The Heiress Effect by Courtney Milan Page A

a hand, tried to arrange
it all into some semblance of order, and gave up when her fingers
encountered chaos.
    The housekeeper didn’t move from her spot.
“The exercise has brought color to your complexion.”
    Ha. Sweat beaded on Jane’s forehead. She
could feel it trickling down one cheek, tickling her skin as it
slid. She didn’t need a mirror to tell that her face was bright as
brick.
    “I’ll just go see my sister, then?” She threw
this out airily.
    Mrs. Blickstall was just turning onto the
street behind her, puffing heavily.
    “Yes,” Jane said. “I’ll go talk with Emily.
Just like I always do when I return home.” Coming at a dead run,
just like I always do. She clamped her lips together. Shut
up, Jane.
    The housekeeper gave her a pitying look—one
that said, Really, Miss Fairfield, don’t bother with the lies.
We all know how this is supposed to work.
    Jane sighed and slipped her a coin. It
disappeared almost instantly.
    “She’s in the east parlor, with Alice and
Doctor Fallon. I’ll see you’re not disturbed.”
    Jane nodded and started grimly down the
hall.
    She found her sister sitting at a table. One
sleeve was rolled up; the arm that was bared had been strapped to
the table, exposing the pale skin of her scars.
    Strips of white cotton were wound about her
wrist and forearm, holding metal plates in place. These were
attached to wires, which in turn were attached to some kind of
contraption. Jane had no idea what it was. Some evil-looking,
foul-smelling collection of jars. Galvanics. Electrical
batteries.
    But at least Emily looked to be bored rather
than in pain. She brightened at the sight of her sister.
    “Jane!”
    “What is this all?” Jane asked.
    “We’re waiting for a seizure to come on.”
Emily rolled her eyes.
    “Miss Emily,” said the man standing by the
curtains, “I believe I have told you before. You must not move.
When you wiggle your leg like that, you jar the contacts. They
might come loose, and if they’re slack at the wrong time, I can’t
complete the circuit.”
    Emily gave Jane a speaking look of waggling
brows and compressed lips. “Yes,” Emily said, “Meet Doctor Fallon.
He’s been hard at work this morning.”
    Doctor Fallon was a trim man of maybe forty.
His chestnut-brown hair had not yet started to gray. He had a
curling mustache and brown, bristling sideburns.
    Jane strode forward. “I’m Miss Jane
Fairfield, Emily’s sister. Would you mind explaining your
methods?”
    He frowned in puzzlement. “But I’ve already
told Mr. Fairfield everything.”
    “I take an interest in medical advances.”
Jane settled into a chair next to her sister. “I would like to hear
about yours.” She made a face at him that she hoped passed for a
smile.
    He seemed taken aback for a moment and then
responded with a rusty smile of his own. “I am a galvanist,” he
said earnestly. “Which is to say, I practice medicine of the
galvanic sort. To wit, I have discovered that passing current
through the human body can produce a number of effects, such as
numbness, pain, convulsions…”
    He glanced down at Emily, whose lips had
pressed together into a thin line.
    “Ah,” he said, “and, ah, I have found a few
useful effects as well. For instance, the application of galvanics
can cure malingering.”
    Oh, Jane was sure it did. Delivering an
electric shock to a patient who was pretending to be sick would no
doubt be very effective. It would probably “cure” lesser illnesses,
too.
    “That’s lovely,” Jane said. “Good work,
having found that out.”
    He smiled uncertainly.
    “I’m positive,” Jane continued, “that there’s
absolutely nothing at odds with your oath as a physician in
delivering—what was it you called it?—galvanic current to your
patients.”
    He flushed. “Ah, well, you see. In my case, doctor is something of a courtesy title.” He brightened. “A
rank bestowed upon me by dozens of grateful patients.”
    So he was a complete quack.