Free A Madness So Discreet by Mindy McGinnis Page A

bed.
    â€œSit,” Thornhollow said. “Obviously, I won’t be coring your brain. Triangular cuts at your temple should be enough to convince that witless Heedson that you’ve been damaged. You do realize you’ll be scarred?”
    â€œYes,” Grace said as she settled into the chair.
    Thornhollow nodded. “Very good. As to the cutting itself, I’ll be dosing you with ether, so there will be no pain.”
    Grace’s hands grasped the seat of the chair. “No, Doctor.”
    â€œI’m sorry?”
    â€œI’ll take no ether, sir.”
    â€œGrace, you must understand—”
    â€œNo, you must understand. I’ll not be witless for a moment.”
    Thornhollow frowned, his brows drawing together. “Do you not trust me?”
    â€œI trust you with my life. Nothing more.”
    The blade hovered in the air, the slightest tremor betraying him. “I’ll need you to be utterly still through the pain. You’re no use to me if you twitch and I accidentally put your eye out.”
    Grace sat straight in the chair. “I’ve been still through worse.”
    Thornhollow nodded his assent and moved behind her. “All right then, look up at the ceiling, if you please.”
    The first cut brought a slice of heat near her eye; a second slice came close to her hairline, followed by pressure as the doctor pressed a clean rag against the wound. “Hold this,” he said, drawing her hand up to the wad of cloth. “Tightly as you can stand,” he added when she gripped it.
    Grace concentrated, all sense of self lost as he moved to her other side, and the pain, bearable in its familiarity, flashed again. Thornhollow pushed against the wound with one hand, the other reaching for a ball of lint on the table.
    â€œI’ll soak this in the oil,” he said, “and dress the wounds with gauze. I doubt Heedson would go so far as to flap back the skin to see if I truly punctured your skull, but I wouldn’t put it past my bad luck to have him decide to suddenly take interest in his patients when I need him at his most incompetent.”
    Grace nodded her understanding but said nothing. Black spots had started to float in her vision as a stream of warm blood trickled down both cheeks. “Is it . . .” Her voice floated off, lost in the darkness of the room beyond their lanterns.
    â€œIs it . . . ? Whoops-a-daisy,” Thornhollow said, righting Grace as she slumped in the chair. “Steady now, girl. Almost done.”
    With his hands flashing about the work and oil of roses following in the wake of blood, Grace felt the warmth returning to herhands, now resting in her lap. “I’d not thought there’d be so much blood,” she ventured to say when she trusted her voice again.
    â€œHead wounds do tend to bleed,” the doctor answered, his eyes not leaving her bandage as he tied it securely about her head. “There,” he finished, patting her crown like a child. “Nicely done. No bow, but I suppose you’ll not mind the fashion faux pas. Rest a moment, then we’ll go about our little ruse.”
    â€œDoctor,” Grace said as he leaned back against the table to rest. “I have a friend here, in the ward. A woman named Mrs. Clay. There’s nothing wrong—”
    Thornhollow waved her words away before she could finish. “It cannot be done.”
    â€œBut I owe her—”
    â€œThat may very well be, and I’m sure she’s a fine sort. One finds many unfortunate women tucked away in places such as this. But she’s of no use to me, and I’m hardly running the Underground Railroad for Insane Women.”
    â€œI don’t under—”
    Thornhollow raised his palm. “Getting you out of here will be difficult enough, and I stand to gain by your release. Attempting to rescue the ill-fated Mrs. Clay would be sheer madness, if you’ll allow me the use of the