Beloved Poison by E. S. Thomson Read Free Book Online Page B

Magorian out of his famous blood-blackened coat and into the white linen smock. Dr Bain held out the other. ‘Dr Graves?’
    Dr Graves snatched hold of the smock and dashed it to the ground. ‘No!’ he snapped. ‘I am a surgeon, and a gentleman, and I will wear the coat that has served me well for so long.’
    ‘But it has perhaps not served your patients well,’ said Dr Bain. ‘Will you not help us to see whether we can improve a man’s chance of surviving the knife?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Come on, Richard! Experiment and inquiry is the life blood of our profession. What
seems
right may well be wrong. We must test alternative ways of doing things, no matter how absurd they may seem. Change is good. We cannot fear it or we must give up!’
    Dr Graves looked up at the students. They had heard every word. Not one of them was smiling now. Nor could they bring themselves to look at Dr Graves. He turned around on his heel, peering up into the galleries, searching for someone, anyone, who might meet his gaze. ‘What, no laughter now, gentlemen?’ he shouted, ‘No questions as to why or how this theory has been arrived at?’
    The students looked down at their hands. Dr Graves took a step backward. But one of his boots had become tangled in the folds of the smock he had flung to the ground and all at once he lost his balance. He made a desperate bid to stay upright by grabbing hold of the table upon which rested Dr Magorian’s surgical cutlery, and then, with a great clatter, down he went, to sprawl upon the sawdust amongst a confusion of knives, saws, hooks and clamps. A mass of sugar lumps spilled from his pockets onto the floor.
    There was a moment of appalled silence, and then a great shout of laughter erupted from the audience. ‘Silence!’ bellowed Dr Magorian.
    Dr Bain went to pull Dr Graves up off the ground, but the man staggered to his feet unaided. Sawdust covered his coat and trousers. His face was almost purple with rage, and in his hand he gripped a long curved boning knife.
    Will clutched my arm. ‘The knife!’ he whispered.
    ‘This is a hospital. Men hold knives all the time here.’ I saw no reason for hysteria, despite the heated exchange taking place before us.
    Dr Graves was panting hard; his hair was awry and his voice trembled with fury. He pointed the boning knife at Dr Bain. ‘You!’ he shouted. ‘It’s always you! You could just as well have presented your absurd ideas in private but no, you must have an audience. You are a maverick, sir, and you jeopardise the gravitas of our profession with your persistent nonconformity!’
    ‘Dr Graves—’
    ‘And when I do not choose to follow your lead in these clownish activities, you see fit to scoff at me beneath the gaze of my students. What professionalism, what courteousness is there in that?’ Sugar crunched beneath his heels. ‘Dr Magorian,’ he cried, ‘you asked me to assist you, and I would be honoured to do so. But I will not do so if you continue to allow our noble profession to be ridiculed by
this man
.’ His knuckles turned white as he jabbed the knife in the direction of Dr Bain. ‘He will be asking you to wear your nightcap next!’
    ‘An excellent idea, sir,’ said Dr Bain.
    Dr Graves made a choking sound. The students hooted. ‘Gentlemen, will you
be quiet
!’ shouted Dr Magorian. He motioned to me to pick up the utensils that lay scattered in the sawdust.
    The uproar continued, but Dr Graves had now fallen silent. He was holding the knife tightly, his fingers wrapped around the top of the blade, so that his hand was cut and bleeding, though he appeared not to have noticed.
    ‘Look, sir,’ I murmured, hoping to help him save face, even a little. ‘You’ve cut your hand. You can’t possibly operate without first attending to this.’
    I took the knife from him and pressed my handkerchief against the wound. Dr Graves gaped at me. His eyes were vacant, his face slack and defeated. He looked different, somehow.