It was cold. And dark. James had swung himself in the carriage, sliding just far enough that he could still take Mr. House's weight upon his shoulder while Henry pushed him from behind. James smothered his laughter at Mr. House's disgruntled expression as Henry closed the door and scrambled atop the brougham to take up the reins.
"Tis a terrible thing when a man is forcibly removed from his bed in the darkest watch of the night, without explanation or warning. One might almost assume nefarious behavior, even from a gentleman such as yourself." Mr. House said thoughtfully. He rubbed his chin, and stared intently at James in the semi-darkness.
"Mr. House, I apologize for awakening you so rudely. As I said, Sir William has requested your services." James soothed, tucking the lap robes about Mr. House anxiously. "Time is of the essence."
"Has Sir William sent his notes?" Mr. House asked quietly. James nodded after a moment, casting about in the shadowy lamplight of the brougham for Sir William's log book. He held it out for Mr. House, and felt relieved when he took it; noting the steadiness of his employer's hand. For a man who had been nearly insensate less than an hour before, he seemed to have sobered quickly. James leaned back, rubbing his eyes while Mr. House opened the journal and began to read quietly to himself.
"Has Sir William taken leave of his senses?" Mr. House asked aloud after a moment of silence. His blue eyes flashed dangerously, and James leaned forward in alarm.
"What is wrong?"
"He sends for me when the patient is already diagnosed!" Mr. House closed the journal and set it distastefully upon the seat beside him.
The Prince Leopold?" James asked stupidly. Whether his lethargy was due to the late hour or cumulative loss of sleep, James found he could not think clearly.
"Diagnoses happen, if you recall my dear James—at the end of the case. Certainly not before, and I bade Sir William to call upon me only if the diagnosis could not be easily ascertained!" Mr. House was angrier than James could ever recall, and he found himself unable to speak in light of Mr. House's fury.
"Henry!" Mr. House called out. "You're to return home at once!" Home? James struggled to breathe air into his lungs. Surely Mr. House could not refuse Sir William's request? And risk the displeasure of the Queen herself? Surely Mr. House's principals were not worth so great a risk to a member of the Royal Family?
"No!" he cried.
"No?" Mr. House echoed faintly. "I have not the inclination to become nothing more than a favourite dog that comes when called."
"Surely it is worth a look, is it not Mr. House?" James pleaded. "We have already been roused in the night and are more than half-way there. You could have the satisfaction of knowing that you have done a favour for Sir William and could perhaps call upon him in your time of need."
Mr. House turned to face him then, and James gave only a minute flinch as his ice-cold blue eyes lingered upon him. The brougham slowed, and James could feel the horses break smoothly down to a walk as Henry found a place to turn about.
"You may resume our journey, Henry." Mr. House called. "We shall undertake the Prince Leopold's case upon Mr. Wilson's request."
James breathed out, feeling relief and trepidation linger in his chest as Mr. House held out the journal for his inspection.
"You had best bring yourself up to speed, my dear James. 'Twill be your first case of haemophilia."
James had been somewhat dismayed when he had taken Sir William's journal from Mr. House's hand. Despite all the knowledge he had acquired working with Mr. House—haemophilia had not been yet addressed.
"You must forgive me, Mr. House. I know naught of haemophilia other than it is a disease of the blood."
"Let us break it down, shall we?" Mr. House asked. He settled back in his seat, and met James eyes steadily. "'Haemophilia' comes from the Greek haima. It means blood. 'Philia' means to love. We do not know why, but those afflicted with this condition seem to be missing the body's ability to clot. The Prince Leopold has long been afflicted with this sad ailment and surely would know how to best protect himself from injury. I believe we could assume from the summons that some malady has occurred."
James nodded. "What is the customary treatment when a bleed has begun?"
"Most commonly the injury will be tightly wrapped. The arteries and veins must be constricted, or blood flow would continue until the body had exsanguinated itself. If the blood source can be stemmed, it is likely that the patient would recover. Even so, for all but the slightest cut death is more likely to occur."
Mr. House fell silent then, and James perused Sir William's notes. The Prince Leopold had slipped and fallen upon his knee. The blood was perfusing beneath the surface. Had his haemophilia not been present, James knew they should have bloodlet and reduced the swelling. With but a week's rest, he should have been upon his feet once more. But there was nearly no chance of opening the wound to drain it safely. At his wit's end, Prince Leopold's personal physician had requested Sir William's opinion on the matter. Sir William had requested Mr. House's expertise.
Lost in his thoughts, James nearly missed their approach to Buckingham Palace. Setting the journal aside for the moment, James found himself intrigued by the dimly lit gas-lamps beside the guard boxes Henry had stopped before. From atop the carriage, Henry had passed down Sir William's note and the young lieutenant standing the watch had studied it intently before handing it back. Clearly satisfied, he waved the brougham on and closed the great iron gate behind them with a clatter.
"Have you been to the Palace before, Mr. House?" James asked anxiously.
"Once, when I was very young." Mr. House admitted quietly.
Thr brougham rattled loudly as Henry guided the horses across the cobblestones at a walk. Their pace was surely due to Henry's consideration for his master's comfort, as with every jolt Mr. House winced noticeably. In the dim light, James could make out little more than shapes and impressions of the great Palace. Henry slowed still more and came to a stop within the circular drive, sparing only a moment to tie off his lines before descending to open the door.
"Mr. House. Mr. Wilson." He said quietly.
"Thank you, Henry." Mr. House said faintly. James could feel his apprehension roll off of him in waves. Surely Mr. House was not anxious about meeting the Prince Leopold?
"James, I wonder if you might assist me? I fear I might not be able to step down presently."
"Of course, Mr. House." James eased himself around Mr. House and extended his hand, supporting him beneath one elbow while Henry took the other. Once he was firmly upon the ground, he motioned impatiently for his cane. Taking the stairs stiffly, Mr. House led the way impatiently into the main hall. Two footmen opened the doors before them to reveal a gentleman awaiting them.
"Mr. House, I presume?"
"Yes, I am he."
"I am John Legg." He held a hand out in greeting, and Mr. House stepped forward, switched his cane from left hand to right hand and took it congenially. "I am His Royal Highness' personal physician."
"May I introduce my assistant, James Wilson."
"My pleasure, my pleasure." He took James' hand eagerly. "I am grateful you gentlemen have come in our hour of need. This way, please." He gestured them forward down a long, dark corridor.
"I presume you have had a chance to review our case notes. Sir William seemed most hopeful that you might have some insight."
"I understand the severity of His Royal Highness' injury; given the nature of his health makes his prognosis doubtful. Still, I may know of a procedure."
"I've nearly come to my wits' end. Tis a difficult case, to be sure!" John Legg led them forward through another set of door and came to the base of a grand staircase. He took the steps two at a time swiftly without looking back.
"James?" Mr. House said quietly.
"Yes, Mr. House?"
"I believe I shall medicate myself heavily this coming eve. And perhaps for many days thereafter." Mr. House hooked his cane across his left arm and grasped the railing firmly. James took his other arm, and set it upon his own shoulders.
"Yes, Mr. House." He repeated, smiling.
Together, they struggled forward up the stairs. With dogged persistence, Mr. House insisted upon only stopping once. By the time the reached the top, Mr. House was trembling violently, and James felt sweat tickle the base of his neck and trickle beneath his cravat.
"I apologize, gentlemen." John Legg awaited them quietly. "I had not anticipated—"
"Quite all right, quite all right." Mr. House murmured breathlessly. James released him, and he took his cane from the crook of his elbow; leaning upon it heavily. With shaking hands, he withdrew his kerchief and mopped his brow. He folded it once, and tucked it back in his pocket again.
"Shall we see our patient?" he asked quietly. James nodded in agreement, and Mr. Legg guided them forward once more. Atop the staircase, James could see down to the hall beneath. Lamplight brightened the upper floors. Great marble floors below were covered by beautiful rugs. The walls and ceilings were bordered by intricate gold scrollwork. Every few feet or so hung paintings in great gilded frames, or priceless vases atop small tables. A runner ran the length of the hall to a solid oaken door, and James winced when he realized the rug made it far more difficult for Mr. House to find his footing. Just down the hall, one of the doors opened and Sir William emerged, looking worn.
"My dear friend Gregory!" he called, smiling tiredly. "I am grateful that you have come. If we have ever needed your advice it is now!"
Mr. House did not smile as he met Sir William's eyes grimly."I only hope that we have come in time."