A Curious Beginning

His lips twitched. “For what reason?”


I shifted a little. “Because I amputated a toe without permission.”

“You are joking.”

“I never joke about gangrene, Mr. Stoker. I was reading to one of the patients when he complained of a certain discomfort in the appendage in question. I examined him, and it was painfully obvious that the poor fellow was suffering from a gangrenous toe. It had to come off, and immediately, or septicemia would set in and the fellow would die.”

“I don’t suppose the convalescent hospital had someone more suited to the job of amputation—say, an actual physician?”

“Of course,” I explained patiently, “but he was at luncheon.”

“And you could not wait an hour for the fellow to come back?”

“One cannot play games with septicemia, Mr. Stoker. It was common knowledge that the doctor’s Sunday luncheons were taken with a great deal of good Irish whiskey. He would not have been in a fit state to take off so much as a hangnail if I had waited for him. So I asked Archie if he would like for me to take matters into my own hands, as it were, and he said he would just as soon have me as the doctor, and between us we managed quite well.”

“How is it that you were not brought up on charges?” he demanded. “Practicing medicine without the proper license is thoroughly illegal.”

I pulled a face. “Really, Mr. Stoker, I should have thought that you would understand the notion of an action taken in extremis. And the doctor himself admitted it was very neatly done. Besides, if there had been any sort of inquiry, he would have been brought up on disciplinary actions for being an inebriate. I agreed to go quietly, and he agreed to forget the whole thing—quite sensible of us both, under the circumstances.” I smoothed my skirts. “We seem to have digressed. You have not answered my point that one may travel with all the necessities of a comfortable life quite handily.”

His gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Yes, well, if this is your way of angling for an invitation, you needn’t think I will bring you along if I plan an expedition. I have no need of amateur lepidopterists.”

“I am not an amateur,” I replied tartly. “I have supplied specimens to some of the foremost collectors in this country and abroad.”

“Indeed. And what are your rates? Asking as one professional to another,” he said rudely.

“Three pounds for the average specimen. Naturally, I charge more for special orders.”

“Three pounds! Do you dip the bloody things in gold first? That is highway robbery.”

“It is the standard rate for quality specimens, and mine are the best,” I retorted. “And fear not, Mr. Stoker. If I were to travel with a formal expedition, I should want a leader with a good deal more nerve and initiative than you seem to enjoy. Besides, I am well aware of the narrow-mindedness and lack of original thought demonstrated by most gentlemen explorers, and I could never bring myself to work under their direction. I am much better suited to my own devices. My own travels have always been undertaken at my own initiative. I go where I choose.”

To my surprise, he did not take offense at my riposte.

“And where do you mean to go now, Miss Speedwell?”

I tipped my head, considering. “I had in mind the Malay Archipelago. I should like to try for a Hypolimnas, I think. The bolina in particular is quite striking, and I am certain I could find a buyer without difficulty. In fact, I should probably have to beat them off with a parasol if I am successful.”

The efforts of the previous night and past day seemed to have caught him up at last, for he yawned broadly.

“You ought to rest,” I told him, half wondering if he would refuse out of sheer mulishness. “I know you have been working almost continually upon the elephant, and a rest would enable you to return fresh to the fray. I would be very happy to pass the time in reading, if you would not mind the loan of your library,” I added, nodding towards the shelves bowed by the weight of the ponderous volumes.

He opened his mouth—no doubt to protest—but I reached for his tea tin and took it firmly from his hand. “You really do look quite wretched, you know.”

If I had been more timid, there is no question he would have cursed me and gone straight back to work. But I was dauntless, and he allowed me to take the tin from him as he stretched his limbs upon the sofa. Almost as soon as he was recumbent, his entire body succumbed to fatigue and he slept. Huxley puffed a sigh of indignation, for his master was far too large to permit him to share the sofa. He retreated under it to snore wetly as I roamed the workshop.