Before that was possible, if the affected area was a limb, it was easiest to just remove it. However, please note the “no anesthetic” part. Yep, speed was of the essence, and speed of amputation was a key surgical skill. How fast could you saw off a leg and cauterize the stump? I believe the record was a couple of minutes. Then you had the risk of shock and, later, infection, which meant you didn’t take off a limb unless it was the only way to save someone’s life. But, often, it was indeed the only way, as with this kitten.
While Gray doesn’t need to perform an Olympic-speed amputation, he does have to work fast, because the kitten won’t stay asleep. Again, we lack the necessary ingredient, in this case ether.
We’d asked around. That might seem odd—who the hell brings ether to a wedding party? The answer is “more people than you might think.”
Throughout history, every time humans discover a new substance, I’m pretty sure their first question is whether they can eat it. Their second? Whether they can get high from it. In the case of ether, the answer to the second is yes. It’s even, apparently, becoming available in some pubs, as an alternative to alcohol for those taking “the pledge.”
No one brought party ether to the wedding, sadly… and yes, I can’t believe I’m adding “sadly” to that statement. For the kitten’s sake, though, it would have been helpful. As it is, the painkillers help keep the kitten from completely freaking out, though the poor thing does wake up to a bit of a shock. Fiona and I hold her down while staying out of Gray’s way, and in a rather astonishingly short amount of time, the leg is off and the kitten is sutured.
EIGHT
We missed lunch with our kitten surgery. Isla assures us we dodged a bullet there—apparently Edith decided it was appropriate to start critiquing Fiona’s menu choices, under the guise of “advising” a new bride and future lady of the house… even though the target of her advice wasn’t even present. Violet and Cranston jointly put her in her place, and I kinda regret missing that part. But I am glad that Fiona also missed it, and I enjoy a quiet lunch with her and Gray on the back patio, as she peppers him with questions about his work.
The afternoon is supposed to be devoted to wedding preparation, but then someone brings a message that both the bride’s and groom’s parents are delayed. They’re traveling together, and their coach broke a wheel along the road, so they decided to call it a day and spend the night at an inn. Fiona frets about that, and McCreadie and Sinclair both reassure her as Cranston takes action, sending his coach to be doubly sure they can depart in the morning.
The afternoon passes both quickly and slowly, if that’s possible. Slowly in the sense that we don’t have much to do, but quickly in the sense that we aren’t trapped in the house playing charades and waiting for the bride’s and groom’s parents to arrive.
Edith doesn’t join us for dinner, and not even her husband seems disappointed by that. Afterward, we do that thing I’ve only ever seen in novels, where the men retire to one room and the “ladies” to another. In books, we’dbe sipping port, which always sounded very posh until I actually tried it. I can barely hide my relief when Fiona produces a bottle of whisky instead.
In fact, she produces three bottles.
“I propose a sampling party,” she says. “There must be some advantage to marrying a man who has chosen whisky as his trade, and I declare this will be it. No port for us.” She pauses. “Unless anyone wants that, of course.”
We all demur, and she takes glasses from the side table and explains what we’re about to taste. I’ve learned a bit about the history of scotch. While there has always been whisky in Scotland, we’re in the era where it begins to be refined and industrialized, slowly spreading beyond Britain’s borders. In other words, Cranston has gotten into it at exactly the right time.
“I take it Mr. Cranston is doing well with his business,” I say, waving at the house.
“Well enough to be able to fashion himself a country gentleman,” Violet says. “Really, I can imagine a hundred better ways to spend his money, but apparently, a hunting lodge is his choice.” She glances at Fiona. “And that was sharp-tongued of me. I apologize.”
Fiona only laughs. “As his sister, you are permitted to be as sharp-tongued about Archie as you like. I certainly needle Hugh enough. As for the house…” She glances around. “I rather like it. It will be drafty in the fall, but I am not certain I would join him for hunting season even if it were warm.” She glances at a mounted deer head and shudders. “I will enjoy it in the spring and summer, though. Once we have resolved the matter of those ridiculous traps, of course.”
“Resolved the matter of the gamekeeper, you mean,” Violet says, sipping her whisky.
“Hmm. He is unpleasant, is he not? I have a list then.” Fiona clicks her glass down. “Get rid of the traps. Get rid of the gamekeeper. Convince Archie that a wildlife preserve would be far better than a hunting one.”
Violet smiles. “I suspect you will win easily on the first two, but I wish you luck with the last. Now, how about that housekeeper?”
“Mrs. Hall? I do not mind her at all. Mother always says that if a housekeeper keeps the home and staff in line, then the lady of the house does not need to. Mrs. Hall is polite and respectful, which is more than I expected, given my youth. Also given the fact that Archie fired her husband.”
“Mr. Hall was the former gamekeeper,” I say. “I heard that. I met their children heading home. Well, not exactly children. Teen—Young adults.”
“Oh! I have not met them. I must do that. I cannot believe Archie fired their father while keeping their mother in charge of his house. I despair of men sometimes. Even a decent person would be tempted to take small revenges. Extra starch in the sheets. Extra salt in the stew. Perhaps a dead rat, decaying under the floorboards beside his bed.”
Isla laughs. “I was with you until that last one, Fiona.”
I say, “The trick would be to leave the rat in exactly the right spot, so the person you are angry with only catches a whiff of it now and then.”
“You are all wicked,” Violet announces. “I would do none of those things.” She sips her whisky. “I would water down his whisky and then serve it to guests as if that is what he is bottling.”
After we all laugh, Isla says, more seriously, “As for Mrs. Hall, the sad truth is that if her husband has been let go then she cannot afford to do anything that might earn her the same fate.”
Fiona sobers. “Indeed. I had not thought of that. I hope that is not what Archie is thinking—that he does not need to worry about consequences because she cannot afford to deliver any.”
“He is not,” Violet says firmly. “My brother is not the sort to be cruel. He is also not the sort to consider such things, I fear. He decided having a European gamekeeper is fashionable and did not work through the ramifications.”
“Then that will be my job,” Fiona says. “I will see that Mr. Hall is hired back once this Müller fellow is let go. I believe Archie fails to understand the depth of the locals’ rancor and the reasons for it.”
“The clearances,” Isla murmurs.
