The Itch 24:

︻┳═一

Eddie rapped upon the office door and shifted from foot to foot.

"Come in!" Harris called. Eddie wasted no time. Harris's smile fell. "What's wrong?"

"Morton gave McCarty Electroshock."

Harris stood so fast he knocked over his chair. "He did what?"

"I stopped him."

"Where's Emmett?"

"Presumably, the nurse is washing him. I've ordered Hale to carry him back to bed afterward."

"Washing him?"

"When I broke up the festivities, Cap was screaming himself hoarse and lying in his own waste."

"Shit!" Harris marched for the door and tugged Eddie's sleeve in passing. "Come with me." Harris was moving fast. Eddie bumped into a couple of patients in the crowded hallway leading to the canteen. Harris must have noticed because he returned, lifted Eddie's hand to clasp his bicep, and tugged him onward. He stopped at a door just past the canteen.

"Who is it?" A man called gruffly.

"Director Humphries, it's Dr. Harris and Lieutenant Masen."

"I have five minutes, gentlemen."

Harris led Eddie over to the massive cherry desk. "Lieutenant Masen has just informed me that Dr. Morton took my patient to Electroshock against my direct orders."

"Is this about McCarty?" Humphries held up a manila folder.

"Indeed. The patient's file clearly demonstrates that he is physically infirm and in a state of muscular atrophy. Regardless of his neurasthenia, his body is wasted. As I previously informed you, we are talking about a long term need for rehabilitation."

Director Humphries harrumphed and toyed with a file on his desk. "You advised that this man be discharged from the military." Eddie started, and stared at Harris. Evidently, they were on the same page.

"I did. His recovery is apt to be exceptionally slow in light of his psychological suffering."

"We aren't equipped for long term care." Humphries tossed the file onto his desk. He sounded weary. "He's not well enough to send back to Canada, and he has no family here. You know if the man cannot be rehabilitated in a timely fashion, he will have to be sent to a care facility or asylum."

"No," Eddie blurted out. He felt the weight of both men's gazes upon him and cleared his throat. "Pardon me. Captain McCarty and Ensign Hale have a foster family here."

"A foster family?" Harris echoed.

"Yes. The owner of the boarding house where my wife and I lodge. Mr. and Mrs. Biggins have already prepared a room for the pair to use when they are discharged."

"We are here to rehabilitate men, sir, not discharge them." Humphries snapped.

"These men aren't going to be fit to serve for a very long time, sir," Harris said.

"How long, Harris?"

Harris shifted on his feet. "A year or more, sir. They're both grossly underweight."

Humphries folded his hands on top of the file. "Do you know that a full third of the men in the British Army displayed symptoms of severe malnutrition when they enlisted? They eat better in the army than they do at home."

"Sir," Eddie said, "If one man sneezed on McCarty or Hale, neither man would survive."

"Besides, they're psychologically damaged," Harris pressed.

Humphries scoffed. "All malingerers use that excuse. These men weren't even thrown by a bomb."

"There are worse things than being thrown by a bomb," Eddie said. "McCarty and Hale attempted slow suicide, but I've gotten through to them. Both of them are eating meals on the regular."

"If you want my support, you're going to have to elaborate," Humphries said. Eddie crossed his arms and sealed his mouth, cursing himself. He couldn't see any way to get Jazz and Cap cut loose without telling the truth but the risk was enormous.

"Well?" Humphries demanded.

"Lieutenant, if you know something about what happened to those men, it does them no good to keep it to yourself," Harris said softly.

"I'm afraid," Eddie said.

"Afraid?" Harris echoed. "Have I given you just cause not to trust me?"

Eddie tapped his cane on the floor. "I know you mean well, but you told the boys about Keller and they pick on him. McCarty and Hale are good men. I don't want them put in the same boat as Keller, and I don't want them shot for dishonourable behaviour."

"Did they kill their own boys?" Harris demanded sharply.

"Not at all."

Harris and Humphries waited quietly.

"I don't want Hale and McCarty to become targets," Eddie repeated. "I understand why they did what they did. They had no choice at the time. But the boys might not forgive them, and the Brass might court-marshal them."

"Good God, man! You should have reported this information to Dr. Harris," Humphries rumbled. "What did they tell you?"

Eddie turned his head toward the light issuing from the window. "I'm not telling you anything unless it stays between the three of us. And it's off the record."

Humphries banged on his desk. "I demand that you tell me! If you do not, you'll be fired without being given a reference!"

"Then, I shall be unemployed and without a reference." Eddie bowed slightly and turned toward the door. "Good day, gentlemen. Thank you for the opportunity you gave me to serve these men. I resign."

Harris caught his arm. "Wait. Certain sins do not fall under the mantle of patient confidentiality. Murder, for instance."

"They have done no murder."

"Is it a matter of national import?"

"Certainly not. It's a matter of morality."

"Are they insane?"

"No, and what they did is unlikely to happen again, provided they aren't sent back to fight. If they go back to the front, I have no doubt they will prove a danger to themselves."

"For God's sake! Spit it out!" Humphries demanded.

"Not unless you give me your word that no one will force Hale or McCarty to go back to war. I want them honourably discharged. They've come a long way but they may never be normal."

Humphries expelled a loud breath. "Fine. I give you my word that nothing you say shall leave this room, and if, in my estimation, they're as much a danger to themselves as you believe, I shall recommend an honourable discharge for Hale and McCarty."

Eddie looked at Harris expectantly.

"You have my word that everything you say, I will keep in confidence," Harris said.

Eddie sent up a quick prayer that he wasn't making a mistake, and began softly. "Hale, McCarty, and two other men got caught behind the re-entrant for more than a week. One of the men was shot and lingered on for some days. They'd had nothing to eat for days before he died."

"Oh, God." Harris fell into a chair. "You're saying… oh, that's wretched."

"Well, they were desperate. But shortly after they resolved themselves to survival at any cost, they were rescued. The three of them stopped eating completely. Rum is probably the only thing that kept them alive. And after a month, they couldn't do anything useful. They fell prey to the shell shock and McCarty's lieutenant sent them to the field hospital."

Humphries cleared his throat. "Happened in the Crimea. Men eating men. Grandfather told me."

"But you see, the Brass doesn't exactly put cannibalism in the field manual," Eddie said drily.

"That's not even funny," Harris snapped.

"If you don't even like hearing about it, imagine the guilt borne of having partaken of your comrade's—"

"Enough," Harris groaned. "Don't tell me anymore."

"Yorkie couldn't live with it. He cursed McCarty and blew his head off in front of them."

Humphries slumped over his desk and Harris leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Eddie waited but they said nothing.

"So, you see, gentlemen, I don't want these men going back into the field. I don't care if Jasper's dancing gait disappears or Emmett starts to walk and talk again. Morton believes I'm coddling them. In my professional opinion, they need coddling."

"You are not a doctor," Humphries said.

Eddie rubbed his thumb over his reliquary ring and his memorial band. "No. I am an experienced field officer who served with valour. I trained hundreds of men in Egypt. I led sixty men in the Somme. I served for over three years in six countries on three of the nastiest front lines in human history. Do you suppose I've never encountered suicidal men before?"

"Brave men don't take their own lives," Humphries muttered.

"Oh, really? That explains how I came to be in command of a platoon at the age of seventeen."

"That's a terrible allegation to make against men who aren't here to defend themselves," Harris said.

"Why do you think our boys try to protect suicides? The allegation alone leads to ruination. Why do you think that if the men know a man who shot himself is going to be examined, they mutilate the body so the doctors believe Fritz killed him?"

"That's obscene!" Humphries growled.

"Is it?" There were several beats of silence. "Once a man's dead, he's dead. The average age of the men our king sends overseas is twenty-six. The average age in my platoon was twenty-three and the median age was twenty-one. I had my wife dictate their ages to me off the lists and we did the math. Our boys are so brave but they're barely adults and they can't handle the distress." Eddie wanted to shout but he kept himself in control. "Do you know what happens to the family of a man who takes his own life? Who shirks his duty because he can't stand the thought of taking one more order?"

"A dishonourable discharge," Harris snapped.

Eddie shook his head. "That's not the half of it. All the wife gets is a scathing letter stating that her husband was a coward, that he was derelict in his duties and if he had not died, he'd have been discharged. Men who earn a dishonourable discharge are nearly always tried and executed. There's no pension for the widow and orphans. If anyone in their social circle finds out, they're publicly ostracized. That's the only reason I didn't mutiny when the Brass told me to take my fifty-nine boys over the top to certain death. I thought of my Bella. But you see, when I signalled Lefty to blow the whistle, I never expected to outlive them. Perhaps you can tell me what might have been worse: ruining my wife and family's future, or ruining the lives of everyone who loved my men, and betraying those men by getting them senselessly killed."

"Your men gave their lives for their country. They died with honour and earned the gratitude of the king," Humphries said. "And earned a place in Heaven, too."

"They died without hope and dimmed the future of their loved ones. Of course, I'm certain they went to their graves with light hearts, knowing they'd made the king happy."

"They didn't die for aught! They took a hell of a lot of Turks and Germans with them."

"Well, at least there's one bright spot."

Harris sighed, dispelling some of the tension crackling in the air. "I've seen men whom I thought were getting better die by their own hand here."

Eddie tapped his walking stick on the floor. "Unless you wish to see two more dead, I suggest you ensure they're discharged with honour. Three men, in fact. Keller is adamant that he's not going back."

Humphries shifted his files. "The field marshal himself is putting pressure on us to rehabilitate Keller. That man is going back whether he likes it or not. They don't care about Hale, he's only a grunt, McCarty…"

Eddie dropped his gaze to the desktop, feeling the fury fry his forehead. "He'll kill himself," he growled. "He has nothing to lose. Same with Keller."

"You've barely met Keller," Harris protested.

"I know enough to know he's suffering from melancholia."

"Look," Humphries said. "We cannot refuse to treat Keller. If you believe he has melancholia we'll start giving him cannabis. Stick to the subject of McCarty and Hale." Humphries tapped his pen on the blotter. "If we declare they are not going to get better, they won't be able to stay here."

"I told you, that's not a problem. They can go to live with the Bigginses."

"But McCarty can't walk," Harris said. "He'll be a burden."

Eddie bit back an oath. Harris loved the Old Sweats but he was a civilian. He couldn't understand how much he owed veterans because he'd never seen a battlefield. "Hale will look after his physical needs. They are symbionts now. I don't believe either one of them will ever cope again without the other. When I took them to the house last Sunday, they fared much better than they do here. I believe they felt secure there. Neither one of them is going to feel safe here with Morton in the building."

"Electroshock is a wonderful thing," Humphries protested. "The use of it to reanimate limbs is experimental and Morton is a leader in his field. We've been using it for years now to replace lobotomy in cases of severely disturbed patients and epileptics. It's much more gentle—a fantastic scientific advance."[i]

"What I witnessed was not gentle. What I witnessed was one of the bravest men I know writhing in pain and screaming in terror, lying in his own shit."

"That's only because he was afraid," Humphries protested. "Research is proving that all these men need is light stimulation to their muscles. Once they know they can move, they start walking."[ii]

Eddie clenched his jaw. "That is not what I witnessed. McCarty has red marks where the electrodes were attached to his skin. And perhaps you can explain to me why there was one fastened to his cock, with a female nurse watching, since clearly he needs that working in order to perambulate!"[iii]

"Lieutenant Masen!" Humphries rose from his desk. "There is no reason to be coarse!"

Eddie tucked his chin. "My apologies, sir. I have found that I get a lot farther with the men by speaking their own cant. It's a bad habit."

Humphries was very red in the face. "I am not one of the poor bloody infantry, Lieutenant. You will demonstrate proper deference."

"Yes, Sir."

"I don't know why Morton tried to stimulate McCarty's genitalia, but he's a leader in his field. I shall ask."

"Thank you, Sir. I suggest you examine McCarty, and I suggest that the next time that barbarian experiments upon an infirm man, you take yourself down to his dungeon and witness it."

Before Humphries could respond, a slender woman knocked on the door and opened it. "Director Humphries, the man from the Home Office is here to see you."

"Kindly ask him to come in and wait. I have a matter of some urgency to address. I shall return in approximately ten minutes."

"Yes, Sir." She left. Humphries stood and placed his pen carefully in its holder.

"Take me to McCarty, gentlemen. I wish to examine him now before the marks fade."

"Thank you, Sir," Eddie said.

︻┳═一

Up in the room, Emmett was curled, unclothed, in a ball on his bed, whimpering. Although he had been bathed, he still smelled sour. He had probably vomited. Jasper sat next to him, leaning against the bars of the headboard, hugging his knees. When Eddie sat down next to Emmett on the cot, Emmett began to yell like a terrified monkey. Jasper's eyes looked black and haunted.

"Hush, it's me, Eddie."

"Good lord, what's he done?" Harris muttered to Humphries.

"He's trying to cure them!" Humphries protested. "He just wants them to be useful again."

"This man's a lot worse off than when I saw him this morning, Sir."

Emmett forced his eyes open, his breath sawing in and out. He grasped his pillow from behind his head, pushed it into Eddie's hands, and pulled on his wrists. It took Eddie a minute to figure out that Emmett wanted him to smother him. Eddie dropped the pillow to the floor and lifted Emmett into his arms.

"No," he murmured against Emmett's temple as he rocked him. "No, my dear man. You're going home."

"To Canada?" Jasper cried. Emmett wet himself. Eddie ignored the wet and pulled Jasper into the huddle.

"No, to the Bigginses. Both of you are going."

Jasper burst into hysterical tears but Em quieted.

The hospital director bent over him and spoke in a singsong tone. "Captain, I'm Dr. Humphries. I'm going to have a look at your injuries but I'm not going to hurt you, all right?"

Jasper scuttled back while Eddie repositioned Emmett in his arms so Humphries could get a look at his lower body.

"He has electrical burns," Humphries said in surprise. "Look here, there's an exit wound on his heel."

"Hm," Harris said. "That shouldn't happen."

"Blisters and welts. You're right, Masen. Morton is using more than the recommended amount of current. I promise you, he will be reprimanded."

Eddie thought Morton ought to be dismissed, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Harris, go down to Morton this instant and tell him to expect me in an hour. He's not to treat any more patients until I have addressed this matter."

"Yes, Sir."

"And send in the nurse. McCarty and Hale are going into shock. I want a pot of hot tea with plenty of sugar and three cups. Tell her to fetch an orderly to change the linens and bring three clean sets of blues."

"Right away, Sir." He marched out, his shoes clicking on the floor.

"There, there, now gentlemen." Humphries patted Jasper and Emmett on the shoulder. "You're all right now. Give me some time to complete the paperwork, and as soon as you're discharged, you can go home."

"Are we being court-marshalled?" Jasper asked shakily. Humphries patted him again.

"Of course not. You'll both retire with a pension so you can go home with Lieutenant Masen. Won't that be nice?"

"Yeah. When?" Eddie realized Jasper's teeth were chattering.

"He needs a hot blanket," Eddie said.

Humphries fetched the blanket off the other bed and wrapped it around Jasper, who was careful not to touch Eddie since it was wool. "Give me a day or two. You think you can meet with the army man to sign the paperwork?"

Emmett began to sob again. He clung to Eddie with surprising strength.

"I won't leave you, Cap. I promise."

"Turks!" he yelped.

"They're all gone. Ssh."

Humphries squeezed Eddie's shoulder companionably. "You're a fine man, Masen. I hope you will continue to work here while you pursue your medical degree."

Eddie nodded and Humphries departed. Katy arrived with a tray. Eddie stretched his jacket awkwardly over Emmett's lap. "Here, fellas, I've brought you a lovely hot cuppa and some biscuits."

"Thank you, Katy," Eddie said. "I'm going to need a cot for tonight. And I need to dictate a message to you, and ask a young lad to deliver it to my wife."

"Graham is fetching a cot. I'll be back directly with fresh pyjamas."

"Thank you."

︻┳═一

When Isobel received Eddie's note, written in Katy's hand but bearing his signature, she couldn't get to the hospital fast enough. How bad were Emmett's burns? An electrical shock could prove fatal hours afterward. From the tone of Eddie's note, the situation sounded drastic. At least she could give the men good news. Mother Biggins would be coming to visit them on the morrow.

Isobel hefted her heavy winter skirt and climbed the stairs to the officers' room with indecent haste. She found Eddie lounging on Emmett's cot. They were all wearing hospital blues. Emmett was wrapped around Eddie, and Jasper was wrapped around Emmett.

"Ye look like a litter of puppies," Isobel teased.

"Darling." Eddie sat up and reached for her. "Is that a new dress? I love it."

"No, it's old. Aunt Maggie sent mae things."

"Bless her."

"But ye willnae love it long. It's wool." Isobel didn't think Eddie would be blessing Aunt Maggie for much longer, either.

He smirked at her. "Ah, I see… you know I've had a rough day, and you show up wearing wool so I can't take advantage of you? That's not very nice."

"Shut yer gob, trouble. Aunt Maggie sent mae clothes and I was trying this on when yer message came. This skirt is one of the few things that still fits me but I'll haff to part with it because of you. I couldnae take the time to change when ye needed me here, could I?"

Eddie hummed a laugh. "Keep it to wear whenever you're mad at me. It will be the signal that no touching is allowed."

"Silly mon."

"Such a becoming red. Is it your tartan?"

"Yes." Isobel brushed her hand down the tomato red, wet skirt. "Clan McSwain."

"I thought McSwain was an Irish name."

"Irish and Scottish. It's a branch of the McQueens'." She unwrapped her shawl, shook off the rain and placed it on one of the wall hooks to dry. "Still raining. It's getting blasted cold."

"I'm starting to think that wearing a suit to work is a bad idea." Eddie tried to get up but Cap wouldn't let go of him. He settled for placing one foot on the floor and reached for Isobel with his free hand. "Come kiss me."

"Are ye no glad mae blouse is cotton?"

In answer, he hauled her down between his legs and kissed her soundly. Isobel squeaked and set both feet back on earth.

"Careful! Ye'll haff us all on the floor, Eddie." But she hugged him anyway.

"How was your day?" he asked, brushing damp wisps of hair from her forehead.

"Not the best, but we need nae discuss it noo. How's Emmett?"

The man in question released his hold on Eddie, insinuated himself between Eddie and Isobel's middles and put his head in her lap.

"Mumma?"

Jasper crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his forehead on her back. Isobel wondered if she ought to have been scandalized but neither man seemed to mean any harm. She gazed at Eddie, who appeared at ease. She brushed her fingers through Emmett's curly hair.

"It's Bella, Cap. But Mumma is coming to see ye at dinner tomorrow. She's bringing the three of ye a hamper."

Eddie tipped up her chin. "Cap had a bit of tea with sugar but he hasn't managed anything else. A picnic sounds heavenly." He leaned in and kissed her soundly, ignoring the fact that there was a man's head cradled in their laps.

The door crashed open and a doctor pelted inside, two other men on his heels.

"Bomb!" he bellowed.[iv]

Eddie took Isobel's head in his hands and rolled off the bed, taking her with him. She landed, hard, on the floor and he fell atop her, knocking all her air out. Before she could catch her breath, Cap shouted out and fell on top of Eddie. Crack! A stabbing pain pierced Isobel's ribs. Tears filled her eyes. Cap had his eyes screwed shut. Eddie was a dead weight. He'd hit his forehead on the floor and blood was trickling out of the gash. There was another thump as Jasper rolled off the other side of the bed onto the floor. It sounded very like the launch of a Minnie and Cap started yelling. Isobel turned her head and met Jasper's terrified gaze as he scooted under the bed and wrapped his arms around his head.

"Morton!" an older gentleman with whom Isobel wasn't acquainted barked. "What in blazes do you think you're doing?"

The man, Morton, pointed at Cap. "He moved on his own!"

Harris got breast to breast with Morton. "Hale pushed him off the cot. He didn't climb down himself, you moron!"

"But he moved! He's a malingerer, I'm telling you!"

Eddie blinked and shook his head. He pushed himself up and then seemed to realize Cap was pinning him down. Somehow, he managed to grasp hold of him and shift him over to lie shoulder-to-shoulder with Isobel.

Eddie lifted himself gracefully to his feet. A shiver passed through Isobel as she recognized the look on his face. There was murder in his eye.

"Doctor Morton!" the third man roared. "Your method of identifying malingerers leaves something to be desired. Go to my office and wait for me!"

"You're too soft!" Morton shouted. "You indulge these men and that's why they don't get better. What kind of man are you? Going against the war effort is treason!"

Eddie grasped Morton by the shoulder and slowly forced him to face him. H drew back his fist. Isobel covered her mouth and screamed.

"No!" Cap wailed. Eddie's fist stopped in midair.

"No, Mace. No." Tears tracked down Em's cheeks. He rolled onto his elbows and tried to get his knees under him.

Isobel saw red. She rolled to her feet and staggered, and her hand went to press against the pain stabbing her side. She stepped nimbly around Eddie and punched the man named Morton fiercely on the nose. Crack! Blood spurted everywhere and he swayed backward, holding his face and howling. Isobel clutched her fist and hopped up and down. "Bugger!"

Harris and the other man dragged Morton from the room by the back of his jacket, still arguing hotly with him. A muscular orderly marched into the doorway and crossed his arms. Better late than never.

Eddie grasped hold of Isobel's wrist and lifted it. He glared at her. She tucked her chin and peeped at him, preparing to receive a royal telling-off for fighting his battles for him. Never mind that hitting a colleague would have cost him his job.

"Isobel Maire," he growled. "How many times have I told you not to tuck your thumb when you punch someone?" [v] Gently, he opened her fist. Her thumb just lay there uselessly. Eddie lifted her hand tenderly to his lips and kissed it. "Now you've broken your poor little thumb. What am I to do with you?"

"I dinnae ken. That bastard. I haff broken a rib, too." She felt light-headed. Setting her sights on the chair, she walked over and sat down woozily. Eddie knelt at her feet but continued to hold her hand above the level of her heart.

"Are you certain?"

"Aye. Evidently it's fine if you squash me, but if we add in Emmett ye become too damned heavy."

"Sorry," Cap whispered.

"Tisnae yer fault, dearie. Thot mon is a nasty bit of wark."

"Yeah."

"Och, Eddie. Ye're coming oot in hives."

"Yes, I noticed."

Katy and the man Isobel didn't know scurried into the room.

"Masen," the man said. "I'm so sorry. Morton's suspended from duty until further notice."

Jasper inched out from under the cot. "What about the bomb?"

"There is no bomb. Morton deceived you."

"Turk," Emmett said firmly.

"How can I believe you?" Jasper asked.

"I'm Director Humphries. I run this hospital. How would you like to go home tonight?"

"I would have said that was ideal," Eddie said sarcastically, "except that my wife was to nurse these men and now she's badly injured."

The director edged closer. "Injured, you say?"

"First, Cap and I fell on her and broke her rib. Then Morton's nose broke her thumb. On her good hand, too."

"Well," Humphries said, "if it's any consolation, Madam, you broke his nose."

"Thot fool is lucky thot's all I broke." Abandoning whatever was left of her decorum, she slumped against the back of the chair.

"Look, Isobel's hand is swelling," Eddie snapped. "I need her treated right away."

"We don't treat women here."

Eddie sprang to his feet and swivelled to face his boss. "Are you a doctor or not?"

"Yes, but we don't have facilities here to treat ladies. What's wrong with your face?"

Eddie enunciated every word as though Humphries were a dunce. "I'm allergic to wool."

Katy ran out of the room. "I'll get some ice, Bella."

Humphries huffed at Eddie. "No. What happened to your forehead?"

"I smacked it on the floor when we hit the deck. It doesn't matter. Morton, however, has caused me and mine a great deal of trouble and I expect you to help me out by treating my wife, so I don't have to get her to another hospital by myself when Hale and McCarty need me."

Humphries dropped his gaze. "Yes. Of course. Orderly?"

"I brought the cot and linens for Lieutenant Masen, Director."

"Shame you didn't arrive a few minutes sooner."

"Sorry, Sir."

"I'll need a screen. And wipe the blood off the floor. And get Masen a basin of water."

"Yes, Sir."

"Jazz, you can come out," Eddie said. "Put Cap back to bed, will ya?"

"Yes, Sir." Jasper scrambled up and lifted Cap into his arms. He put him to bed and sat down beside him, but neither man stopped staring at Isobel the entire time.

"I'm all right, gentlemen," she said as Eddie escorted her to the freshly-made cot, but she couldn't help grunting when he accidentally touched her ribs. The orderly pulled a screen between her and the men, and Eddie began to help her out of her clothes. Katy popped behind the screen and handed her a small bag of ice.

"Shall I bring you a nightshirt?" she asked.

"Yes, please. That would be grand." Isobel abruptly realized that Eddie was sliding down her skirt. "Och, Eddie! Ye're going tae be so sore. I wish ye wouldnae—"

"Bella, it's too late anyway. Don't fret. It's not as if I have to wear it this time." He began to pick apart her busk.

"Don't undo mae corset. It will haff tae be tightwaisted."

"We must ensure that the end of your rib isn't going to perforate your lung, first," Katy said. Isobel felt woozier than ever.

By the time Director Humphries returned, she was lying neatly under the covers wearing nothing but her chemise, with the corset lying under her back so it might be tight-laced after he examined her. Eddie continued to hold her wrist perpendicular to her body. He pressed the small sack of ice into her palm.

"The ring must come off," Humphries said. "Katy, go and get something to cut it."

"No!" Isobel cried. "That's mae memorial ring! Please!"

"We'll try a bit of butter," Katy said.

Humphries gazed at Isobel as though she had no common sense. "But if it doesn't work, it will have to be cut."

"We cannae cut it! Please, Eddie!"

He kissed her fingers. "I can buy you a new ring, but I cannot get you new fingers."

"Och, Eddie."

"Hush, now. Dr. Humphries is going to think you're hysterical."

"I know a fellow who's very good at treating hysteria, if you need a reference," Humphries told Eddie casually as he prepared a plaster.

"Isobel is never hysterical, thank you."

"You're a fortunate man, then. My wife is a frequent sufferer. I send her for treatment every two weeks."

Eddie's eyes flared wide. He looked as if he were about to swallow his tongue. "Fascinating," he managed to get out. Despite her best effort to contain a laugh, Isobel began to giggle. "Ow!" she said. "Ooh, ow!"

"What's so funny?" Humphries asked.

"Nothing," Isobel said. Katy brought in a little dish. She began to smear butter on Isobel's swollen fingers.

"Bella's an army nurse," Eddie told his boss. "Not much provokes her to hysterics." Isobel screwed her eyes shut. She couldn't wait to get somewhere suitable to release her laughter like a hyena. Fancy the hospital director sending his wife for biweekly clitoral stimulation. Did he comprehend the service for which he was paying? Good lord. She couldn't wait to snicker about it with Eddie.

Katy slipped the memorial ring from Isobel's finger. "That's that, Missus."

"Thank ye sae much, Katy."

"You're welcome. Where shall I put it?"

"I suppose the safest place is on mae other hand."

"Of course."

While Katy slipped Bella's memorial ring onto her left hand, Humphries stretched out her thumb.[vi]

Despite preparing herself, Bella cried out.

"It's all right now." Humphries placed a small wooden splint along Isobel's thumb and began to wrap it. Once he had it bound, he brought it to rest beside her index finger, wrapped them together, and carefully tied off the bandages. Then, he gingerly took small strips of gauze coated in plaster from Katy's fingers and built Isobel a cast. It looked rather silly; large and unwieldy. The doctor then lay her hand down on the cot. "All right, keep that still for a few minutes until it's dry." After wiping his fingers, he pulled down the blankets enough to access Isobel's ribs. "Where does it hurt?"

She poked at the area. "I think it iss thae seventh vertobrochondral."

The doctor reached out. "May I?"

"You may."

He placed his hand against her chemise, over her ribcage, and counted up from the bottom. Then, he began to palpate her ribs gently. Isobel kept her breaths shallow. "You're quite accomplished for a woman, Madam. Yes, it's broken, right where it meets the costal cartilage. Fortunately, it's a clean break. No fragments or sharp ends."

"That's a blessing," Eddie said.

"Indeed." Humphries looked at Katy. "Can you help Mrs. Masen with her corset? The upper part must be tight, but the bottom not so tight as to pull in the false ribs toward the waist."

"Yes, of course, Sir."

"Excellent." He gave Isobel a small pat on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Madam. I shall send you up some cannabis."

Isobel wrinkled her nose, but thanked him anyway.

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[i] Compared to lobotomy, it was a fantastic advance. Patients who were lobotomized became vegetables. Patients receiving shock to the head became compliant, forgetful and calm. Electric shocks used to stimulate muscles were, of course, much milder once they figured out how much current to use. Muscular electroshock became quite the thing. By the end of the Edwardian era, a man could even buy sort of a metal belted contraption to wear under his clothes, to zap his penis, in order to restore lost virility.

[ii] In 1915, French doctors established a school of forward psychology in which shell shocked patients were treated with ether, chloroform and/or electricity. In 1917, shell shock hospitals were established in Britain and elsewhere. Severely psychologically ill British sufferers were sent to an asylum in Edinburgh. By 1918, there was a very successful rehabilitation program led by French doctors. However, by 1922 the anesthetic/electroshock treatment was replaced with Freudian psychoanalysis. Men who faced their traumas often recovered from their physical symptoms. However, reports to that effect, made in 1922, were largely ignored and it wasn't until 1940 that the term combat fatigue was brought into use. In WWII, doctors attempted to treat it with barbiturates but by 1945 doctors went back to the more effective psychological treatments used in 1918. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder wasn't coined until 1980. The chief treatments now are Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and sometimes antidepressants.

[iii] Early medical experiments often went awry. Doctors experimented on patients in ways that are forbidden now. A doctor could get away with doing a lot of horrible things in the name of medical advancement. This character is not representative of any real person. He's nasty though, isn't he!

[iv] Doctors at mental hospitals actually did this as a way to determine who was truly suffering from shell shock and who was pretending. They might run in and yell, "Bomb," or they might say the word quietly in the middle of a banal conversation. There are videos online showing men hit the floor and hide under their beds.

[v] My grandfather ensured that I learned and remembered that you never tuck your thumb when you punch somebody. I don't think I ever had use for that nugget, but I appreciated the lesson.

[vi] When a bone is broken, the muscles and ligaments shorten and don't allow the bone to go back into its proper position. To set broken bones straight, it's necessary to stretch the ligaments. Small bones only require one person to set them, but large bones might need two or three people to set them. This was especially true before the advent of anesthetics. By the 20th Century, licensed physicians were the only ones allowed to set bones. Before that, broken bones were usually set by a person with some talent for it: either a self-proclaimed bonesetter, or the local blacksmith.