The letter that was returned to Sir Ffoulkes shortly there after stated, "Sir Ffoulkes, I am familiar with such symptoms as the ones you describe and will be following this letter by a day. I am happy that my humble services can be of assistance in this matter. Your servant, Fran�ois Jacquot."
Sir Matthew Ffoulkes read the letter, gave a smile of relief, and went to tell his wife to expect company the next day.
Tony moaned softly and lay on the bed with his eyes shut because he was so light headed from his earlier attack. The loss of blood had been enough to do him in. No doubt Master Dewhurst would sleep until he became ill again. "R-ralph.." Tony murmured, his body becoming relaxed and his stomach stable for the time being..
Andrew once again stood in the doctor's office, watching over Tony. He was a small distance from his bedside, partly to let Ralph hang close to Tony's side, and partly because the stench of vomit and medicine was starting to get to him.
It seemed that Tony was now mercifully asleep, so Andrew's naturally high sense of duty subsided enough for him to take his leave. Despite his distress over his schoolmate's condition, walking outside made Andrew happy again. He always loved the outdoors, the pristine elegance of nature. Perhaps, he wondered, that is why he was willing to go to such great lengths to help a boy whom he really didn't know all that well. Pain and suffering seemed unnatural to Andrew.
Rather than ride his horse home, he walked alongside it, holding the reigns firmly but gently. He was anxious to talk to his father about the possibility of calling in a specialist, and also to make sure the incident had not distressed his fair sister. Even still, he wanted to walk. He could use the time to think.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dr. Fran�ois Jacquot stepped of the boat at the port in Dover and took a deep breath of the cold, muggy English air. How he hated English weather! It was far from condusive to good health and wondered how the English could live in it when beautiful France was so near. However, Sir Matthew Ffoulkes was not a man to turn down.
In Dover Dr. Jacquot hired a carriage to carrying him to the Ffoulkes home. He shivered slightly from the cold the entire trip and wondered how long he would be forced to stay in this abysmal country. Finally arriving at his destination, Jacquot introduced himself at the door and resquested to see the Master of the house.
The servant at the door led him into Sir Ffoulkes' study, where Sir Ffoulkes greeted him happily. "Wonderful to see you, Doctor. How was your trip? Please, have a seat by the fire." He then rang for some tea and sat down. "I am glad you could come so quickly, Doctor. Antony Dewhurst is not doing well, I'm afraid, and the doctor here doesn't seem to be able to do a thing for the young man." The tea arrived, and he poured some for himself and his guest. "I shall take you to him shortly, if you would like. As much as I like England, I am sure we can both agree that it is not the best place for the ill."
Andrew had rushed to his window a soon as he heard the sounds of a carriage rolling up to his house. He watched attentively as a rather plump but distinguished man, huddled in a heavy coat, stepped out and approached the door. It had been a while since Andrew had seen Dr. Jacquot, but he still recognized him.
Knowing that it would be impolite and unmannerly to rush to the door, Andrew contained himself until his father had a chance to properly greet his old associate. The good doctor seemed more stout than he remembered, but perhaps it was that extra heavy overcoat which only made it seem so, Andrew mused as a light mist began to fall. The weather in England was only getting worse, just like Tony. He continued to watch silently as the mist outside his window began to fall as a light rain. Andrew felt he had waited long enough.
With deliberate speed, he went downstairs to his father's study and stopped in the doorway. "Pardon me, Father, Dr. Jacquot, and please forgive my forwardness, but I was anxious to know if the good doctor was ready to visit poor Tony Dewhurst yet?"
Jacquot chuckled heartily, "It is good to see you too, Master Andrew. I was just preparing to discuss that matter with your father." He turned to Sir Ffoulkes, "I am familiar with the symptoms that you wrote to me about, but I must see the boy myself. Who is attending to the boy now?" Probably some hack, country doctor who wouldn't know a wart from a pimple, the doctor thought.
Sir Ffoulkes also smiled at his son, then replied "It is the doctor at the school he and Andrew attend. He is aware that I asked you to come here. Would you like to go now?"
The doctor sighed, "Now is as good a time as later. The sooner I see him, sooner he may be to getting better." Back into the beastly weather again, he thought to himself, but was reassured by the idea that it was for a good cause. The school doctor was probably shoveling some god-awful concoction down the boy's throat at that very minute, regardless if it helped or not. "Let's see this young man."
Sir Ffoulkes rang for a servant, and asked him to have the carriage readied and brought to the front of the house. He pulled on his coat and hat as he asked "Andrew, will you be coming with us?"
As if anyone had to ask! Andrew, of course, wanted to go with his father and Dr. Jacquot to see Tony. He knew that there must be something that the school doctor had missed; there must be something this specialist could do for Tony.
So, off into the driving rain they went, with Dr. Jacquot huddling his coat tightly about himself and muttering French curses at the weather under his breath. On the way, the doctor interviewed Andrew about Tony's symptoms: what warning signs there were before a violent bout, how often he was sick at school, how often he wasn't at school at all, and so forth. All the while, Dr. Jacquot would nod and make varying "Hmm..." sounds, which bothered Andrew to no end. Still, he felt that the doctor knew his business very well, otherwise his dear father would not have chosen him to come all this way.
Finally they arrived at the local doctor's office, and hurried in out of the pouring rain.
They stepped into the building, where a man took their wet coats, and Sir Ffoulkes led them into the room where Tony was being kept. "Doctor," he said, "This is my good friend, Docteur Jacquot. He is the specialist from France I spoke of."
The doctor eyed the Frenchman for a few moments, he didn't trust foreigners. "Master Dewhurst is over here," he finally said, leading the group to Tony's bed where Ralph sat loyally by Tony's side. The boy was sleep, but even so there could be no mistaking his illness.
Jacquot stood over Tony for a few minutes, then felt the boy's forehead and proceeded to examine the rest of him. After several minutes of this he straightened up, looking around the little room and spotting the medication. It was as he had anticipated. "It is a good thing I came when I did," he finally said. "The boy has a cancerous growth that must be removed if he is to survive. I can perform the operation, but I will need some assistance and a few items that I have not brought with me. But I must emphasize that the boy should recuperate somewhere far from this foul English climate if he is to fully recover."
While all this was going on, Tony slowly opened his eyes and he felt weak and disoriented. "W-what's going on?" He asked softly, his eyes grey and skin pale. Tony had no energy left inside of him what so ever. "Where am I? Ralph?" Tony was beginning to panic. Under the circumstances though, who could blame him?
The doctor gave a little chuckle, "Tis all right, petit monsieur! I am a doctor and I'm here to make you feel better." "It's alright, Master Dewhurst," Ralph replied, rest a hand on the boy. "The doctor Sir Ffoulkes promised has come to make you better." The doctor made a noise that sound like he didn't agree. Tony attempted a smile for Ralph, but it wasn't a very strong one, to say the least. "I'm scared, Ralph. What are they going to do to me?"
"We are going to remove what is ailing you, mon petit monsieur," Jacout replied. "Don't worry, I am very good at what I do." Tony was a bit nervous but managed to nod bravely in the doctor's direction. "What exactly are you going to do to me?" Tears of fright swelled up in his eyes as he desperately tried to keep them back.
"You have a cancer of the liver, mon petit, I will be going in there to cut it out," the doctor said cheerfully.
Tony froze in fear on the bed. "OPERATE?!" Liver cancer� so that was why he had been vomiting so frequently. He gulped back his fear and gagged slightly. "Will it hurt?" He croaked out, trying to be brave, even though he was scared to death.
"You will be sleep the whole time, my dear boy! You will be sore afterward and a bit ill, but that will only be temporary," the doctor said with a smile.
"Young Dewhurst," Sir Ffoulkes assured him, resting a gentle hand on the weak young man's shoulder. "I promise you that if what Docteur Jacquot says that this is what you need, he is indeed telling you the truth. I have, on more than one occasion, trusted my life to his careful hands." He looked at the Docteur and asked him "Do you plan on doing the surgery here, or back in France?"
Jacquot paused a moment contemplating. "I fear that the journey to France may weaken the poor boy, in his current condition," he finally said. "It should be performed in this country as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the more dangerous it is for the boy."
Sir Ffoulkes nodded. "When will you be ready, Docteur?" he asked. "And when, if ever, will the young Dewhurst be ready?" he wondered to himself, not aloud. He knew the young man was, understandably, terrified. It gave Andrew great pain to see the anguish and fear in Tony's eyes. Though he wasn't fully a man nor as wise as his father yet, Andrew had learned long ago that, despite his best intentions, life sometimes insisted on being hard.
He laid a comforting hand on Tony's shoulder and said, "Fear not, dear friend. Dr. Jacquot is the best there is when it comes to this field of cancers. He'll have you right as rain in no time. Besides, which is better? To sit and wait for world to dictate it's will upon you, or to take life by the tail and determine your own destiny? `That is the question. Whether `tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them!'"
Andrew smiled broadly as he finished. Certainly, he himself was not fully convinced that Tony would survive such a mysterious and deadly affliction as cancer, but his own words bolstered his spirits, as he hoped they would bolster Tony's. Besides, it was the truth. Better to be master of your own destiny and die, than live as a slave to the whims of chance.
Tony felt his hand slack against Andrew's. He didn't want to be put to sleep, didn't want to be cut open. The very thought of it made him sick on the inside but he didn't dare show his fear. Though his eyes went wide when he saw Andrew next to him. "When?" Was all he could say in a slightly croaked voice.
"As soon as I can obtain the a few necessary items, adequate assistants, and proper facilities," Jacquot said in all seriousness and gave the school doctor a withering look.
"Let me know if there is anything I can get for you," Sir Ffoulkes answered, watching the reaction of both his son and Tony to all of this. "Yes," echoed Andrew. "I know I have little knowledge of medicine, doctor, but I am eager to do anything to help: run errands, bring you supplies, even just bring you a cup of tea! I cannot stand sitting around and doing nothing when there is any assistance that I can offer!"
Then, turning to Tony, Andrew continued, "And let me know if you need anything, too, my friend. Even if all I can do is share a spot of tea with you!" He smiled down comfortingly, but could see that Tony could see that he wasn't as sure as his words.
In a more somber tone, Andrew added, "None of us know the future, Tony. We can only do what we can and pray that God will carry us the rest of the way."
"I will need a location that is clean and has a lot of space to move, a knowledgeable nurse or follow surgeon to assist me, and these supplies," at this Jacquot took a piece of paper and quill off of the school doctor's desk, scribbled down a few things and handed it over to Lord Ffoulkes. "When you have those, I shall start immediately."
Sir Ffoulkes quickly read the list. "These supplies should be reasonably easy to obtain, as will the location. The assistant, however, may be more difficult." He continued to ignore the school doctor, who he was quite sure would not be high on Jacquot's list of desirable assistants.
Dr. Rupert tapped his fingers irratibly, he did not like this french doctor and ever since that Jacquot came around everyone was treating him like an idiot. "Cutting the boy open, indeed!"
Sir Ffoulkes gathered up his coat. "I shall get started on this list, Docteur Jacquot. Andrew, will you be coming with me, or staying here?" he asked.
"I'm with you, father," said Andrew. Turning to Tony once more, he added, "Fear not, friend. The more of us there are helping, the sooner Dr. Jacquot can cut free this cancer inside you and the sooner you will be on the mend! My father and I will fly as quick as we can, and our many hands will make lighter and faster work.
"Hang in there, Tony," he said, squeezing the weak boy's shoulder one last time. Tony put a weak hand on Andrew's and squeezed back as best he could. With one final nod of each of their heads, Andrew let go, threw on his coat, and followed his father to their cab.
Sir Ffoulkes was not idle during the ride in the cab. He carefully wrote some things on a piece of paper and handed them to Andrew with several pound notes. "The things on this list should be available from the apothecary," he told his son. "While you do that, I shall get the other things on Docteur Jacquot's list." He trusted his son to get the items swiftly and at a decent price.
Andrew clutched the list his father had given him close to his chest as he hopped out of the cab into the rain. He watched briefly as the carriage sped away, off to gather the rest of Jacquot's needs.
The apothecary's shop was not crowded, in fact, Andrew was the only patron therein, but he still had a wait ahead of him. The local chemist had all of the supplies the doctor asked for, but some of the medicines would need to be mixed, and that would take time. Andrew paid the old man up-front, perhaps a little more than his father might be pleased with, and promised to return at the time the apothecary estimated his supplies would be ready.
In the mean time, Andrew stepped out once more into the rain; it had let up a little since he and his father parted. He stood there for a few moments, letting the wind catch the tails of his open coat. He hated doing nothing. Not only was it against the adventurous side of his nature, but it didn't help anybody either. In this case, though, he assured himself, waiting and doing nothing were not the same thing. Patience is a virtue. The apothecary would have all Tony needed soon enough.
Pulling his coat around him, Andrew went down to the local tavern house to nurse a pint of stout and stay warm. He'd return to the apothecary's shop at the appointed time and then meet his father there later.
Andrew met his father back at the apothecary's shop at the appointed time, whence they promptly proceeded on to the hospital where the doctor had moved Tony. There, they gave all the supplies they had gathered to Dr. Jacquot and briefly met the nurse whom he had selected to assist in the operation.
Despite Andrew's protestations, he returned home without his father. Lord Ffoulkes needed to go over the final preparations with the doctors and the Dewhurst family. Besides, his father reminded him, there was still much to do before leaving for France. And, what's more, it was wrong for them both to leave his mother and sister unattended for too long. They needed looking after, and it was Andrew's job as both a gentleman and as a loyal son and brother.
So, Andrew returned home to see to his family and continue packing for the trip, a task with which he was sorely behind after focusing his energies on helping Tony. He didn't regret it one iota, mind you, but he knew he was in for a lot of rushed work now.
Ffoulkes was as good as his word, within a couple of days he had acquired all of the supplies that Jacquot had requested and arranged the transport of Tony to a hospital where the surgery was to take place. Jacqout was not idle either, he had managed to contact a few colleagues of his and found ample assistants for the procedure. All this being done Jacqout conducted the lengthy operation and soon sent correspondence to Sir Matthew. In the nature of:
�My dear Sir Matthew Ffoulkes I am pleased to inform you that the operation on young master Antony Dewhurst is successfully completed and the young man recuperating as I write this. Let me know if there is any more assisctance that I can provide to your most dear and gracious family. Humbly your servant, F. Jacquot�
