"Ah, Dr. Faust!", Dr. Lanyon said, "You're here for your appointment?"
"No, I want to learn how to dance ballet", the German doctor retorted sarcastically.
Lanyon mock-gasped: "What, you can't dance ballet?"
"I don't need it in my everyday life, so why would I learn it?"
"Point taken. Do sit down. So, tell me, how have you been?"
The alchemist arched an eyebrow. "Do you want a typically English answer, or-?"
"An honest one."
"Breathing is unusually hard lately", Dr. Faust told him. "Must be the asthma and the permanent after-effects from smoke poisoning."
"If you don't mind, smoke poisoning from what?", Lanyon queried.
"The Thirty Years War. Everything was on fire back then. Then there were the witch hunts – I can't even remember how many times they tried to burn me at the stake."
"Oh my god!"
"The 17th century was that brutal, Dr. Lanyon. Don't mind it."
"But I do!", Lanyon protested. "And don't act so nonchalant! If you're not traumatised after those horrible experiences of war, I seriously have to question your humanity!"
Dr. Faust sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose: "It's long in the past. And I'd rather not talk about it to you. I may be able to look into your mind and hear your thoughts, but that doesn't change the fact, that I hardly know you."
Trust issues. That was something Lanyon was more than familiar with.
"You're right", he gave in. "Let's talk about it no longer. Right now, the more pressing issue is the surgery."
.
Lady Summers was filing her therapy protocols.
A tedious task, but it had to be done.
More than often it took hours to sort everything into her abundant folders, of which some were thicker than the others. The countess always sorted her folders alphabetically and the protocols and notes inside them chronologically.
The one she was working on right now was the newest folder of her friend Victor Frankenstein – it was one of the biggest ones in her archive. After all, he had been alive for almost 130 years, she had known him for over forty years and the man had a lot of issues, some of them impossible to get rid of. Victor was a complete mess (and kind of a tool) and most of it he had brought upon himself. Sometimes Lady Summers couldn't help but question, why they were still friends. Probably pity and a tad of sympathy – they had been through the same torture all those years ago.
With a sigh, she finished filing the newest of her notes and protocols. She would need a new folder for Victor's case and he already had six of them.
All of her friends had several folders, even Dr. Jekyll, who had been her client for only a few months (then again, he had more problems than most of her clients).
Lady Summers closed the file, put it back into the shelf, went downstairs and prepared to go out.
It was Monday evening, when she would habitually visit the local police stations and prisons.
Not because she liked going there, but because the police liked to spare themselves the trouble of actually doing research by employing her mind-reading abilities. They tipped her handsomely for her service and that was the only reason, why she cooperated with them.
But that didn't stop Lady Summers from taking her frustration out on them for not using their own brains. Really, was it too much to ask, that they just did their job and deduced their cases without the help of a civilian?!
Her butler helped her into her jacket, cloak and shoes, Aoimoku handed her her parasol and they went on their way.
Marie would handle everything in the meantime.
When the three arrived there, Lady Summers gave a curt nod to the porter, before entering the building.
Almost everyone in the room turned to look at her and there was some mumbling from one or the other.
"Good evening, inspector Grumman", she greeted the oldest of them.
Then she turned to the youngest man in the room: "I see, you're new. Well, good evening, officer Joyce. I hope your wife is feeling better?"
She almost laughed at how the young man stared at her for solid five seconds.
But then he recovered: "U-uhm, yes. M-my wife is feeling better, thank you. But how did you know my name and that she was sick?"
She smiled sweetly: "I'm Lady Summers. It's a pleasure to meet you. Anyway, inspector", she turned back to Grumman. "I assume you have new-"
"Oh, good evening, Lady Summers!" Another inspector stepped forward and she withheld a groan, when she recognised D.I. Blackwood.
"How good to see you, Milady! If I may say, that's an exquisite dress! You look queenly toni-"
"Yes, yes", she interrupted him, "words are cheap and so are your attempts at flattery. Let's get started, shall we?"
.
"Thank you so much for your time, Dr. Jekyll", the woman sighed in relief. "You truly are one of the best physicians I have ever met."
"Oh, stop it, Madam!", Jekyll chuckled. "One of these days the flattery will get to my head and I can't possibly let that happen! Who knows, what that would do to my judgement! Anyway, you don't need to worry. It's just a common cold. Be sure to keep warm, drink lots of herbal infusions (peppermint, sage, lavender and ginger, mixed with honey, do a world of good against a sore throat), rest as much as you can and be sure to air the room regularly. But if it gets worse, be sure to send for me. Have a good day and get well soon!"
The woman nodded and saw herself out.
Jekyll took five minutes to air the room, before calling the next patient in.
"Good morning, Mr. Blake", he greeted the man. "Oh dear, I see the pollen season is taking its toll on you."
Before the man could answer, he sneezed violently into the room.
The Doctor couldn't help but frown. "Mr. Blake, how many times do I have to tell you to please sneeze into a handkerchief or into the crook of your elbow! It's common decency!", he added pointedly, when the old man opened his mouth to nag.
This is going to be a long, long, week.
.
"Alright, Sir Carew", Utterson spoke to his elderly client. "Is there anything more you have to discuss with me?"
"No, no", the old politician chuckled. "This is all for now. Thank you kindly, Mr. Utterson. You're always such a big help."
"It's always my pleasure", the lawyer replied. "Before you go, I heard that you're going to retire from the Parliament?"
"Ah, yes", Sir Carew confirmed. "I'm beginning to feel my age, I must admit. I'm planning to retire into the country, once I am retired and my daughter has got married. And once that day comes, I would be happy, if you could assist me in ordering my possessions."
"I will gladly do so", Utterson promised. "How is your daughter anyway?"
Carew smiled: "Ah, she is as darling as ever. To be fair, it worries me how many suitors she has. You can never know, if they just want your daughter for her beauty, or if they truly love her."
"Well, I have no children, so I can't really relate", Utterson stated.
For a second he wondered how an old man like Sir Danvers Carew could have such a young daughter (she was not quite twenty), but then he remembered, that Carew had adopted her.
Maybe my own memory is getting rusty.
"By the way, how is Lady Summers?", Carew inquired out of the blue, startling the other. "After all, she was quite ill used at the royal gala over a month ago."
"Oh. Her Ladyship is fine", Utterson told him. "In fact, she visited her father-in-law in Cornwall earlier this month. She returned to London a week ago, you can visit her yourself, if you wish. I'm certain she will be delighted to have tea and crumpets with you."
"Oh, wonderful", the older man cried in delight. "Really, that baron was such an animal towards her! She could have died from internal injuries!"
"Hm, she had the good fortune of several capable physicians being there as well", the lawyer pointed out (wishing Carew would stop talking about that accursed gala already).
"Indeed. The Lady always had fortune on her side – then again, fortune favours the bold. And speaking of them, how are they? I seem to recall, that they are intimate friends of yours?"
"You could say that", Utterson confirmed, albeit apprehensively. "We have known each other since our school days, so we're very close."
"Well, give them my regards and my thanks for being such good friends to you and to the countess. And while you're at that, won't you give my thanks to that young brown-haired man, who saved my daughter from that scoundrel's clutches? What was his name again …"
"Mr. Hyde", the lawyer supplied.
"Right! Anyway, give him and Dr. Jekyll my thanks. As Lisa's father it put me quite at ease to see two gentlemen help my daughter out without ulterior motives."
Utterson nodded. "I will let them know next time I meet them. Have a nice evening, Sir."
Then he saw his client off.
He didn't ask, whether Carew remembered, that Hyde was the very same man, who had almost killed him the year before and if yes, how he was feeling about that.
I will just have to ask Lady Summers, he decided. I pray she will be willing to enlighten me, because something about this is making me anxious.