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“I’m a quack,” he said, wincing at the word. “If you’re going to flatter me, do it better than that.”
She smiled at him. “You’re a friend, one of us.”
Several emotions chased each other across his f
ace. Twice he drew in breath to argue, but the words eluded him. Perhaps he did not really want to.
She said nothing, waiting.
“How do I get in?” he said at last.
“I haven’t worked that out, but I will! I’ll come back and tell you. I really am … very grateful.” She finished the rest of her tea in a gulp, and then rose to leave, before he could gather his wits and change his mind.
She hurried along Wharf Road to the omnibus stop, and took the first one that was going all the way into the city. Now that Crow had more or less agreed to help, she had a favor to collect. After she had returned from the Crimea, and before marrying Monk, she had kept herself by working as a private nurse to patients who needed constant care. She had not failed in her medical duties, but she had not always pleased her charges. She was far too blunt for that, too honest as to the nature of illness. But she had made a few deep and lasting friendships, and it was to two of these people that she now went.
First she called on Colonel Brentwood, retired from the army, but still alive largely because of her quick action at the time he lost his left hand in Crimea. Next she visited Sir Matthew Rivers, a junior minister in the government whose son she had nursed during a severe fever.
She did not make any pretense as to her reasons, and in truth, there was no necessity. With the help of Colonel Brentwood and Sir Matthew, Hester was able to get Crow an immediate position as doctor to the prison where Habib Beshara was being held in the infirmary.
She had to contort the truth, but she was still quite candid to both her previous patrons as to what she wished to achieve, and why. They had both been men of adventure in their youth, and very much admired Hester’s spirit now.
She left, confident that the following day she would be able to hand to Crow the papers that he would need. The disease that affected Habib Beshara might not be curable, but his injuries were another matter. She herself was possibly more used to dealing with such things than the doctor who regularly visited the prison. She would tell Crow all she could, and hope for the best. He had studied medicine with a single-minded devotion, but he lacked the paper qualifications, for reasons she knew, but he preferred not to discuss. She trusted both his intelligence and his instinct. His dedication had never been in doubt.
It was still light out when she finally arrived at the Portpool Lane clinic, though she was far later than she had wished.
She went straight to Squeaky’s office where she knew he would be, whether he was actually working on anything or not. It was his domain, his kingdom.
He looked up at her with indignation the moment she was in the room and had closed the door.
“What do you mean by sending me that dreadful little urchin?” he demanded, his eyes flashing. “What in hell’s name am I supposed to do with him? Are we an orphanage now, as well as a refuge for every tart in London who has a disease?”
“Are you referring to Worm?” Hester said innocently.
He collapsed melodramatically into his seat—slightly crookedly, having misjudged the distance. “God in heaven! Is there more than one?”
She was too tired to laugh at him, although she wanted to. “Not so far as I know. Why? Do you want two? I’m sure I could find …”
He raised his eyebrows and glared at her. “No I do not!” he snarled.
“Good. I think one is better.” She sat down opposite him.
“Better than what? None is better. What on earth am I supposed to do with him?” He hitched himself upright again. “Tell me that, then?”
“Use him, of course,” she said reasonably. “He’s an obliging child. He can clear up, run errands, and do whatever you want. All that matters is that you give him breakfast and supper, and a place to sleep. A blanket on the kitchen floor, if all the beds are full.”
“If all the beds are full?” he said incredulously. “What’s the matter with you? Is one urchin child not enough for you?”
“Yes. That’s precisely why I brought him here. I dare say Claudine can find a job for him, if you can’t.”
“I can!” he said instantly, still glaring at her. “You—you can leave him with me. If you’ve got the wits you were born with, you won’t give him to that woman. She’ll—she’ll spoil him till he’s no use to man or beast.”
“That’s what I thought,” Hester said complacently, looking at his outrage with a smile. “Now I need your help getting some documents for Crow to be temporarily employed as a prison doctor. I’ve taken the liberty of telling certain people that he is properly qualified, but unfortunately I cannot provide any documentary support for that.”
“You what?” he squawked. “Not that prison isn’t where he probably belongs,” he added smugly.
“If you can’t do it, just say so.” She gave a shrug. “Don’t make a song and dance out of it.”
“ ’Course I can do it! Give it here.” He reached over and snatched the piece of paper she was holding in her hand. “Do you want to wait here for it, or you got something useful to do while I work, eh?”
