A Distant Shore by Kate Hewitt

surgery in the revered Bulfinch operating theatre had been overshadowed by Caroline’s distress that he was still unwilling to use her uncle’s money to fund his work. She had congratulation him when he’d told her, of course, and kissed his cheek, but Ian had felt her emotional withdrawal. Seen how quickly she’d slipped from his arms and walked from the room.
    “Ian?” she prompted now. “Will you tell me?”
    He heard a trembling thread of uncertainty in her voice and guilt and regret both assailed him once more. He couldn’t stand this distance between them, and keeping his concerns from her would surely only make it worse. Trying to smile, he met her troubled gaze. “Of course, my dear. I’m only thinking of the surgery Mr. Wells is to perform next month. It is so important that it is successful.”
    She cocked her head, her thoughtful gaze sweeping over him. “So what is your concern?”
    Ian shrugged. “There is simply so much depending on it. If it does not go well, the work shall be set back indefinitely, perhaps forever. We will surely not be afforded another opportunity such as this.” He knew he sounded melodramatic, but he could not shake the feeling that if he and Mr. Wells suffered a public failure and humiliation in the hospital’s operating theatre, no one would ever take ether, or even him, seriously again. Both his research and his career were under threat.
    Caroline took a sip of her wine, her fine eyebrows drawn together. “But there is no reason to think it will fail, is there? Your experiments in Hartford have been overwhelmingly successful. You have told me so yourself. You operated on Mr. Wells’s arm and he didn’t feel a thing, even though he needed stitches!”
    “So I did,” Ian agreed with a smile. He felt a welcome surge of love and admiration for his wife. Despite their disagreement over the use of Riddell’s money, she still supported and believed in him. Her confidence was a much-needed balm. He also knew her determination now to remain even-tempered and solicitous was an effort to restore harmony to their marriage, and one he greatly appreciated.
    “And yet you are worried,” Caroline said softly, and after a pause he gave a brief nod.
    “I… I fear Mr. Wells has not quite been himself the last few times I visited.”
    Caroline stared at him, frowning. “Not himself? Do you mean he is unwell?”
    “I believe so,” Ian said cautiously, for he was reluctant to admit even to himself the probable cause of his colleague’s ill health.
    “I fear you are not being honest with me,” Caroline said, “or perhaps even with yourself, Ian. There is no shame in being ill, yet you are looking as if you are ashamed on Mr. Wells’s account.”
    Ian gave her a small smile. “You know me too well, my love. It is true, I am worried and even ashamed on Mr. Wells’s behalf, for I fear his ill health is indeed shameful.” He took a deep breath. “He has been forgetful, disorganized, and his hands tremble—”
    “What,” Caroline asked, “is the shame in that?”
    “None, if you take each symptom by itself. But as a whole...” He trailed off, shaking his head, and Caroline simply waited. “They are all symptoms of addiction to ether,” Ian confessed quietly. “The substance we have been using for our operations.”
    “Addiction...” Caroline paled, and Ian regretted mentioning such a thing. It was surely no topic for conversation with a lady over the dinner table, or even at all.
    “I’m sorry, Caroline. I should not have spoken of it.”
    “Nonsense, Ian. I may be a gentlewoman, but I am no wilting lily! It is simply a terrible thing to consider.” She paused, frowning in thought. “I had no idea it was something to which you could become addicted.”
    “Sadly, yes. It is a powerful drug, and when used for ill…” He toyed with the food on his plate. “Even the medical students I studied with sometimes indulged in it. ‘Ether frolics’, they called