The Gilded Hour
Page 145

“He does this horrible thing, but then he wants it out of his sight, because he’s feeling vulnerable, maybe, or superstitious, or just guilty. He might be worried about evidence, I suppose. To get her out of his office as quickly as possible he will have to administer a good amount of laudanum, so that she’s far away when she realizes that something is very wrong. There are other autopsy reports coming?”
“There will be,” Anna said. “By the end of the day tomorrow. Would you like to see those when Jack brings them home?”
This question felt very much like a quiz. She wondered what Anna wanted to hear and decided that it didn’t really matter. She told the truth. “I’d be very interested if I can be of help.”
“I think you can,” Anna said, and finally she produced a smile. “It’s immodest of me, but I take some pride in how quickly you’re learning to think like a doctor. And now I’m going to tell you a secret. Ready?”
“Um, yes.”
“If you feel like you’re being tested, you are. In medicine, at least. If that’s the case, don’t watch the person who asked the question, for two reasons. First, the more you look at that person for signs of approval, the less likely you are to see any facial expression at all. Second, don’t be afraid of silence. It’s an old trick to use silence as another kind of test. It’s a way to determine how confident you are of your answers. If you don’t know, say so. If you do know, say that, and stop talking.”
Elise couldn’t quite keep from smiling.
“Go on,” Anna said. “Say what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking you remind me of some of the nuns.”
Her mouth twitched at the corner. “Anyone in particular?”
Feeling a little light-headed, Elise stood up and walked to the door. She chanced a look at Anna, who had one brow raised.
Elise said, “Yes.” And left the room without looking back over her shoulder.
41
DRESSED TO GO to the shops, Anna told Mrs. Cabot that she would be out for an hour.
Mrs. Cabot said, “Hmmm.”
Anna said, “I’m just going to the post office.” She might have tried to show her dimples, but the housekeeper had already proved herself immune.
Mrs. Cabot said, “Ned will be by any minute. I’ll send him to the post office for you.”
Anna didn’t need Ned along on this outing. She wasn’t entirely sure herself what she hoped to accomplish, a fact that would be immediately obvious when he started asking questions.
“I need the exercise,” Anna said in a tone that any one of her students would recognize as: enough.
“I don’t like it.” Mrs. Cabot was more like Mrs. Lee every day.
“My cold is almost completely gone,” Anna countered. “It’s seventy-two degrees with a light breeze, the sun is shining. The fresh air will do me good.”
•   •   •
IN FACT, THE air and the exercise did her a great deal of good. It was such a relief to be out of doors that for a few minutes Anna walked at a steady pace feeling nothing but the sun on her face and an odd contentment.
She turned onto Ninth Street and picked up her pace, picked up her skirts, and stepped around the worst of the rubbish in the street. The smell of ripe trash in the sun was unavoidable in New York in the summer. In fact, that meant summer had really arrived, in Anna’s mind.
At the next corner she stopped, fishing in her pocket for coins for an old couple, the man holding out a tin cup. He smiled up at her with such obvious pleasure that she was taken aback for a moment.
“It’s Dr. Anna.” He peered up at her from the rolling platform that did the work of his missing legs; another veteran, one who had survived the worst and was still here, managing from day to day. He elbowed the woman next to him. “Sary, it’s Dr. Anna. You looked after our grandson when his knee went bad in February. Pavel Zolowski, if you recall. Our girl Judy married a Polack, you see. You came out to tell us how things stood after you fixed Pavel up.”
“I remember,” Anna said. “Of course I remember. A very lively boy. How is he?”
“Right as right can be,” said the old woman. Her eyes scanned back and forth, sightless but still seeking.
Anna would stay and listen if they wanted to tell her about their grandson, but she asked no intrusive questions; the poor had every right to their privacy and dignity. After a moment she put coins into the old woman’s hand directly, smiled at her husband, and took her leave.
•   •   •
IT WAS EASY to get turned around among the market stalls; the aisles were narrow and the crowds shifted in unpredictable ways that seemed designed to halt her progress. Most of the market sellers fell into one of two categories: the overly friendly, loud-voiced but engaging seducer—she passed one who was juggling spoons while he flirted with passersby—and the irascible, curt ones who always had the best merchandise.
She found her way to the little post office on West Tenth Street and mailed the letter to Amelie, then made a plan.
First, a turn around the market. She bought some boiled sweets, a few yards of silk gauze that she rolled into a sausage shape that fit into her reticule, a card of pretty carved shell buttons. She studied ducks hanging in the butcher’s window and shoes in the cobbler’s. On Greenwich a clerk walked back and forth in front of the milliner’s shop, showing off the newest fashion and trying to draw passersby in for a look.
When she had made a full tour of the market Anna crossed Sixth Avenue again and went straight to Smithson’s.
It had been a very long time since she had last been in the apothecary, but it seemed to Anna that nothing had changed: sets of scales hung from the ceiling, heavy wood counters and glass-fronted cabinets, a wall of small drawers with printed labels, jars arranged in neat rows on deep shelves. Even early on a summer day the gaslights were turned up high, to combat the gloomy, tunnel-like atmosphere of Sixth Avenue over-hung by the elevated train.
A younger man was busy topping up a china canister from a far less attractive stoneware crock. Anna couldn’t see the names from where she stood, but the sweet-sharp tang of bitter orange—Aurantii cortex—hung in the air. There was mint, too, and less pleasant but familiar smells, some chemical, some botanical.
A woman came into the shop from a back room, and here was proof that things had indeed changed.
Not a clerk, by her demeanor or dress. Smithson had sons; this might be a daughter-in-law, or a granddaughter. She was neatly and very fashionably dressed in a suit of dark gray summer-weight wool with a tasteful bustle and a waist cinched down to no more than twenty inches. A black velvet band around her neck was held closed by a jet mourning brooch, small but very pretty.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I hope so.” Anna came closer. “I am trying to get in touch with a midwife who used to work in this neighborhood, but no one seems to know where she’s gone. Do you keep in touch with local midwives?”
“We do. Within limitations.”
Anna skated right by that conversational opening. “Her name is Amelie Savard.”
The cool blue gaze focused on something behind Anna, and then came back to her.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that.” She seemed to remember her manners just that easily. “I’m Nora Smithson. My husband is the apothecary.”
“It’s been a very long time since my last visit,” Anna offered. “I was away in Europe for a good while.”
The secret to successful lying, she had observed over the years, was to stick with just that part of the truth you needed.
Mrs. Smithson said, “You might remember my father-in-law. He retired last year. May I say without presuming—if you are in need of a midwife, there are a number who work with us who have excellent reputations. Would you like a copy of the list we keep?”
Mrs. Smithson smiled at her in the way women sometimes smiled at newly expectant mothers. Anna was glad to be spared the necessity of lying outright.
“I would. Yes, please.”
“If I may suggest,” she went on, her voice lowered. “You might consider a physician. There are specialists in women’s health who also have excellent reputations, and attending privileges at one or more of the local hospitals. Medical science had advanced beyond midwifery.”
“Ah.” Anna hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “Would you have names—?”
This earned her a very sincere smile. “Of course. I’ll give you both lists.”
She turned away to take something out of a drawer; turning back, Anna saw that she had more to say, and was looking for an opening.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Well, not exactly. May I ask, where did you hear the name Amelie Savard?”
This Anna had prepared for. “Neighbors are very kind with advice about greengrocers and butchers and dry goods stores, and I heard the name from an elderly lady who lives next door. She said that Mrs. Savard was an excellent midwife.”
Mrs. Smithson was chewing delicately on her lower lip. “Does this neighbor have children?”