The Doctor’s Story
Fiction: a historical narrative (extract)
So we are here to talk about James Hood. All those words, all these pages, all for your entertainment, and perhaps edification, on the subject of Lieutenant James Hood. That is a pity. I mean to say, that is a missed opportunity. I am Doctor Chadwick, Cecil to you, and I have much to tell. Yes, I too was at Waterloo and, indeed, rode across the whole damned peninsular chasing Boney’s army. So many stories to tell, especially if you appreciate tales from a medical perspective. It is a shame that we only have time for this one man and tethered to this book, at that. Yet I will do whatever I can to unravel the enigma that is Hood. At least, that is, from the point of view of his doctor during the period I was acquainted with him, and so setting all matters of confidentially aside for this purpose.
We should begin from the time that I first became acquainted with his most charming wife, Mariana, when she called at my home and practice in Portland Place in the parish of Saint Marylebone. She left her card with Edwards. It was a simple, standard affair of ivory colour with silver Italian lettering denoting her name and address in smart and fashionable Hanover Square. Clearly, so as not to suggest any impropriety, I deduced she could only be calling for a professional purpose, although the details of which were still…
