The Shifting Tide (13 page)

“Disease?” The bored husband directed the footman to Rathbone, who took a glass of champagne for Margaret, then one for himself. “What kind of disease?” he pursued.

“Pneumonia,” Margaret supplied, taking the opening Rathbone had given her. “And, of course, tuberculosis, rickets, occasionally cholera or typhoid, and a dreadful amount of bronchitis.”

Rathbone let out his breath. He did not realize he had been holding it in fear she would mention syphilis.

The bored husband looked startled. “But we have hospitals here, my dear Miss . . .”

“Ballinger,” Margaret said with a smile Rathbone knew was forced. “Unfortunately there are not enough of them, and too many of the poor have not the financial means to afford them.”

The pretty wife looked disturbed. “I thought there were charitable places provided. Is that not so, Walter?”

“Of course it is, my dear. But her tender heart does Miss . . . credit, I’m sure,” Walter said hastily.

Margaret was not going to be silenced. “I work for a clinic in Portpool Lane, specifically for poor women in the area, and we are continually seeking funds. Even the smallest donation would be sufficient for food or a little coal. Medicines can cost more, but vinegar and lye are cheaper.”

Walter seized on the one thing he had not understood and felt he could take issue with. “Surely vinegar is unnecessary, Miss Ballinger? Can you not feed them simpler food? If they are ill, what of gruel, or something of that nature?”

“We do not eat vinegar,” Margaret replied, forcing herself to speak softly. “It is to keep things clean. We do use a lot of gruel, and porridge when people are a little stronger, or for those who are injured rather than ill.”

Walter was plainly disconcerted. “Injured?”

“Yes. Women are quite often involved in accidents, or they are victims of attack. We do for them what we can.”

His expression filled with distaste. “Really? How . . . very unpleasant. I imagine it must be difficult for you. I prefer to make my donations to those who are spreading the light of Christianity to those poor souls who have not already had the opportunity—and spurned it! One must not waste precious resources.” He inclined his head as if he were about to leave.

Margaret stiffened.

Rathbone put his hand on her arm, tightening his fingers a little, warning her not to respond.

“I know,” she said under her breath. Then as soon as Walter had retreated to another group where he would not be disturbed by unpleasant thoughts, she added, “I would love to tell him what I believe, but it would ruin all future chances of help. Don’t worry, I shall bite my tongue.” But there was no smile on her face, and she did not turn to look at him.

Her next attempt fared little better. They were engaged in polite but trivial conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Taverner, Lady Hordern, and the Honorable John Wills.

“Such a wonderful man,” Lady Hordern said enthusiastically, referring to one of the doctors in Africa. “Prepared to give his life to saving people he does not even know, body and soul. Truly Christian.”

“Most doctors save people they do not know,” Rathbone pointed out.

Lady Hordern looked a little bewildered.

“All that is necessary is to know that many people are ill and in trouble,” Margaret said with a smile.

“Quite!” Wills agreed, as if she had made his point for him.

Rathbone hid a smile. “I think what Miss Ballinger means is that we should also give generously to other causes as well.”

Lady Hordern blinked. “Whose cause?”

“I was thinking of those who work in such places as the clinic run by my friend, Mrs. Monk, who treats our own Londoners,” Margaret responded.

“But we have hospitals,” Mr. Taverner pointed out. “And we are Christian already. It is very different, you know.”

Margaret bit her lip. “There is something of a difference between having heard of Christ and being a Christian.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He was patently unconvinced.

She scented an opportunity. “Surely one soul is as valuable as another? And to save those in our own community will have excellent effects all around us.”

“Save?” his wife asked suspiciously. “From what, Miss Ballinger?”

Rathbone felt Margaret’s arm tense and heard her indrawn breath. Was she going to make a tactical error?

“From behavior unworthy of a Christian,” Margaret replied sweetly.

Rathbone let out his breath in a sigh of relief.

Lady Hordern’s pale eyebrows rose very high. “Are you referring to that place which caters to women of the street?” she asked incredulously. “I can hardly imagine that you are asking for money to support . . . prostitutes?”

Mr. Taverner turned a dull shade of red, but whether his emotion was fury or embarrassment it was impossible to say.

“I believe that for the most part they support themselves, Lady Hordern,” Rathbone interposed, hearing Hester’s voice in his head exactly as if she had prompted him. “Which is the heart of the trouble, I imagine. The clinic you are referring to is to help street women who are injured or ill, and therefore cannot obtain their usual employment.”

“Which is devoutly to be wished!” Mrs. Taverner snapped.

“Is it?” Rathbone asked innocently. “I do not admire it as a trade, nor the fact that so many men patronize it, or it could not exist, but neither do I think that attempting to do away with it would be a practical solution. And as long as there are such people, it becomes us to treat their illnesses as effectively as we may.”

“I find your opinions extraordinary, Sir Oliver,” Mrs. Taverner responded icily. “Most particularly that you should choose to express them in front of Miss Ballinger, who after all is unmarried, and I assume you regard her as a lady?”

To his amazement Rathbone was not furious, he was suddenly and intensely proud. “Miss Ballinger works in the clinic,” he said clearly. “She is perhaps more aware of the nature of these women’s lives than any of us.”

Mrs. Taverner looked profoundly shocked and insulted.

“The difference . . .” Rathbone concluded, startled at the passion in his voice. “The difference is that she chooses to do something to help, and we have yet to avail ourselves of that opportunity.” He felt Margaret’s hand close tightly on his arm and was ridiculously elated.

“I choose to give such gifts as I do to a worthier cause,” Lady Hordern said stiffly.

“Are the Africans worthier?” Rathbone enquired.

“They are more innocent!” she snapped back. “I presume you would not argue that?”

“Since I am unacquainted with them, I cannot,” he responded.

Wills tore his handkerchief out of his pocket and buried his face in it, his shoulders shaking. He was obviously laughing uncontrollably.

Lady Hordern looked very steadily at Margaret. “I can only assume, Miss Ballinger, that your poor mother is unaware of your present interests, both personal”—she glanced at Rathbone and back again to Margaret—“and occupational. I think in the service of your future, it would be the act of a friend to inform her. I should not like to see you suffer more than is already unavoidable. I shall call upon her tomorrow morning.” And with that she swept off, the stiff taffeta of her skirts rattling.

Mr. Taverner was still scarlet in the face. Mrs. Taverner wished them good evening and turned away, leaving her husband to follow.

“You are worse than Hester!” Margaret said between her teeth, but now it was not laughter she was stifling; it was fear. If her mother forbade her, it would be very difficult to continue seeing Rathbone, and perhaps impossible to work in the clinic. She had no independent means, not even a home apart from that of her parents.

He looked at her and saw the sudden change in her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I have indulged my anger at your expense and made it impossible for you, haven’t I.” It was an acknowledgment of fact, not a question.

“It was impossible before that,” she admitted, refusing ever to think of the meaning far deeper than the loss of tonight’s contribution. “I have a strong feeling that Mr. Taverner may already make his contribution to their keep and Mrs. Taverner is quite aware of it.”

“I daresay it is her acceptance of it that she resents the most,” he agreed. Then he hesitated. “Margaret, will your mother listen to Lady Hordern and believe her? Do I need to make myself a great deal more respectable in her eyes in order to be permitted to see you again? Should I”—he swallowed—“apologize?”

“Don’t you dare!” She lifted her chin a little higher. “I shall speak to Mama myself.”

It was exactly the sort of thing Hester would have said—brave, angry, and unwise, but so intensely from the heart. Did Margaret feel that in some way she was standing in for Hester in his regard, that she was here as a substitute and not as herself? It was untrue. He knew it with overwhelming conviction. He loved the courage and the honesty in Margaret that were like Hester’s, but there were also other qualities of gentleness and honor, modesty and inner sweetness that had nothing to do with anyone else at all. One did not love people because they reminded one of somebody else!

She looked away again, her eyes bright. “I am afraid we have not been very successful at inspiring donations, have we?”

“I have been a liability so far,” he confessed. “I shall endeavor to do better.” He offered her his arm and she took it. Together they walked towards a large group of people, ready to try again.

FIVE

Hester arrived at Portpool Lane by half past eight on the third morning after Monk accepted the job for Clement Louvain. The first thing she did was sit down with Bessie in the kitchen and have a hot cup of tea and a slice of toast while she listened to the report of what had happened during the night.

In its time as a brothel very little cooking had been done there. Most of the prostitutes who inhabited the place had eaten what meals they had somewhere in the street, before their working hours began. There had seldom been more than three or four people to cater for at any one time: just Squeaky Robertson himself and a few women kept on and off for cleaning and laundry; and a couple of men to deal with any customer who got rough and needed throwing out, or who was a trifle slow in settling his bill. It had never been necessary to enlarge what was essentially a family kitchen. The laundry was another matter; that was enormous, and excellent, with two boiling coppers for the vast numbers of sheets used, and a separate room for drying them.

Bessie looked profoundly tired. Her hair was scraped back so tightly it looked painful, but large strands were looped over her ears carelessly, as if she had pushed them back in irritation, simply to get them out of her way. Her skin was pale, and every now and then she could not stifle a yawn.

“Been up all night?” Hester said, more as a statement than a question.

Bessie took a third mouthful of her tea with a sigh of satisfaction. “Them two from a couple o’ nights ago are gettin’ better,” she replied. “One poor little cow only needed a spot o’ food an’ a couple o’ nights’ proper kip. Put ’er out again termorrer. Knife wounds ’ealin’ up nice.”

“Good.” Hester nodded. However, she expected the woman Louvain had brought in to be worse—in fact, she was afraid she might be one of those they could not help beyond giving her as much comfort as possible in her last hours. At least she would not have to die alone.

“But we got up of a dozen in, an’ there’s a bleedin’ lot o’ washin’ ter do,” Bessie answered. “I bin up all night wi’ that Clark woman. In’t much yer can do fer ’er, ’ceptin’ cool towels like yer said, but it seems ter ’elp. She still looks like the undertaker should ’ave ’er, but ’er fever in’t so bad, so I s’pose she’s on the mend. Temper in ’er, mind! Ruth’s too good a name for ’er. I’d a called ’er Mona if it’d bin up ter me.”

Hester smiled. “I expect she was christened long before she could speak.”

Bessie grunted. “Pity we can’t take ’er back ter then!”

“Rechristen her?”

“Nah—just keep ’er mouth shut!”

“Finish your breakfast and get some sleep,” Hester advised. “I’ll do the laundry.”

“Yer can’t do that all on yer own!”

“I won’t need to; Margaret will be in later. I’ll just get it started.”

“Yeah? An’ ’oo’s gonna fetch the water fer yer?” Bessie asked.

Hester smiled more widely. “Squeaky. It’ll do him good. A bit of fresh air and exercise.”

Bessie laughed outright. “Then tell ’im if ’e squawks I’ll come an’ beat ’im over the ’ead wi’ a saucepan!”

When Hester spoke to Squeaky ten minutes later he was horrified.

“Me?” he said incredulously. “I’m a bookkeeper! I don’t fetch water!”

“Yes, you do,” she answered, handing him two pails.

“But it’ll take ten loads o’ that to fill the bleedin’ copper!” he said furiously.

“At least,” she agreed. “And another ten for the other one, so you’d better get started. We need them washed today, and dry by tomorrow or the day after.”

“I in’t a bleedin’ water carrier!” He stood rooted to the spot, indignation filling his face.

“Right, then I’ll fetch the water,” she said. “And you change the beds. Remember to pull the bottom sheets straight and tight, and tuck in only the ends of the top ones. You’ll have to work around the sick women, but I expect you know how to do that. Then you can mix the lye and potash and—”

“All right!” he said angrily. “I’ll get the water! I in’t dealin’ wi’ sick women in bed!”

“Bit modest, aren’t you, for a brothel-keeper?” she asked mockingly.

He gave her a filthy look, picked up the two pails, and stormed out.

Smiling to herself, Hester went back upstairs with a pile of clean sheets and pillow slips to begin changing the beds. Fevers made people sweat, and it was inevitable that linen soiled quickly.

She began with the girl who had come in exhausted, and who was already so much better she could be sent back out again today or tomorrow.

“I’ll ’elp yer,” she offered straightaway, rolling over and getting to her feet. She steadied herself with one hand on the bed frame, then wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

Hester accepted. All such duties were a great deal easier with two. They changed the linen on that bed, then went to the next room, in which rested the woman with more severe congestion. She was feverish and in considerable discomfort. They took off the damp and crumpled sheets, easing her from one position to another and replacing the old with new. It was an awkward task, and at the end of it, when the woman sank back, dizzy and gasping for breath, Hester and the girl were also glad of a moment’s respite.