City of God (29 page)

“Yes, of course. Carolina, do you remember the first time I came here to see you?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I asked you to witness something I wrote. I hope you still have it, because I need it now.”

“Of course I have it.” She jumped up and went to her correspondence case and came back holding the folded pages she’d sealed three years before with pale lilac wax, her initials, and the date. And the mark of her wedding ring. “Here it is. I take it this means you’ve had some sort of altercation with the odious Dr. Grant.”

“One of many. But this time he’s given me the sack.” And when she looked as if she didn’t understand the modern euphemism, “I’ve been discharged.”

“Oh, I know what it means. I simply don’t understand. Cousin Manon said you were safe for as long as you wanted to be. That simply by being who you are, a Turner, you give that wretched Bellevue a cloak of respectability.”

“That’s true as far as it goes. Or I should say as far as it went. I’m sorry, it’s really too complicated to explain just now.”

“Very well,” she said. “You owe me no explanations of course.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. And Nick, you mustn’t think I told Cousin Manon or anyone about that.” She nodded toward the document in his hands. “I never did. Manon told me about you because she knew I was interested in your well-being.”

“Are you really, Carolina? I’m glad. For I am very interested in yours.” He stood up, put the pages in the inside pocket of his coat, and though he knew he should not, reached for her hand. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you.”

“Don’t, Nick. You must not.”

“I can’t help it. The thoughts simply come.”

She shook her head. “Not that. I mean not only that. You must not…” She withdrew her hand from his. “We must not. It’s impossible. You realize that, I’m sure.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now I think you must go.”

“I shall, but there’s one more thing. Carolina, has Samuel mentioned anything about what’s happened? I ask because this latest trouble between me and Dr. Grant…some of the aldermen were involved. Not Samuel directly. But I wondered if he might have spoken of—”

“No, nothing.” She looked away again, this time embarrassed for him rather than herself. “Though I do know there was a story in the paper. The
Sun,
I believe. Something about an operation gone bad. My mother-in-law mentioned it to me.”

No doubt Celinda Devrey would take delight in fanning the flames of the old Turner-Devrey feud. Any shame attached to the name of Turner would delight her. “It didn’t go bad exactly. In fact, from the patient’s point of view it was entirely successful. Just not entirely as advertised. To the aldermen, I mean. But I am seeking an opportunity to address the council. I thought maybe Samuel…”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you, Nick. Truly I am. But these days…my husband spends very little time here with his family. Perhaps you should try and see him at his place of business.”

He would not, Nick decided, seek out Sam Devrey in that impressive cathedral of commerce that was the five-story marble headquarters of Devrey Shipping. On Canal Street his cousin would be cloaked in all the power of his position, and Nick, the disgraced physician, would be a supplicant. Complex as their relationship had been since he came to New York, Nick did not believe that at this moment Sam Devrey wished him well.

Nick would go where the power had been his, where twice he had saved the life of the young woman who apparently meant more to his cousin than did his wife. Faced with imminent danger, when no one knew how far the blaze would spread, Sam Devrey had rushed to Cherry Street. Fair enough. That’s where Nick Turner would go as well.

In the full light of a sunny April afternoon the room was more extraordinary than it had been the two times he’d seen it by the light of lanterns and candles. The grand and imposing furniture was crammed into a room far too small for it, but it impressed nonetheless. Everything was painted red and black and gold, and decorated with drawings of strange beasts and exotic gardens, and peopled with figures dressed, as was Sam Devrey, in embroidered robes. Funny smell in the place as well. Not unpleasant, but definitely odd.

“It’s incense,” Sam said, seeing his cousin sniff the air. “The Chinese believe in one supreme god, The Jade Emperor, and a raft of lesser gods who serve him. They burn incense in honor of the minor gods.”

“Like the Catholics and their saints.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that, but I suppose so. What are you doing here? I don’t imagine you’ve come to discuss religion.”

“Not exactly, no. How is your…Mei-hua?”

“She’s fine. Thank you, but I don’t think she’s what you’ve come about either.”

“No, you’re quite right. Can we sit down for a moment?”

“If you wish.”

The robe his cousin wore today was red satin with gold embroidery. A fire-breathing dragon curled its tail at Sam’s feet and spewed fire from somewhere near his shoulder. Sitting in the throne chair with the gilt canopy over his head, Devrey looked as alien as everything else in the place. “Look, I expect you’ve heard what happened last week at the almshouse.”

“No, I have not. I don’t spend much time in the sort of places where New York City gossip is exchanged.”

“It was in the
Sun
as well,” Nick said. Sam waved a dismissive hand. “Very well, let me get straight to the point.” He stopped speaking when a child appeared in what must be the door to the kitchen, and toddled laughing into the room. She was followed by the serving woman. The child—Nick quickly calculated she must be a year and a half—evaded Ah Chee’s grasp and threw herself into her father’s arms.

“My daughter,” Sam said. He spoke a few words to the little girl that Nick did not understand, then kissed her before handing her back to Ah Chee. “Her name is Mei Lin. It means beautiful grove.”

“It suits her. She is indeed beautiful.” Nick never recalled seeing Sam Devrey with his son by Carolina, and since she said her husband was seldom home these days, he could have little to do with their five-month-old daughter. The thought made the rest of what he had to say easier. “I want you to arrange for me to address the Common Council. As soon as possible. Next week for preference.”

“About the almshouse, I presume. What shall you say to them?”

“That’s none of your affair.”

Sam shrugged. “Probably not. I suppose that you’re going to tell them that Tobias Grant is a thief and the affairs of the almshouse are mismanaged.”

“Something like that.” Nick took a card from his pocket. “I’m staying in lodgings on Eighth Street just now. Please send word as to the time of the council meeting and I’ll be there.”

Sam took the card but didn’t look at it. “You won’t prevail, you know. I’ve told you before, Grant has friends. The sort generally referred to as friends in high places.”

“That’s as may be, and if true it’s my worry, not yours. I’m only asking you to arrange the meeting.”

“You’re not asking, though, are you? You’re telling me.”

“If you choose to see it that way, I suppose so.”

“Do you care to tell me as well why it is that you presume so much power?”

“Cousin Samuel, I didn’t come here to threaten. What I’m asking is simple enough. I could petition the council for a hearing on my own, but that might take months to arrange. I wish to deal with the matter sooner than that, so I’ve come to you.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Why should you? It will cost you nothing to do as I request. Whatever else, you are Jacob Astor’s man and as such have a certain unofficial authority. They won’t refuse you. But since you ask, you did tell me on at least two occasions that you relied on my discretion, did you not?”

“So we come to the heart of the matter. Yes, I did, and I have relied on it. So I am going to do as you ask, Cousin Nicholas, because, as you point out, it costs me very little to do so. But for the future I would prefer that there be no misunderstanding between us, so allow me to be completely frank. If you try to use against me anything that has happened in these rooms, anything about my relationship to Mei-hua or her daughter, I will make a great deal more trouble for Carolina than you will make for me. At least trouble she will feel far more acutely.”

“Carolina! What kind of a cad are you?”

“The kind who knows how to protect himself, Cousin Nicholas. If you make any attempt to expose me in this matter, to expose Mei-hua or Mei Lin, I will file papers seeking a divorce from Carolina claiming you as the man with whom my wife has committed adultery.”

“That’s not only despicable, it’s utterly untrue. How dare you—”

“My suit shall say as well that while I question the paternity of both of Carolina’s children, in good conscience I cannot allow a woman of her sort to bring up two innocents. They will therefore be removed from her care and she will not be allowed to see them again.”

“You do realize that if you do anything so ruthless and evil, all this”—Nick jumped to his feet and waved his hand to include the entire menage on Cherry Street—“will be exposed as well. The penny press will have a field day with the whole business.”

“Indeed they will, Cousin Nicholas. But that will mean nothing to
Mei-hua or anyone here since they can neither read nor understand English. As for me, who do you think will suffer the upheaval and its results more, me or Carolina?” Sam stood up and went to the door. “Go away, Dr. Nicholas Turner. Go back to your lodgings on”—he glanced at the card—“Eighth Street. I will do as you ask. After that I propose we each forget the other’s existence.”

N
ICK WAS SURPRISED
by Mulberry Street. He’d thought he was headed down the town into the notorious Five Points, where most of his patients—correction, his former patients—lived. Mulberry Street did indeed extend that far, but the block between Broome and Grand streets seemed entirely respectable. The Kleins occupied the third floor of a four-story building, and the stairs Nick climbed to reach their door were dark and uncarpeted but clean and well swept.

A young girl answered his knock. About fifteen, he thought, with long black braids and a shy smile.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Turner. I’ve come to see Dr. Klein. I believe he’s expecting me.”

Ben appeared from somewhere in the interior of the house. “My youngest sister, Esther, Dr. Turner.” The girl bobbed a curtsy. Ben himself opened the door wider. “Please, sir, come in. But you didn’t have to trouble yourself, I would have come to you.”

“I thought it best to come here.” It was mild enough today for Nick not to need a greatcoat, but he gave his hat and his gloves to the girl. “I am glad to be here, Ben.” He followed the younger man into what
appeared to be a combined parlor and dining room. An older man, who could only be Ben’s father considering how much alike the two looked, stood to greet him. “I thank you for receiving me, sir,” Nick said. “You are, if I may be frank, why I wished to come to Ben’s home. I believe his father should hear what I have to say.”

“I am glad of the opportunity to meet you, Dr. Turner. I am Jacob Klein.” The man offered his hand in a firm grip. He had, Nick noted, a more pronounced German accent than his son, but his English was fluent and clear. Not easy to learn a new language that well, so the senior Klein was clever. No doubt the source of his son’s equally quick mind.

“My Benjy has spoken very highly of you, Dr. Turner, ever since he went to study at Bellevue.”

“Ben is a fine doctor, Mr. Klein. You should be very proud of him.”

“I am. Very proud. Though I did not approve of his decision to remain at Bellevue after he became a real doctor. It seems I was right.”

“That’s one of the things I came to say. Nothing of what has happened is Ben’s fault, Mr. Klein. It is entirely mine.”

“No, sir, that’s not true!” Ben jumped to his feet.

“Benjy, I think Dr. Turner has come to talk, not to listen. But first we should all be calm. Please, Dr. Turner, I can offer you a schnapps?”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Klein poured drinks for them all, then raised his tiny glass. “We say,
L’chayim,
Dr. Turner. It means to life.”

“It’s a good toast, Mr. Klein. I am happy to drink to life.”

Nick watched his hosts toss their drinks back in one gulp and did the same. The liquor burned going down but landed in his stomach with a welcome warmth. Father and son were now looking at him expectantly. “I have arranged to address the Common Council at six o’clock on Monday evening,” Nick said. “I am going to explain what happened in the matter of the surgery they witnessed.”

“I will come,” Ben burst out. “I will tell them it was my fault. They will have to reinstate you.”

“You will say no such thing,” Nick said. “Whatever happened was my responsibility and mine alone. Moreover, I was very foolish to
agree to perform only our second attempt at painless surgery before an audience.”

“The audience,” Ben said miserably. “That was my idea as well.”

“It was not. Grant insisted on an audience. You merely suggested that we invite the aldermen to Bellevue rather than perform the surgery at City Hall. It was a good idea. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“But as I understand it,” Jacob Klein said, “you did not do this painless surgery in the hospital.”

“No. In the director’s front parlor.”

“Because Dr. Grant didn’t want the aldermen to see what a terrible shambles the hospital is,” Benjy said. “They would know he was misusing the funds they appropriate for the almshouse.”

“A terrible shambles,” the senior Klein repeated, addressing his remarks to Nick, not his son, “but my Benjy was determined to be a doctor there rather than allow me to assist him to establish a private practice. I told him, Dr. Turner, that to do acts of charity is required of a righteous man. But also a righteous man must earn a living. We are not, as you see, rich people, still I could manage to assist him in building a future. But Benjy would have none of it. He thinks you are going to rid the world of all sickness, Dr. Turner. He thinks it is possible for a man to sleep through having his neck and shoulder cut open.”

“He would have, Papa, if the canister hadn’t leaked.”

Nick nodded in affirmation. “That’s true, sir. What happened was a setback but not the end of the experiment. I firmly believe that painless surgery is now a reality.”

“In my smithy, Dr. Turner, I can make silver do remarkable things. I am not being immodest, only truthful. I can produce a goblet like that one over there”—the senior Klein nodded toward an elaborate cup in a case with a glass door—“with bunches of grapes dripping off the sides. Or a plate like that one that looks as if it were made of lace. But I cannot turn silver into gold. I cannot produce a miracle.”

“Neither can I, Mr. Klein. I can do only what the laws of nature allow. My hope is that I can in some small way help to discover some of those laws we do not yet fully understand.”

“Me too, Papa. That is what I want to do.”

Klein nodded, then stood up. “It is past time I should return to my shop. I take it what you have actually come here for, Dr. Turner, is to ask that my son attend this meeting with the Common Council.”

“Yes, sir. I will not permit him to accept any blame for what went wrong, only ask that he attest to the fact that the first surgery we performed using sulfuric ether was entirely successful and contribute evidence as to the conditions at Bellevue. Also, I came because I wanted to apologize to Ben and to you. Any mistakes and their consequences are my fault.”

Ben started to speak, but his father held up a restraining hand. “Your apology is accepted, Dr. Turner. I have no doubt that you are a fine doctor and a good man. My son is not a fool and I trust his assessment of your character. And of the lack of character of this man Tobias Grant. I am therefore sorry that I cannot permit Benjamin to do as you ask. He will not be present at the meeting with the council.”

“Papa! I must.”

“Enough, Benjy. I have made up my mind. And you are my son, living in my house. This time you must do as I say.”

The council chamber in New York’s City Hall was a large room resplendent with marble pillars, an elaborate ceiling, and an intricately carved balcony where overflow crowds could be accommodated. On this Monday evening the balcony was empty and so were most of the seats in the chamber. Neither were all the chairs taken at the long table on the raised platform at the front of the room. Nine aldermen had bestirred themselves to attend the special session. Nick noted that Sam Devrey was not among them. As to whether any of the others had been present in the director’s cottage when he operated on Patrick Shaughnessey, he’d paid too little attention on that occasion to know. Shaughnessey, however, was here; Nick had arranged for one of the porters to bring him. They could all see for themselves that the man was alive and well, and no longer had a
grotesque lump on his shoulder. Frankly Clement and his wife were here, as was Jeremiah Potter, and sitting between the Clements and Potter was Tobias Grant. Nick counted on Grant not making any public fuss about the presence of Shaughnessey, because if he did, it would simply draw attention to how easily a man serving a prison sentence at the almshouse could walk out the door if someone took a mind that he should.

It was up to the alderman in the chairman’s seat to bang his gavel and call the meeting to order. So far he had not done so. One of his colleagues was reading a newspaper. Two others were deeply engaged in a whispered conversation. The rest just looked bored. Nick turned and craned his neck to see what was happening behind him. Dear Manon. She was sitting in the back under a gaslight so that she could see to work on the embroidery she’d brought with her. She looked eminently respectable and wholesome in this gathering of thieves. He’d told her not to come but she’d insisted. “I cannot allow you to go alone into the lion’s den, Nicholas. Besides, I have valuable evidence to offer. Presuming anyone cares to hear it.” He had protested that if Grant carried the day she would be ever after banned from nursing at Bellevue. “Oh, that doesn’t matter so much anymore,” she’d replied. “I am determined to have my dispensary, and when I do, nothing Tobias Grant thinks will matter to me one whit.” She saw Nick looking at her and smiled and nodded, then returned her attention to her needlework.

Nick swiveled to inspect the other side of the auditorium. Another woman stood way in the back, though he couldn’t imagine…Dear God, it was Carolina.

But just then the chairman of the aldermen banged his gavel three times in rapid succession. “Hear ye, hear ye, this special and extraordinary meeting of the honorable Common Council of the City of New York is hereby called to order. Let anyone who has business with this body approach and state his case.”

Nick felt a tap on his shoulder and heard a man’s voice. “Stand up and tell them why you’re here. Hurry. Otherwise they’ll gavel the meeting closed and be rid of you that way.”

The chairman peered into the gloom, then raised his gavel preparing to do exactly as the stranger said. Nick jumped to his feet. “I have business with you, gentlemen.”

“And you are?”

“Dr. Nicholas Turner.”

“You’re not from here, are you, Dr. Turner?” The alderman who’d been reading the newspaper spoke. “From Rhode Island, I believe. Not a New Yorker.”

“I was born and raised in Providence, yes. But I’ve been here since 1834.”

“Three years isn’t very long.”

“I believe Dr. Turner has earlier and deeper roots in this city,” one of the other aldermen said. “Is that not so, sir?”

So he had at least one friend at court, perhaps two. He was intensely conscious of the man sitting behind him and of Carolina in the shadows at the rear. “It is indeed so. My family came to New York when it was New Amsterdam.”

“We don’t put one class ahead of another here, Dr. Turner.” The chairman spoke. “Don’t matter if you’re one of the old families as call themselves Knickerbockers. This here’s a republic. Every man is equal.”

Nick felt a tug on his sleeve. “Tell them about Christopher and Andrew.”

“The Turners have never been wealthy, gentlemen, and while I believe the Knickerbockers claim Dutch descent, we Turners do not. Lucas Turner was a barber surgeon, an Englishman, though he arrived by way of Rotterdam. His grandson Christopher Turner was a celebrated surgeon as well and in charge of the Almshouse Hospital under the British. My grandfather was Andrew Turner, a hero of the Revolution, a remarkable surgeon, also head of the Almshouse Hospital in his day and a member of this council.”

“Very well, Dr. Turner. We take your point.” The chairman was leaning on his elbow, looking a bit bored. “You’ve established your bona fides, as they say. Now state your business.”

Nicholas took a deep breath. “A great injustice has been done in the
name of this honorable council, gentlemen. It is being repeated every night and every day.”

“You mean because you got the sack, do you?” The alderman who’d first brought up Providence.

“No, sir. Not that. At least not only that.” If he was going to produce the letter, this was the time.
I will file papers seeking a divorce from Carolina and name you as corespondent. The man with whom my wife has committed adultery.
Nick gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “I have been aware of conditions at the almshouse since I arrived in 1834, long before I was dismissed from my post.”

“And you’ve waited three years to tell us anything about them? That’s hard to believe, Dr. Turner.”

“It is nonetheless the truth. It has been my hope that by remaining in my post I might mitigate—”

There was flurry of activity behind him: Sweet Jesus Christ, Monty Chance was walking down the aisle.

“I can tell the council why things are as they are at Bellevue,” Chance said, pointing an accusatory finger at Nick. “Dr. Turner has mad notions about what’s important. Always on about us washing our hands when we’ve barely enough time to treat the sick. And upstairs in his private apartment he—”

A loud ahem cut him off. Grant was on his feet. Of course. The old bastard didn’t want any mention of the laboratory or the dissections. Flagrant breaches of the law at Bellevue Hospital would ultimately be his responsibility. “Thank you, Dr. Chance. I’m sure the council take your meaning.”

Monty Chance made his way to sit beside Grant and Potter and Clement. Nick started to speak, but the chairman held up a forestalling hand. “You were saying, Dr. Turner.”

“That the situation at the entire almshouse is a disgrace. The taxpayers’ money is being wasted while—”

“Dr. Turner,”—the alderman who was clearly gunning for him—“is that true? You have folks wasting their time on hand-washing nonsense
when you’re supposed to be curing folks as is sick so they can go back to working for their keep?”

“Indeed I do. Because of germs. They can’t be seen by the naked eye, but I believe them to be the cause of much illness.”