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two months until September stretched endless and empty before her.

Chapter 5
    S ally tossed restlessly all night after she left the hospital, angry at the memory of the cool society beauty who had so casually used and discarded her brother. Even during her lessons with the Launceston children the next morning, her mind continued to churn.
    As she left for her daily trip to the hospital, she realized she had been jolted out of her fatalism. For the last fortnight she had passively accepted the doctors’ verdict on David’s fate. Now her anger had given her a resolve not to give in so tamely. David was in no condition to fight for his life, but she was. If there was anything or anyone who might offer a chance of recovery, she would pursue it.
    Before going to her brother’s room, Sally sought out her brother’s physician, Dr. Ramsey, determined to question every possibility. Dr. Ramsey was a solid man with an air of permanent fatigue. Unlike many of his colleagues, he was willing to admit the limits of his knowledge.
    He blinked warily behind his spectacles when Sally caught him between patients, knowing from experience how persistent she could be. “Yes, Miss Lancaster?” he said with a rising inflection that implied he had very little time to talk.
    â€œDr. Ramsey, isn’t there anything more that can be done for my brother? He’s fading away in front of my eyes. Surely there must be something you can do.”
    The physician removed his spectacles and polished them. “Major Lancaster’s case puzzles me. He’s holding on to life with remarkable tenacity, but there is so little that can be done in cases of paralysis.” He set his spectacles firmly on his nose. “Besides the paralysis, I suspect that he has sustained internal injuries which are beyond our present power to heal. All we can do is make his last days as comfortable as possible.”
    Sally caught his wandering eye before he could escape. “I don’t wish to criticize your care. I know you’ve done everything you can, and I am profoundly grateful. Still—is there any physician or surgeon in London who might have a different approach, perhaps something that is radical by the usual standards? There is little to lose.”
    Dr. Ramsey nodded. After a long moment of thought, he said, “There’s a mad Scot called Ian Kinlock at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. I hear that he just returned from Belgium and several weeks doing surgery after Waterloo. Very eccentric, but he’s done some remarkable things.”
    The physician glanced at Sally’s modest dress. “He’s qualified as both physician and surgeon, and his fees for private consultations are very high. Apparently he charges people with money a great deal, then gives free care to gutter scum. Quite, quite mad. You’ll never persuade him to call on a patient at the York Hospital.”
    â€œI have just come into some money unexpectedly. We shall see.”
    She turned and strode down the hall. Behind her, she heard Dr. Ramsey mutter, “God help Ian Kinlock.” She didn’t dignify the comment by looking back.
    Her mind was spinning as she walked to David’s room. Consulting a new surgeon was grasping at the thinnest of straws, but as long as there was any hope at all, it was worth trying. Besides, she liked the idea of spending Lady Jocelyn’s money in a way that might benefit David. St. Bartholomew’s Hospital was one of the oldest and busiest in London, and she recalled vaguely that it was a center for surgery. It was near St. Paul’s Cathedral, and she would need to hire a hackney coach. . . .
    Distracted, she almost collided with a hefty young man in a powdered wig and blue livery outside David’s door. After a moment she recognized him as the footman who had been present at the mockery of a wedding the day before. Morgan, his name was.
    â€œCome to see if your mistress’s husband