old house that he’d buy back. He certainly wanted to ensure their medical needs were looked after, so he needed them close.
Then how was it possible that his stomach turned at the thought that he might not find Ada again? Would he ever have the chance to kiss her just once more?