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  Nick leaned back on the long counter, slouching a bit so that he and his superior were eye to eye. “The question every short-sighted skeptic asks, Dr. Grant. I expected more of you.”

  “And I of you, Dr. Turner. Surely you are aware that anatomies are illegal unless performed on the bodies of hanged villains.”

  “A law that can be enforced only if the anatomies are discovered, Dr. Grant. In this case, unlikely. For one thing, no one will come to claim the body of poor dead Maggie O’Houlihan. For another, I’m up here on the fourth floor, where there are only my private apartments. And I’m not about to wave body parts out the window.” That’s how the riot of 1788 got started. Some damn fool of a medical student waved a severed arm at a small boy peering in the window and told him it was his mother’s. In fact the boy’s mother had died a few days earlier. Pretty soon all of lower Manhattan was full of screaming protesters.

  “Much of Bellevue knows about this laboratory of yours, Dr. Turner. How can they not? You don’t cart the cadavers up here by yourself, do you? Or clean up after you’re done.”

  “Indeed I do not, Dr. Grant. But I don’t think much of Bellevue gives a tinker’s cuss for what I do up here in my aerie. They’ve plenty of other things to occupy their minds.”

  “Perhaps, Dr. Turner. Perhaps not. Both the orphanage warden and the chief apothecary have mentioned the matter to me. You put all our work in peril, sir. If anyone should—”

  Nick hooted. “That’s what Frankly Clement and Jeremiah Potter are worried about, is it? Our work, as you call it, being imperiled? By whom, Dr. Grant? The poor and misbegotten who find themselves here? The prisoners? The orphans? Who would listen to them? The objects of our ministrations have no voice, sir. So who in holy hell will speak out about illegal anatomies at Bellevue, when doing so might attract attention to the rest of the self-serving, greedy, stinking misery that abounds in this place? All of which occurs, I might add, on your watch.”

  Grant took a moment before he replied. “Dr. Turner,” he said finally, “since you think so little of this facility and my administration of it, and since I have it on good authority that you do not avail yourself of the financial opportunities your work affords, can you tell me why you remain as Senior Medical Attendant of the hospital here at Bellevue? No don’t bother. I will tell you. You stay because of all this.” He waved an arm to indicate the laboratory. “This is what you care about. Bellevue meets your needs exactly as it meets mine. Or those of the warden of the orphanage or the chief apothecary. We all have our passions and our price, Dr. Turner. Even you.”

  “I don’t deny that.”

  “Very well. Then allow me to make myself clear. I will turn a blind eye to your activities in this small and if I may say makeshift facility, Dr. Turner. And you will do me the favor of discontinuing public discussions of what you judge to be the unfortunate state of affairs at Bellevue. That mutual silence will suit us both, sir.”

  “And if I do not?”

  “Then I shall, of course, terminate your employment here. That, as I’m sure you know, is entirely in my authority.”

  “An authority granted you by the Common Council.”

  “Indeed, Dr. Turner, and something unlikely to change. You may have a cousin who sits on the council, but I have many good friends there. I take pride in friendship, sir, and I make it my business to reward loyalty.”

  “You’re saying this dreadful Dr. Grant knows about the kinship between you and my husband?” Carolina had sent for tea as soon as Samuel’s cousin arrived—unannounced and uninvited—at her front door. She gripped her cup and leaned forward. “How is that possible?”

  She was close enough for Nick to smell the floral scent she wore. It was nothing he could put a name to, but delicious. He’d told himself he wouldn’t find her so damnably attractive now he knew she was married. Unfortunately that was not true. “The Turner and Devrey families were among the earliest settlers of New York,” he said. “I imagine a great many people know the connection between them.” He put down his cup, and she immediately reached for the teapot. “No more, thank you.” He set his spoon slantwise across the rim, the signal that he was done.

  “Only one cup? You do not like our blend, Dr. Turner?”

  “On the contrary. I’ve seldom tasted a more delicious brew. Or, dare I say, one more beautifully served.” Her deep blue cotton frock was simpler than the sumptuous gown she had worn to Manon’s reception, and her hair was pulled back in a tumble of curls with a few ringlets escaping around her face. She was enchanting.

  “Apparently you do dare, Dr. Turner.”

  “What?”

  Carolina laughed. “To tell me that my tea is delicious and beautifully served. You dare to flatter.”

  “But it’s not flattery. I—”

  She laughed again. “I am teasing you, Dr. Turner. Are you quite sure you will have no more tea?”

  “Quite sure. And please…We’re cousins by marriage. Can’t I be Cousin Nicholas? Or even Cousin Nick?”

  “That will please me. And I am Cousin Carolina.”

  He could think of nothing further to say. The envelope he’d brought lay on the table between them. He glanced at it; Carolina did as well.

  “I can’t say when my husband will return home. He works very late many evenings. It is of course a great responsibility to have charge of a large fleet of sailing ships. As a man with a responsible post of your own, I’m sure you understand that, Dr.—Cousin Nick.”

  “Yes, of course.” He felt a tingle of pleasure that she’d chosen the familiar form of his name. “As you say, working late goes along with responsibility.” Undoubtedly she was sincere. It wasn’t possible she knew anything about Sam Devrey’s arrangements on Cherry Street.

  “As do I, Cousin Nick. Understand, I mean.” He must not think she was criticizing Samuel. But today was November 11, Samuel’s birthday. Carolina had gone to the butcher herself and selected a joint of beef that promised to be tender as well as succulent. Even now it was turning on the spit before the fire below stairs in the kitchen. Surely her husband would come home to dine on his birthday.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nick said. “There’s no need for Cousin Samuel to read this now. It’s only a contingency plan, as I said.”

  “I see. Your letter is to be used in case Dr. Grant denounces you to the council?”

  “Yes. I’ve set forth an explanation of the conditions at Bellevue as of this date, what I said to Dr. Grant, and his reply. If the council becomes involved, I’d appreciate Cousin Samuel—or someone—producing this document.”

  “I can’t speak for my husband, of course, but if that does happen…” She left the rest in the air.

  “I was wondering,” he said, “would you be good enough to date and seal the letter? After you’ve read it, of course.”

  “I have no need to read it, Cousin Nick.” Carolina got up and went to a small chest over by the window. “But I do have a question.”

  “Ask away.”

  “If the conditions at Bellevue are as dreadful as you and Cousin Manon say they are, why go to all this trouble to protect yourself?” She had returned to where he sat, carrying a slant-topped wooden correspondence box. “Surely you could find other employment. Why do you remain in such a terrible place, Cousin Nick?”

  He hesitated. “There’s a noble explanation,” he said finally, “and one that’s perhaps not quite so high-minded.”

  “Which one is true?”

  “Both, after a fashion. If I left now, I’d feel as if I’d deserted people in dire need, and I know that whoever Grant put in my place would likely be chosen precisely because he would care only for the opportunity for profit the appointment offers.”

  “That, I take it is the high-minded reason.” She was busying herself meanwhile with a stick of sealing wax and a small candle.

  “Does it sound absurdly pompous?”

  “No, it does not.” She had one of the new lucifers, a small wooden stick tipped with chem
icals that flared into flame as soon as she rubbed it on a strip of pumice. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the burning sulfide, but the candle was instantly alight. In seconds she was able to drip a blob of pale lilac wax over the fold, then, while it was yet warm, press into it the mark of her engraved wedding band. “There,” she said. “Properly sealed. And I shall write the date. Will that do, Cousin Nick?”

  “Admirably.”

  The ring had been her mother’s. It had pleased Papa for her to wear the same one as the woman he had cherished. Carolina often thought that if her mother had lived, she might have a more clear idea of how things were supposed to be between a man and the wife he loved. Perhaps her expectations were unreasonable. “And now will you tell me the other reason, Cousin Nick?”

  “Because I’m free to do medical research. No one cares about what happens at the Almshouse Hospital. Despite all the preachers in and out of the place, I’m free to do as I please without churchly restriction. That wouldn’t happen at New York Hospital, and in private practice…Well, I’d hardly see the range of illness one encounters at Bellevue.” Or have much in the way of access to corpses, but he didn’t say that.

  “I see. And your research is important?”

  “Vital. If we know the causes of disease, we may someday come to know the cure. Fevers, injuries, even such things as infant deformities.”

  “Really, Cousin Nick? You honestly think we may someday be able to prevent diseases, even deformities as you say, from occurring?”

  “You think I’m mad.” So had her husband when Nick first broached the topic of the benefits of research, but he wouldn’t say that either.

  “Well, no. It just seems so…fanciful, I think that’s the word.”

  “Cousin Carolina, you like modern things, don’t you? You lit the candle with a lucifer, and the coal in that scuttle over there is Pennsylvania anthracite, which makes less smoke and dust.”

  “Yes,” Carolina agreed. “But what has that to do with—”

  “Only that there are innovations in medicine too. In the past we could only react to illness after it appeared. These days it’s possible to do more, or at least we can try. There’s a theory, for instance, about illness coming from entities called germs, which can only be seen with a microscope. If that’s correct, then the simple act of washing one’s hands can make an enormous difference between health and sickness. I have a microscope and I examine…diseased things.” He smiled at her. “You must think me ghoulish.”

  “No, I do not. In fact, I am quite”—she searched for a word—“quite taken with your enthusiasm,” she finished. “Now about this letter. Shall I mark my initials after the date?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  Dipping a quill into her inkpot, she wrote the letters C. R. D. above the wax seal, then picked up the letter and blew on it to dry the ink. “I’m just the right person to do it, aren’t I? A respectable married lady of whom no one takes the least bit of notice. The perfect witness.”

  “I take notice,” he said softly. “Most particularly of the fact that you’re very kind.”

  “Not at all.” She spoke quickly and decisively so there was no chance he would see that his words had brought her to the edge of tears. “I am merely practical. I do not have Cousin Manon’s single-mindedness, Cousin Nick. And I’m far too weak-stomached to care for the destitute with my own hands. But I cannot think it right that some should have so much and others be in such terrible straits. And if you could find ways to prevent disease and cure the sick…The rich become ill as well as the poor, I’ve noted.” She put the sealed and dated letter in the box, closing the lid with a small and decisive thump. “Your document will be quite safe here, I promise, in the event you should ever need it.”

  “Thank you.” He stood up. There was no excuse to stay longer. “I’ll be going. And once again, I’m very grateful.”

  Later, when she’d closed the door behind him, she remembered the story her mother-in-law had told about Samuel insisting that the midwife wash her hands before she climbed the stairs to attend to Carolina when she was birthing. Where would Samuel have gotten such an idea if not from Nick Turner? So the two must have met. Odd that neither man had mentioned such a meeting to her.

  The entire Chongjiu banquet had been delicious, but the duck was remarkable. Samuel had never tasted the like anywhere in China, much less New York. Ah Chee had beamed at his pleasure even while she kept insisting it was terrible food and unworthy of the occasion. Wily old fox. She’d poison him if she dared, and they both knew it. But she could surely cook and she was devoted to Mei-hua.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he turned his key in the lock of three East Fourteenth Street and the door did not open.

  The residence with which Wilbur Randolf had dowered his daughter was fitted with the best of everything suitable for a dwelling of its class, including a door with a knocker of solid brass and the latest version of Jeremiah Chubb’s detector lock, which could be opened only by a key made to match the tumblers. Samuel had one such key and Carolina the other. He tried his key again. This time the door opened immediately, meaning that when he tried it the first time, despite the lateness of the hour, it had not been locked.

  The front hall was dark, but Sam saw a faint glow from the drawing room. “Carolina.”

  She was sitting in an upright chair beside the door, wearing a nightdress and a satin negligee. A single lit candle was on the table beside her. The drawing room fire had long since gone out, and the November chill was as noticeable here as it had been outside.

  “What’s the matter? Are you ill? The door wasn’t locked. I thought—”

  “I’ve been sitting right here since ten in the evening, Samuel. I saw no reason to lock the door.”

  “But why aren’t you in bed?”

  “I chose to wait for you. Since, among other things, it’s your birthday. At least it was.” The clock on the mantel had chimed midnight some time ago.

  “How good of you to remember. I didn’t—”

  “Of course I remembered, Samuel. I’m your wife. Though I more and more doubt that you think of me as such.”

  “What do you mean? Of course I think of you as my wife. Look, I’m sorry about this evening. I should have sent word that I’d be delayed.” He could still smell the faint odor of a roast of beef. She must have organized a celebration meal. A large joint, no doubt, with potatoes and probably boiled cabbage. All of which would require being cut at the table by the diner. He was never quite sure he wouldn’t gag. “It didn’t occur to me, Carolina. What can I do except apologize?”

  “Nothing, Samuel. I can’t do anything either. I’ve tried. Repeatedly. But nothing I do or say seems to make you happy. So I also apologize.”

  She stood up, lifting the candle as she did so. In its light he could see that her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Carolina, I’m genuinely sorry. I wish I could make you happier.”

  “But you do make me happy, Samuel. Clearly the problem is that I do not make you happy.”

  “Why should you say such a thing? You’re a dutiful wife and you’ve given me a strong son and—”

  “Would you not like more children, Samuel? A daughter perhaps? Another boy to be a companion to Zachary?”

  “Yes, of course I would. Why do you ask?”

  “Why? Samuel, you have not visited my bed, much less shared it, since I was confined for Zac’s birth. What am I to think, except that I do not please you and you do not wish for me to bear you any more children.”

  “That’s absurd!”

  “Is it? Unless you come to my bed, how are we to get more children, Samuel? Will I conceive of the Holy Spirit, like Mary in the Bible?”

  “Carolina, that’s blasphemous.” His tone was icy. “And entirely unworthy of you. Not to mention unbecoming of a lady.”

  She reached past him and pushed shut the drawing room door. Then she blew out the candle.

  “Carolina, what are you doing? It’s very late
and I’ve a busy day tomorrow. I’m going to bed. We can discuss this further some other—”

  “It’s past time for discussion, Samuel.” She walked to the front window and spread wide the velvet curtains. The street was gaslit, and there was the glow of a full moon. “In fact it’s entirely past time for words of any sort.” She turned to him and let the negligee fall from her shoulders, then reached down and pulled the nightdress over her head. “Am I so totally unpleasing to you, Samuel?”

  “When you make such a lascivious display of yourself, yes.” Her belly was flat and unmarked. He didn’t know that could be the case after childbirth. One of the things he had most dreaded about allowing Mei-hua to conceive was that her exquisite little body would be marked. Carolina’s breasts had changed, however. They were fuller and the nipples more pronounced. He did not know if she herself gave the baby suck or if she had found a wet nurse. Such things were outside his domain. “Put on your wrapper,” he said. “Go upstairs.”

  “No.” She took a step closer and tilted her head to look directly at him. “Not unless you agree to sleep beside me.”

  “You are shameless.”

  “I am, but it is desperation that has made me so. I want a normal marriage, Samuel, and a husband who—”

  He did not know he was going to slap her until he did it. The sound of his hand striking her cheek reached him before he felt his palm tingle from the blow. She did not move. He slapped her again. And a third time. Then, entirely without expectation, he desired her. He had made love to Mei-hua not two hours before. What he wanted to do to Carolina was something entirely different. And, he realized, he was capable of doing it.

  He intended to force her back onto the sofa, but they wound up on the floor, missing even the comfort of the Turkey carpet. He heard the sound of her body thumping against the bare wood each time he thrust. No careful withdrawal before he spilled his seed this time. With joss she’d be pregnant again.

  It was over in seconds. He rolled off her and got up, adjusted the buttons of his trousers, and went out to the hall, shutting the drawing room door behind him. Closing out the sound of her sobs.