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much.”
    â€œAnd this?” He bent it slightly sideways.
    I grimaced.
    Gingerly, he put the boot back on my foot and sat on the seat across from me. “It is sprained, Miss Sharp, likely a torn ligament. It will probably swell and hurt very badly for the next day. But keep it elevated, wrapped in cold compresses, and it should feel better by Monday.”
    â€œHave you worked at the hospital long?” I desired to change the subject away from my injury.
    â€œOnly a few months—I passed my examinations in the spring.”
    â€œSo you are finished with school?”
    â€œWith medical school, but I am not yet finished with seminary.”
    â€œIs not medical school difficult enough?”
    He smiled. When he looked at me, I found his gaze to be irritatingly impenetrable—his eyes lovely pools that I could not quite see the bottom of.
    â€œYou are quite right Miss Sharp. But I feel that the humanist responsibilities demanded of me by seminary make me more effective as a physician in this district.”
    He peered out the window as he spoke. “Reverend John Perkins, whom I studied under at Oxford, is the first to accumulate data from censuses in the area. The numbers of those in the East End who die from disease, alcoholism, starvation even, are startling. Most infants born in the district never live beyond their first year. I decided when I began my medical studies that I might be more effective as a Whitechapel physician if I cultivated a more holistic view of my patient. Seminary seemed logical.”
    I felt myself smile a bit at Simon’s formality and zeal. “You believe that most physicians do not care about the patient in the holistic manner that you describe?”
    â€œWith the exception of Dr. Bartlett, I truly believe that most physicians at Whitechapel Hospital view the institution as a mere laboratory.”
    A shadow crossed his face, and I guessed that he was thinking of William.
    â€œAnd you, why are you here?” he asked me, pointedly.
    I sighed. The truth seemed best.
    â€œI do nothing that matters in my life with Grandmother. I’ve lived with her for two months, and she is now requiring that I work at the hospital—punishment for my unrest. But it’s not punishment at all. I’ve had very little exercise—mental or otherwise—since arriving at Kensington Court.”
    Simon smiled in cool amusement. “Did you know that I’m your neighbor?”
    â€œExcuse me?” Simon did not seem like a typical Kensington resident.
    â€œMy mother, Elinor St. John, lives a mere block from Lady Westfield. She’s a very good friend of your grandmother. In fact, we have known Lady Westfield since my childhood. You probably have not met my mother yet, as she is spending much of this year at our seaside residence.”
    I felt almost too astonished to speak. “I hope I did not offend … ”
    Simon waved his hand in gentle dismissal. “Not at all. You have no idea how alike we are in our sentiments.”
    The carriage stopped.
    â€œTruly, I … ”
    â€œI insist.” He lifted me into his arms.
    I felt more humiliated now than when William had found me in such a position. If I returned to Grandmother, wounded on my first day of work, she would feel more than mildly vindicated.
    Simon knocked, and the door swung open. I panicked when I saw that it was Ellen who had opened it.
    Her freckled face puckered and her eyes bulged before the shrieking began: “ Lady Westfield! Lady Westfield! Dr. St. John is here with th’ Miss Abbie! She’s ’urt, she is! Dreadful ’urt! ”
    She turned, running upstairs to fetch Grandmother.
    Simon cast a wry smile down upon me, and I felt, in that moment, an affinity with him. He seemed to know Ellen’s nature quite well. Unaffected by her hysterics, Simon stepped inside, still carrying me in his arms. Richard arrived in the front entrance hall to attend