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CHAPTER 1
Hester let the Hansom cab pass, then crossed Portpool Lane and went in through the door to the clinic for sick and injured prostitutes.
Ruby saw her and her scarred face lit up with welcome.
“Is Miss Raleigh in?” Hester asked.
Ruby’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma’am, but she don’t look right. I thought as she were ’andmade for the job, like, but this mornin’ you’d’a thought she’d got left at the altar. All weepin’ an’ can’t believe it, like.”
Hester was stunned. When she had hired Josephine a few weeks earlier, the girl had said she was not courting and had no intention of giving up nursing in any imaginable future.
“Where is she? Do you know?” she asked.
“We got someone in all beat up, blood everywhere. She’ll be seein’ to ’er,” Ruby replied. “That were ’alf an hour ago, mind.”
“Thank you.” Hester went through the far door and along the passageway, asking after Josephine each time she encountered someone. In the old pantry where they kept medical supplies she finally found her, moving between the shelves, counting and sorting. She was a pretty girl, perhaps too much character in her face to be conventionally beautiful. Now her cheeks were stained with tears, her eyes were blank, and her lips were pressed so tight the muscles were visible along her jaw and in her neck. It was clear that she did not even hear Hester come in.
Hester closed the door to give them complete privacy before she spoke. As always, she was direct. Medicine, she had found, was not an art that allowed for much roundabout conversation.
“What’s wrong?” she asked gently.
Startled, Josephine swung round to face Hester. She was blinking rapidly as the uncontrolled tears slid down her face.
“I’m sorry. I’ll … I’ll be all right in a moment.” She was clearly ashamed at being caught giving way to her distress, whatever it was.
Hester put her hand ever so gently on Josephine’s arm. “Something must be very wrong for you to be so upset by it. You’ve seen terrible wounds and nursed the dying. Something that hurts you so much isn’t going to be dealt with in a few minutes. Tell me what it is.”
Josephine shook her head. “You can’t help with this,” she answered, her voice choking in her throat. “I … I need to work. Really …”
Hester did not loosen her grip.
“There’s nothing that anyone can do,” Josephine repeated, still attempting to pull away.
Hester hesitated. Would it be intrusive if she insisted? She liked this young woman on a deep, instinctive level; she reminded Hester of herself, years ago. And Hester knew exactly the pain and loneliness one felt when starting out in the profession. She had felt the overwhelming sense of helplessness that comes when witnessing the realities of physical agony and death, the moment when things go beyond anyone’s reach and all you can do is watch. All that, on top of the ordinary heartache of life and youth-it had been a difficult burden to bear when she was younger. Even now, at times.
“Tell me anyway,” she said gently.
Josephine hesitated, and then straightened herself with an effort. She swallowed hard and fished for a handkerchief to blow her nose.
Hester waited, leaving the door closed. No one else could come in without a key.
“My mother died a long time ago,” Josephine began. “My father and I have become very close.” She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice level, almost emotionless, as if she were recounting figures in a calculation, something with no personal weight. “He has been going to a Nonconformist church for just over a year now. He found many friends among the congregation. He said there was a degree of warmth in it that appealed to him more than the ritual of the Church of England, which he found … cold.” She swallowed hard again.
Hester did not interrupt. So far there was nothing odd, let alone disastrous, in what Josephine was saying. She hadn’t known Josephine long, but the girl did not strike her as the type to care exactly which religion her father followed, as long as it was broadly Christian, so that couldn’t be the cause of her distress.
Josephine took another shaky breath. “He told me that they do a great deal of good work, both here in England and abroad. They need money to provide food, medicines, clothes, and so on, for those in desperate circumstances.” She searched Hester’s face for understanding.
“It sounds a very Christian thing to do.” Hester filled in the silence. Then a thought occurred to her. “Oh dear-did your father discover that was not what they were using the money for?”
