Chapter 57
DRASKO
Drasko’s heart boomed as their carriage approached the East End.
Puzzled, Grace turned the letter back and forth in her hands as if there was supposed to be some hidden clue in it.
Today.
Five in the afternoon.
45 Frying Pan Alley.
Mr. Cuttler will be awaiting you with further instructions.
Both Drasko and Grace Mawr are to be present.
Grace slid her hand into his. It made his heart beat even harder with the eerie expectation of what was to come.
Why did Grace need to be there? But of course, she had been part of the game since the day they married. Or, most probably, since the day she was born.
Drasko kept his eyes on the window so she didn’t see the worry in them.
“It will be all right,” she said. “After all, he can’t hurt you anymore, can he? You will get the diamond and put it up for auction. How can you not? What could possibly stop you from it?”
Uriah was cunning. Drasko knew it and he hated himself for the fact that Grace, of all people, was the one reassuring him, whereas he had sworn a long time ago to protect her.
Mr. Cuttler lived alone in a small flat on the second floor of an obscure building in the East End.
Drasko and Grace stood in the middle of the drawing room as the man in a pince-nez, with a balding head but bushy beard studied them, his eyes mostly on Grace.
“I received a letter only yesterday, instructing me about today,” he said, clearing his throat several times. “You see, I was told before that this day would come. I abandoned my practice several years ago.”
“Your practice?” Drasko frowned.
“Ah, yes. I was a doctor, yes, yes. I thought you were aware.”
A doctor?
Drasko’s stomach twisted at the word. Grace winced.
The man pushed his pince-nez up his nose. “To be honest, I am as perplexed as you. Let me explain. Some time ago, years, in fact, a man did me a very big favor. If it weren’t for him, I would have been ruined financially, and so would my family and, naturally, my children.”
“What man?”
“Mister Edmund Bach, a very wealthy man, though I had never heard of him then.”
Uriah, no doubt.
“In that moment of despair, when my life was about to crash into tiny pieces, and the lives of many with it, I gave a promise to him that, one day, I would return the favor.”
Of course. Who if not Uriah would bribe or blackmail?
Mr. Cuttler nervously smoothed his beard.
“Two years ago, that man came to me with very specific instructions.” He shifted uneasily.
“You see, my life was a success after I was spared the ruin. And when the man asked me to perform surgery, naturally I agreed. Without thinking twice! This is my vocation, sir, do you understand? Was, to be correct. I’d retired only a year prior.
But of course, I would do as I was asked, even if it was close to a miracle—which the man made very clear right there and then.
But I promised. Yes, I did. He saved my life, and I would save his. Or someone’s.”
A surgeon, then? Drasko still did not understand.
“The man, Mr. Bach, paid me nevertheless, upfront, a sum of money that I was hesitant to accept, you see, considering how much he’d done for me already.
‘ The surgery will be performed on a young woman ,’ he explained.
‘ She has a condition, a pain she’s had since childhood. And that pain only grows worse .”
Drasko’s jaw tightened. He felt Grace shift.
The doctor gave her a meaningful look, then turned his worried gaze to Drasko.
“The man explained that the chance of that woman dying from her condition increased with age. Whereas if the surgery was a success, she would live a long and healthy life.”
The words punched the air out of Drasko. He remembered the night Grace was brought from Rivka’s, her pains that she had dismissed the next day as some chronic condition.
The chance of dying…
Sick at the thought, Drasko kept his gaze on the doctor. “But…?” He saw it coming, knew there was something else.
“But here is the complication,” the doctor said, glancing up at Grace again, then fumbled with his pince-nez and cleared his throat. “The chances that the surgery will go well and without complications are very small.”
The room started swimming around Drasko. But he clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the doctor’s words.
“In fact,” the man droned on, “there is a significant chance that she might not survive. And I… I would never perform such a surgery unless I observed the patient myself. But, I promised. I promised. I would do my best,” the doctor finished quickly and exhaled heavily, his eyes darting between Drasko and Grace.
“That can’t be,” Grace gasped.
A nasty feeling gathered in Drasko’s stomach. “It can’t,” he said. “No. That?—”
“This is nonsense!” Grace interrupted. “Rivka wouldn’t agree. She said I was getting better. And I trust her! Drasko! What is this?”
His heart pulsed in a nasty, awful beat. He met her panicked gaze. “Grace, it’s not happening. I will sort it out.”
For the first time since getting the letters, Drasko was at a loss.
He turned to the doctor. “You are not doing a surgery,” he declared. “Absolutely not. Not until I get an expert opinion elsewhere.”
His mind reeled. How was it possible that his wife’s condition was so bad, yet he didn’t know about it? How was it possible that this man did, though he had never met Grace before?
Mr. Cuttler spoke again without raising his eyes. “You see, when I was given the instructions, I was told that when the lady in question comes”—he gave Grace a quick nervous smile—“the surgery was to be performed that very same day.”
“No,” Drasko snapped at the same time Grace whispered, “This can’t be.”
“Out of the question,” Drasko gritted out. He took Grace’s hands in his. “Grace, nothing will happen. This is some trick, and it won’t do. Will you please wait outside? Please. I need to clear something up with Mr. Cuttler.”
She nodded, her frightened eyes on him, and rushed out of the room, leaving Drasko alone with the doctor.
“I need you to tell me what you know and what my wife has to do with Edmund Bach.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “When I received the letter several days ago, informing me of your visit, the date and time and the name of the young lady, I did my own investigation, Mr. Mawr. I tried. Very hard, yes. It’s not a trivial matter, you understand.
A person’s life… And I located the person who knew about the original doctor—Dr. Chescu was his name—who performed the surgery on the little girl”—he motioned toward the other room—“the young lady in question. You see, the doctor is long dead.”
“Go on?”
“I didn’t get much information. But from what I understand, a decade or so ago, the young lady, then a little girl, had some type of defect in her that made her sick.
The surgery was necessary, but the pains continued.
So, another surgery is needed to rid her of the cause of it.
I… Sir…” The doctor rubbed his forehead, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
“This is all very strange, but you see, I cannot not do it. I promised. In fact, well, I suppose I should tell you that there is a possibility that I might be stripped of the funds that I accumulated if I refuse to do it. Yes, yes. And considering the circumstances and the defect that might kill the young lady soon, I feel I am obliged to perform my duties.”
No. No. The diamond game was supposed to be without a sacrifice. A human sacrifice, that is.
Reputation. Fame. Loved ones…
Uriah’s words infected Drasko’s mind again as he frantically tried to find clues, something he had missed, something that would tell him what this all meant. He would not agree to this surgery, no matter the letter and the warning.
“I don’t have anything.”
“You will. But if you want to be a king, you have to sacrifice.”
Drasko’s mind tried to work its way around the puzzle until it was impossible to push away a thought so atrocious that he felt dizzy, had to walk up to the table and lean on it with both hands to give himself a moment to recover.
No, not her.
Blood pumped between his ears.
This is wrong, so very wrong.
“What sort of defect?” Drasko croaked, bile rising to the back of his throat.
The doctor shook his head in confusion. “Not sure, sir. I have never heard of this sort of thing before. Supposedly, it’s a stone.”