Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Three days after their argument over the source of payment, Archibald went under the knife.
He had barely spoken to Gwen in the interim, which she ascribed to his nervousness at what the operation would entail.
Against her better judgement, she’d read descriptions of the procedure, and mentions of scalpels and lenses and incisions and ether jumped around her mind.
She accompanied him to Moorfields and waited anxiously for his return from the ward.
He had, at the last moment before being led away, acknowledged that the private treatment room was worth the extra expense as he would not have to suffer the indignity of being viewed by students.
He returned on the arm of an orderly with his eyes heavily bandaged and a waxy pallor to the visible part of his face.
She helped him into the hansom cab that she had hired and sat holding his hand, chatting about what they were passing until he silenced her with a harsh comment of, ‘Will you be quiet, you foolish woman!’
Gwen obeyed and it was fortunate that Archibald’s eyes were bound, because she couldn’t stop her tears falling.
She blinked them away, recognising anger as well as unhappiness in the hot tracks down her cheeks.
He was in pain and discomfort and didn’t need to hear her prattling on, but his rudeness was becoming more intolerable.
Once he was healed, she would expect better of him.
She instructed the driver to stop outside the pharmacy.
‘Are you determined to bring shame upon me by displaying my infirmity to all and sundry?’ Archibald asked.
‘There’s no shame,’ Gwen told him. She pulled a face, revelling slightly in his ignorance of it. ‘Though we can stop around the corner, if you would prefer, and I can guide you along the pavement.’
He grunted and admitted a shorter walk would be more discreet and more bearable.
His hands were shaking and his grip on her arm faltered as she helped him down. She paid the driver, thanking her lucky stars that she didn’t have to count the pennies.
‘A scandalous waste of money,’ Archibald grumbled, though Gwen could tell his heart was not really in it.
Gwen fumbled with the door key. ‘Would you have preferred to walk home with me guiding you through the streets in front of everybody, or sitting on an omnibus?’
‘Take me upstairs. I need to rest. The room must be completely dark.’
He hadn’t answered her question and Gwen took it to mean that he agreed with her but was not prepared to concede the point.
The next two days were a trial for Gwen.
It was too soon to say whether Archibald’s vision had improved, but his temper most certainly had deteriorated and she was sorely tempted to give him a dose of the tincture to improve his disposition, but she ignored the little voice whispering in her head and gave him the laudanum that he had prescribed for himself.
Fortunately, the bandages over his eyes meant that she did not have to hide her expression, but within a week they would be removed and the doctors would be able to judge the effectiveness of the surgery.
‘What has got into me?’ she wondered as she caught herself scowling at him.
She was turning into the sort of wife that everybody disliked, finding fault with her husband and thinking rebellious thoughts.
Then again, another part of her looked at the easy relationship between the baker next door and his wife; the daily affection between the costermonger and his wife who lived across the road; the couples who came into the pharmacy clearly anxious for the other’s welfare.
More often than not, she found her eyes filling with tears that she could not excuse by blaming them on the change of life that she suspected was beginning to approach.
Mr Rosewood and Jenny came visiting on the morning of the fourth day, enquiring after Archibald’s health.
‘My husband might be sleeping,’ she greeted them uneasily.
‘We won’t stay long,’ Mr Rosewood said. He stood with his hands on his cane, and it was clear he was not about to leave.
Knowing that Archibald was in no state to descend stairs, Gwen showed them upstairs and admitted them to the sitting room; the first time Conrad had ever crossed into their private quarters.
She paused outside the bedroom but hesitated with her hand on the doorknob before knocking, just as the sitting-room door opened and Jenny slipped out. She gave Gwen an awkward smile.
‘I’m sorry, we’re intruding. I tried to dissuade Uncle Conrad, but he was insistent.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Gwen regarded her. Jenny looked tired and had darkish-purple smudges beneath her eyes.
‘My dear, are you unwell?’ Gwen asked.
Jenny shook her head, looking dejected. ‘No, just a little melancholy. I had a disagreement with my friend, the one I mentioned before.’
‘The one you hoped to start a life with. Oh, my dear, I am sorry.’ Gwen squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll talk about this as soon as we can. If you would like to, of course. You don’t need to confide in me, but if you wish to, I’ll happily listen.’
Jenny squeezed back. ‘Yes, I think so. But you’re right, not now. And you – how are you bearing up?’
Tears prickled at Gwen’s eyes; Jenny’s sympathy was almost more than she could bear. ‘It hasn’t been easy, but I’m sure now that Archibald is beginning to recover, we will regain our previous understanding with each other.’
She tapped on the bedroom door. Archibald answered.
‘What is it? I heard voices. Are we not alone?’
She opened the door and put her head into the room. Even though it was a bright day, the windows were closed and the curtains drawn to keep the sunlight from damaging Archibald’s sensitive vision.
‘Mr Rosewood is here. He has come to see how you’re convalescing.’
‘And you let him come up. Why? Isn’t it enough that he knows my state?’
Gwen glanced behind her. Jenny averted her eyes and quickly went into the sitting room. She must have heard his tone, however, and fury and shame coursed through Gwen that his rudeness had been overheard, and that she was accepting it so mildly.
‘He only wants to see you for a few minutes. You will have to come and see him, unless you would like him to come and see you in here, of course,’ she said, knowing full well that Archibald would not tolerate anybody entering their bedroom.
‘In that case, you had better help me to dress,’ he grumbled.
Ten minutes later, with his eyes still bandaged, Archibald allowed Gwen to lead him into the sitting room and to a chair by the fire where he could remain in the shadows.
Conrad stared at him with pity. ‘My friend, why did you not tell me of your ailing sight before it came to this?’
Gwen stepped forward. ‘We kept it from you because if my husband can’t see, he can’t work. Before too long he would have been unable to see well enough to make the products, and we know you don’t approve of women making medicines. We didn’t want to concern you with possibilities.’
‘Yes, but…’ Conrad looked frustrated for the first time that Gwen could remember. ‘But if you had come to me for help, I would have helped. I could have loaned you the money to pay for your treatment. I could have paid for it myself, blast it!’ He scowled. ‘We’ve been friends for years.’
‘But he is also your employee,’ Gwen pointed out. ‘You pay him a wage for his work. He isn’t a charity case.’
Archibald raised his chin, looking as dignified as a man with his face bound in bandages could manage. ‘I can speak for myself, Mrs Walters. I do not need your intervention.’
The coldness in his voice struck Gwen deeply.
Her husband stepped toward her and gripped her wrist. ‘My wife does speak correctly, even if it is out of turn. I had no idea whether you would deem me too helpless for work. You’re my friend, Conrad, but you’re a ruthless businessman, first and foremost. Otherwise, how would you have built up your businesses? ’
‘Archibald, I hope I’ve always played fair with you,’ Conrad said. ‘I helped you out in the first place by giving you a job. I even paid for this building, knowing you would need a home for your wife and child. Do you imagine I would not have helped if I had known?’
‘Nevertheless, the deed is done,’ Archibald snapped. ‘I have regained my sight for a matter of three or four years and after that, who knows what will happen? I will most likely be in my dotage and ready for my grave.’
Gwen looked over his head, catching a look of surprise in Jenny’s expression. Archibald had been growing more careless and vicious with his tongue to Gwen, but this rudeness to his employer and his melancholic prediction was a new development.
Conrad rallied, giving a forced smile and speaking in a jovial tone.
‘Well, my dear friend, if you need another operation, then I will gladly pay for it, in payment for the many years of work that you have carried out for me.’
‘That’s very generous and kind. Thank you, Mr Rosewood. It’s a pity our son did not choose to follow in his father’s trade. I wonder if I should write to him and express our wish that he might reconsider,’ Gwen said thoughtfully.
‘You will do no such thing! That boy has made his bed and will have to lie in it,’ Archibald said severely.
There was an awkward pause, then Conrad lifted his hat to Gwen.
‘I must take my leave, but please know, my friend, that my door and my ears are always open for your troubles.’
Gwen bade the guests farewell and made a pot of tea before returning upstairs. She placed his usual mug in Archibald’s hands.
‘That was a pleasant visit, and a surprise, I must admit. Conrad is a true friend, and to think we didn’t know how well he would take the news.’
‘A woman’s explanation,’ Archibald growled.
‘I know it’s a woman’s explanation, Archibald. I am a woman. I fail to see how this makes it any less valid.’