Someone gave her a little round vinaigrette which she passed underneath Grandmama’s nose; the old lady moaned slightly, to Livia’s relief, and then, thank heavens, Gabriel was there.
“We must take her to her bedchamber,” she said in a low voice, and silently he nodded, his expression grim, then with great carefulness picked up his grandmother and bore her away.
Time blurred, slowed, as the guests departed, Lady Enchwood the first among them, assuring Livia she would send for a doctor immediately; Livia nodded distractedly, forgot all about it, saw the last lingering people out as politely as possible, spoke to Crenshaw. It must have been an hour before she could finally hasten up the stairs to Grandmama’s bedchamber, where she found her prone in her enormous bed, seeming very small in it; Gabriel was there, two maidservants were standing worriedly by, and Miss Cott was bathing the old lady’s forehead with lavender water.
“How is she?” Livia asked, going quickly to the bedside.
“She’s too warm,” replied Miss Cott. “I can’t get her to open her eyes.”
There was a firm rap on the door, and before anyone could say “Enter,” Dr. Wendeburgen strode into the room, his ever-present leather bag—the sight of which Livia had come to detest—in one plump hand.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted out in dismay, too upset to be mannerly.
“I was summoned by Lady Enchwood, liebe Miss Stuart, on a matter of der Notstand—as you English call it, the emergency—and lost no time in coming! Now! Let me see the poor lady.” He waved Miss Cott aside and bent over Mrs. Penhallow, studying her intently. He sniffed at her ears, delicately felt at her shins, wiggled his fingers in front of her face. “Ach! She obviously stayed too little a time in the baths yesterday! Her kidneys are dangerously swelled with intransitive lipids and this foments der Fieberzustand! I must bleed her at once!”
He removed his equipment from his bag and Miss Cott obediently went for the bowl she always held during the procedure. Livia looked over to Gabriel, who stood, frowning, then she watched as Dr. Wendeburgen pulled Grandmama’s arm from underneath the bedclothes and efficiently pushed up her sleeve. He took his sharp little knife and all at once, something about the old lady’s gaunt, white face and sticklike arm seemed to strike at Livia with the force of a blow.
This was wrong.
She knew it.
Without stopping to think further she snapped, with an authority she didn’t know she had:
“Stop that at once!”
He paused, yellow eyebrows lifting. “But Miss Stuart, the lipids must be relieved of pressure!”
“You heard me, I believe. You may leave at once.” Livia’s whole body was nearly quivering with tension. In a moment she would have to rush over and snatch the knife from his nasty fat hand, and hopefully not sever her own veins doing it.
He was affronted, and said to Gabriel: “Please to tell the young lady I am to continue, herr Penhallow.”
Gabriel’s gaze flicked over to Livia, his eyes briefly meeting hers, and then returned to his grandmother. “No. It is as Miss Stuart says. Leave us.”
With an attitude perilously close to petulance, Dr. Wendeburgen put away his instruments and officiously shut his bag. “So! It must be said, sir, fräulein, that I cannot take responsibility for the consequences. I only hope that you shall not regret this sad night’s work. Abschied!” He marched to the door and, with an exaggerated punctiliousness that in other circumstances that Livia would have found funny, closed it behind him.
In the sudden silence she groped for the nearest chair and sank into it. Her rush of fierce protectiveness, having shifted into thankfulness at Gabriel’s welcome intervention, gave way to a very real panic.
“Now what?” she said in a small voice. “I know we’re better off without that horrible Dr. Wendeburgen, but is there another physician in Bath—one we can trust?”
“There is Dr. Crombie,” Miss Cott answered, a little doubtfully. “Mrs. Penhallow consulted him a few times several years ago, but did not care for his recommendations. He said she was perfectly healthy, and would likely remain so if only she would refrain from quacking herself. I’m sorry to say that Mrs. Penhallow—well, she offended him so badly that he said he’d never step foot in the house again.”
“Oh, my God, how typical of Grandmama,” said Gabriel. “Where does he live? I’ll go myself.”
Later, Gabriel didn’t bother explaining precisely how he managed to persuade Dr. Crombie to come, but within an hour or so there they both were. Short, neatly dressed, stern of face and crisp in manner, Dr. Crombie examined Mrs. Penhallow, asked a lot of questions of Miss Cott, and finally said in his thick Scottish brogue: