fresh.”
“Splendid.”
Anthony grimaced. However, he assisted Wakley in hauling the linen-shrouded corpse up to the laboratory without complaint, although he was looking quite green about the gills when he left them alone.
Cassandra and Wakley each donned aprons, took up a scalpel, and began making incisions in the arm. Wakley explained the function and connection of each muscle, showing her which tendons were most susceptible to damage. They worked quickly, before the scent of decay became unbearable.
When they finished, Wakley covered the specimen with the shroud and removed his apron. “You intend to operate on Don Villar’s arm, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “I should help.”
“I am not certain he would permit it.” She avoided Wakley’s gaze. It wouldn’t do for a human to witness the methods with which she intended to experiment. She changed the subject. “What would you recommend to treat pain during and after a surgery?”
Wakley ran a hand through his golden curls. “Unfortunately, very little can be done during the actual cutting. I suppose you could give him laudanum or perhaps coat your scalpel in a tincture of morphine. Some fellows are experimenting with ether and nitrous oxide, though the latter may be more difficult to procure. As for afterward, I would recommend cannabis. I have found the herb to be effective on muscle spasms and other ailments.”
Cassandra smiled gratefully as she put away her scalpel and jotted down a list. “I cannot thank you enough. When will you be able to give me another lesson?”
“I cannot come tomorrow. I have a lecture scheduled as well as more work on The Lancet. Perhaps the night after?”
“That is agreeable.” She rang for Anthony.
Wakley stroked his chin, suddenly looking speculative. “Lady Rosslyn?”
“Yes?”
“The enterprise that you are about to undertake is admirable and ambitious. I would very much like to publish a portion of your results in The Lancet .”
Her breath caught as one of her most secret dreams was voiced. “You want me to write for The Lancet ?”
He nodded. “Anonymously, I’m afraid. If word got around that the articles were penned by a female, my journal would be discredited.”
“You wish me to write about the surgery?” The implications of his request chased away her elation. Rafe was a vampire and the operation she planned was unlikely to work on humans. And that would surely be more damaging to The Lancet than studies published by a dowager countess.
He shook his head. “Alas, no. Though it could very well prove to be a monumental medical breakthrough, I’m afraid that the mere mention of such an unprecedented operation would raise far too many questions among our peers. Instead, I would like you to reveal your observations on the various anesthetic treatments you’ll be trying.”
“I would be honored.” She couldn’t keep the palpable relief from her voice. Joy suffused her being. Writing for The Lancet ! Her! Making a contribution to the best medical journal in Christendom!
Anthony arrived before she abandoned propriety and dissolved into girlish vapors.
Once the cadaver was stored in the icehouse and Wakley had departed, Cassandra gave Anthony the list of supplies she’d require from the apothecary and returned to the laboratory to examine Rafe’s blood.
As she was placing the slide under the microscope, a shadow fell over her.
“Is my gift pleasing to you?” Rafe’s voice slid over her flesh like warm silk.
The slide fell from her numb fingers to shatter on the floor. “Yes, Don Villar.”
His eyes narrowed on the shards of glass at her feet. His scowl deepened as he met her gaze. “I thought I told you to call me Rafe.”
Cassandra’s knees trembled as she avoided his gaze and fetched a broom. “I-I’m sorry. I am unaccustomed to informality. That is not how I was raised.”
Her explanation seemed to vex him further. “Give me the broom,” he
“Splendid.”
Anthony grimaced. However, he assisted Wakley in hauling the linen-shrouded corpse up to the laboratory without complaint, although he was looking quite green about the gills when he left them alone.
Cassandra and Wakley each donned aprons, took up a scalpel, and began making incisions in the arm. Wakley explained the function and connection of each muscle, showing her which tendons were most susceptible to damage. They worked quickly, before the scent of decay became unbearable.
When they finished, Wakley covered the specimen with the shroud and removed his apron. “You intend to operate on Don Villar’s arm, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “I should help.”
“I am not certain he would permit it.” She avoided Wakley’s gaze. It wouldn’t do for a human to witness the methods with which she intended to experiment. She changed the subject. “What would you recommend to treat pain during and after a surgery?”
Wakley ran a hand through his golden curls. “Unfortunately, very little can be done during the actual cutting. I suppose you could give him laudanum or perhaps coat your scalpel in a tincture of morphine. Some fellows are experimenting with ether and nitrous oxide, though the latter may be more difficult to procure. As for afterward, I would recommend cannabis. I have found the herb to be effective on muscle spasms and other ailments.”
Cassandra smiled gratefully as she put away her scalpel and jotted down a list. “I cannot thank you enough. When will you be able to give me another lesson?”
“I cannot come tomorrow. I have a lecture scheduled as well as more work on The Lancet. Perhaps the night after?”
“That is agreeable.” She rang for Anthony.
Wakley stroked his chin, suddenly looking speculative. “Lady Rosslyn?”
“Yes?”
“The enterprise that you are about to undertake is admirable and ambitious. I would very much like to publish a portion of your results in The Lancet .”
Her breath caught as one of her most secret dreams was voiced. “You want me to write for The Lancet ?”
He nodded. “Anonymously, I’m afraid. If word got around that the articles were penned by a female, my journal would be discredited.”
“You wish me to write about the surgery?” The implications of his request chased away her elation. Rafe was a vampire and the operation she planned was unlikely to work on humans. And that would surely be more damaging to The Lancet than studies published by a dowager countess.
He shook his head. “Alas, no. Though it could very well prove to be a monumental medical breakthrough, I’m afraid that the mere mention of such an unprecedented operation would raise far too many questions among our peers. Instead, I would like you to reveal your observations on the various anesthetic treatments you’ll be trying.”
“I would be honored.” She couldn’t keep the palpable relief from her voice. Joy suffused her being. Writing for The Lancet ! Her! Making a contribution to the best medical journal in Christendom!
Anthony arrived before she abandoned propriety and dissolved into girlish vapors.
Once the cadaver was stored in the icehouse and Wakley had departed, Cassandra gave Anthony the list of supplies she’d require from the apothecary and returned to the laboratory to examine Rafe’s blood.
As she was placing the slide under the microscope, a shadow fell over her.
“Is my gift pleasing to you?” Rafe’s voice slid over her flesh like warm silk.
The slide fell from her numb fingers to shatter on the floor. “Yes, Don Villar.”
His eyes narrowed on the shards of glass at her feet. His scowl deepened as he met her gaze. “I thought I told you to call me Rafe.”
Cassandra’s knees trembled as she avoided his gaze and fetched a broom. “I-I’m sorry. I am unaccustomed to informality. That is not how I was raised.”
Her explanation seemed to vex him further. “Give me the broom,” he
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