The Adopted Debutante

An Injured Ankle

Dr. Newson walked up to the old brick building where his consulting offices were located. The morning had not yet reached seven o'clock. He had an hour to himself before starting another day of tending to the needs of his ailing neighbors. 

As he unlocked the door and pushed it open, he stopped short with surprise. Someone was stretched over the day bed in his waiting room, fast asleep. The doctor scrutinized the form, then relaxed with a sigh that was at once both annoyed and relieved. Swinging about, he slammed the door deliberately and noisily locked it.

"Forgive me, I must have startled you again, Terrence," the gentleman murmured.

"Moonlighting again, Edward?" Dr. Newson reproached him. "I'll never like that kind of thing."

"You helped me do it in the past..." Faulke mumbled, still half-asleep.

"You were trying to reach your father," the doctor corrected, "not preying on a poor little girl who's an orphan besides."

"I'm not preying on her..."

"You should have more sympathy for her," Newson continued warmly. "You know what it feels like to not have—oh, would you stop lounging like a drunken dolt? Get up!" 

He grasped one of Faulke's boots and began to pull. Faulke jolted up with a cry of pain.

"Terrence, stop! My ankle!" he moaned, pulling at the doctor's firmly clenched hand. Newson looked up and saw at once by Faulke's bloodshot eyes that he was not feigning the injury. Much more gently now, the doctor removed the boot and stocking.

"Oh, Edward," he frowned. A small bit of metal was wedged in the flesh. "What happened this time?" 

He stood up to search for his tweezers.

"I paused for breath by the Talburn Inn," Faulke explained. Newson gave him a look. "I wasn't drinking, Terrence. That metal would be in my throat if I had. One of the wagon drivers was drinking, though."

"Let me guess, the black-bearded one who hates you," Newson sighed.

Faulke nodded. "He ordered me off, but I took my time. Thank God he was drunk. It spoiled his aim considerably. When I fell, he came closer to put another knife in my shoulder but a bailiff was coming down the lane. I've never run a more painful mile in my life..."

"You didn't pause to pull out the knife?"

"I pulled too quickly. Some of the leather on my boot flayed and stuck fast to the blood," Faulke explained. He looked from under his eyelashes at Newson. "I've barely slept, it's been smarting so fiercely all night...I didn't mean to startle you."

"Well, you did. Still, I'm glad you were here," He approached the wound with the tweezers. "You'd probably have infection in there if you had come limping to me much later."

Faulke braced himself for the ordeal. After a long minute of suffering, the small bit was extracted. Newson held up the piece. It was a thick sliver of leather.

"Oh, how could such a little thing cause so much pain?" Faulke groaned as he recovered from the operation.

"That happens all the time," the doctor observed dryly, placing the tweezers and sliver on a tray. "One tiny little thing can get under the skin and just—rot." 

He said these words in a monotonous voice, but Faulke caught the underlying tone of bitterness. As Newson returned with a basin of water and some bandages, Faulke laid back to give him room. 

"I suppose you think...I'm like one of those 'little things?'"

"You're very unstable this morning, Edward," the doctor remarked, washing the wound.

"You're very irritable," Faulke replied quietly. "I ruined another morning, didn't I?"

"You've ruined quite a few mornings in my life," Newson answered, "and just as many evenings. I wouldn't mind so much if you'd just admit you had and apologize."

A silence followed. The doctor looked at the patient clutching the arm and back of his day bed.

"Well?" Newson asked.

"I would, Terrence, but you'd doubt my sincerity at the moment," Faulke said.

"As I should," Newson snapped. 

He tightened the knot on the bandage, and Faulke sucked in his breath through gnashed teeth. The doctor stood again and brought the water basin to the sink bowl. Splashing the water down the drain, he replaced the bowl on the countertop, then began to clean his doctor tools, all the while keeping his back to the patient. 

Returning the tweezers to the drawer, he set the tray next to the bowl, reached for the cabinet above the counter—then hesitated.

"Listen, Edward," He began. "We've been friends for as long as I can remember. I know you've always counted on me during those rough times between you and your father...it's just that I'm afraid one night you'll go out and never come back."

"That would be good for you," Faulke's voice answered grimly.

Newson turned. "Edward, you know what I meant." 

Faulke stared at the floor. He drew in his breath slowly. 

"I wouldn't blame you, you know," he said, reaching for his stocking and boot. "You wouldn't be the first to feel they'd benefit if I disappeared."

"Now, Edward, that's not true." Newson told him.

"Oh?" Faulke looked up. "Then why are you the only person whom I can trust? Who doesn't banish me from their presence? I can't even see Eloise because that—that—augh!" He buried his face in his hands. "And all you'd say for comfort is I've called down such treatment because of my way of life."

"And I'd be right," the doctor replied.

"How do I hurt people?" Faulke demanded.

"You're reckless. You have no respect for yourself," Newson said. 

"How so? I'm far less reckless than I was as a boy," Faulke responded.

"You learned to hide it. It's still there," he indicated the injured foot, "I think part of you keeps it that way on purpose, in defiance. Defiance of a man who's not even alive anymore." 

Faulke's eyes darkened, "Oh, he lives on, Terrence..."  

"Through you! Through your anger, your rebelliousness! Can't you see the control you've given him? You have to let go of—"

"You let go of this!" Faulke cried as he rose to his feet. "Stop making my troubles your own. You've paid hell enough by suffering me—you shouldn't have to join me there when all's said and done. Good morning!"

Turning on his heel, he limped towards the door. When he touched the knob, he heard Newson call his name. Looking back, he watched the doctor open a drawer and take out something. Newson then joined him by the door.

"Get yourself something to eat, you bastard," he said, handing some notes of money to Faulke. "Just not at the Talburn Inn."

Faulke looked from the money to Newson, then slowly took the offered notes. 

"Thank you, Terrence," he mumbled, "and for tending my ankle."

"Be off, you," the doctor scoffed, pressing Faulke's hand. "I know I'll be setting your neck soon enough."

"It's too stiff for that, you know," Faulke smirked. 

Newson barked a laugh. Faulke turned away and limped down the street. Newson watched for a moment before he softly closed the door and returned to the cabinet.