12. Unwelcome Events
Chapter twelve
Unwelcome Events
Everett paused outside his father’s office, steeling himself before entering. The familiar scent of leather and tobacco brought childhood memories of standing in this same spot, seeking approval. Now he entered as a man with divided loyalties, his heart heavy with secrets.
He made his way to the plush divan on his crutches, unable to completely suppress a groan as he settled his injured form.
His father looked up from his dictation, concern flickering across his usually composed features.
With a dismissive wave to his secretary, Dr Moreland focused his full attention on his son.
“Good heavens,” he breathed, taking in Everett’s battered state. “What happened?”
“Grave robbers in Rochester.” Everett tried for lightness, though the memory of that night still chilled him. “A rather unwelcome greeting.”
His father’s eyes narrowed with the shrewd intelligence that had made him Her Majesty’s physician. “Were they lying in wait?”
“No, mere unfortunate timing. I stumbled into their grave.” Everett’s lips twisted wryly. “They decided to make me their next subject.”
“Despicable creatures. Which doctor were they working for?”
“A professor, though I was rather too preoccupied with survival to catch his name.” Everett watched his father carefully as he added, “Fortunately, a nurse named Miss Emma Brown found me.”
Something flickered in his father’s eyes at the name, so quick Everett might have missed it had he not been looking. “This woman saved your life?”
“Twice over,” Everett said softly, remembering Emma’s gentle hands during his fever. His neckcloth felt uncommonly tight at the memory. “She took me into her home, then nursed me through a dangerous fever.”
His father settled behind his desk, a position of authority Everett knew well. “Is that where you’ve been? I sent Mr Gregg searching when I hadn’t heard from you.”
“I had no funds for an inn, and my leg…” Everett gestured to the injury, watching his father pale at the realisation of how close the wound had come to his femoral artery.
“You should have sent for me immediately,” his father chided, dabbing his forehead with a kerchief.
“I was busy completing my mission,” Everett said, noting how his father’s expression sharpened.
“Have you discovered something, then?”
Everett chose his words carefully, torn between duty and the growing need to protect Emma. “I have suspicions about our unlicensed physician. Not a man, as we thought, but a woman.”
A deep crease appeared between Dr Moreland’s brows. “Surely not the nurse who saved you?”
“Her medical knowledge is…extraordinary.” Even now, remembering Emma’s competence stirred both admiration and desire. “Her confidence in treating patients…”
“A woman?” His father’s scepticism was expected, yet it rankled. “Highly unlikely.”
“If it is Miss Brown”—Everett leaned forward, intensity bleeding into his voice—“we cannot pursue disciplinary action. The community relies on her skills. The suffering her absence would cause—”
“That county has two licenced physicians,” his father interrupted smoothly. “Her…assistance…is hardly necessary.”
The casual dismissal of Emma’s worth made Everett’s blood boil. “She saved your son’s life, and you would see her disgraced and her talents wasted?”
His father’s expression softened slightly. “I didn’t say that. I am merely exploring all sides of the issue.”
“No one needs to know she practices medicine,” Everett pressed. “I’ve yet to confirm anything definitive.”
His father studied him with uncomfortable intensity. “When do you expect to conclude your investigation? Unless…” A knowing smile appeared at his lips. “Have you involved yourself with this woman?”
The question hung in the air like a sword. Everett forced his features to remain neutral, though Emma’s face filled his thoughts. “No.”
“Then why do I get the feeling there’s more to the story than what you are telling me?” Something in his tone suggested calculation rather than mere curiosity. “You’re nine and twenty, high time to consider marriage. Though surely not to this…Brown woman.”
The contempt in his father’s voice made Everett’s spine to stiffen beneath his coat. Before he could respond, his father continued smoothly, “With my position as Her Majesty’s physician, you could make an advantageous match. In fact, Her Majesty herself mentioned a suitable young lady…”
As his father spoke of marriage prospects and royal connections, Everett’s mind wandered to Emma and the lessons they’d shared. He quickly distracted himself with something more distasteful lest he display his arousal to his father.
“How fares the cholera outbreak? What is the death toll?” Everett asked.
The slight stiffening of his father’s shoulders confirmed his growing suspicions. Something larger was at play here, something that might explain his father’s determination to investigate Rochester’s successful hospital.
“Return to the countryside,” his father advised paternally. “It’s safer there. I’ll send correspondence when I need you for an upcoming gathering.”
“I must stay and do my physician’s duty. I shall not hide from this outbreak.”
“You are my only son, my only child. I will not allow you to risk your life.”
“Unfortunately, it is my decision to make.” He rose to his feet and reached for his crutches. “And what gathering do you refer to?”
"Lord and Lady Salisbury are hosting a Christmas house party next week. Political matters mainly, though I hear Lady Salisbury means to play matchmaker for her sister. Several eligible gentlemen will be in attendance."
Everett's heart plummeted as bile rose in his throat. Emma surrounded by suitors, each vying for the brilliant physician he had lost. The thought of watching other men court her, of seeing her smile at them or accept their dances, made him physically ill.
"I... I'm afraid I cannot attend," he managed.
"My injury prevents me from standing for long periods.
" The excuse sounded hollow even to his ears, but the thought of witnessing Emma's courtship by worthier men was more than he could bear.
Better to nurse his wounds, both physical and those of his own making, in solitude than watch another man win what he had thrown away.
“You do not need to dance to attract young ladies, Everett. They shall all swoon as soon as they see your handsome face. Now, understand, I have no wish for you to court the spinster sister. I’d like you to attend to court other young ladies.”
Everett frowned in confusion. “Why would they have other young ladies attend when their sister’s match is the aim?”
“That is the political side of things you don’t need to concern yourself with. I hope you’ll be fully healed by then. Now, go home and rest.”
“One more thing. I’d like to see the latest data on the cholera outbreak, Father. I’m interested in charting the recovery rate.”
“Very well but only if you promise not to treat cholera patients.”
Everett performed a mental calculation. He owed it to Emma to continue her research. And if he could discover the cause with Emma’s research, he may save thousands compared to saving dozens by treatment.
He gave his word and left the office, feeling the weight of his choices. He had decisions to make, loyalties to choose between. To do that, he needed to know why his father, whom he had admired all his life, had sent him to investigate Emma.
Emma returned to an empty house, the quiet welcome yet disappointing.
The familiar scent of Mrs Norris’s cooking filled the air, but her thoughts kept straying to Everett.
She ate standing at the counter, pretending to focus on her housekeeping notes while her mind wandered to their last encounter.
She then discovered Helen’s letter and opened it in a hurry.
19 December 1840
My dearest Emma,
The absolute GALL of that contemptible excuse for a man!
I have spent the last hour pacing my study, cursing Everett Moreland’s name in languages that would make my old finishing school mistress faint dead away.
Of all the duplicitous, conniving, snake-hearted scoundrels to ever don a gentleman’s clothing!
Men! Give them a handsome profile and suddenly they think themselves clever enough to deceive a woman of your brilliance. I swear, the entire species exists purely to test our patience and steal our research.
I could fill ten pages with creative suggestions for what to do with Everett Moreland once I track him down (and track him down I shall).
Perhaps we could start by introducing his smug face to the business end of my riding crop?
Or better yet, I could “accidentally” spill Mrs Haversham’s notorious curry sauce on his pristine trousers at the next society gathering.
The stain never does come out, you know, and it can easily be mistaken for…
But in all seriousness, my darling friend, my heart bleeds for your pain.
You opened yourself to the possibility of love; a risk that requires more courage than any of these so-called “brave” men possess.
That he would abuse such trust makes my blood boil.
Your kindness, your commitment for the greater good, your brilliant mind; these are precious gifts he was too foolish to treasure.
You are worth a hundred Everetts, Emma. A thousand! And while I know these words cannot heal the wound he’s left, please remember that your worth is not diminished by his treachery. You remain the same remarkable woman who dared to claim her place in a profession that fears brilliant women.
Now, practical matters. I have already sent discreet inquiries through my network regarding his movements.
(You didn’t think all those tedious social calls I made were purely for pleasure, did you?) The moment I learn anything about your research’s whereabouts, you’ll be the first to know.
And if certain documents happen to find their way back to you through mysterious circumstances…
Well, best not to question the vagaries of fate, hmm?