After Doctor Paul Barnet receives an injury
which removes his surgical abilities, he seeks vengeance for his lost skills
through an alter ego, Jack the Ripper.
EXCERPT: The Fort Providence
Watch
The office was located on the
fourth floor of the Royal College of Surgeons near Lincolns Inn fields. Located
in the corner of the granite building the office housed the head of surgeons,
Doctor Barrows Winfield, and allowed a wonderful view of the grounds and a
garden encompassed by a wall topped by iron spikes.
Sunlight flooded into the office
through two large windows illuminating the room from floor to high ceiling,
then spread across the carpeted floor to a wall covered by books complete with
ladder for the unreachable volumes. This wall converged against another also
gorged with a large array of text and journals. A large fireplace was
prominently set into the third wall, its hearth cold after winter, use but ash
and blackened stumps of burned logs remain on the grate.
Between the open windows and the
fireplace sat the massive polished cherry desk. Its surface not visible from
the papers, journals, and medical texts heaped upon it. Behind the desk in
reflective thought sat Doctor Winfield. A clay pipe between his lips spewed the
aroma of Turkish blend tobacco in a swirl of grayish smoke.
His hands folded under his
somewhat doubled chin with fingers touching at the tips. His eyes were darker
than usual by the sunlight enhancing the neatly brushed gray atop his head and
matching muttonchops. His gaze was on the man seated in front of him, past
student, Paul Barnet.
“I remember you as a hard worker,
Mr. Barnet. One who studied feverishly as if certain to achieve a greatness yet
unrealized. You easily took a quick grasp of procedure and protocol and
performed with excellent surgical skills. Frankly, I for one, considered your
future assured. It is such a pity to lose a brilliant talent at the
commencement of one’s career.”
Doctor Winfield sat back into the
comfort of his upholstered chair and puffed on the pipe. “I have considered
your request, Mr. Barnet and although I am deeply sorry for the blow fate has
befallen upon you, I cannot grant such a practice.”
Barnet’s expression changed from
a hopeful softness to a tense, irritated tightness. “But sir, as I have
explained, the cadavers would not be used for other than the suturing of
incisions already made by students. I wish merely to practice clamping,
prodding, suturing, no amputations or organ removal. I would not interfere with
the studies of any student or the theory and practical application displayed by
the professors within the surgical theater, lecture halls, or classrooms. I
need to practice to become proficient once again in their application.” Barnet
slapped his knee with his gloved right hand in frustration. This was his last
hope to regain use of the nearly stagnate hand.
It had been four months since the
attack and his argument with Farness in the hospital ward. He would never
forget the joyous expression upon Farness’s face as Detective Sergeant Hayes
gave testimony at the General Medical Councils inquest detailing the argument
and incriminating statements he heard concerning the hospitals, or should he
say Farness’s procedures on appendectomies, and Barnet’s insistence to go forward
with the surgery on Seaman Theodore Henderson against policy.
“A clear case of insubordination
and display of unprofessional behavior,” cited Detective Sergeant Hayes. “We
will be applying to Her Majesties prosecutor for a charge of culpable
negligence against Paul Barnet, herewith, the failure to remove the suturing
needle from the patient causing his untimely demise.”
The Council’s decision was swift
and final. The lowering of the gavel sounded throughout the meeting room,
echoing in Barnet’s ears like the final salvo of an enemy hitting him broadside
with all guns.
“Paul Barnet is hereby stricken
from the register and the Con Joint Board of Surgeons and Physicians along with
the Society of Apothecaries will be informed of our decision and recommendation
of license suspension.”
That was that. Years of study and
hard work, numerous surgeries, lives saved, all for not. Now, all just
memories. The GMC held regulatory function over physicians and surgeons but
only the Apothecary Society could reinstate a removed license. Barnet first
must deal with the prosecutor and convince the barristers at the Old Bailey
that the broken vial had caused the unfortunate accident before anyone would
consider his renewal request.
Still his vision of the future
seemed bleak. If he did not have his freedom from this charge, it would be
ludicrous to continue his campaign to win his skills back.
A pain shot across the back of
his neck to his eyes. The product of stress and tension from all this legality
rubbish, mixed with the thought of somehow finding suitable therapy in the art
of manipulating his fingers on a human body.
He felt scared muscle reaction in
the hand, rekindled from pulling in, pushing out and gripping objects. Even in
sleep, the arm pulled at the hand trying to receive a normal response. Barnet
knew actual practice on cadavers seemed the logical course to follow, also he
knew he was out of line talking angrily to Winfield. It was desperation, his
last hope.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“I’m not a heartless monster,
Paul,” Winfield stood, walking to the front of the desk where he sat on the
corner, “and I feel terrible refusing your request but you must see things from
my perspective. First, we do not have the amount of cadavers as when you
studied here. I must get the most from each body that is possible. Do you
recall the case of Burke and Hare?”
Paul relaxed somewhat seeing that
Winfield was not going to send him packing because of his tirade but would
continue the discussion. Maybe there was hope?
“Grave robbery, I believe.”
“Precisely, they were well
established in the resurrection trade, the supplying of fresh corpses to
medical colleges and private institutions, but before Burke and Hare there were
two bloody murderers named Bishop and May who sold bodies so fast they couldn’t
keep up with demand, so they took live ones. Hung both of the buggers. Their
bodies went to a school for dissection, bloody ironic, what?”
Barnet looked confused.
“My point Barnet, is that because
of grave robbers and the Anatomy Act, we are no longer overwhelmed with a
supply of cadavers as we would like to be, or allowed to have. Oh yes, we still
have bodies delivered from prisons, hospitals, military, homeless and those
poor souls who perish without the comfort of family or kin but the supply is
limited. The amount of available cadavers has dwindled and don’t forget we have
to share with other institutions.”
“I understand Doctor Winfield,
but I still remain in the position that the ones you do have could be made
available, perhaps once a week?”
Barnet sat closer to the edge of
the chair pleading his case, hoping his request granted. Winfield went to the
open window breathing in the warm air of summer.
“My second concern is your loss
of license. Why on earth, do you wish to regain your skills with no license?
Could you not seek a professorship? Perhaps I could inquire...”
Barnet lowered his head. Shame,
guilt, or defeated he did not quite know from what.
“I am innocent of the charge, it
was an accident,” he interrupted, his voice rising, “I will not only reinstate
my license, but I will regain my good name and reputation. No, I love surgery,
Doctor Winfield. I could never accept nor commit myself to a career in medicine
other than surgery.”
“Things occur at times that
cannot be justified or explained and the innocent are caught in the turmoil,”
Winfield stated, “I should think if the GMC recommends your license be removed
then that just about does it?”
“I will reapply to the Apothecary
Society after I clear my name and refresh my skills,” Barnet answered remembering
the words of that miserable feign Farness as he handed him his letter of
resignation.
Sorry, Barnet. Perhaps after a time you will see fit to reapply,
new license, new man and all that. The bastard.
Barnet realized Winfield could
not and would not help. All he could think to do was to run and leap from the
window, dash his body against the iron spikes of the fence below and be done
with it. Winfield turned to the window again as Barnet continued.
“It is humiliating to have lived
through those occurrences without revisiting them with the man who taught me my
skill, a man I admire and respect. I must appear before you as the greatest
buffoon in all of the university’s history?”
He leaned onto a stack of The Lancet medical journals atop the
desk.
“Was it not enough suffering to
watch the auctioneer accept ridiculously low bids on the furnishings of my
home, sold to appease creditors? Was it not enough to have watched the woman of
my dreams, my sweet Jean, the love of my life decide I was not stable nor
financially secure to marry...and could you blame her? I have nothing! Neither
future nor security!”
He looked down to the carpet,
frustrated and at his wits end, he continued, “Was it not enough to live day by
day with the agony of a useless limb, a ruined future, reputation and broken
heart? How much can a man endure after being the unwilling messenger of death?
Why has my fall into the abyss of oblivion continued for so long? I have moved
to Spitalfields. I will leave my address with your secretary...in case.”
Barnet stepped quietly to the
office entrance and closed the door behind him.
Doctor Barrows Winfield turned
from the window ashamed to let his honor student see the tear on his cheek.
“Godspeed, Paul,” he whispered to
the closed door.
KEYWORDS
Jack the Ripper, Royal
Canadian Mounted Police, Victorian England
ALSO BY HENRY P. GRAVELLE
REVIEW:
The Igloo Boys
Henry P. Gravelle
By Jeffrey Ross
4 stars out of 5
This tidy tragicomedy pits two-bit thieves (the newly-minted Igloo Boys)
against some very angry and frustrated veteran members of the mob. Oh, the
story also contains hard-core gangland violence, a fallen angel, dreadlocks,
and a few tender moments. The language is a little rough, but the action is epic.
You will thoroughly enjoy this read!
BLURB
A few disgruntled friends working at a manufacturing company in
financial hardship, plan to rob the payroll office before they are laid off.
Unknown to them, the money they take is mob money just loaned to the company.
Now the thieves have more than the police after them, and no one has any idea
where the money is.
BLURB
Doc Jacobi, a Civil War veteran surgeon, travels the
territory serving medical assistance to towns between the Noel mountain range
and Sessions River Indian territory. Along the way, the doc and his trusty
Appaloosa named Bell encounter thieves, murderers and hustlers. In Black Knife,
the Doc and Bell face two killers, renegade Indians and a rogue marshal.
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