Kiernan came to his feet. He strode forward, hand extended. Dr. Connor grasped one side of the gold-rimmed glasses he wore and set them farther back on the bridge of his nose. He switched the black bag he carried from his right hand to the left and grasped Kiernan’s hand in a warm greeting.
“Good to see you, Connor,” Kiernan said.
“How are you, lad?” the doctor asked. “Mather, here, tells me you're not taking care of yourself as ye ought.”
Kiernan laughed. A deep rich laugh, Phoebe grudgingly noticed, that filled the room and settled deep inside the heart of the listener.
“Mather, long ago, appointed himself my mother,” he said, giving him a stern look.
Mather bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Dr. Connor frowned. “You look as if you could use a rest.”
“Soon, Connor, soon. But first,” Kiernan motioned to Phoebe, “you have a more pressing patient.”
The doctor approached. He sat down on the bed beside her and, setting the black bag on the floor, eyed Phoebe. “A nasty fall, my dear.” He placed a hand on her forehead, tipping her head back slightly. “Let me have a look.” He leaned in closer and studied the gash on her forehead, then said with a glance at Kiernan, “Have you a candle?”
Kiernan looked around the room, then strode to the small secretary in the alcove. He picked up the candle sitting there, and hurried to the fire and lit it.
“Put it on the nightstand,” the doctor said as Kiernan approached.
Kiernan placed the candle beside Phoebe's tea cup on the tray and Dr. Connor placed a thumb on her right eyelid and gently pulled the lid up as he tilted her head toward the candle light. He studied the eye for a moment, did the same with the left eye, then released her.
“How is your sight?” he asked.
“Fine now,” she replied. “When I first awoke, it was blurry.”
He nodded, then reached into his black bag and pulled out a stethoscope. Phoebe grasped the end of the stethoscope and examined it much as he had her head.
She looked at him. “A binaural stethoscope. Where did you find one?”
His face lit with surprise. “You're familiar with this instrument?”
“Indeed I am.” She fingered one of the tubes. “The article in the London Gazette was most informative.”
“You read that article? That came into print in eighteen twenty-nine.”
Phoebe thought for a moment. “August twelfth, I believe.” She looked from the incredulous doctor to Kiernan, who regarded her with a tilt of his head. “A woman can read as well as a man,” she said.
“Aye,” Dr. Connor agreed, pulling her attention back to him. “That she can. That-she-can.”
“How did you come by it?” she asked. “I didn’t think they were in use.”
“You’re correct. But I have a friend who knows the inventor.”
Phoebe’s gaze followed when he looked at Kiernan.
“You know Nicholas Comins?” she demanded of Kiernan.
“Not I, Miss Ballingham, my father.”
“Now, if you don't mind,” Dr. Connor pried the stethoscope from her hands, “I will finish."
The poking and prodding came to an end twenty minutes later with Dr. Connor’s instructions that Phoebe was not to move from her bed, and that her head was to remain elevated. “You took a nasty blow,” he admonished. “You’re lucky it didn't crack your skull wide open.”
“Is that any indication of how hard the head is?” Kiernan asked.
Dr. Connor chuckled. “It has more to do with luck. But it wasn't very wise.” He looked pointedly at Phoebe.
“You would have done the same had this—this—”
“This what?” Kiernan inquired.
“This man,” she retorted. “If he had kidnapped you, you would have done the same.”
“Kidnapped?” Dr. Connor’s attention riveted onto Kiernan.
Kiernan shrugged. “The fall addled her brains.”
“Kiernan,” the doctor began.
“You remember Lord Stoneleigh?” Kiernan cut in.
“Aye.”
“Miss Ballingham is his special guest.”
Comprehension lit the doctor’s eyes and Phoebe knew Lord Stoneleigh's reputation as a womanizer had preceded him even here, in the wilds of Scotland.
The doctor snapped his bag closed and rose. “Remember,” he said in a stern voice, “you're not to get out of that bed today. I'll see you tomorrow.” He started for the door.
“Doctor,” Phoebe cried.
He turned. “Yes, Miss Ballingham?”
“You aren’t going to leave me here?”
“You can't be moved, young lady,” he replied in a kindly, but firm voice. He looked at Kiernan. “Inform Lord Stoneleigh she isn't to be moved until I give permission.”
“I'll see to it, Connor. Thank you for coming.”
Phoebe watched, mouth agape, as Kiernan escorted him to the door. Dr. Connor exited, and Mather entered.
“I am returning to Edinburgh the moment I recover,” Phoebe burst out.
“Don't excite yourself,” Kiernan said.
“Cease this foolishness,” she snapped.
“I'm not the one who jumped from a moving carriage,” he replied.
“I am not Heddy, I tell you."
“Who might you be, then? Cleopatra?”