Chapter 17 #2
“Briefly.” Ginger dabbed the surrounding skin with gauze.
She’d hardly been able to sleep after she’d arrived home, too happy after her evening with Noah.
In the end, Dr. Radford’s books had been the only thing that had helped her settle her mind.
“I read one volume through once, which isn’t usually enough for me when I’m studying anything. But it was quite interesting.”
Dr. Radford gave her a pleased look. “If you can prepare, I’ll give you the first round of exams in a few days. See if you qualify to be trained in anesthesia.”
Ginger drew her hand back from the wound, and Dr. Radford continued her work. “I’m uncertain I’m going to be a nurse for much longer. I hope to return to England in a few months and study as you did,” Ginger said.
Dr. Radford raised an eyebrow. “I have to admit, I was hoping to keep you to myself for longer than that.” After a few beats, she added, “But I’m happy to help you in any way I can.”
Ginger swallowed, thinking of her mother’s anger when she’d learned of her continued relationship with Noah. How would she respond when Ginger told her the plans for medical school? She’d made light of Ginger’s wishes when it had come to William. “Nothing is settled yet.”
Dr. Radford was silent for a few minutes, her brow furrowed in concentration.
When she pulled away for Ginger to irrigate the wound once again, she glanced up.
“Well, approval isn’t ever going to come with this job.
The world isn’t ready for female physicians.
Not even if we keep the progress we’ve made during the war.
Perhaps someday. For now, there are many challenges and very little gratitude for our trouble. ”
Her words were without ceremony and hit Ginger in the gut. Feeling chastened, Ginger asked, “What are some difficulties you’ve faced?”
Dr. Radford inspected her work. “I think we removed all the necrotic flesh. Let’s dress it for now, with instructions to irrigate every three hours.” She straightened as Ginger set to work with the dressing.
“The difficulties I’ve faced? To begin with, my mother wept when I told her.
She’s immensely proud of me now, but it wasn’t always that way.
Then the RAMC refused to accept our help at the war’s start.
When they finally did, they sent us to Malta but refused us the uniform of the RAMC doctors.
We aren’t given a rank or status. I’ve had men working under me refuse my orders and deride my position.
And don’t forget men consider me unmarriageable because of my work.
The list goes on.” Dr. Radford stood beside Ginger.
“You work with efficiency, Sister Whitman.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Ginger continued her work, aware of Dr. Radford’s close gaze. Though she’d done dressings thousands of times before, she felt an uptick of nerves in her back. She wanted to impress Dr. Radford in a way that she hadn’t with some of the male doctors she’d worked with.
When they finished, Ginger headed toward the nurses’ lavatory to change out of her uniform. The morning had passed faster than Ginger had expected. There was something strange about simply walking out of the hospital at the end of her shift, especially with an entire afternoon ahead of her.
She’d spent so long as a nurse that it had felt natural to slip back into that world.
But she wasn’t a part of it, not really.
She missed the camaraderie of the QAs and the other nurses.
The closeness of the work with the patients.
Right now, it felt very much as though she had one foot out the door.
The address her mother had given her for Mr. Brandeis was a short walk from the hospital. Ginger set off on foot. A walk would do her good and help clear some nagging, troubling thoughts.
The passing carriages and cabs reminded her of how Noah had shown up the night before.
Hopefully the protests that had broken out the day before had been quelled.
The local government had little tolerance for anti-British demonstrations.
But she was more wary of the people she passed on the street.
The anger of the locals was taut like a violin string ready to break.
She hurried, passing the shops emblazoned with English and Arabic signs.
There were many among the Egyptian community that had welcomed the British, especially after centuries of Ottoman oppression.
How would the peoples of the British colonies—especially the Moslem ones—respond to the British policies of late?
In Palestine, there had been an equal number of troops from far-flung places such as India.
The surroundings were familiar, though Ginger rarely walked alone on the streets of Cairo. At last, she saw the small sign posted above a doorway: Jacob Brandeis, Esq.
A bell on the door jingled as she opened it.
Mr. Brandeis received her within a minute of her arrival. A stout man, he mopped a bead of sweat from his forehead despite the circulating air from a large fan in the room. “Lady Virginia.” He held a seat for her. “I’m so pleased to see you. Are you well? Still serving as a nurse?”
“I am. Both well and serving as a nurse.” She tucked her feet to the side, resting her hands on her lap. “I’m sorry to drop in on you so unexpectedly, but thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Mr. Brandeis’ face was amicable. “It’s always a pleasure to see you. The Whitman family is always welcome here. How is your mother?”
“Newly in Cairo once more. My father’s heir has come to town, and my mother and Lucy have been showing him the sights.”
“That’s wonderful. Your mother left a gaping hole in our small community when she left.
” Mr. Brandeis sat in front of a large desk cluttered with papers, ledgers, and files.
He nudged a few of them to the side to make a space for his hands, which he clasped and set on the desk. “How can I help you?”
Should she come right out and ask about the concession? “I had some questions about an issue regarding my father’s estate.”
Mr. Brandeis pulled out a leather file and set his hands on it.
He gave her an abrupt placid smile. “Unfortunately, I’m uncertain I have the information you’re seeking.
I reviewed everything with your mother. The entailment and estate were to be settled by your father’s man in London.
The only parts of your father’s estate I handled were his properties here in Egypt and the one in Malta, which I believe your mother shuttered until his debts could be settled. ”
Malta? Ginger blinked. She’d never heard of her father having any property in Malta. And the use of the word properties intrigued her. The only property she knew her father had purchased was the house in Cairo. Were there others?
And her mother clearly knew about it all. Why hadn’t she mentioned them? What other secrets did her mother keep? She hesitated. Caution would be wise. Mr. Brandeis may not be so willing to share information if he thought Ginger knew nothing about it. “Then you do not know of a concession?”
The smile Mr. Brandeis gave her was enigmatic. “To dig? Not at all. But I didn’t realize your father was of the archeological bent. I can look over his papers once again, see if I missed something.”
He was lying.
She ducked her chin. What was he playing at?
Perhaps he thought she couldn’t know much about the matter and could deflect it by implying the concession would be for archeology—she imagined most, if not all, the concessions that were obtained in Egypt were for that purpose.
“No, you’re quite right. My father loathed mummies and ‘all that nonsense.’” Ginger gave him a sharp look.
“But he didn’t loathe oil—and that’s the concession I’m referring to.
The one he negotiated with Ibn Saud. I must admit I’m surprised at your confusion.
My mother said you’d handled the matter. ”
A streak of crimson crept up Mr. Brandeis’ thick neck, and he coughed. “Yes, well—” He reached for a glass of water and slurped it.
“Come now, Mr. Brandeis, I’m not angry. I’m certain my father directed you not to speak of the matter.” Ginger gave him a smooth, sweet smile.
“Yes, of course, of course.” Mr. Brandeis still appeared as though he had swallowed something excruciatingly bitter. He attempted to regain his composure. “Yes, that’s absolutely correct.”
Feeling as though she’d gained the upper hand in the conversation, Ginger leveled her shoulders.
Now was the time to ask for the information she wanted—he would be less likely to lie to her while he was flustered.
“Mr. Brandeis, it’s my understanding that Freddy Mortimer may have been involved with the concession. ”
Mr. Brandeis blanched. He stood abruptly and gathered his papers. “I’m so sorry, Lady Virginia, but I completely forgot a meeting I must attend this afternoon.”
His reaction wasn’t entirely surprising, given his attempt to lie to her.
But she had to press him further. Clearly he knew something about Freddy Mortimer.
And because the concession was missing, perhaps Mortimer was involved.
She tried a bold guess. “Mr. Brandeis, did you give the paperwork about the concession to Mr. Mortimer?”
He made another feeble attempt at an excuse, then sank back into his chair, mopping his brow.
Now his face looked pained. “Please, Lady Virginia, you must understand. He came with a letter from your father. And because he was so well connected to your father and Lady Hendricks, I had no reason to doubt him. He was supposed to return with a document detailing the precise location of the concession paperwork.” His upper lip had broken out into a sweat too.
The paperwork had been stolen, then.
A sinking feeling went through Ginger. How on earth was she supposed to track it? Had Mortimer been a thief? A con artist? “Then I suppose it’s fruitless to ask where Mortimer is now?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him for several months.” Mr. Brandeis gave her a pitiful look. “I swear I wouldn’t have given a thing of such value to him if—”
Ginger cut him down with a look. “Do you have the letter Mortimer presented you? From my father?”
Mr. Brandeis reddened further. He opened the file in front of him. With a trembling hand, he removed an envelope with a broken seal and handed it to her.
Ginger frowned. The seal she recognized immediately.
Her father had used a signet ring with the family crest to seal his letters.
Her heart sank further. The handwriting was undoubtedly her father’s.
And he did direct Mr. Brandeis to give the paperwork to Freddy Mortimer, freeing Mr. Brandeis of responsibility.
“You’re entirely correct, Mr. Brandeis. This was from my father.” She folded it and returned it to him. “Do you remember what Mortimer looked like?”
Relief filled Mr. Brandeis’ expression. He replaced the letter, his countenance clearing. “He was a tall man. Thin. Reddish hair—but not like yours. More auburn. A bit of a dandy.”
That could be anyone.
Ginger rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Brandeis. That’s a promising start. You said he was connected to Lady Hendricks?” She didn’t know who that was, but from the way he had said it, she imagined her mother or Lucy might know.
Mr. Brandeis gave her a hesitant smile, as though delighted she hadn’t raked him over the coals. “Yes, yes. He dined with her at Shepheard’s frequently.”
Ginger wanted to groan. Another person to question—and this time, one that didn’t know her.
She glanced at the ledgers on Mr. Brandeis’ desk, thinking of all he had shared.
Then, impulsively, she asked, “Would you mind writing the addresses for my father’s properties out for me? My mother wanted to have them handy.”
“Of course.” Mr. Brandeis opened the file and flipped through a few pages. He pulled out a fountain pen and a fresh sheet of paper, then copied quickly.
She took the paper from him and folded it. “Thank you so much. I appreciate you receiving me.”
“Happy to be of service.” The solicitor started toward the door.
She thanked him and left, tucking the paper Mr. Brandeis had given her into her handbag. She hailed a calishe and climbed in. As the driver took her toward her house, she pulled the list out. Four properties in Egypt were listed, along with the one in Malta.
Why had her father obtained so much property? And how? He couldn’t have had the money for this.
But, then again, he’d borrowed a great deal of money from Stephen. He must have used Stephen’s money for these properties. Were they still in her father’s name? Her mother might know.
She shuddered. The plain fact was that Stephen likely knew more about her father than she’d ever known. She hadn’t been admitted to her father’s inner circle. And Stephen had been as close to her father as Henry had been, since Stephen had been Henry’s best friend.
Stephen would be an excellent source of information about the concession but she’d rather get nothing from it than to ever speak to him again.
She replaced the list of properties in her handbag. One property was in Old Cairo. She frowned. Why would her father have another property here?
She would have to ask her mother about all of this. But her mother’s silence made Ginger wonder if she could trust her mother as much as she once had. After all, her mother had been informed of her father’s activities, to some extent. A heavy feeling rested on Ginger’s shoulders.
Flies swarmed on the horse attached to the calishe, and she watched the tawny tail swish.
A dirty, scrawny thing, she felt sorry for the poor animal.
She sat further back against the seat of the calishe, frustrated by the day.
She’d hoped Mr. Brandeis could provide a simple answer, but this seemed more complicated than ever.
Then again, if any of this had been easy, the CID wouldn’t have likely felt the need to ask for her help.
She needed to find Freddy Mortimer.