Herr Gustorf,” Dr. Patterson said. “I promise we’ll take good care of you.”
“I shall be delighted,” he replied, casting a warm smile toward Martha and Jane. As I looked on, I could not figure out what to make of the mysterious foreigner. His behaviors were simultaneously suspicious and as uncomplicated as a child’s.
“You’ll be feeling the full effects of my medicinal liquor shortly,” Patterson said, nodding. “There’s a new treatment for fractured limbs I’ve been wanting to try out, and your case presents an excellent opportunity. Those inscrutable Turks have finally shared something of use with the rest of the world.”
The doctor called out for the hired girl, and when she materialized, he started giving her a complex series of instructions. He seemed to be directing her to soak cotton bandages in “Plaster of Paris,” though how this would facilitate the amputation of the Prussian’s shattered leg I could not fathom.
I turned back to Gustorf and saw his eyelids fluttering rapidly. “The day you arrived in Springfield,” I said, talking loudly in order to try to hold his attention. “Where did you dine that evening? Did you happen to venture to a place called Torrey’s?”
“There’s no need to keep distracting him, Speed,” the doctor said. “He’s almost out.” And, indeed, Gustorf’s eyes fluttered shut for a final time. “He won’t wake up until morning at this point, not with the whole bottle in his belly.”
Patterson called out to the hired girl again and interrogated her about the state of the cotton bandages. Then he turned back to me and said, “It’ll be two hours until she’s got them all ready for me. That’ll give Herr Gustorf time to find his deepest ebb of sleep. Your mention of Torrey’s has me thirsty. Join me there for some refreshment.”
I started to protest that I needed to return to my store, but Patterson grabbed my arm with a surprisingly powerful grip and leaned in close. His breath smelled like sour onions. “It wasn’t a question, Speed,” he hissed. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 16
Even though the sun hadn’t yet set, Torrey Temperance Hotel was oozing with ne’er-do-wells when I heaved open the door and let Patterson enter before me. Together we pushed through the crowd in the public room, a low rumble of discontent, toward the bar, where the moon-faced Torrey presided in a filthy apron and a permanent scowl. Torrey greeted Patterson with a familiar nod, while the innkeeper and I glared at each other warily. Early in my tenure at A. Y. Ellis & Co., he’d passed me a private note that proved uncollectable; since then I’d typically stayed clear of his establishment and he of mine.
An open barrel of busthead whiskey sat on the bar. A tray of chipped glasses rested to the side and a large wooden dipper hung from a nail in the wall. I thrust the dipper into the barrel and filled up a glass for the doctor and one for me.
“I’ve no cause to mince words, Speed,” Patterson said once we’d squeezed next to each other on one of the tightly packed benches that lined either side of the room. “Have you an interest in my daughter?”
My hesitation evidently told Patterson everything he needed to know. “I figured as much,” he said, nodding, before I could formulate a response. He swallowed half of his glass at a gulp.
“I’m not yet in a position to support a wife,” I said. “Someday I hope to buy my cousin Bell out of his share of the store, but I can’t yet, and if the Panic hits us with full force, as some are suggesting, it may be some time still. Until I can stand firmly on my own feet, I’m not in a position to support another, certainly not another as virtuous and worthy as your daughter.”
The doctor grunted and drained the rest of his glass. He gestured at me to do the same and said, “Your caution is a credit to your name, I’m sure. I don’t bear you ill.”
I expelled my breath and took a tentative sip. Torrey’s mash was actually better than I recalled. I finished the glass and did not object when Patterson offered to refill it.
“How old is your daughter, may I ask?” I said when Patterson had returned with fresh glasses and a pair of soggy bread rolls Torrey had fished out of the pockets of his apron.
“Seventeen.”
“There’s plenty of time then. She’ll have her pick of suitors before long.”
“I hope you prove right,” Patterson returned.