Part 4 (1/2)

When I woke up, it was the dead of night. There was only a candle, but its dim light hurt. I s.h.i.+elded my eyes and dragged myself from a lingering drowsiness to see a shadow in the chair next to the bed-William, still clothed, asleep.

I must have made a noise, because he roused, and I saw him looking at me with such tenderness and care that I could hardly bear it. He leaned over and took my hand, squeezing it between his soft fingers.

”I've talked to Victor Seth, darling,” he whispered. ”You're to see him tomorrow.”

Chapter 4.

The carriage wheels jolted and b.u.mped on the settling paving stones as we made our way down Broadway, jerking to frequent stops for the traffic, which was horrible all the time, but particularly so that afternoon. I was nauseated from the night before, and the jouncing only made it worse. I did not think I could bear another doctor-not another suggestion of a cure that gave me hope for too short a time, or worse, another hopeless diagnosis.

”I'd never heard of him before Ella's dinner,” I said again.

William sat rigidly beside me. Though he had brought the New York Times to read, it stayed folded neatly on his lap. ”He's been given the highest recommendation.”

”Daisy said he was controversial.”

”That's not always a bad thing, Lucy. Apparently he has some new technique-”

”She said he was a Jew.”

”No one knows that for certain. He did study in Germany.”

”He's a foreigner, then?”

”He doesn't sound so.”

”Well, I won't go,” I said. I reached for the bell cord. ”Turn the carriage around. I won't be examined by some poor immigrant.”

William grabbed my hand before I could pull the cord. His grip was firm, his expression unyielding. ”Last year you were willing to have them cut you open to end this. This man could be your salvation. Our salvation.”

I sagged against the seat and closed my eyes. Images of other doctors ran through my mind. ”I can't bear this again,” I whispered. ”I don't know how you can.”

”Because I can't bear the alternative,” William said. ”Lucy, you've grown worse this last year. I have no choice but to hope that his new treatment may work. I'm surprised you don't feel the same.”

”I do. I do. But to have hope dashed over and over . . .”

”We've never seen someone like this before. He's a neurologist.”

”I don't know what that is.”

”A doctor of the brain.”

”Oh, William. The brain? All the others said it was . . .” I could not even say the word.

”He specializes in nervous disorders, Lucy. Especially in women. Ella Baldwin speaks very highly of him. We haven't tried this before. Perhaps . . .”

The hope in his voice nearly brought me to tears. I watched the respectable shops and hotels give way steadily to the redbrick buildings and warehouse trade of Lower Broadway, the advertising billboards pasted one over the other, layers of fluttering paper-TRY HOBENSACK'S LIVER PILLS, RHEUMATISM CURED IN THREE APPLICATIONS!-and I wished I were naive again, that it was three years ago, when I had faith that a doctor could easily cure whatever ailed me. How long had that hope lingered? When had it disappeared? After the second doctor? After the fifth? I could no longer remember.

William once more covered my hand with his own. ”When we're done, we'll go to Delmonico's, and I'll buy you tea and a cake. Would that make you feel better?”

In spite of the fact that Dr. Seth was the current fas.h.i.+on, he could not afford the better offices in town. I grew more and more nervous, to think of myself walking into one of these side entrances, past iron gates and down narrow stairs to a darkened bas.e.m.e.nt.

The carriage stopped, and this time it was not for traffic.

”We're here, sir,” called our driver.

Jimson opened the door and helped me out, ushering me through the piles of stinking horse manure and garbage cluttering the street. I hung back until William put his arm around my shoulders and forced me forward. I was momentarily confused-this was no doctor's office before me but a shop. Its windows were full of handsome trinkets, stained-gla.s.s lamps, gilt boxes. A bell on the door tinkled when we went inside the incense-scented room, but no one was at the counter, and no one greeted us.

I hesitated, but William did not, and then I saw he was leading me toward a shadowed door in the back wall. Beyond it were stairs and a dusty, dingy hallway that was in desperate need of fresh paint. The faint light from a window slanted in from a landing above.

Our footsteps echoed up through the stairwell. We rounded the landing and went up another set of stairs that opened onto a long and narrow hallway with doors lining either side. The stairs continued on, but William took me down the hallway to a door at the very end. On it was painted in restrained black and gilt letters: DR. VICTOR SETH, DOCTOR OF NEUROLOGY.

I hung back and whispered, ”Do let's go, William. We could be home in time for tea.”

He grasped my hand and opened the door. We stepped into another dingy room with a small desk next to another door and an old rosewood settee against the opposite wall, its red-striped floral upholstery frayed at the corners. There was no one there.

William cleared his throat and had stepped forward to knock on the other door when it opened. Out came a young woman with pale hair and eyes. She saw us and stopped midmotion. ”Oh . . . h.e.l.lo.”

”We have an appointment with Dr. Seth,” William told her.

The girl went behind the desk and fumbled with a thin book that lay open on the blotter. ”Of course. I see it right here.” She gave us an expectant smile.

William reached inside his coat and pulled out his pocket watch. ”I believe we're right on time.”

She checked the book again. ”Oh yes, you are. But . . . um, well, the doctor . . . he's not here yet.”

”He's not here?”

”Well then,” I said, backing toward the door, ”perhaps another time.”

William held me firm. ”We have an appointment.”

”He-he had an unexpected visitor,” the girl said. ”I expect him back shortly.”

”This is unconscionable,” William said. ”I am a very busy man.”

”Yes, of course you are.”

The voice came from behind us. Startled, I jerked around to see a man wearing a heavy coat and a hat that shone wetly in the light. Dr. Seth. He had opened the door without making a sound, though it was impossible that we had not heard him.

He smiled smoothly as he pulled at his gloves. ”Forgive me for making you wait. I was unavoidably detained.” He glanced at the girl, who shrank visibly at the sight of him. ”Irene, perhaps you could make yourself useful and find some tea for our visitors.”

”Yes, Doctor,” she murmured, leaving quickly.

He went to the other door and opened it, then stood back to usher us inside. I had expected William to continue to be angry, but he was uncharacteristically quiet, caught-no doubt as I was-by the presence of this man. I remembered my sense that I should have felt him the moment I stepped into Ella's dining room; that feeling was more intense here, in this little office. It was unsettling, the way he took up s.p.a.ce, as if something had entered the room with him, something large and intangible.

Wordlessly, William and I preceded him through the doorway.