Dr. Bartlett's gaze remained focused. He seemed to have reached a decision. Calmly, he pulled his hand out of the girl and wiped it on a towel. "William, might I see you outside of the curtain for a moment?"

I was certain that the girl, nearly unconscious now from pain, could not hear them, but I could. They spoke in near whispers.

"We're going to have to do a caesarean, William."

"I agree."

"I am going to let you do it-the horizontal cut, not the vertical one, remember?"

Through the thin curtain, I could see their profiles. William shook his head vigorously.

"She's probably going to die. But if I do it, she'll certainly die. I have never done one before."

"You must try at some point. I'll guide you through it."

A long pause.

"All right, all right."

I stared at the girl's face under my own. She trembled, and her eyes bulged before she resumed the violent gasping. I had never considered that she would die. I pitied her as I wondered what her story had been, who the father of her child was, how forsaken she was, and if anyone missed her now.

William stepped inside the curtain again. Josephine had left with Dr. Bartlett to find supplies and other attending nurses, and we were now alone with the girl.

With fearsome intensity, William ran his hand through his sweat-soaked curls and contemplated the girl. Then, in a single movement, he pulled the sheet that was across her legs away and cut off the rest of her dress.

At that point, Dr. Bartlett, Josephine, and two other nurses returned.

The nurses carried a tray upon which rested several instruments: scalpels, a small thin knife, scissors, many other instruments that I did not recognize, several lengths of dressing, large needles, heavy thread, and jars of liquid, including a jar of iodine and one of carbolic acid.

"We are going to have to cut your baby out," Dr. Bartlett said quietly to the girl. "My nurse will give you some medicine and you will not feel pain. Everything will be all right in the end."

He patted her shoulder.

At this point, even Dr. Bartlett could not calm her. In what was nothing less than a miraculous burst of energy, she began screaming, "I'm 'bout to die! I'm 'bout to die!" She grabbed at me violently.

"Hush! Hold her still !" William shouted to me and one of the attending nurses. I frowned at him, although he was too focused to notice. Such an explosion would only escalate the girl's hysteria.

After Josephine rushed forward to administer the ether, the girl fell asleep almost immediately.

William waited until a nurse had disinfected the girl's abdomen and then moved the scalpel lightly across her pelvic region, deciding the proper place to cut.

"That's fine," Dr. Bartlett whispered from where he stood behind William. "There." William had placed the scalpel on one section of the girl's lower pelvic region.

A thin red line of blood followed William's cut. I looked away then, not wanting to see the layers of fat and intestines that would be exposed.

After what seemed like several minutes, I heard a squeal.

"Perfect. A baby girl!" Dr. Bartlett exclaimed as William severed the umbilical cord.

Josephine efficiently whisked away the b.l.o.o.d.y, screaming infant.

I had never witnessed a birth and felt a little thrill at the delivery. Even William's mouth twitched a bit in the hint of a smile. I experienced a strange envy that he had been the one to bring that baby into the world.

But then his face darkened.

"d.a.m.n! " He stared at the girl's chalky face and then down at her incision.

I looked down and saw that the girl did not appear to be breathing.

"d.a.m.n! d.a.m.n! " William probed the incision wound with his finger.

"She's hemorrhaging," Dr. Bartlett responded quietly.

"From where?! Can we suture it?"

"By the time we find it, she will be gone." Dr. Bartlett felt the girl's pulse. "She's dying." He laid his hand on William's shoulder. "There is nothing that can be done."

I watched as life drained from the girl. Her breathing ceased, and then she became fearfully still.

William continued staring at the incision wound.

"This happens, William."

The girl had been a stranger to me, but I felt a little of the familiar, brutal emptiness I had experienced when I had watched Mother die.

"Go home, and take the rest of the day off," Dr. Bartlett gently commanded William. "Sleep. And if it has stopped raining, take a long walk."

William did not say a word. Abruptly, he washed and dried his hands, snapped the curtain open, and stormed away from the delivery area.

Dr. Bartlett sighed, felt the girl's pulse again, and then shut her eyelids.

I felt frozen, unable to move. My throat burned painful and parched as I stood near her head, clutching the sponge in my hand.

"Abbie, why don't you go home, too? I am sorry that your first morning had to be so difficult. I understand if you do not wish to come back."

"I do. If it's all right, I would like to return tomorrow." After what I had just witnessed, my immediate answer sounded strange even to me. But I also felt that it was the only possible answer.

Dr. Bartlett glanced up from the corpse to look at me, his expression unreadable.

"Certainly. But do please go home now. You have done enough for today."

The nurses entered, and, after methodically covering the body with a sheet, they rolled away the bed.

The inside of the hospital had been so muggy that the autumn wind shocked me as I stepped out of the building to meet Dr. Bartlett's carriage, and I lost my footing.

In a single instant, I slipped, falling in three painful thuds down the nine wet concrete steps of Whitechapel Hospital for Women.

Four.

M.

y right foot, which had borne most of the burden of the fall, throbbed in pain. When I tried to stand, a firelike sensation shot up from my right ankle, bringing me to my knees. I looked up to see Dr. Bartlett's carriage approaching and tried to stand again. The pain in my foot was sharp, unbearable. My knees quaked violently.

I fell again.

This time someone caught me before I hit against

the pavement.

My rear was only a few inches above the ground when he caught me; my legs had splayed awkwardly in front of me. The young man who held me was grasping me under the armpits, and when I looked upward, I saw the sun cracking through morning rainclouds and silhouetting his face. All of this only accentuated his striking, ethereal appearance-a pale complexion, blue eyes, and thick blond hair that framed his face like a halo.

"I think it is only sprained, but still, you had better not put your weight on it. Here, I'll carry you."

The carriage had just arrived.

"That is not necessary-my ride is here. I'm fine."

"Nonsense," he said. "You should not walk on the foot at all at the moment." Though tall and slender, he picked me up effortlessly, before I could say another word in protest.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Kensington."

"I can accompany you there."

Feeling a strange mix of irritation and grat.i.tude for this stranger who was carrying me, I asked the glaring question.

"Who are you?"

"Simon St. John. I work here at the hospital. And you are?" His light blue eyes, kind and yet self-a.s.sured, cut into me. His voice was as soft and refined as gossamer threads.

Before I could answer, the driver dismounted to open the door for us. When I saw William departing from the hospital, I felt humiliated by my position; it was so very "damsel-in-distress."

Unfortunately, William saw us, and a great smile spread across his face while he approached. "How nice of you, Simon, to a.s.sist Dr. Bartlett's new young ward Miss Arabella Sharp, the granddaughter of Lady Charlotte Westfield."

I knew by the tension settling in the atmosphere that Simon and William were not fond of one another.

Simon ignored the sarcasm and carefully placed me on a seat in the carriage before turning to William. "She fell down the front steps leaving the hospital. I think it is merely a sprained ankle-badly sprained, but not broken. Still, I'm going to see her home."

"Yes, of course, this is no time to scrimp on chivalry."

Simon raised one eyebrow and kept his voice low and very level. "I'm going to accompany her home. In all seriousness, William, are the wards calm enough that I might be away for a bit? I will return as quickly as possible."

William glanced at me for the first time in the conversation, his eyes narrowed, but out of concern or just distracted interest, I could not tell. "Dr. Buck has just arrived, as well as a few medical students. So it should be safe for you to take her home. In fact, I am going home for the day."

"Fine," Simon said abruptly. After shutting the door behind us, he thumped on the carriage side and the vehicle lurched forward.

Through the window, I watched William walk away. His brows furrowed, and I guessed that he was thinking about the tragic delivery. His moody transparency captivated me to the point where I felt as if a cord connected us. I wanted to sever it, but I confess I continued to gawk until William crossed Whitechapel Road and was entirely out of my line of vision.

Simon, meanwhile, had knelt in front of me and gently removed the boot on my right foot. His fingers felt cool and soothing, even through my thick stockings.

"You are a physician?"

Simon nodded, but said nothing as he examined my foot. All of his movements were quick and very graceful. I observed his sculpted profile and thought again that he possessed a decidedly celestial appearance, like a figure in a Blake painting.

"Does this hurt?" He bent my foot gently forward.

"Not much."

"And this?" He bent it slightly sideways.

I grimaced.

Gingerly, he put the boot back on my foot and sat on the seat across from me. "It is sprained, Miss Sharp, likely a torn ligament. It will probably swell and hurt very badly for the next day. But keep it elevated, wrapped in cold compresses, and it should feel better by Monday."

"Have you worked at the hospital long?" I desired to change the subject away from my injury.

"Only a few months-I pa.s.sed my examinations in the spring."

"So you are finished with school?"

"With medical school, but I am not yet finished with seminary."

"Is not medical school difficult enough?"

He smiled. When he looked at me, I found his gaze to be irritatingly impenetrable-his eyes lovely pools that I could not quite see the bottom of.

"You are quite right Miss Sharp. But I feel that the humanist responsibilities demanded of me by seminary make me more effective as a physician in this district."

He peered out the window as he spoke. "Reverend John Perkins, whom I studied under at Oxford, is the first to acc.u.mulate data from censuses in the area. The numbers of those in the East End who die from disease, alcoholism, starvation even, are startling. Most infants born in the district never live beyond their first year. I decided when I began my medical studies that I might be more effective as a Whitechapel physician if I cultivated a more holistic view of my patient. Seminary seemed logical."

I felt myself smile a bit at Simon's formality and zeal. "You believe that most physicians do not care about the patient in the holistic manner that you describe?"

"With the exception of Dr. Bartlett, I truly believe that most physicians at Whitechapel Hospital view the inst.i.tution as a mere laboratory."