Chapter 15 Scolding Sliger
Scolding Sliger
HAVING COMPLETED his examination of Mr George Caspar, Alwyn put his pencil away and read over the notes he had jotted down. Mrs Caspar was looking at him expectantly as she sat on the bed, her hand resting protectively on her husband’s shoulder.
The diagnosis was clear — thus the brevity of the evaluation — but that did not make it easy news to deliver. Although the patient seemed inattentive, slumped against the headboard, Alwyn thought it only proper to address him directly.
“Mr Caspar,” he began. “It seems that you have suffered an apoplectic fit.”
Hearing Mrs Caspar’s sharp intake of breath, her husband turned to her, his face expressing just as much confusion as concern.
“Dear, why…are you crying?” His mouth was sloppy as it struggled to form the words. He looked again at Alwyn. “And who…is this?”
“This is Mr Alwyn,” his wife reminded him, her voice breaking, as she had introduced the young man earlier. “He’s come to see you at my request, George darling.”
“Am I…ill?” As if suddenly noticing that he was tucked into bed, Mr Caspar moved to push the covers off, but his right arm was laggard in its intended motion. He stared at the limb as it lay heavily in his lap. “What’s happened…to me?”
Mrs Caspar turned her eyes imploringly to Alwyn.
Steady, he told himself. Exude confidence that they may trust all will be well.
“As I was saying, Mr Caspar, it seems you have suffered an attack, but based on what I see, I believe you will soon recover.”
It did not seem the patient was listening as he pawed at his mouth with his left hand, then drew it away, wet with strands of spittle.
Using the wrinkled handkerchief she had been clutching, Mrs Caspar dabbed at her husband’s face and hand before carefully climbing off of the bed.
“Dearest, why don’t you rest while I see Mr Alwyn out?” With the care one would show a young child, she helped him re-situate himself under the covers, then led Alwyn out of the room, nodding at the footman standing sentinel by the door.
When they were well down the hall, Alwyn said, “Mrs Caspar, though I am confident in my diagnosis, I can ask a licensed doctor to come and verify it. I only came because of the urgency of your message, and Dr Felix’s request that I would see his patients during his absence.”
“No, no.” The woman took a deep breath as they walked alongside each other. “Dr Felix would not have deputed you if he did not deem you competent. But tell me, Mr Alwyn—”
Here she stopped walking, and grasped his arm firmly.
“Were you honest when you said he will recover? His arm…it just hung there. And…he spoke like a stranger.” Her eyes were huge in the pale oval of her face.
“Mrs Caspar, I have seen a number of apoplectic patients. Those who appear as functional as your husband does, tend to recover most of their previous capabilities.” As a safeguard, he added, “There may be residual effects, but exercise and time can work wonders.”
She gave a brave nod, her hand tucked into the solid crook of his arm, and they began to descend the curved staircase.
Halfway down, Alwyn saw a woman standing by the front door below, and although her back was to him, he knew her at once. He paused in his descent, lest he and the lady in his care tumble down the rest of the flight.
Miss Belinda Everson.
He hadn’t thought he would see her in that hour, but there she was. She wore a lavender dress with a cream-coloured shawl draped from the crooks of her arms. The wealth of her lustrous dark hair was piled on top of her head, revealing the ivory nape of her neck.
And she was talking to Sliger.
Seeing how the boy was smiling at her, Alwyn regretted even more that he had allowed him to come along. Pressing Mrs Caspar’s forearm between his arm and torso, he began again to go down the staircase.
Sliger looked up at their approach and stood up straight.
Alwyn cleared his throat just as Miss Everson turned to him. A look of inquiry on her face juddered as their gazes locked.
“Miss…Everson?” he stammered. It sounded every bit a question, and a flash of something darkened her eyes.
“Yes, that is correct, Mr Alwyn.”
“How delightful to see you,” he said, then chided himself.
‘Delightful’? As her uncle lays infirm upstairs?
“Erm, that is…I am pleased to see you, Miss Everson, in spite of the circumstances.”
That is hardly reassuring to a family in distress!
Giving up on trying to salvage the moment, Alwyn squared his shoulders and turned to Mrs Caspar, saying, “With your permission, I will return tomorrow at about this time.”
The woman nodded, pressing her lips together. Alwyn bade the ladies goodbye, and exited the townhouse, beckoning Sliger to follow.
“How did you find the patient?” the boy asked as they started down the street.
Sorting through the muddle of his thoughts, Alwyn tried to answer Sliger in detail, knowing he must record what had happened during the visit in Felix’s log. As he finished doing so, he was sure that he detected a bounce in the boy’s step.
“What were you and Miss Everson discussing while I was seeing to Mr Caspar?” he could not keep himself from asking.
“Oh, she is quite a conversationalist!” Sliger’s voice was a merry sing-song. “It seems she wanted to know all about me.”
Stopping abruptly, Alwyn pivoted on his heel.
“That will not do! You are not to practice your wiles on a patient’s niece, no matter how pretty she may be!”
Looking as if he had been slapped, Sliger stuttered, “I did not mean…forgive me—”
“A proper doctor always keeps at the forefront of his mind that he is meeting a family in their hour of need, and he shows the utmost respect to every member of their household.”
Alwyn resumed walking, his jaw aching with tension.
Sliger was still beside him. “Of course you are right.”
Seeing how he hung his head, Alwyn’s conscience prickled him. And what about me? If Miss Everson had cast any admiring glances my way, would I not be the one now jigging down the street?
They went on in silence for a good stretch before the younger man cleared his throat.
“I—I am truly sorry, Mr Alwyn. I—“
With his pangs of hypocrisy growing ever sharper, Alwyn interrupted, “No, Sliger. Please forgive me. I spoke too harshly.”
The ghost of a smile appeared on the boy’s face. “That’s not the worst tongue-lashing I’ve ever had – not even the worst this week.” He lifted his chin higher and said, “I hereby promise that in the future, I will be as respectful as possible to both patients and their families.”
No one can help but like this boy, Alwyn rued as they continued somberly, back to the Bull.