Wynn settled back against the seat next to Svetlana, an amused smile twisting his lips. “You heard the lady. Glasgow Hospital.”
* * *
“We have ten surgeons on staff and four operating theaters. All are located on this floor for the best advantage of natural light coming through the windows.” Dr. Neil, chief of administration at Glasgow Hospital, led the small tour group delegated for Wynn’s visit down a wide corridor lined with symmetrical doors on either side. Iodoform and its disinfecting properties clung to the air in a familiarity to all hospitals. It smelled almost like a bouquet of flowers compared to the warfare casualties of blood, putrid human flesh, and filth-soaked uniforms that had choked the Parisian hospitals months before. They paused before the last door. “This is our largest operating theater.”
Opening the door, Dr. Neil gestured for Wynn to step inside first, followed by the trailing staff and doctors. Wynn could barely contain his surprise. This was no field tent caked with mud, nor a converted hotel dining room with glass chandeliers dripping with crystals. It was a large room specifically designed for the fixing of broken bodies. Light poured in from the wide windows and glistened off the sterile white tiled floors. Tiered seating took up an entire wall in the traditional fashion of allowing medical school students to observe the remarkable feats happening in the center of the room. Shiny instruments and equipment surrounded the operating table like servants before a throne, awaiting their glorious moment to serve.
Wynn ran his hand over the table, feeling the invisible current running through it, offering a chance to live for whoever laid upon its sacred surface. So, too, did the surgeon’s tools as they had been lined up perfectly as soldiers in their trays. Deadly looking with their hooks and blades, but nothing could be further from their true purpose.
“I see you’ve incorporated the vacuum-assisted closure.” Wynn pointed to the apparatus designed for continuous wound irrigation. The procedure hurt like the dickens, but it was an effective way to prevent infection from setting into open wounds.
One of the other physicians stepped forward. “We have, Your Grace.”
Wynn tried not to flinch at the imposter title aimed at him. The usage was meant with the best of intentions, but it didn’t belong to him. Not really.
“Dr. MacCallan, or Wynn, please.”
The man paled, which was impressive considering the already pasty pallor of most doctors. “Apologies, Dr. MacCallan. We pride ourselves on providing the newest technology and studies that may benefit our patients. The war cost us much, but advancements in lifesaving procedures have been made possible because of it.”
“Something we hope you can help us continue in the burgeoning field of cardiology,” Dr. Neil said. He enunciated each word with Oxford-based precision, as if to overcome his humble Dumfries origins. As if knowledge cared a sixpence about a person’s birthplace. “I’ve read over your transcript from the speech you gave to the medical board in Paris, along with Dr. Lehr’s notes on the matter. It’s a radical approach, but one we in this room are eager to deploy. Too many in our profession stick their heads in the sand or cry heresy when methods are challenged. We aren’t ostriches here at Glasgow Hospital.”
Wynn grinned. For all his nervousness about coming here, he’d never felt more at home. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.”
“Well, gentlemen. I believe we are all in agreement.” Dr. Neil glanced around at the other men as they all nodded. “We would like to offer you a position here at Glasgow Hospital, Dr. MacCallan. You would be placed on a trial basis for six weeks as is standard, observing our techniques and assisting the other surgeons. At the end of your trial period, we will convene again to decide if you are to be offered a full-time position as head of the new study for cardiology. Do you find these terms acceptable?”
Stifling a loud whoop, Wynn gave a more professional nod. “Yes. Thank you for the opportunity. I only hope I can be an asset to the work ethic and studious minds you’ve cultivated here.”
“I believe there’s only one outstanding concern we have. How will your duties as duke affect your duties as physician? A surgeon cannot be allowed to leave during an operation if there’s a ribbon-cutting ceremony.”
The other men followed Dr. Neil in a hearty laugh, but Wynn’s came out dry and brittle. Must he always chose one over the other? Duke or doctor. Was he selfish to believe there truly was a choice anymore? Day after day his new mantle grew in weight, a weight that had been borne so well on Hugh’s capable shoulders. For Wynn it was a shroud burying him alive.