professional and shabby as the reception area. With curtains that needed a strong beating and airing, and a threadbare Turkish carpet that might stretch back to the nights of Scheherazade, what he lacked in finery he made up for in book volume.
“You are no stranger, then, to my condition?” If she could be blunt here then she would take advantage of the freedom.
Burnahm touched the top of a thick stack of books, sheets of paper poking out to and fro from various pages. “I've done considerable research on it since receiving your letter and your request for my medical assistance. It is quite intriguing.”
“It is not incontinence, then?” Lilith's cheeks went warm but she held eye contact, willing away shame. He was a doctor after all.
But so was Dr. Maurice Scott.
“No, Miss Stone, it most certainly is not, if your descriptions of the episodes are true to form. Did you bring the sample I requested?” His matter-of-fact tone pleased her. Startled her, really, for sexual matters were, at best, discussed in polite company behind euphemism and giggles. At worst, not at all.
“Yes.” She rustled through a small pocket in her skirt and handed him a small test tube with a wet piece of cotton in it. “This took some work, finding a test tube and hiding the torn cloth from my maids, but I've done it.”
“So this was soaked by the fluid you describe that comes out of your vulvar area during orgasm?”
That was direct. “Yes.”
“And this happens every time you have sexual intercourse. Vaginal intercourse.” Now he was taking notes in a thick leather binder, and ink-spotted white glove on his right hand.
“Yes.”
“This also happens during times of arousal at night?”
She frowned. “No, not that I am aware of.”
He paused and removed his glasses, looking intently at her. “And yet you said you wake once a month to a wet bed.”
“Oh. That. Yes, I do, but I assumed...” Her voice trailed off and she realized, once again, that she need not be demure. He was a scientist. “I assumed that was urine.”
“Your letter indicated there is no ammonia scent.”
“No, there is not.”
“Then it is not urine.” He put his glasses back on and returned his attention to the notepad.
“Dr. Burnham, I must say that you are the most plain-speaking doctor with whom I've worked.”
He looked back and her and smiled sadly. He began to speak, then stopped. Tipping his chin down, eyes averted, he replied, “I am familiar with some of the doctors you have worked with.”
Her belly filled with a cold, familiar vulnerability. “You know about Dr. Scott.”
“Yes.” He frowned, a compassionate, angry look that caught her off guard. “Your grandfather consulted me after your release. I helped to drive Dr. Scott out of the region.”
Gratitude replaced the vulnerability. “I...I had no idea,” she stammered.
Rubbing his eyes with his ungloved hand, Dr. Burnham suddenly seemed ten years older. “I kept my role quiet intentionally. The various medical associations for physicians in this country do not take kindly to fellow physicians weeding out the unscrupulous among us. Paradoxically, they do not recognize that allowing men of poor morals to prey upon unwitting women under the guise of treatment tarnishes the reputation of us all.”
Lilith leaned back in her chair, a relaxed stance that came with finding an intelligent conversationalist. She didn't relax often.
“Thank you.” She had no other words.
“Don't thank me. I did what any decent man would do. In fact, I wish I could have done more. If only we could have stopped what he did to Miss Nourse.” His voice trailed off and he turned away, closing his eyes. “Perversity disguised as science has no place in medicine. It is I who am grateful to your grandfather for revealing Dr. Scott's treatments.”
There was nothing more to say. Lilith found that a change of subject generally required a blunt force trauma to the conversation in lieu of
“You are no stranger, then, to my condition?” If she could be blunt here then she would take advantage of the freedom.
Burnahm touched the top of a thick stack of books, sheets of paper poking out to and fro from various pages. “I've done considerable research on it since receiving your letter and your request for my medical assistance. It is quite intriguing.”
“It is not incontinence, then?” Lilith's cheeks went warm but she held eye contact, willing away shame. He was a doctor after all.
But so was Dr. Maurice Scott.
“No, Miss Stone, it most certainly is not, if your descriptions of the episodes are true to form. Did you bring the sample I requested?” His matter-of-fact tone pleased her. Startled her, really, for sexual matters were, at best, discussed in polite company behind euphemism and giggles. At worst, not at all.
“Yes.” She rustled through a small pocket in her skirt and handed him a small test tube with a wet piece of cotton in it. “This took some work, finding a test tube and hiding the torn cloth from my maids, but I've done it.”
“So this was soaked by the fluid you describe that comes out of your vulvar area during orgasm?”
That was direct. “Yes.”
“And this happens every time you have sexual intercourse. Vaginal intercourse.” Now he was taking notes in a thick leather binder, and ink-spotted white glove on his right hand.
“Yes.”
“This also happens during times of arousal at night?”
She frowned. “No, not that I am aware of.”
He paused and removed his glasses, looking intently at her. “And yet you said you wake once a month to a wet bed.”
“Oh. That. Yes, I do, but I assumed...” Her voice trailed off and she realized, once again, that she need not be demure. He was a scientist. “I assumed that was urine.”
“Your letter indicated there is no ammonia scent.”
“No, there is not.”
“Then it is not urine.” He put his glasses back on and returned his attention to the notepad.
“Dr. Burnham, I must say that you are the most plain-speaking doctor with whom I've worked.”
He looked back and her and smiled sadly. He began to speak, then stopped. Tipping his chin down, eyes averted, he replied, “I am familiar with some of the doctors you have worked with.”
Her belly filled with a cold, familiar vulnerability. “You know about Dr. Scott.”
“Yes.” He frowned, a compassionate, angry look that caught her off guard. “Your grandfather consulted me after your release. I helped to drive Dr. Scott out of the region.”
Gratitude replaced the vulnerability. “I...I had no idea,” she stammered.
Rubbing his eyes with his ungloved hand, Dr. Burnham suddenly seemed ten years older. “I kept my role quiet intentionally. The various medical associations for physicians in this country do not take kindly to fellow physicians weeding out the unscrupulous among us. Paradoxically, they do not recognize that allowing men of poor morals to prey upon unwitting women under the guise of treatment tarnishes the reputation of us all.”
Lilith leaned back in her chair, a relaxed stance that came with finding an intelligent conversationalist. She didn't relax often.
“Thank you.” She had no other words.
“Don't thank me. I did what any decent man would do. In fact, I wish I could have done more. If only we could have stopped what he did to Miss Nourse.” His voice trailed off and he turned away, closing his eyes. “Perversity disguised as science has no place in medicine. It is I who am grateful to your grandfather for revealing Dr. Scott's treatments.”
There was nothing more to say. Lilith found that a change of subject generally required a blunt force trauma to the conversation in lieu of
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