Chapter 2
F or all that the lady acquiesced, she did not move from her place beside Mr. Evans, and Arthur didn’t question the obvious offer of assistance. Whatever her credentials, she clearly knew a thing or two about medicine, and he wouldn’t turn aside any aid at this point.
Though he didn’t know where they had magicked it from, a man came forward with a bucket of water, and with a nod of her head, the lady directed him to place it beside Arthur. Needing no further invitation, he set aside his hat and pulled off his jacket before rolling up his shirtsleeves.
The situation they found themselves in was far from ideal, but since finishing his studies, Arthur rarely had access to such perfection. Kneeling on the ground was hardly a comfortable position, but at least it allowed him a better vantage from which to view the wound—though his pulse spiked when the lady pulled back for him to examine it.
Dirt caked the laceration, with splinters and detritus peppering it, and though it wasn’t deep, it was far too long for Arthur’s peace of mind. Snatching up the knife the lady had abandoned, Arthur quickly sliced through Mr. Evans’ trouser leg, pulling the mangled and bloody fabric free. He couldn’t say with any certainty that the bone wasn’t fractured, but with some prodding, he was confident it was whole. A miracle, indeed.
“Madam,” said Arthur, drawing her gaze to him.
“Miss Templeton,” she supplied.
“Dr. Vaughn,” he replied before nodding toward the vial beside his bag. Before he could give the lady any instructions, she abandoned her rags and lifted the bottle to the sky, gazing through the reddish-brown liquid. “It’s a strong mixture—”
Miss Templeton nodded, reaching over to his kit for the dropper. With quick movements, she opened the bottle and extracted a dose, giving it to Mr. Evans with the ease of one who knew her business. Though Arthur kept a close eye on how much she administered, it was entirely unnecessary, as she gave the exact amount he would’ve suggested.
Looking at Mr. Evans, Arthur held his gaze. “I can stitch you up in a trice once I have the wound cleaned of anything that might cause it to fester, but I cannot wait until the laudanum takes effect and run the risk of you bleeding to death before we can finish.”
Despite sounding as though he were asking permission, Arthur knew the poor fellow wasn’t in any condition to do so, but whether or not Mr. Evans comprehended, Arthur hoped the explanation granted the patient some relief. Without another word, Arthur poured a cup of water over the gash, and Mr. Evans howled and jerked away, forcing Miss Templeton to throw herself over him, putting all her weight on his chest to hold him still.
“Mr. Jenkins, take my place!” called Miss Templeton. Though the fellow hesitated a moment, the lady repeated her order and Mr. Jenkins did as commanded before she moved to hold Mr. Evans’ legs. They could use another body or two to hold him still, but the bystanders inched away as though afraid to be called upon. Sucking in a sharp breath, Mr. Jenkins held Mr. Evans in place but turned his face away as Arthur picked up his tweezers .
Having so many observers ought to make a man nervous, but a surgeon’s education was hardly a private matter. In many ways, it made Arthur feel more at ease, for he was used to working with a roomful of students and doctors watching his every move; their classrooms were called operating theaters for a reason, and Arthur settled into the familiarity of the feeling.
Mr. Evans jerked with the first probes, and though Arthur half expected Miss Templeton to be knocked away, she flattened herself against his shins and feet, pinning his legs firmly to the ground. Moving as quickly as he dared, Arthur combed the laceration for any impurities, picking away the splinters and rocks that had made their way inside.
The patient moaned and sobbed, but the sound was naught but a distant thing compared to the pulse in Arthur’s ears. Thankfully, the blood flow was not as bad as it might’ve been, but with each drop spilt, he was one heartbeat closer to losing Mr. Evans. Yet overlooking any foreign object would doom the fellow to a far slower and more painful death as his body rotted from the inside out. The chance of dying from infection was great even in the best of circumstances.
Before Arthur could reach for another cup, Miss Templeton freed her hand and twisted enough to dribble water across the flesh to wash away the impurities.
“Pa!”
Despite the ruckus that followed, Arthur’s attention never drifted from his work as pounding footsteps accompanied the shout.
“We have him in hand, Johnny. Let Dr. Vaughn see to his business,” said Miss Templeton as a young man dropped onto the ground beside Mr. Evans.
“What can I do?” asked Johnny.
The question was directed to Arthur, but he couldn’t divide his attention enough to give more than a shake of his head in response. Every time it looked as though the cleaning was complete, he discovered yet another splinter. Lifting his arm, Arthur wiped his forehead across his bicep .
“Find us splints, Johnny,” said Miss Templeton, her words breaking as Mr. Evans kicked, jolting her. “Long enough for his leg.”
“Yes, of course.” And with that, the younger Mr. Evans hurried to the wreckage, calling others to help him pull off the boards and them of nails and splinters.
“Miss Bacon,” called Miss Templeton. “Will you cut bandages?”
“I haven’t any cloth on hand,” came the quiet reply.
“You have yards on your person and many more in your trunks.”
“But Miss Templeton, you cannot be suggesting I put my petticoats on display?” asked Miss Bacon.
“I am suggesting you do what you can to save a man’s life,” replied Miss Templeton. “We need bandages to protect the wound and bind the splints. The more, the better.” When there was no reply, the lady sighed and added, “Please, Miss Bacon.”
“Yes. Of course.”
And with that, there was another flurry of activity behind Arthur as Miss Templeton gave instructions concerning the width and number of bandages required. Just as he was about to mention transportation for Mr. Evans after the operation, Miss Templeton set others hurrying to see to that task as well, leaving Arthur free to focus on his work. Yet he couldn’t quite ignore the lady at his right.
Others worked around them, hurrying to do Miss Templeton’s bidding while she kept Mr. Evans’ legs still, lying across them without a hint of timidity and all the poise of a lady enjoying tea in her parlor. And despite having to twist oddly to manage it, she was already ready with the water, cleansing the wound before Arthur could think to ask.
With one final irrigation, he straightened and put away his tweezers. For all that it felt as though an hour must’ve passed, it hadn’t been more than a few minutes—not nearly enough time for the laudanum to come into full effect. But there was no helping matters. The wound needed to be closed before Mr. Evans bled to death. Bandaging it instead would do some good, but the fellow had lost too much blood already.
Quickly, Arthur threaded a needle, praying he had enough to do the job. For all that the gash was long, it was a clean cut, requiring far less effort on his part to bind together, which was another miracle. Plenty of surgeons at the hospital managed an entire amputation and sutures in a mere ten minutes, and though Arthur couldn’t boast such quick work, he hadn’t lied to Miss Templeton; he knew what he was about, and his fingers moved quickly, laying each stitch with neat efficiency even as his assistants did their best to keep Mr. Evans still.
A final tug and Arthur tied off the thread; his assistant had the scissors on hand, handing them over so he could cut off the excess.
“Bandages and splints, please,” called Miss Templeton, easing off of Mr. Evans’ legs.
Someone rushed forward, and Arthur took the proffered bundle of rolled fabric. Without prompting, Miss Templeton moved to the patient’s foot and lifted it whilst Arthur covered the sutures with a layer of muslin and then laid out several straps of linen on the ground beneath. Carefully, Miss Templeton lowered the leg atop them, and Arthur positioned the splints on either side before guiding Mr. Jenkins to hold the supports in place as they tied off the splints, holding them firmly in place.
Mr. Evans groaned with the final jerks as they knotted the fabric bindings, and Mr. Jenkins moved away from the fellow’s head so Johnny could kneel beside his father, taking his hand in his as he murmured words of comfort.
With a heavy sigh, Arthur sat back on his heels. “We needn’t move him until the laudanum takes effect, which should be within the next few minutes.”
Rubbing his forehead with his bicep once more, Arthur rose to his feet and held out his hand to Miss Templeton. The lady stared at it for a long moment—which was when he realized how bloody it was. Yet before he could retract the hand, she took hold of it, and he helped the lady to her feet.
And her eyes were level with his.
The flurry of activity hadn’t allowed Arthur’s thoughts to register much about the lady, even if her larger size ought to have been obvious when she’d managed Mr. Evans’ legs without being batted away. Despite his being tall for a man, Miss Templeton matched him, and though she was by no means plump, the lady was broad-shouldered. This was no delicate creature who might be tossed about by the winter winds. No, she was perfectly proportioned and as different from the likes of Miss Bacon as a majestic oak was to a delicate weeping willow.
The lady’s dark tresses were pulled up in a simple style, but the natural curl gave it a texture that kept it from looking plain and bestowed a softness to Miss Templeton’s features that no amount of curling papers or irons could manage. A few locks had fallen free of her hairpins, brushing softly against her cheek—
“Allow me, Dr. Vaughn,” she said, lifting the edges of her skirts to wipe his hands and jerking him from his perusal.
But Arthur pulled away. “Stains on a surgeon’s clothes are a mark of pride. After all, the more stains, the better the surgeon. Or so they say. There’s no need to ruin your dress as well.”
Miss Templeton’s lips pulled into a wry smile as she motioned downward. Though his clothes had been mostly spared, her skirts were beyond salvaging. Dirt and blood caked the pale muslin, and Arthur had spent enough time attempting to clean such things from his clothes to know the gown was a lost cause. To say nothing of the ragged bits of petticoats that peeked out from below the hem.
Before he could mount another argument, Miss Templeton poured a ladle of water over his hands and scrubbed at the skin with her skirt. And Arthur could do nothing but submit to the ministrations.